Arriving back in LA

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Jack tightened his grip on the handlebars, weaving through the packed lanes of traffic on the outskirts of Los Angeles. The growl of the engine beneath him was both a comfort and a strain, a sound he had lived with for weeks now but was ready to leave behind. Four lanes of crawling cars stretched ahead, the bottleneck caused by yet another accident. Jack had seen too many of those lately—blinking hazard lights, frustrated drivers leaning on their horns, the faint wail of sirens in the distance.

He slowed down, but the bike at least gave him a chance to keep moving at all. He guided the bike between the lines of cars, his eyes scanning for sudden doors or impatient drivers attempting lane changes without warning.

An hour left. That thought was enough to propel him forward. LA felt like gravity pulling him closer with every mile. Kim was there. He was returning for her, for today—a day he couldn't avoid, no matter how much he tried to block it from his mind. Four years ago, today, Teri had been killed. Even now, he couldn't let himself think too deeply about it. But the memories crept in anyway, unbidden and sharp. The moment he'd found her in that server room – the minutes in which he'd believed she could still be saved, until finally he had to realized that it had been too late. The endless emptiness that had followed.

Jack shifted slightly in the seat, trying to ease the tightness in his back.

The ride had been grueling. The three days on the ferry from Homer to Canada had been the only days he'd not spent on the bike—a chance to let his body recover, if only slightly, from the relentless cold and exhaustion of the trip. But since then, he'd been back on the road, every day. Sometimes four hours, but mostly seven or more. It took a toll.

The day before yesterday, he had left Seattle behind. Early Friday morning, while the city still slept, he had mounted the bike and ridden away. He hadn't dared to glance at the rearview mirror, to see the skyline fading behind him. He couldn't bear to look back, couldn't bear the thought of Audrey still being there, even just for one more day. The thought of her lingered with him, though. Her smile, her laugh, the quiet way she had pressed her body against his during their ride. He couldn't think about it now. Not today. But even now, he could still feel her hands on his chest. Or was it a memory of Teri's? From more than twenty years ago?

Keep going, he just told himself.

The memories and the miles had blurred together. Friday had been a brutal nine hours on the bike, crossing Oregon and reaching Northern California. At least the weather had cooperated. Yesterday had been a different story. The rain had started early, heavy and unrelenting, and it hadn't let up. What should have been a six-hour ride to Sacramento had stretched to nearly ten.

He'd waited out the first accident in the warmth of a roadside café, sipping lukewarm coffee and watching the rain pound against the windows. But the second? He'd been too tired, too wet already, and too determined to stop again. He had guided his bike into the narrow space between lanes of nearly static traffic, five miles in the downpour that had been dangerous, but waiting would have been worse. By the time he reached the motel, his jacket and leather pants were soaked through, his fingers stiff and he felt like an icicle that would break upon a sudden movement. He had stumbled into the room, collapsed onto the bed, and been asleep within minutes. Even the warm shower he'd promised himself had to wait.

This morning, he had forced himself to look in the mirror, to confront the version of himself that had returned after just two days on the road. He was street-worn again. His face was shadowed with stubble, and the face that looked back at him showed clearly what he didn't allow himself to acknowledge: the exhaustion. It wasn't who he wanted to be—not for Kim. Not for anyone. He had to be better.

So he had shaved, letting the warm water run over his face, washing away more than just the grime of the journey. He'd put on clean clothes, the last he had left, and packed the still-damp leather pants into his bag. Today, he'd ride in jeans, the ones he'd worn Thursday, meeting Audrey, because they seemed to be some of the last dry pieces of clothes he still had.

Now, as he neared the city, the weather had finally improved. The sky was overcast but at least dry. It was manageable—just four hours today. Manageable.

He shifted again, the ache in his back flaring briefly before settling into a dull throb. He was freezing. But it didn't matter. LA was close now. Kim was close.

His hands tightened on the handlebars as he thought about her. He hadn't seen her in weeks. Not since the day after his birthday – and now, it was mid-March. He didn't know how she'd respond to him showing up today. But he couldn't stay away. Not today.

