Post-S3: Anchorage (continued)

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The bike was parked the small garage beside the guesthouse, finally in some safe place where it could warm up again from today's exertions. The owner of the guesthouse had chuckled when Jack first arrived, shaking his head in amusement at the sight of a man on a motorcycle in Alaska in March. Jack had shrugged, used to these reactions by now. He'd been a curiosity ever since he crossed into Canada, and he'd learned to let it roll off his back. People didn't pry much out here. They took one look at him and assumed he had his reasons, and that was usually enough to satisfy their curiosity.

The guesthouse was typical of the kind of places he'd been staying in—small, with a rustic charm that leaned more toward practicality than comfort. The room he'd been given was no exception: wood-paneled walls, a bed, a table, a chair, and—most importantly—two radiators humming steadily against the chill. He could already feel the warmth seeping through the air, and it made him realize just how cold he had been. Again. Like always, lately.

But there were things to do first. Routine mattered out here, especially when traveling alone. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it near the radiator, ensuring it would dry before next morning. His boots went nearby too, the wet snow and slush from the ride still clinging to the edges. The trip would have been much easier on a trail bike, he thought wryly, but that hadn't been the point, had it? He'd wanted that trip. The one he and Teri had once dreamed about, and back then, a sports bike was what they had. The thought of her lingered for a moment, a bittersweet ache he quickly pushed aside. No sense dwelling on the past now. The choice of bike couldn't be changed now anyway, even if it currently made his life a lot harder for no reason.

Digging through his backpack, he pulled out a dry shirt—clean wasn't important anymore, ever since crossing into Canada, just dry—and slipped it on. Then he grabbed the blanket from the bed, wrapped it around himself, and sat on the floor, leaning back against the radiator. The warmth was a balm against the cold that had seeped into his bones during the day's ride. He plugged the phone's charger into the wall and set it on the blanket, staring at the screen for a moment before dialing.

He knew her number by heart.

He smiled to himself as he pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. The radiator's heat, the silence of the room, the prospect of hearing Audrey's voice—he couldn't decide which felt better, and it didn't matter. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to feel that things were okay.

The line connected on the first ring.

"Hey," came Audrey's voice, soft and familiar.

He smiled. The sound of her voice after ten long days was like sunlight breaking through clouds. He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed her until now. Out here in the vast, icy wilderness, her voice was warmer than anything else he'd encountered. Warmer than the radiator at his back. He wondered how he'd gone without her. At least, heroin had been out of reach. It couldn't have been farther out of reach then here. Miles and miles without people, and if there was someone, they surely didn't have a stock on drugs. But to be honest – for a while now all he craved for was hearing her voice again.

"Hi," he replied. The word hung between them in a silence that didn't feel awkward, just easy, natural.

"How's Alaska?" Audrey asked, her tone light but genuinely curious.

"Beautiful," Jack said, his voice softening. "Cold. Icy." He hesitated for a moment, leaving one word unspoken. Lonely. He didn't say it aloud. Not with her on the other end of the line. For now, hearing her was enough to push that feeling away. He settled deeper into the warmth of the radiator and the blanket as he began talking, and Audrey immediately noticed his voice being infused with a sort of energy that comes from excitement. She leaned back, cradling the phone to her ear, forgetting about all her own problems, as she listened. She'd long since realized that these moments were as much for him as they were for her. She felt that right now he had a need to share, to talk about his journey, to share it with someone.

"In Canada," he began, the hint of a smile in his voice. "There was a road—straight as an arrow, for 200 miles. No curves, no hills. Just white snow on either side. Four towns in 200 miles, probably ten houses each. It was so… empty, I started counting mile markers just to have an idea where I was."

Audrey could almost picture it: Just one lonely man on a motorcycle, the wilderness stretching endlessly towards all sides. It was a landscape she couldn't imagine herself in, but she could hear how much it had captivated him. "Sounds meditative.", she said.

"Kind of. Never thought I'd meditate on a bike.", he answered with a smile, but as he thought back, he couldn't deny that Audrey's choice of words had been the right one: he'd had time back then, but had had to stay focused. They had probably been hours where his mind had really been empty, except for the delicate task of riding a bike on a road with chuckholes, gravel patches and occasional snow banks.

"And then there's fuel," he added, shifting slightly. "You really have to plan your stops. Towns are so few and far between that you can't risk running out of gas in the middle of nowhere. It would have been best to carry an extra canister."

"You didn't, did you?" she asked, a faint note of amusement in her voice.

Jack chuckled softly. "Didn't have a way to carry it. I don't exactly have saddlebags for this thing. Just the backpack."

