The Mirror Ch. 7
Sorry for crowding up people's f-page, I'm just finally getting the rest of this fic posted up here now that it's done.
Title: The Mirror Ch. 7
Author: redlucy07 (Sophia)
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Pairing: Jack/Renee
Warnings: References to suicide, self harm, violence, mild sexual situations
Summary: Nothing makes you more angry than the fact that she will fight for anyone but herself. Set after Day 8. J/R. Now complete.
Disclaimer: Don't own, not trying to make money, blah blah.
Your death has been a long time in coming.
You've long since accepted the fact of your mortality. It's hard not to when you've stared death in the face as many times as you have. For the last few years, every breath you've taken, every morning you wake, every time you hear your granddaughter's voice on the phone has been a gift. You're aware of how miraculous your continued existance is. But now, tied securely to a chair at the hands of a madman intent on having his revenge it would seem your luck has finally run out.
The only injustice is that she will die too, on her knees, light extinguished.
You remember your early years in Delta and then with CTU, when you still thought that life was supposed to be fair and that bad things shouldn't happen to good people. A lesson you had to learn the hard way. Now, as Laitanan cocks his gun and Renee stares right into, resigned, you let that old feeling overtake you once more. It's almost a childish outrage, the kind that makes you want to pound your fists on the floor and scream.
"Close your eyes," she utters.
You would do almost anything she asked of you, but not this. You hold her gaze, as if you could keep her alive just by focusing on her as hard as you can. So you simply open your mouth to say no, but your voice malfunctions and it comes out as more of a strangled gasp.
"Vladimir," she says, then something in Russian too softly for you to understand.
Whatever she said, it makes him hesitate, body swaying slightly, gun pulled away from her head a fraction of an inch.
This is a mistake.
For you, the scene unfolds as if in slow motion. Only there's no button to stop or rewind.
Simultaneously you hear a deafening gun shot and see Renee drop to the ground. For one terrifying moment it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. For some reason, Laitanan is tumbling headfirst over her body, gun flying out of his hand before leaving a dent in the drywall, right next the hole left by the deflected bullet. It takes you a moment to realize that her arms are stretched out behind her and clasped tightly around the back of his left knee, which now bends at an unnatural angle. His cry of agony fills the room.
Before he has a change to recover, Renee pushes him onto his back and pins him with all her weight, one forearm pressed mercilessly into his throat. Her left hand gropes the carpet beside her, and you can tell that it closes around something, (the gun?) but you can't quite see from this angle. Her face is only inches from his.
"Renee, please," Vladimir gasps, squirming uselessly beneath her. Her eyes are black, furious, soulless. You watch, transfixed, disturbed by the change in her. In one smooth motion she removes the arm constricting his windpipe and slits his throat.
A pattern of blood spreads there before a sickening spurt of arterial blood covers her face and hands. She doesn't even flinch. You see her weapon, a shard of the earlier broken brandy glass as she throws it to the side. Fitting.
Vladimir gasps for air as he dies, mouth moving in the shape of words he can't vocalize, life quickly pouring out of him. A final gurgle and he is still and pale.
An unnaturally long, silent moment passes. You want to speak but seem unable to form words, the horror of the scene simply overwhelming.
Finally, Renee seems to snap out of her stupour. Shaking, she turns her hands over and looks at her palms, and then up at you. You see her face properly for the first time, bright red blood dripping from her chin, eyes dark and feral. Bloodlust. You will never forget this image as long as you live.
Then, she collapses.
"Renee!" bursts out of you, and time seems to regain its normal cadence. Enraged, you shake in the chair as hard as you can, but all you succeed in doing is causing it to tip over sideways and land unceremoniously on the side of your face. You call her name over and over again and struggle helplessly against your bonds for what seems like a long time but must really only be a few minutes.
Finally, her eyes flutter open, and then close again. She's still for a second before she rolls onto her side, back to you, and heaves, clutching her stomach. She seems to have nothing to expel but still her body convulses again and again until she is gasping for breath.
"Renee," you murmur again, as if trying to comfort her with the sound of your voice. Eventually her gasps quiet and her body relaxes. You fear she's passed out again, but she shakily pushes herself upright, tripping over her feet and into the wall where she leaves bloody handprints. She pauses to steady herself. She won't look at you.
She bends down and picks up the knife she gave up earlier, turning it over in her hands, like she's considering what she should do with it. "Renee, don't," you plead. You don't even want to imagine coming this far and having you both survive only to see her give up. "Just untie me and we can get out of here."
The sound of your voice finally seems to register, and she looks at you, then down at the knife in her hands. She drops to her knees at your feet and hastily cuts away the bungee cord tied too tightly around your extremities. Your hands and feet tingle painfully as the blood rushes back into them. Immediately you try and pull her towards you but she shoves your hands away and looks at you as if to say "don't."
"Ok," you say. "Ok. Let's just go. Please."
Mutely, she nods. You pick up her beretta and stow it in your jacket, just in case. She picks up the grenade and stumbles out of the room, forcing you to chase after her. Her knees are shaking so badly she almost trips down the staircase. You reach out a hand but she still won't let you touch her.
You make it out the door and the cool air is a relief from the tang of blood and death in the house.
At the doorstep she pauses and takes a long look at the house, eyes glazed over with what you're sure are memories. You don't notice the hand that drifted into her jacket pocket. Before you can stop her Renee pulls the pin and throws the grenade back into the front door. Your eyes widen and your hand shoots out and catches her wrist, legs already moving fast as they'll go, yanking her along with you.