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to ease. His arms ached, his back screamed for relief, and so he pushed forward. The city was pulling him in. Kim was pulling him in. And maybe, just maybe, he could finally let himself believe that him being there for her today would be something good for the both of them.

Just a little further now. Just an hour. Manageable.

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As Jack pulled into her driveway, he was still searching for the right words to say. For the past thirty minutes, he'd ridden slowly in traffic, thinking, replaying, discarding one idea after another. The anniversary. Of course, he couldn't just come home and not mention it at all. Kim would know why he had returned today—today, of all days. There was no way around a conversation that would inevitably circle back to Teri: her memory, their loss, and that awful day four years ago.

But what could he even say that he hadn't already tried saying the last three times? Getting snubbed, seeing her run off, having awkward minutes that left them both remembering how shattered they'd been four years ago.

The last hundred yards were quiet except for the bike's engine, a sound he kept as low as possible. He killed the engine and sat there for a moment. He dragged out everything, removing the keys, removing his helmet, buying himself a few extra moments to think, to prepare.

The door opened before he'd even freed the helmet, and Kim was there in the doorway. For a second, his stomach clenched. Damn it, she'd heard the bike anyway. Had she been waiting for him? Was she angry? But then he saw her smile. Not a wide grin, not one of forced politeness, but a small, warm smile that carried years of understanding. A smile that said she already knew why he was coming back today, and that she was happy about it.

She was holding Angela in her arms as she stepped outside. The little girl was growing so fast. And she so much reminded him of Kim, back twenty years. Jack felt a strange ache in his chest as Kim walked up to him and gave him a hug.

"Hey, Dad," she said softly.

"Hey." He hugged her back, still at a loss for words. But maybe he didn't need words. They weren't going to talk about Teri, were they? Not in detail. They hadn't in a long time. Every attempt had ended in a quick, painful exchange before one or both of them found an excuse to change the subject. Maybe they'd grown wiser now, or maybe they'd just grown tired of it.

"You could have called more often," Kim said as she stepped back, her smile turning faintly reproachful. "I was already getting worried."

"Sorry about that," Jack said, his voice a little hoarse. She wasn't wrong. He hadn't called often. Once, near San Francisco, after seeing Tony. Another time after he'd left Reid's place.

Since then, radio silence.

"Come on in."

She practically dragged him off the bike, leaving him juggling his helmet, keys, and bag as she led the way inside.

To Jack's surprise, the house wasn't empty. Chase was there, of course, but so were Chloe and Michelle. It caught him off guard, though it probably shouldn't have. They'd been colleagues, friends. Of course they knew about today. But seeing them—especially Chloe and Michelle—stirred a mix of emotions. For them, this was the first time seeing Jack clean. Or hopefully clean, he imagined they were thinking. The awkwardness in the air was palpable.

The greetings were stilted, neither warm nor cold, just… odd. Someone poured Jack a cup of coffee, and the questions began. How was the trip? Where had he gone? Why Alaska? It wasn't like talking to Audrey. Audrey hadn't asked these questions because she'd already known the answers. Here, though, Jack felt uncomfortable, exposed. He kept his answers vague, trying to be polite without giving too much away. Eventually, they lost interest, and the conversation fizzled.

Chase's hand was no longer in a sling, but Jack could see it still wasn't fully functional. His fingers moved stiffly, almost painfully. Michelle, meanwhile, stayed mostly silent, deflecting any mentions of Tony. Chloe, in her usual way, was bluntly awkward, navigating social interactions like a minefield.

It was Chloe who broke the unspoken rule, bringing up Jack's addiction. "I just wanted to say… I'm sorry," she said abruptly, her voice cutting through the lull in conversation. "For finding out about it and… selling you out. I mean, back then."

The table fell silent. All eyes were on Jack, waiting for him to respond. He knew they expected some token of forgiveness—a casual "it's fine" or "you had to do it." But he couldn't bring himself to offer those words. That moment had been a turning point in his life, one that had cost him so much.