Audrey smiled, shaking her head. She couldn't believe it. Riding thousands of miles with only a backpack. She glanced at her mighty suitcase, that she'd just unpacked. "Can you even carry enough gear? It sounds… challenging, travelling that road with almost nothing on you. Dangerous."

"It's not dangerous," Jack replied quickly, maybe a little too quickly.

She caught the change in his voice, that gave the lie away. "Jack…" she pressed gently, letting the silence nudge him.

"Okay," he admitted after a pause. "Maybe there were a few moments. One day the chain snapped and I almost got stranded by the roadside. And… one day, I almost went down in a snowbank." He laughed as he said it, to downplay the seriousness of the events.

Audrey exhaled softly, shaking her head. She raised an eyebrow, though he couldn't see it. Almost. She'd heard him say 'almost' enough times to know it was his way of smoothing over something that had been far closer to disaster than he was willing to admit. The way his voice lingered on the word betrayed him more than he realized.

"Almost?" she echoed, her tone light but probing.

There was a beat of silence, just long enough to confirm her suspicion. Jack laughed softly, the kind of laugh meant to deflect. "Okay, maybe it was… kind of… serious. But it worked out fine."

Audrey smiled faintly, shaking her head. "Jack, what really happened?"

He sighed, the sound carrying over the line, followed by the faintest hint of sheepishness. "Alright, fine. The chain snapped halfway up a pass, and I had to wait quite a while until someone else came by."

Audrey exhaled, her smile widening. "That sounds more like it." She was still shaking her head, realizing how much danger that kind of a trip meant.

Jack chuckled softly on the other end of the line, and Audrey seized the moment to ask the question tugging at her thoughts. "How long did you wait?" she asked gently, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity and concern.

He hesitated, and she could almost hear the faint sigh before his reply. "Sixteen hours."

Audrey sat up slightly, her brows furrowing. "Sixteen hours?" she repeated, incredulous. "How much longer would you have waited?"

"Indefinitely," Jack said, his tone matter-of-fact, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

She couldn't help herself; she laughed softly, shaking her head. "Indefinitely? Jack, at some point, wouldn't you have considered… I don't know… walking? Finding someone?"

His answer came without hesitation. "Who do you wanna find, in the middle of nowhere? It's safer to wait, even for a long time."

Audrey paused, her curiosity piqued. "Why?"

Jack shifted slightly, leaning further into the warmth of the radiator. "If you start walking, you need energy, which burns through your reserves. You can't retreat into a self-built shelter if the weather turns. You'd have to carry whatever gear you've got with you. And you'd be walking sixty miles to the next town—assuming you didn't take a silly off-road shortcut because that never works out. Out there, it's better to stay put. Even in regions like this, once or twice a day, a vehicle passes by. I'd seen enough tire marks on the road to know that much."

Audrey sat back, silent for a moment, absorbing his explanation. The way he spoke—calm, precise, and pragmatic—made it clear he wasn't just guessing. This wasn't bravado or posturing; he knew what he was talking about.

"Sixteen hours…" she murmured. "That's a long time to wait. But I guess you're right." She exhaled softly. "Jack, you're probably the only person I know who could think that clearly in a situation like that."

He shrugged, though she couldn't see it. "Just common sense," he said, downplaying it.

Audrey smiled faintly, shaking her head. "No, it's more than that. You've probably had a lifetime of survival training, haven't you?"

He was quiet for a beat before answering. "Some," he admitted, and his thoughts drifted back twenty years. Survival training. Those had been some of the hardest weeks of his whole life.

Audrey's mind also wandered as she considered it. To her, the trip he was describing would be unthinkable—a terrifying ordeal. But for Jack, maybe this was exactly the kind of challenge that suited him. The fact just showed her how vast the gap between their worlds was.

"What kind of gear are you carrying?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Not much," he replied. "A shovel, some tools, a knife, fire-starting materials, jerky, and chocolate as a final reserve."

"Chocolate?" she asked with a soft laugh.

"High calories, dense, light, small. And you'd be surprised how much a small piece can do for morale," he said lightly.

Audrey found herself smiling again. Of course, Jack would have a practical reason for choosing it. How could she only doubt that? She laughed at herself. High calories, light, small. She'd never, not once in her life, chosen any food because it was 'high calory'.

"High calory.", she repeated. Audrey's soft laughter carried through the line, a sound that made Jack's shoulders relax despite the long, cold day. "And I just like it better than those awful packed rations," he admitted, his voice light but carrying a note of real disdain.

"Oh?" she teased. "Not a fan of dehydrated mystery stew?"

