Denver – evening

.

.

.

Audrey had already settled in for the night. The silk blouse she'd worn all day now hung neatly in the closet, and her feet finally relished the relief of being free from her high heels. She'd changed into pajamas—simple, comfortable—and was ready for bed. But there was still one thing she had to do. Something that had become a nightly ritual over the past two weeks. She reached for her phone on the nightstand and hit the call button. Paul expected her to check in, and she didn't want to disappoint him.

The phone rang twice before he answered, his voice carrying that easy charm she had once found so comforting.

"Hey," he greeted. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me."

Audrey smiled faintly, adjusting the pillows behind her. "No. It's just been a long day."

"Busy?" Paul asked, his tone light but curious.

"Always," she replied, her voice giving nothing away. "Meetings, discussions… you know the drill."

"Still all top secret?" he teased.

"Of course," she said, playing along. "I could tell you, but…"

"Then you'd have to kill me," he finished with a chuckle. "Miss Secrecy."

Her smile lingered, though it felt faintly rehearsed. "Denver's fine, though. Hotter than I expected."

"Hotter than D.C.?" Paul mused. "How unexpected."

She let out a little laugh. "Like you said."

"Well, at least you're getting a change of scenery. That's good, right?"

"Yeah," she said softly, thinking back to the conversation they'd had in San Francisco. That she needed a change of scenery, that DC was feeling like a cage. "It's… good."

Before the conversation could drift into deeper waters, a knock sounded at her door. Audrey glanced toward it, frowning slightly.

"Paul, I've got to go," she said quickly. "It's probably my dad. He must've forgotten something. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Okay," Paul said easily. "Sleep well, Audrey."

"You too," she replied warmly before ending the call.

She tossed the phone onto the bed and made her way to the door, her bare feet silent against the carpet. Pulling it open, she froze momentarily at the sight of Jack standing there, her scarf in his hand.

"You… forgot this," he said, his tone hesitant. His eyes flickered briefly over her, taking in her pajamas, and a faint smile tugged at his lips.

Audrey noticed the shift in his expression, the warmth in his smile, and felt her cheeks heat. "Thank you," she said, taking the scarf from him. "Not that I needed it. I've just been carrying it from one place to the next."

Jack nodded politely, his smile softening into something more neutral. He was getting ready to leave, ready to say goodbye with a silent smile.

He began to step back, but Audrey called after him. "Wait."

He paused, turning back to her with a curious look.

She glanced at her wristwatch, then back at him. Half an hour had passed since she left the lobby. "Did my father… grill you again today?"

Jack's lips quirked faintly, and he took a step closer, leaning casually against the doorframe. "What makes you think he was?"

Audrey folded her arms, leaning slightly against the door. "Just a feeling. The way he's been asking questions during the flight… it must've been uncomfortable."

Jack exhaled softly, his gaze steady but thoughtful. For a moment he forgot about heading back over to his room. He stepped closer again. "It's not easy, but I understand why he's doing it. He's taken a risk hiring someone like me. It's something I had to face sooner or later."

Audrey nodded, understanding the weight of his words. "I'm glad he likes what he sees."

Jack tilted his head slightly, his expression turning contemplative. "Audrey," he said, his voice quieter now, "I know you must have vouched for me. He would have never taken that chance otherwise. Thank you."

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she felt her chest tighten. It was the first time ever that he mentioned this so directly. It would be so easy to lie, to let him believe she'd been the one to push for his hiring. It would mean so much to him, she could see that. He already believed it. She just needed to say yes and confirm his thoughts. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't deceive him like that.

She forced a faint smile. "You'd never guess who vouched for you.", she said, giving him an evasive answer. She didn't openly say that she didn't vouch for him. But she deflected, bringing in another person.

Jack's brow furrowed slightly, curiosity sparking in his eyes. "Who?"

Before she could answer, a Secret Service agent rounded the corner of the hallway, nodding politely to both of them. Audrey and Jack glanced at each other, then back at the agent, who continued his patrol without a word.

"What's he going to think," Audrey asked, glancing at her wristwatch, after he was out of earshot "if we're still standing here in fifteen minutes?"

Jack chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. "Probably the same thing he already is."

She laughed despite herself, shaking her head. "Come in," she said, stepping back and gesturing toward the room. "I'll tell you. But you can't let my father know you know."

Jack hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, closing the door behind him. The memory of the last time this had happened hung in the air, unspoken but palpable. Last time one of them had invited the other into their hotel room. He took a seat at one end of the couch, keeping a noticeable distance between them. His posture was relaxed but deliberate, a silent statement that he wasn't going to push any boundaries tonight.

Audrey sat on the opposite end, her legs tucked beneath her. She studied him for a moment before speaking. "David Palmer."

Jack blinked, caught off guard. "Palmer?"

She nodded, her smile softening. "My father ran into him at the Correspondents' Dinner. Asked about you. Palmer said he'd be a fool not to hire you."

