Alaska

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The cold Alaskan wind bit through Jack's jacket as he stood by his bike, pacing near the parking lot of a roadside diner. His breath misted in the air, the sharp chill biting at his skin and nose despite the layers he wore. The secure phone sat heavy in his pocket, he'd made sure that it wasn't set to mute, that it was charged, that the battery was kept warm inside is pocket and wouldn't die now. He'd been waiting for this call all day. No, if he was really honest, he'd been waiting for this call for a few days now.

He had already been waiting when he was still inside the diner, seated at a corner booth with a cup of coffee and a burger, the first thing he'd eaten since yesterday evening, the phone resting on the table beside him. But even the warm light and heat of the place hadn't been enough to settle him. He knew he wasn't the kind of guy who sat still well, especially not now. The minutes had stretched too long, and before the waitress could refill his cup, he'd paid the check and walked out into the cold, because even that felt better than having to sit still in some corner.

The cold Alaskan wind bit through Jack's jacket and the beard that had grown during the past weeks as he stood at the Anchorage shoreline, watching the Pacific stretch out before him. Though it was the same ocean, it looked way different from here. It was different from the beach in L.A., where he'd surfed, many years ago. He shifted slightly, tugging the collar of his jacket closer to his neck. The gear was warmer than his original set—something he'd picked up in Seattle ten days ago, and the clerk had eyed him like he was insane for planning to ride to Alaska in early March.

It had been fourteen days since he left Reid and Jackie's place. After their easy camaraderie, leaving Baker City had been harder than he expected, but he had felt it was time to move on. He'd spent some more days with them before packing his things and heading north, crossing through Canada. The journey through the Canadian wilderness had been breathtaking—endless stretches of untouched snow, gravel roads, now and then an occasional moose crossing his path. But it had also been isolating. He wouldn't let himself admit that he was questioning why he was even there, driving on snowy roads. For what? For Teri? She wouldn't wait for him at the end of the road. So instead, he directed his thoughts towards something else. Someone else. Something warmer, less cold, even though it made him feel lonely, too. The secure phone Audrey had sent him was useless once he had crossed the border. He'd known that going in, but the silence still weighed on him. He hadn't heard her voice in a long time. Ten days ago, they had agreed today would be the earliest they could speak again—the first chance to hear each other's voice. And now, that moment had finally arrived.

For a week, he traveled through Canada, passing through frozen landscapes with no way of reaching Audrey. Three days ago, when he crossed back into Alaska, the phone finally had a signal again. But there had been no chance to talk to her. Audrey had told him before that she'd be in Paris these days with the Secretary of Defense, unreachable for the better part of the week, because her own secure phone didn't work either, outside the US. Even knowing that hadn't stopped him from checking the phone every once in a while. Maybe she'd come home early. Each glance at the screen brought a twinge of disappointment. No, she hadn't. At least, she hadn't called. The last time they spoke felt like a lifetime ago. He had to admit to himself that he missed her voice. In some cold afternoons spent riding seven hours on a straight and icy road that never seemed to end, he thought back to the evening Reid and Jackie were teasing him about his "girlfriend." And somehow, these small memories made him smile, underneath his helmet, as he concentrated on riding.

Jack glanced down at the secure phone in his gloved hand, the screen still dark. Audrey should be home any minute now. She'd told him about her schedule before she left—her schedule was strict, as always. It was Thursday. For him, it was one o'clock in the afternoon; for her, five. She'd likely just landed, and he imagined her, in the car with agent Garret and agent Callahan, most likely.

Now, as he paced, his boots crunching on the icy gravel, he tried to shake off the gnawing unease that had been growing in his chest. He kept his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, gloved fingers brushing against the secure phone. Any minute now, she would call. She had promised she would.

He asked himself how exact her schedule was. She'd told him ten days ago about her flight plan and when she'd land back in D.C. after her business trip to Paris. Jack knew the time difference by heart, could picture her probably checking her watch mid-flight, counting down the hours before she'd be home. He imagined her in the backseat of a car, Agent Garrett and Agent Callahan driving her through the city, how she'd probably shut the door behind her, finally alone again, her phone in hand.

But what if she didn't call?

The thought lodged itself in his mind, unwelcome but persistent. Jack stopped pacing for a moment, his eyes narrowing against the horizon, where the sky faded into the ocean. What if something had already happened to her? What if the threat, the one they'd spoken about in hushed tones late at night, had become real?

He shook his head, willing himself not to spiral, but it was impossible to ignore the flicker of fear that crept up his spine. For the past week, Audrey had been in Paris, half a world away, under layers of security. Even if Jack had flown to Washington when she first told him about the threat, he wouldn't have been able to protect her there, let alone follow her to France. The helplessness stung more than he cared to admit.