Jack groaned audibly, and Audrey laughed again. "You have no idea how bad those things are," he said, shaking his head, though his tone remained playful. "The taste stays with you. I haven't been able to stomach that since my time in the army."

"What's so bad about them?" she pressed, her voice filled with mock innocence, as if she were trying to sell it to him. Only then she realized that she actually had negotiated the DoD contracts for the delivery of some tons of nutrition. "I thought they were designed to be practical. Nutritious. Packed with energy." She remembered that day. Long ago. She and a colleague had successfully negotiated a better delivery price. And right now she felt a little bad – because maybe they'd also swapped the tasteless version to an even more tasteless variant.

"They taste like wet cardboard," Jack shot back, a grin tugging at his lips. "If you're lucky. If not, they taste like wet cardboard that's been left in the sun too long."

Audrey couldn't stop herself from laughing. "And here I thought you'd built up an immunity to things like that after so many years."

"Immunity?" Jack repeated with mock offense. "No one builds up immunity to something that terrible. Not even me."

"I see," Audrey said, her tone teasing. "So that's why you stockpile chocolate. The hardened survivalist's secret weapon."

"Exactly," Jack said with a chuckle. "That and coffee. But coffee doesn't travel so well on a bike."

Audrey's smile widened as she reclined further into her couch. "So, the big bad survivalist has a weakness for chocolate? What other secrets are you hiding, Bauer?"

Jack hesitated just long enough for her to pick up on his playful reluctance. "I might've… once traded a week's worth of rations for a bag of peanut butter M and Ms . Large one."

"Oh, starving a week just for a bag of M and Ms?"

"No, not starving…" He paused, searching for the right words. "Let's say…I just… got a hold of them."

Audrey's voice sharpened with amusement. "You mean you stole them?"

Jack chuckled, his tone unrepentant. "Yeah, I stole them. And I'd do it again. It was worth it." He paused briefly before adding, his voice a mix of nonchalance and humor, "The door to the supply stock was open. The private on duty watching it didn't even question what a Captain was doing there. I walked in, gave him some task to distract him, took what I wanted, and walked out again." He still had to laugh, almost twenty years later, and he added, as if it made him a saint, "I could have done that many more times. But I didn't."

Audrey gasped in mock scandal, her laughter bubbling through the line. "Jack Bauer, compromising military discipline for candy?"

He laughed, the sound deep and unapologetic. "You try spending five weeks in the desert eating nothing but those ration packs, and tell me you wouldn't do the same."

Audrey grinned, "You probably could've had me for a bag of M and Ms."

Jack's laugh softened, warming her in a way she couldn't quite explain. "I knew you'd understand."

"Understand?" Audrey echoed, forcing herself to keep the light tone. "Jack, you don't know me nearly well enough if you think I'd only understand. I'd have gotten you more than one bag."

Jack let out another laugh, this one quieter, as though he were picturing it. "I can see it now. Two snatchers, teaming up to raid the supply stock."

Audrey feigned seriousness. "No, no. Not snatchers. Maybe just one. You do the snatching. I'd like to consider myself more of a… strategic negotiator. In both our favors, of course."

Jack grinned, the banter warming him in a way the radiator couldn't. "Strategic negotiator. I like that. On my side, for once."

The words hung in the air, and his grin softened as his mind drifted. He liked the idea—liked the thought of a strategic negotiator being on his side. For so many years, the people with that title—or at least the power behind it—hadn't really been allies. They'd sat behind desks, made decisions from air-conditioned offices, and left him stranded in the field to take the blame if things went wrong – and if they didn't, they were always the quickest to carry off the laurels.

But as Audrey's voice lingered in his ear, he realized something. She had always been a strategic negotiator. But not like the others. From the first moment they'd met, she'd been on his side. Quietly, steadily, but always there.

He thought back to before his undercover mission in Mexico. She'd slipped him the questions for the psychological evaluation, risking her position just to give him an edge. It wasn't a grand gesture, but back then, it had meant a lot. And later, she'd known about his addiction—long before anyone else—and yet she hadn't exposed him. Instead, she'd covered for him, in her own quiet way, thousands of miles away over in DC.

And after everything had collapsed, when he'd been at rock bottom, she'd shown up. The memory of her pulling him into rehab was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. She'd just done it, showed up in his life for just an hour, dragging him out of the pit he'd fallen into. She'd saved his life that day, plain and simple. And since then, she'd continued to be there for him in ways no one else ever had. The late-night calls, everything they'd talked about—it was something he couldn't explain but knew he couldn't live without.

