Post-S3: Baker City (day 2, continued)
.
.
.
The search for bugs in Audrey's apartment turned out to be a much more complicated ordeal than she'd expected. She had assumed it would be a quick scan, with perhaps one device sweeping through each room. But when three Secret Service specialists arrived, it quickly became clear that their search was exhaustive—and invasive.
They looked through everything, every inch of her life. They rifled through her closet, pried open drawers, even inspecting her most personal belongings, including the drawer with her underwear.
It didn't feel like a measure designed to make her feel safe. In the end, it felt like an unwanted cavity search, as if they had entered her home without permission, leaving her vulnerable and exposed.
But it wasn't just the invasion of privacy that unsettled her. As the agents combed over her space, she began to see her apartment's familiar details as potential threats. The ventilation grill in the bathroom—could someone plant a bug or even a small device there? The windows, they informed her, were far too easy to open and their locks would need reinforcing. And the wall ledge outside her bedroom window? They pointed it out as a potential foothold, somewhere an intruder could easily gain access to her room.
How was she supposed to feel safe here after listening to the Secret Service agents list every weakness, every possible vulnerability her apartment had?
By the time they finally left, it was late. Alone now in her own space, she felt more vulnerable than she ever had. Their patrols in the area did nothing to ease her mind; the walls that had once held her life in quiet familiarity now seemed foreign, almost hostile. Not that she had ever liked this apartment. It had been the logical choice, after moving out of her and Paul's house, that now stood empty, down in Alexandria. She had chosen this apartment because it was closer to work, in a gated community that had been recommended, after her father had taken the office as secretary of defense. That the apartment had already been furnished had been a good point, making it easier to flee the house in no time at all, but from the beginning, she had hated the furniture, selected by the former tenant. She didn't like living here.
In this prison.
Her hand hovered over her phone, briefly considering a call to her father. She knew he would offer her support, might even suggest she stay in his guest room, promising extra security at his house. But that would only add to his own worries, and she couldn't bear the thought of burdening him, of forcing him to regret the path he'd taken that had led them both here. His job, bringing her into this position.
And Paul? She brushed off the thought almost as soon as it formed. No, he wouldn't be the right person to call either. He'd worry, ask questions. And he'd offer only more sympathy than she could handle right now.
There was really only one person she wanted to talk to, one person who, even thousands of miles away, would know how to calm her mind. She dialed the secure number, her hands still trembling with the remnants of tension that filled her.
The line connected, and to her relief, this time, it was Jack himself who answered. "Hey," he greeted, and she could hear the contentment in his voice, that soft warmth that told her he was likely winding down after a long day.
After having spent so many hours talking to him, Audrey could sense any subtle shift in Jack's voice. Tonight, she heard it clearly: he was tired, yet content. He sounded genuinely happy, and she knew he wasn't alone. Faint voices murmured in the background. Trying to sound casual, she asked, "How was your day?"
"Great," he replied, taking a sip from a bottle of beer—the first one he'd allowed himself that evening. A glance at his watch told him it was 6 p.m. on his end, which meant it was already 9 p.m. in Washington, D.C. "We managed to put up the ridge beam and about half of the rafters," he added, doubting Audrey would make much sense of the technical jargon.
Even he hadn't known what to expect eight hours ago, following Reid's instructions on the fly. Reid's father had been a carpenter, and Reid himself had eventually taken up the trade after leaving the army. Though Jack had always noticed Reid was handy with tools, he had never thought to ask why back when they were in the army.
From the background, Audrey could hear one of Reid's teasing remarks, followed by a "tell that to your girlfriend," punctuated by Jack's low, half-laugh and a quick, coarse retort. "Hold on a second," Jack said into the phone, standing up and stepping away. She could hear the faint chatter as he moved, including Jackie's voice calling out something about burgers for dinner.
But as Jack walked away, he remembered how strange, serious, and worried Audrey had sounded earlier when she'd called. He had almost forgotten in the lightness of his afternoon—but now he remembered. And he didn't want to keep talking about his joyful day while a part of him was uneasy, sensing her day hadn't gone nearly as well.
"How was your day?" he asked, his tone quieter now, focused.
Audrey took a deep breath, unsure where to start. She wanted to tell him everything, but it would take hours. Besides, the presence of Reid and his girlfriend in the background reminded her this was a conversation best kept private. Jack's clearance level… he had no clearance level now. And even his past clearance level hadn't ever been high enough to hear this, let alone anyone else nearby. "Audrey?" he asked again, and she could hear the concern in his voice as he waited.
Finally, she settled on the truth, even if it was sparse. "Horrible."