Jack resumed pacing, his boots crunching rhythmically as he let his thoughts wander to darker places. What would he do if she didn't call? If tonight stretched into tomorrow, and the phone remained silent? Would he call her number, hoping for an answer? How many times would he call? Without being awkward? Once? Twice? He rather felt like a hundred times. Or would he know, in the pit of his stomach, if something was wrong—that something bad had happened?

The thought gripped him, twisting his chest tight. He tried to imagine a future, a few days from now, not knowing if Audrey was alive or dead, or hurt. Or just didn't want to speak to him any more. Would the Secret Service ever tell him if something happened? They wouldn't give answers to a man with no clearance, no official role in her life. The idea of being left in the dark, of never knowing what became of her, made him shudder more than the Alaskan cold ever could. He unwillingly began to think of who he could call, to get some information. A few old friends at CIA maybe.

He stopped walking and leaned against the seat of his bike, staring at the slight damage—a few scratches—in the red paint at the fuel tank. Canada. A week ago. He smiled to himself. Well, the bike's value already decreased significantly the way he'd used it in the past weeks.

The scratches didn't bother him. They were just part of the road—a proof of the icy patch in Canada that sent him skidding into a snowbank. He'd hauled the bike up, muttered you're fine, and kept going. It wasn't like anyone would care about the bike's condition when this trip was done. The bike had been more than just transportation for this journey; it had become something like a companion. The only one, in the past ten days.

Finally, his thoughts drifted back to the phone in his pocket. Still nothing. He straightened, gave the bike's seat a pat, and resumed pacing. The scratches didn't matter—not when he was waiting for Audrey's call. He took a deep breath, the cold air stinging his lungs. He glanced down at the phone in his pocket again, willing it to light up with her name. Still nothing.

Jack closed his eyes briefly, telling himself that it wasn't unusual that she hadn't called yet. Don't worry. It doesn't mean anything. She'd call. He repeated it to himself like a mantra: Audrey would call.

But the minutes kept slipping by, and the phone remained silent in his pocket. Each second felt like an eternity.

Jack reminded himself of the facts: the Secret Service was competent, her detail experienced. She wasn't alone, not for a second. But even those reassurances did little to quiet the voice in his head that whispered of all the ways things could go wrong.

He could imagine so many bad situations—her car being intercepted, her name called out by strangers with malicious intent. Jack clenched his fists in his pockets, forcing the image away. Stop it. That's not happening.

But what if it was? What if, even now, something had gone wrong? What if Audrey wasn't going to call because she couldn't?

The phone buzzed.

Jack's heart leaped as he scrambled to pull it from his pocket. The moment her number flashed on the screen, a wave of relief washed over him, so overwhelming he had to steady himself against the bike. With a deep breath, he answered, trying to hide the excitement in his voice.

"Hey."

"Hi," Audrey replied, and for a moment, everything else faded away. It felt so good to hear her voice again after so much time had passed.

"How are you?" she asked, the question rushing out before he had the chance to ask her himself.

"Cold," he answered, his tone wry. That was the plain truth, and they both laughed at his honesty.

"How was Paris?" he asked, the warmth in his voice carrying through the line.

She sighed, thinking back. "Almost bearable." She hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. The reason it had been bearable was because she'd made the trip with her father, though Jack still didn't know that the Secretary of Defense was her father. That detail wasn't something she'd shared yet, and she wasn't sure if she ever would. "Traveling with the Secretary, there's always a huge Secret Service detail," she explained. "So, basically, it felt like... before."

She hoped Jack would understand what she meant. Before the threat. When she'd still had a normal life. For once, she hadn't felt like the odd person out being watched.

"I'm just glad you didn't need them," Jack replied, his voice quiet. But the words felt too real, too harsh, and he regretted them immediately.

Audrey understood what he meant, though, and she appreciated the concern behind his words. "Me too," she said softly. There was a pause, the kind that felt comfortable rather than strained. And then she started talking. About her trip. About the past ten days. And her voice felt like a warm blanket around his shoulders that erased the Alaskan cold.

Jack leaned against the railing, staring out at the ocean but not really seeing it anymore. He found himself retreating inward, his thoughts drifting as Audrey spoke. Her voice was steady, recounting moments from her trip, but his mind was also tugged back to his own recent days.

Audrey's voice brought him back to the moment, and he realized she was asking about his trip. "How's Alaska?" she'd asked.