This, he realized, was the real rehab. Not the sterile walls of the facility, the endless lectures, or the steps he'd memorized. It was her. Audrey. Her being there for him, her willingness to listen. For the first time in his life, he had someone he could tell everything to—because of her security clearance, because she was willing to put up with all his shit. He couldn't put it into words—it felt too big, too raw—but it was endlessly worthy.

Their shared laughter trailed into a comfortable silence, the kind that felt unforced and easy. But as Audrey sat there, the warmth of their conversation lingering, she found her smile faltering slightly. She couldn't shake the thought that, at least indirectly, she might have contributed to moments like this—moments where soldiers like Jack had to "strategically negotiate" to avoid the misery of ration packs.

Years ago, during a DoD budget review, she'd argued—persuasively, she remembered—for a cheaper supplier. It hadn't seemed like a big deal at the time, just numbers on a spreadsheet. But now, hearing Jack's disdain for those very packs, she felt a pang of guilt twist in her chest. How many soldiers had suffered even worse than Jack, through weeks of even less tasteless meals just because she'd been proud of saving a fraction of the DoD budget?

She glanced at the phone in her hand, Jack's voice still fresh in her mind. He'd laughed about it, but after all he'd already told her she knew how hard those months must have been for him, in the desert, during war, separated from his family, an endless series of harsh missions ahead. And every simple thing could have felt like salvation, if just for a little time. She vowed silently to herself that the next time someone proposed cutting corners on something as basic as rations, she'd think of Jack. She'd think of the men in the desert, and vow to make their life a little more bearable. And she'd realized that sometimes, the smallest things mattered most.

She shifted slightly, pulling herself back to the present. "How are you navigating?" she asked after a moment, her voice light again.

"Normal road map," Jack said. "Picked it up in Seattle ten days ago."

The mention of Seattle sent a flicker of thought racing through Audrey's mind. Her own upcoming business trip there loomed, just ten days away. For a moment, she considered telling him. If he knew, she was certain he'd make an effort to meet her there. But even imagining it made her heart race and her pulse quicken. Meeting. The idea had been lingering in the back of her mind for weeks now, ever since their calls became a lifeline she couldn't imagine going without.

Her face flushed slightly as her thoughts spiraled. What if he did try to meet her? She could already picture it—Jack cutting his trip short, driving recklessly across frozen roads just to get to Seattle in time. She couldn't bear the thought of being the reason he'd do something so dangerous. It had taken ten days for him to get from Seattle to Anchorage. He could possibly do the way back in the same time.
No, she decided. She wouldn't tell him. It was better this way, better to keep things as they were, even if part of her ached at the thought.

Still, the idea refused to leave her mind. Meeting. It suddenly felt possible, something she'd never dared to truly imagine. Jack had always been out of reach, and the rational part of her mind kept insisting that was for the best. But the other part—the one that whispered quietly in the moments between their calls—hoped. Just for a moment, it hoped.

"Jack," she began softly, almost unsure whether to ask. "How long are you planning to stay in Alaska?"

He was silent for a moment, and she could picture him staring at the floor or glancing toward the window, weighing his options. "Not more than a few days," he finally admitted. His voice softened, quieter now. "I want to be back home in time… for something important."

Audrey tilted her head slightly, sensing there was more to this. But she didn't ask. If he wanted to tell her, he would. If not, she'd not press him.

Jack exhaled slowly, his breath catching faintly in the line. "In 17 days, it'll be the fourth anniversary of Teri's death. I want to be home for Kim… if she even lets me," he added, his voice laced with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

As he spoke, his eyes drifted down to his hand, to the wedding ring he still wore. He turned it absently with his thumb. It had become a habit he barely noticed anymore, except in moments like this. Moments where the weight of the ring felt heavier than ever.

Wearing it had always been a tether to Teri, a way of honoring her memory. But now, as he spoke to Audrey, it felt different—awkward, almost wrong. Not because he felt like he was betraying Teri; no, that wasn't it. He had to admit that he'd come to terms with her absence long ago, though the grief still lingered. It was something deeper, more complicated. For the first time, he wondered if wearing the ring was unfair—not to Teri, but to Audrey.

He could feel it now, the faint sting of guilt tugging at the edges of his thoughts. Audrey knew about the ring. She had never urged him to take it off, had never even hinted at it. But sitting here, speaking to her, something felt wrong about it.

Jack swallowed hard, his thumb still brushing against the ring. He didn't say anything about it. Instead, he let the silence linger for a moment before exhaling again, his voice softer now. "I just… I want to be there for her. For Kim. I hope she lets me."