Jack felt his heart sink, and judging from her tone, he knew it was serious. He glanced back over his shoulder, seeing Reid on the porch of the old house, Jackie disappearing inside. He took a few steps further toward the partially built new house, finding himself in the half-framed rooms.
"Tell me," he said, his voice low and reassuring. "I'm alone."
"I don't know where to start," she admitted, a lump forming in her throat.
"Start anywhere," he said, with the surety of someone who knew exactly how it felt. "With the first thing that comes to your mind."
"There's a security threat," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jack didn't miss a beat. "Against?"
She hadn't expected that. The answer was so plain, as if he wouldn't link the security threat to her specifically, instead assuming she was talking about some broader risk. She'd forgotten that he had dealt with "security threats" his entire life, and to him, they probably weren't anything unusual.
"Against my person," she clarified, quietly.
Jack stopped mid-step. "Why are you the target?"
Audrey hesitated, debating whether to reveal her father's position, but ultimately decided against it. Part of what she valued in her relationship with Jack was that he saw her as more than the Secretary's daughter, free from the judgments others might make. So, she kept it simple. "Because I'm somewhat the right hand of the Secretary of Defense. He's being targeted, too."
"Is the source reliable?" he asked, his tone as methodical as ever.
"CIA. They were concerned enough to activate the Secret Service." She felt a swell of relief, knowing she was talking to someone who both understood and could give practical advice.
"And the CIA's source?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "They didn't tell."
"You've got Clearance Level 9," Jack pointed out, a hint of dry humor slipping in. "You could probably find out who killed Kennedy."
"I wouldn't even know where to look," she confessed, her tone softening. She had never used her privileges to look at CIA files.
"Jack…" she began, hoping to stop him from diving deeper into the technicalities of it all. For her, this was far more personal than it was procedural. "… do I need to be worried?"
He heard it clearly now—the tension, the craving for reassurance in her voice. She wanted him to tell her that it was just a precaution, that the Secret Service's involvement was an overreaction. But he couldn't say that. Not truthfully. As much as he wanted to ease her fear, his own worry was climbing, creeping up his spine with a sharp, unrelenting force. And that feeling was the worst he remembered.
Jack paused, trying to gauge the right words, but the truth was, he didn't have any. "That depends," he began, keeping his voice calm, steady, hoping it would ease her in some small way. "On the source the CIA's relying on. How credible they think it is."
The line went silent for a moment. Then, almost in a whisper, Audrey confessed, "Jack, I'm afraid." She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around her legs, sinking into the couch. The words hung between them, and Jack could feel her vulnerability across the distance, the fear she was finally letting slip.
He felt his heart twist for her, aching to be with her. More than anything, he wished he could be in the room, just a few feet away, telling her not to be worried. And armed. If he were there, he'd be prepared to face anything, ready to protect her in every way possible. But the reality stung: he didn't even own a gun anymore. For the first time in over twenty years, he was completely disarmed. Helpless, in a way he hadn't felt in years, sitting two thousand miles away.
He took a steadying breath. "You're not at your office, are you?" he asked.
"No," she answered with a sigh. "Why?"
"Because we could look up the CIA files," he suggested, trying to think like he still had clearance, piecing together where he'd start if he had access to Level 9. "Might give us more to go on."
"Maybe tomorrow," she murmured, though the idea of learning more unsettled her. There was something haunting about knowing the specifics, about confronting the precise threat level she and her father faced. Did she really want to know how close they already were?
Jack's mind kept turning over options, tactics. "By how much have they increased your Secret Service detail?" he asked, his voice steady, professional.
Audrey hesitated. This was exactly the kind of classified information she wasn't supposed to discuss with anyone outside the DoD. But Jack was different; she trusted him. "They're patrolling the area. Supervising the whole gated community where my apartment is. I can't drive alone anymore. One man in black is always with me when I'm out in public." She spoke quickly, as if admitting these changes aloud would somehow make them more bearable.
Jack's unease only grew. He knew well enough these weren't standard precautions. The measures were intense, the sort only taken for a truly credible threat. But he tried to inject some reassurance into his tone, sensing she needed a calm voice more than anything.
"Sounds good," he said, though the words tasted bitter. "They're taking this seriously. You're in good hands."
"You're just saying that to make me feel better," she replied, almost challenging him, the trace of sadness unmistakable.
Jack managed a small, sad laugh, one that held a frustration all its own. "I don't know what else to do, to make it better," he admitted, the honesty raw. If he could be there, he'd offer her more than empty words. But all he had was his voice and the helpless desire to do something more, to make her feel even a fraction safer.
And as they sat in silence, Audrey felt a little of her fear recede, just knowing he was on the other end, sharing in it with her.