He stared into his coffee, thinking of the path his life might have taken if Chloe hadn't discovered the truth. He'd still have his job. He'd still be fixing. But then what? He lifted his gaze, locking eyes with Chloe, and said the only words that felt honest.

"Thank you."

Chloe blinked, startled. "You don't have to thank me for apologizing," she said, confused.

"It's not for the apology," Jack clarified. "It's for doing the right thing back then. For having the guts to confront the truth."

"Jack…" Chloe hesitated, her brow furrowing. "You lost your job because of it. If I hadn't made it public, Driscoll—"

"Chloe," Jack interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. "I'm in the right place now."

The table was quiet again, the weight of his words settling over them. Chloe lowered her gaze, returning to her coffee, clearly realizing she'd overstepped. Yet, a flood of questions buzzed in her mind, threatening to spill out. How had he finally gotten away from the drugs? Why had he gone to rehab, when it had seemed like he didn't care about his own life in those final weeks at CTU? What was he planning to do now? Was he coming back? Would he be her boss again? Or was he looking for something else entirely? Could he even find a job, given everything that had happened?

But that small, cautious voice inside her—the one she often ignored—whispered that she'd already pushed too far. That she'd treaded too close to the boundaries Jack rarely let anyone cross. And maybe these questions weren't hers to ask. But why didn't the others ask them? Didn't they care at all?
She glanced at him again, watching his focus drift, and bit her tongue, letting the moment pass.

Michelle left shortly after, though she lingered long enough to make it clear her departure wasn't because of Jack. Chase and Kim excused themselves to put Angela to bed, leaving Jack and Chloe alone.

"You all meet often?" Jack asked, making an effort at small talk.

"Sometimes," Chloe replied. "And today, of course, we wouldn't leave her alone." She paused, her face falling as she realized what she'd just said. "That was inappropriate. I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," Jack said quietly.

"It's not," Chloe insisted. "You probably came by to be with her. I should go." She finished her coffee quickly and left without further protest.

When Kim returned to the living room, Jack was sitting alone, his cup of coffee still half-full.

"Looks like I drove all your friends away," he said casually, though the comment carried a hint of sadness. Not for himself, but for her.

Kim sighed as she sat down beside him. "I'd rather have you here," she said. "They're just…"

"They're uncomfortable with me in the room," Jack finished for her.

"You need to give them time. It's the first time you've seen them since you left CTU."

Jack nodded, staring into his cup. Enough time had passed now, and it felt right to address what they'd all been avoiding. "I'd like to visit her grave," he said finally, his voice soft but steady.

"Me too," Kim replied, meeting his eyes. Her sadness mirrored his, but there was something else there too: strength. An unspoken promise that together, they could face this.

For Jack, the visit felt like the true conclusion of his journey. It wasn't Alaska that had been his destination all along, he realized. It was this.

"You still got your helmet?" he asked, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. He remembered buying it with her years ago, back when she'd dated that awful guy with the motorcycle—Vincent. How he'd hated that guy, seeing too much of his younger self in him.

Kim laughed. "You want me to ride with you?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Why not?" she echoed with a shrug, grinning as she got up to search for the helmet. "Think back. Five years," she murmured, smirking, almost to herself, as she disappeared down the hallway.

Ten minutes later, they were outside. Jack flipped down the footrests on the bike, this time not for Audrey, but for Kim.

The ride felt different. Kim wasn't Audrey, and she wasn't Teri either. She was his daughter, the one person in the world he cared about more than anything, and Jack rode with her the way only a father could—with measured care, as if keeping her safe was all that mattered. And as they rode, his thoughts somehow circled back three days, to the speeding ticket he got in Seattle. The memory brought a faint smile to his lips, a moment of quiet amusement he quickly tucked away. One thing was certain—he'd never tell Kim about it. And he'd never pull a stunt like that with her riding behind him.