Jack leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he processed the revelation. "Palmer…" he murmured. He glanced up at her, his expression a mix of gratitude and disbelief. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," she replied softly. "Just… don't let my father find out that you know. He'd hate that I told you. And don't tell Palmer either."

Jack nodded, a faint smile returning to his lips. "Your secret's safe with me. It's been a while since I last spoke to Palmer."

Audrey leaned back against the couch, watching Jack as he sat there, staring at the carpet as though it held the answers to his surprise. His expression was a fascinating mix of gratitude, disbelief, and something quieter—almost reverence. She couldn't help but smile. It was rare to see him genuinely caught off guard.

"Thank you," he said quietly, breaking the silence.

Audrey tilted her head, curious. "For what?"

"For everything," Jack replied simply. "For telling me the truth."

She smiled faintly, feeling a twinge of guilt. Well, she hadn't really told him the full truth—that she hadn't vouched for him at all—but she had been truthful enough not to outright lie. It was a fine line, but one she was willing to walk.

Jack shifted slightly, sitting straighter. "I should go. It's late."

Audrey nodded, though a part of her didn't want him to leave. "Okay. We'll meet at eight. They're expecting us at eight-thirty."

Jack chuckled softly. "I have a feeling the general's going to roast me tomorrow."

Audrey laughed lightly. "Why? Because you showed him up today, in front of his whole team?"

"Yeah, that could be the reason."

"Then why did you do it?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

Jack hesitated, surprised by her question. It was the kind of question only a politician would ask, and Audrey's tone made it clear she wasn't judging—just seeking to understand.

"Because he just dealt us bullshit," Jack said plainly, leaning forward slightly. "And I knew it was going to happen this way."

Jack settled into his thoughts, his voice low but deliberate, as he started to explain his reasoning. "The thing about this matrix project is that it's already politically charged. Congress wants to align the training standards across the military branches, and on paper, that makes sense. But in reality? The branches have been operating independently for so long that it's like trying to merge completely different organizations….

As Jack spoke, Audrey sat back on the couch, her eyes on him but her thoughts wandering. She watched his hands, gesturing subtly as he explained his perspective. His voice became a kind of background hum—steady, warm, comforting. She let herself drift.

"…Take the Navy, for example. The general's pushing their standards as the gold standard, but they're so far removed from what the Army, Air Force, or any other agencies are doing. Their approach isn't wrong—hell, in some ways, it's brilliant—but it's also so specialized that aligning it with the rest of the branches feels impossible…"

Her mind wandered back four months, to another hotel room, another late-night conversation. That night had started just like this—talking on a couch, sharing thoughts, and then crossing the line. She remembered the way Jack's body had felt beneath her hands. The memory sent a shiver through her, and before she could stop herself, her mind filled with the image of him, his tattoos that would become visible if he just shrugged off his shirt.

"…And that's where the general's digging in his heels. He knows the differences are a convenient excuse not to align at all. It lets him hold onto his turf, keep the rivalry alive, and avoid making any compromises. But if we stay in this cycle, the gap only grows. Ten years from now, the branches won't just be misaligned—they'll be incompatible. …"

Her gaze flicked to him now, seated across from her, composed in his suit and tie. Yet beneath the crisp fabric, she knew, were the marks of a life lived on the edge. He was speaking with an energy that seemed to radiate from him. It was clear that the job was important to him. His full attention, his sharp mind, and his unwavering determination were all in it. He wasn't just explaining the details; he was conveying why this mattered, why it deserved to matter, and why he was pouring his energy into it. But Audrey's thoughts were somewhere totally else. They weren't at the project, neither were they at work. Her mind was lost to the days four months ago, as she had still known so little about him. Back then, he had been a stranger she'd dragged into rehab. She could still see herself standing at the front desk, filling out his intake form, realizing that even though she had slept with him once, she couldn't even answer the simplest questions—not his birthdate, not his address, not even the basics of who he was beyond a name. But now, just a few months later, even though she had seen him only a few days ever since, it felt like she'd known Jack forever.

"… Then there's the personnel issue. You can't retrain older Navy operators who've been doing things a certain way for decades. It's not just a matter of skill—it's muscle memory, habits ingrained from years of service. And if we train new recruits differently, they won't be able to integrate with the older ones. It's a vicious cycle: the differences keep getting reinforced, and nothing ever changes. …"

Nothing ever changes. The words triggered something. Her thoughts shifted abruptly to Paul. Should she feel guilty for thinking about Jack this way, while she was trying to rebuild her life with her husband? A pang of doubt hit her, but she brushed it aside. These are just thoughts, she told herself. Nothing more. She'd never act on them. Jack was someone who had leant his voice during some of the lonely evenings. He was just the one whose presence had shown her how lonely she actually was. A fire starter. But she remembered the words her best friend in high school had told her: What burns bright like a straw fire doesn't burn for long. What keeps warm for a long time is the smoldering embers—unassuming, but enduring.