He thought of the hours spent riding through endless white landscapes, the isolation pressing in from all sides. The Alaskan wilderness was beautiful in its vastness, but it demanded something—endurance, patience, and a willingness to sit with your own thoughts.

He'd stopped at a cliff three days ago, overlooking a frozen fjord. The scene had been stark and still, save for the icy water below. He'd stood there for what felt like hours, letting the quiet settle into him. The memory lingered now, tied to the weight he'd been carrying on this trip. He'd come to Alaska to chase something—closure, perhaps—but the solitude had forced him to confront truths he'd been avoiding for years.

Jack's grip on the phone tightened slightly, the words coming slowly. "It's... different," he said. "Beautiful, but harsh. And quiet. It gives you a lot of time to think." He didn't want to admit that he knew the word that would sum up all his thoughts in just one word: lonely. It was lonely.

He paused, his thumb absently brushing over the wedding ring still on his finger. He could even feel it through the glove. For the past few weeks, he'd been replaying memories of Teri—of the plans they'd made to come here together, of the life they'd built and lost. Wearing the ring again felt strange, like an old wound reopened. Like something that didn't fit any more. Yet, somehow, it also felt like part of the process, as if this trip wasn't just about honoring her memory but about letting go of the parts of himself he could no longer carry.

Audrey didn't respond immediately, but he could sense her listening, giving him the space to share more if he wanted. But he didn't want to talk about Teri, about his stupid obsession with the ring or about loneliness right now. Instead, he shifted the conversation. "You know," he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, "this trip's taught me something."

"What's that?" she asked, her tone light but curious.

Jack leaned back, stretching slightly, his back protesting the movement. "That I'm definitely not as young as I used to be."

Audrey's laughter came through the line, soft and genuine, and it warmed something in him. "What gave it away?" she teased.

He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "The endless hours on the bike. Or maybe it's still the work on Reid's roof. Either way, I think life's trying to tell me something."

Her laughter faded into a smile he could almost hear, and for a moment, the distance between them didn't feel so vast. Jack let the quiet stretch, not rushing to fill it. Talking to Audrey was a comfort he hadn't expected to rely on so much, especially on a trip he'd imagined taking alone. He was taking the trip alone. Or was he? He hesitated to admit that he'd missed her during those past 10 days. And somehow, it felt like he wasn't making this trip alone. Except for the past 10 days, she'd always been there. Every step along his way.

She sighed softly, her tone shifting. "I'm glad you made it there, Jack."

Her words settled over him, quiet but steady, and he felt a pang of gratitude he couldn't quite articulate. "Me too," he said finally, his voice low.

As their conversation continued, Jack let himself sink into the moment, feeling the weight of his solitude ease, significantly. But the cold was unrelenting, and despite his layers, he could feel the sharp sting creeping into his hands and face. His voice, steady as it had been, faltered slightly as he shifted his weight to stay warm.

"Jack," Audrey said softly, the concern evident in her tone. "You're freezing, aren't you?"

He hesitated, reluctant to admit it, but she could hear the truth without him saying it. "It's getting cold," he said finally, his breath misting in the air. "I should probably keep moving."

"Then go," she urged gently, though there was a note of reluctance in her voice too. "We can talk later. I should probably unpack anyway."

He nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "I'll call you when I get to the guesthouse," he promised. "Shouldn't be long."

"Promise you'll call," she said, her voice steady but carrying the quiet weight of someone who didn't want this conversation to end just yet.

"I promise," he replied, and the sincerity in his voice reassured them both. It struck him as strange—this was the first time they had ever promised something to each other, the first time he had ever given a promise to her.

To promise to call meant that their calls weren't just habit or convenience but something they couldn't imagine leaving undone. It felt like an admission, that the past ten days had been lonely. That, in the silence, they'd missed each other more than either had expected. Neither of them had said it aloud—but the simple request to promise to call said it all. This wasn't just a call to check in or pass the time; it was something they had been desperately looking forward to. A connection neither was willing to give up on.

"Take care, Jack."

"You too, Audrey." The words felt simple but full, saying so much more than just those words' meaning.

As he ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket, he stood for a moment longer by the shoreline. He had seen enough of that coast. He couldn't wait to get back on the bike and cover the forty miles to the town where he'd stop for tonight. With a quiet, lingering smile, he swung his leg over the seat. The cold didn't bother him as much now—his thoughts were already way ahead, racing towards the warmth of that next phone call, that he'd promised to make. It wasn't a burden to keep, not at all. In fact, it was the easiest thing in the world. He couldn't wait to get there, to hear her voice again, and to know that she was waiting for it, just like he was.

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