Audrey closed her eyes for a moment, absorbing the weight of his words. She could hear the strain in his voice, the vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. "I'm sure she will," she said softly, her voice steady with reassurance. "Kim loves you, Jack. Even if things have been complicated, she'll see that you're trying. That you're being there for her."

Jack let out a faint, humorless laugh. "Yeah, well… being there hasn't exactly been my strong suit."

Audrey smiled faintly, though he couldn't see it. "Maybe not," she said quietly, "but I think it's what matters now."

There was a pause, the silence between them holding more than words could. She finally realized how important it was for him to be back in LA in 17 days. She did the math – he actually should get going back right away. "Jack…", she began, unsure of what to say, keeping her tone practical. "That's… that's a tight schedule, isn't it? I mean, it took you ten days just to get from Seattle to Alaska. Going all the way back to L.A. in 17 …"

Jack let out a quiet sigh, a small chuckle buried somewhere in it. "Yeah," he admitted, the faintest hint of resignation in his voice. "It's a tight plan."

Audrey could sense there was more beneath his words, and she waited. Sure enough, after a pause, he spoke again, his reluctance evident. "I've… been thinking about another option. There's a ferry from Homer to British Columbia. It'd bypass the toughest part of the ride through the Yukon."

Audrey leaned forward slightly, her brow furrowing. She understood immediately why he sounded so hesitant—this wasn't just about logistics. For Jack, this trip wasn't just a journey; it was something deeply personal, a promise he believed he had to fulfill. Taking the ferry probably felt like cheating, like breaking that promise. Still, the idea of him riding back under time pressure, through the same unforgiving terrain, sent a chill down her spine.

"It could save you a lot of time," she said carefully, her voice even. But what she really meant was it could save you a lot of danger. She didn't say it aloud, knowing he wouldn't want to hear it. But the thought of Jack pushing himself through that terrain, after what she already knew—and suspected—about his trip, made her stomach twist.

Jack didn't respond immediately, and Audrey could feel the weight of his hesitation over the line. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. "I don't know. It feels… wrong, I guess. Like I'd be giving up. Teri and I—we'd planned this trip. The ride to Alaska. We never talked about taking shortcuts."

Audrey smiled faintly, her tone softening. "Did you ever talk about the ride back?"

Jack's chuckle was low and quiet. He instantly felt that she was trying to sell him the ferry. "No. But we probably wouldn't have had the money for the ferry anyway."

Audrey hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around the phone. She didn't know whether to press further. The idea of Jack back on those icy roads, rushing to make it home in time for Kim—it terrified her. Yet if she said nothing, he'd likely stick to his current plan, and the gnawing fear of what might happen if he did wouldn't leave her.

The words were on the tip of her tongue, urging him to take the safer route, but something held her back. Who was she to interfere like this? To suggest that he change his plans, alter the path he believed he had to follow? Her thoughts twisted in on themselves, turning over the weight of it all.

And then, almost unbidden, one thought came back to her. Seattle. In about 12 days, she had a business meeting there. That would give him a reason. Something that might nudge him toward the ferry—not as a betrayal of old plans, but as a chance for something different, something rare. But as soon as the idea surfaced, she faltered.

Would meeting him even be a good idea? Her heart quickened at the thought. Meeting Jack carried implications she wasn't sure she was ready to face, ones she wasn't even sure he wanted to face. For weeks now, their calls had been a lifeline—an outlet, a source of comfort—but meeting in person? That was different. It would be real. Tangible. And there would be no way to keep it discreet. And by the way, she actually wasn't supposed to tell anyone outside DoD about her schedule.

She wouldn't be alone in Seattle. The Secret Service would be with her every step of the way, their presence impossible to ignore. What then? Introduce him to Agent Garrett and Callahan? Sit in a café while they hovered nearby, writing notes into one of their reports: Friday, March 16th, 16:00: Audrey Raines met Jack Bauer. Seattle. She shuddered at the thought, the idea of her private connection with Jack exposed and catalogued, stripped of its intimacy and covertness.

And yet… there was a part of her that wanted it. Craved it, even. The thought of finding some way—any way—to slip free of these constraints and meet him tugged at her heart. But it wasn't just about her. The thought of Jack pushing himself through snow and ice, clinging to a promise made to someone who was no longer here, made her stomach twist. Maybe this wasn't just coincidence. Maybe it was a sign—a rare chance to steer him toward the safer path.

The decision hung there, for a few moments. Then, almost without thinking, she spoke.

"I'll be in Seattle next week," she said softly, the words escaping before she could stop them.

They hung in the air between them, fragile but charged, shifting something unspoken into the open. And suddenly, everything felt different.

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