"…Congress's goal is logical—they want to make it easier for people to transfer between branches. But let's be honest, Audrey: that's not going to happen. The rivalry between the branches is too deeply entrenched. The general wouldn't even want to take people from other branches. He doesn't trust their training, and frankly, they wouldn't trust his either. It's not just logistics; it's culture…."

She tried to picture Paul sitting there instead of Jack. The image felt flat, lacking the spark that could start a fire. With Paul, conversations had become basic—polite exchanges that filled the air but never reached below the surface. And she also realized why: because half of her life was classified. Because she could barely talk about anything that mattered to her. Maybe it was too harsh to blame it on him why their conversations were so shallow.

Jack's voice pulled her back to the present. He turned to her, his expression expectant. "What do you think, Audrey?", he asked her.

Audrey blinked, realizing she hadn't heard most of what he'd said. Her heart skipped, and she forced herself to smile, masking her lapse in attention. "I agree," she said simply.

Audrey watched as Jack exhaled a long, weary sigh. "Oh, lord," he muttered, leaning back into the couch and dragging his hands through his hair. His arms rested over his face, obscuring his expression, but she could feel the tension radiating from him. Her heart sank slightly—what had she just agreed to?

She searched her mind desperately, trying to recall his words. "Why is it so bad?" she asked cautiously, her tone gentle.

Jack dropped his arms and looked at her, his expression both exasperated and bemused. "That he's going to get an armada of high ranking Navy officers and tear my arguments from today into pieces? Probably five against one, to embarrass me in front of your father?" He repeated his earlier question, his voice tinged with frustration. "Tell me what's good about that!"

Audrey laughed, unable to help herself. His intensity was familiar, almost endearing in its predictability. She recognized his frustration of navigating an environment where one couldn't always say exactly what they thought. Jack was still getting used to the dance of politics, the calculated steps to build alliances and avoid unnecessary fights.

"Relax, Jack," she said, leaning back against the couch and smiling at him. "We're not in any formal setting tomorrow. He's just showing us around their new training facilities."

Jack remained skeptical, his brow furrowed. "That sounds unnecessary. There's got to be a deeper reason behind it."

Audrey laughed again, the sound light and genuine. "Not everything has a deeper reason. You've got to understand something about working at this level: events like this are par for the course. The Secretary of Defense and his team are always getting invited to things—branch commanders showing off their newest equipment, defense contractors parading their latest tech, or personnel demonstrations. It's more about optics and goodwill than anything else. There's not gonna be a formal setting nor a discussion tomorrow. Get used to these events."

Jack's frown softened slightly, but his skepticism didn't fade entirely. "So, what you're saying is, it's a lot of showing off with no real point?"

"Exactly," Audrey said, her grin widening. "Like the Air Force—they've been trying to tempt my dad with flight demonstrations for months. They'd offer him a ride in just about anything, hoping to get him up in the air and get some of his goodwill."

Jack's lips quirked into a small smile. "I wouldn't say no to a flight in an F-18," he joked, his tone lightening.

Audrey laughed, shaking her head. "Well, unfortunately, we don't get to pick what we're offered. But if the Navy ever puts you in the cockpit, let me know. I'll be there with popcorn."

Jack chuckled, the sound low and genuine. "Noted. But what about you? Do you actually enjoy these things?"

Audrey sighed theatrically, leaning back. "No. I dread them. That's why I've learned to wear my highest heels and act just clueless enough that no one asks me to try anything crazy. It's easier to dodge the invitations when they think you're not interested—or capable."

Jack's laugh was warm, his skepticism giving way to amusement. "And your dad? How does he manage to avoid all this?"

"Oh, he has the perfect excuse," Audrey said with a grin. "He's old, and he's always 'too busy.' No one argues with that."

Jack laughed, his eyes bright with humor. "Smart man."

They laughed together, the tension of the day finally giving way to something lighter, more relaxed. Jack glanced at his watch and rose from the couch, his movements unhurried. "I should go," he said, his tone softer now. "Good night, Audrey."

"Good night, Jack," she replied, her smile lingering as he moved toward the door.

She followed him, watching as he stepped into the hallway. He gave her one last nod before walking toward his room, and she closed the door behind him. For a moment, she leaned against it, her hands pressed against the wood.

It felt as though there were two hearts beating in her chest. One heart ached for him to stay. The other heart felt relief—relief that he seemed to have moved on, that he was treating her as a friend and colleague without any sign of lingering feelings. Maybe they really could keep things professional.

But then, the first heart stirred again, and with it, an uncomfortable pang of sadness. Jack had moved on too easily, it seemed. It felt like he had placed her firmly in the friend zone, and she hated the thought of being there. That heart hated how much it hurt to realize he could switch so effortlessly to "just friends". Like they had never been more.

Audrey exhaled, pushing herself off the door. She shook her head, trying to dispel the turmoil of emotions swirling inside her. And then her view got caught on the phone still lying on her bed. She should give Paul a call, finish the conversation they'd started earlier. Embers. Not the straw fire.
And that's what she did.

.

.

.