Jack's voice softened, his tone carrying a weight that reached across the miles between them. "Audrey, I'd love to be there for you..." he began the sentence, leaving it open, but it was clear what he meant. There was no romantic note to it, just the simple promise that he would do everything to protect her, to repay her for all she'd done for him over the past months.
Audrey felt a sudden surge of emotion, picturing Jack in the chair across from her. She could see him there, a calm yet steely presence, sitting back with that familiar focus in his eyes, armed and ready. She imagined feeling safer with him across her than with ten agents patrolling the area, though it was a silly fantasy. And for a moment, the thought was tempting, a real balm against the fear gnawing at her.
But then reality set in, washing over her fantasy. Jack couldn't do anything the Secret Service wasn't already doing, and she had already involved him more than she should. Her mind lingered on the dangers he'd faced, the darkness he was trying so hard to leave behind, and her heart twisted. She'd dragged him back into it, just by telling him about the threat.
"Jack," she said quietly, almost to remind herself. "The Secret Service are doing whatever is necessary. There's really no need to." She forced herself to sound steady, to push away the idea she'd already begun to crave. Jack was silent, but yet she could feel his innermost wish to fight that 'threat', even through the line. She also knew their connection was so strong that he'd do a lot, if she let him – probably it would only need a word. Saying "please, come", and he'd already be on the next flight, arm himself to the teeth, preparing to fight if needed. She pictured him having no second of hesitation. If she said the word, he would come. And knowing him, he might even go as far as to investigate the threat himself, pulling every string he could reach.
But that was the last thing she wanted. He was here, miles away with Reid, because he was trying to leave the dark world behind. She wanted him to stay in that space, to live in a world where he wasn't haunted by duty and violence. She needed him to see that there was a life beyond all the threats, beyond the guns and the endless battles he'd waged.
She could almost feel the conflict within him, the wish to be there for her warring with the reality of having to step back, being able to do nothing, from 2000 miles away. And as much as it hurt not to succumb to her fantasy, she knew this was what he needed. If he stayed, if he saw that peace was possible, maybe he could finally start to let go.
Audrey heard Jack call back, "I'll be there in a minute," and she imagined Reid must have called him in for dinner. She could almost picture Reid waiting on the porch, easygoing as ever, enjoying the evening. The sound of Jack's voice felt like a world apart from the tension in her own, but she wanted him to stay in that world, safe from her fears.
"Go back to your evening," she said softly, keeping her voice steady. "Don't worry about me."
Jack hesitated, and they both knew the truth lingering between them. Of course, he would worry—that was something neither of them could avoid. "Then you don't worry either," he replied, his tone low and calm, though they both understood the quiet lie. They'd both be worrying, and maybe that was all they could promise each other for now.
As they said their goodbyes and hung up, Jack stayed back in the partially built house, his hand gripping one of the raw beams. He took a moment, grounding himself against the sturdy wood, to remind himself where he was right now. With Reid. Helping him build his new home. The evening had been bright, filled with laughter and the smell of burgers on the grill. But now, worry threaded through his mind, subtle at first, but tightening with each thought.
A dark string of images crept into his mind, memories he hadn't intended to relive. He saw Teri, the day she'd died, and felt the familiar twist in his gut. Kim, too, came to mind, the way she'd become a target so many times, her life caught in the crosshairs because of him. And then, as clear as if he'd just heard it, he remembered Nina's voice that night, the coldness with which she'd lied, telling him Kim had died. The horror, the helplessness, the devastation he'd felt then returned to him now with a force he hadn't anticipated and he barely managed to keep it at bay.
And suddenly, the image of Audrey caught in danger, vulnerable and targeted, surfaced with painful clarity. He felt his heart race as he fought to shake the thought. This was different, he told himself. The CIA had intercepted the threat. The Secret Service was handling it. This wasn't his responsibility. Not anymore.
He forced his mind back, reminding himself of the countless threats he'd seen over the years that had never elevated into a real tragedy. Behind every intercepted threat were men and women who worked tirelessly, stopping the worst from ever reaching the light of day. Like he had been. Had been. 0
Someone in that chain would stop this, too. Audrey and the Secretary of Defense would be protected. He tried to let the certainty settle in, to believe in the layers of security he'd once worked within, and to believe it could function without him.
It wasn't easy. That was one of the truths he'd learned in rehab—stepping back was never simple. He didn't have to be the one saving everyone, every time. He had earned the right to live outside the shadows, to rebuild a life where his only battles were his own. But even so, it felt like a kind of abandonment, like walking away from someone who needed him most.
And tonight, that someone was Audrey.
.
.
.