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As they stood at Teri's grave, a long, but not awkward silence settled over them. Kim gently placed the single red rose Jack had bought at the flower stand just outside the cemetery walls onto the headstone. Now, they stood side by side, helmets in hand, lost in thought.

It was Kim who finally broke the quiet. "I went through the photo album you left with me," she said softly.

"You did?" Jack turned toward her, his voice carrying a note of surprise.

"Yeah," she nodded. "I hadn't realized you and Mom went on so many trips together on your bike."

"We did," Jack replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "But, you know... it was all we had back then."

"Why?" she asked, tilting her head to look at him.

"We just couldn't afford a car," Jack said, running a hand through his hair. "We were both students, struggling to get by. We didn't even have health insurance. It was... crazy. Just imagine if we'd crashed or gotten hurt."

Kim laughed lightly, shaking her head. "You're starting to sound like Dad again."

"Do I?" Jack chuckled, glancing at her.

"Yeah, you do," she said with a teasing smile, leaning against his side. Jack wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer as they returned to their shared silence.

After a moment, Kim spoke again. "If you and Mom both loved riding so much, then why was it always such a big deal when I rode with Vincent?"

Jack let out a low laugh, the sound warm and nostalgic. "Because your mom and I both remembered how reckless I rode back in the '80s."

"Reckless? You?" Kim said, feigning mock disbelief. But they both knew it was a joke—recklessness might as well have been Jack's middle name. "But Mom?!", she added, this time really surprised.

"She loved the freedom," Jack said, his voice softening. He let the memories wash over him. "The air, the speed… even the recklessness, sometimes."

Kim smiled at that, her expression thoughtful. "It's a pity I had to wait this long to ride with you for the first time."

Jack glanced at her, a wistful look softening his features. "Well... technically, this isn't your first ride with me."

Kim tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Jack's gaze drifted, the present slipping away as his mind traveled back in time. "In 1986, your mom and I took one last big trip on the bike," he said, his voice laced with nostalgia. "We rode to Vegas… to get married."

Kim leaned her head gently against his shoulder, a small smile playing on her lips. "I saw the photos," she murmured. She had done the math long ago; the timing made everything clear. Jack and Teri hadn't rushed to Vegas for adventure—they'd gone because of her.

Jack smiled faintly, the memory vivid as though it had happened yesterday. "Yeah. I even stuck to the speed limits for once," he said with a quiet chuckle. "Probably the first time ever. Your mom laughed at me the whole way."

His voice softened, and his expression turned tender. "But it wasn't just the two of us anymore, you know. You were with us, too."

Kim's face softened, her expression shifting to one of quiet awe.

Jack continued to recount his memories. "Your mom was just a few months along. Her baby bump wasn't much, barely visible… but I could swear I felt it. Against my back, every mile of that ride."

Kim's eyes glistened, and without hesitation, she reached for his hand, holding it tightly. They stood together in silence, the weight of Teri's memory filling the space between them, wrapping around them like a warm embrace.

For a long moment, she just breathed in the stillness, letting the pictures settle over her. And then, something clicked—an understanding she hadn't reached before. She saw now why Jack had to go to Alaska, why he'd chosen to make that long, solitary trip. Five weeks ago, when he had said, "It was Teri's dream," she'd dismissed it. Back then, it had sounded like a weak excuse, a flimsy justification for yet another reckless and impulsive decision.

But now, as they stood by Teri's grave, the truth became clearer. Her mother had been with him every mile of that ride. Jack hadn't been running away. He'd been chasing those memories, trying to reconnect. And now, finally, they were spilling over—right here, where Teri's presence felt strongest.

He started sharing stories—little anecdotes about the early days with Teri, the things they used to laugh about, the adventures they'd shared. Kim listened intently, sometimes laughing, sometimes silent.

And somehow, as they stood together at the grave, it felt as though Teri was there with them—not just a memory but a presence, steady and comforting. She was in the stories, in their laughter, in every silence. She would always be with them.

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