A second later the explosion rips through the house and you feel the concussive shockwave from twenty feet away, sending both of you face first into the mud, a wave of uncomfortable heat rippling over your heads as the oxygen is sucked from the air around. You're sure you shouted an oath, but it's lost to your ringing ears. For a moment all you can do is suck in air and try to stop the uncontrollable pounding of your heart.
"Come on," you say finally, reaching for her, but she rolls out of your reach and on her back, balancing her weight on her elbows, eyes glued to the scene. All the windows have blown out the front of the house and a gaping, flaming hole is where the front door once was. You track the flames with your eyes as they engulf curtains in the windows and spread, the exceptionally hot flame produced by the thermite reaction easily consuming the structure. It's not until the roof goes up in flames and you hear the first beam creak and fall that Renee tears her eyes away, suddenly looking tired.
"Jack," she says finally. "Take me home."
A wave of emotion overtakes you. Gratitude. Protectiveness. Affection.
You simply nod, and this time she doesn't resist as you reach for her and bundle her into your arms, lifting her weight easily. One hand cradles her head against your heart. "It's going to be ok," you say, thinking your words must sound empty to her.
When you get back to the cabin you prop her up on the toilet seat and run the shower, waiting for the freezing water to become an acceptable temperature. You don't bother taking any of either of your clothes off but pull her directly into the warm spray, where she clings to you, shivering and sputtering as the water washes away any evidence of the events of the last hour. Your hand drifts down her neck and you feel her pulse under your thumb, heartbeat steady and vital and comforting.
She turns her face into the stream and tilts her chin upwards, eyes closed. Blood and dirt swirl down the drain in watery rivulets.
Like rebirth.
That's all folks!
Title: The Mirror Ch. 7
Author: redlucy07 (Sophia)
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Pairing: Jack/Renee
Warnings: References to suicide, self harm, violence, mild sexual situations
Summary: Nothing makes you more angry than the fact that she will fight for anyone but herself. Set after Day 8. J/R. Now complete.
Disclaimer: Don't own, not trying to make money, blah blah.
Your death has been a long time in coming.
You've long since accepted the fact of your mortality. It's hard not to when you've stared death in the face as many times as you have. For the last few years, every breath you've taken, every morning you wake, every time you hear your granddaughter's voice on the phone has been a gift. You're aware of how miraculous your continued existance is. But now, tied securely to a chair at the hands of a madman intent on having his revenge it would seem your luck has finally run out.
The only injustice is that she will die too, on her knees, light extinguished.
You remember your early years in Delta and then with CTU, when you still thought that life was supposed to be fair and that bad things shouldn't happen to good people. A lesson you had to learn the hard way. Now, as Laitanan cocks his gun and Renee stares right into, resigned, you let that old feeling overtake you once more. It's almost a childish outrage, the kind that makes you want to pound your fists on the floor and scream.
"Close your eyes," she utters.
You would do almost anything she asked of you, but not this. You hold her gaze, as if you could keep her alive just by focusing on her as hard as you can. So you simply open your mouth to say no, but your voice malfunctions and it comes out as more of a strangled gasp.
"Vladimir," she says, then something in Russian too softly for you to understand.
Whatever she said, it makes him hesitate, body swaying slightly, gun pulled away from her head a fraction of an inch.
This is a mistake.
For you, the scene unfolds as if in slow motion. Only there's no button to stop or rewind.
Simultaneously you hear a deafening gun shot and see Renee drop to the ground. For one terrifying moment it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. For some reason, Laitanan is tumbling headfirst over her body, gun flying out of his hand before leaving a dent in the drywall, right next the hole left by the deflected bullet. It takes you a moment to realize that her arms are stretched out behind her and clasped tightly around the back of his left knee, which now bends at an unnatural angle. His cry of agony fills the room.
Before he has a change to recover, Renee pushes him onto his back and pins him with all her weight, one forearm pressed mercilessly into his throat. Her left hand gropes the carpet beside her, and you can tell that it closes around something, (the gun?) but you can't quite see from this angle. Her face is only inches from his.
"Renee, please," Vladimir gasps, squirming uselessly beneath her. Her eyes are black, furious, soulless. You watch, transfixed, disturbed by the change in her. In one smooth motion she removes the arm constricting his windpipe and slits his throat.
A pattern of blood spreads there before a sickening spurt of arterial blood covers her face and hands. She doesn't even flinch. You see her weapon, a shard of the earlier broken brandy glass as she throws it to the side. Fitting.
Vladimir gasps for air as he dies, mouth moving in the shape of words he can't vocalize, life quickly pouring out of him. A final gurgle and he is still and pale.
An unnaturally long, silent moment passes. You want to speak but seem unable to form words, the horror of the scene simply overwhelming.
Finally, Renee seems to snap out of her stupour. Shaking, she turns her hands over and looks at her palms, and then up at you. You see her face properly for the first time, bright red blood dripping from her chin, eyes dark and feral. Bloodlust. You will never forget this image as long as you live.
Then, she collapses.
"Renee!" bursts out of you, and time seems to regain its normal cadence. Enraged, you shake in the chair as hard as you can, but all you succeed in doing is causing it to tip over sideways and land unceremoniously on the side of your face. You call her name over and over again and struggle helplessly against your bonds for what seems like a long time but must really only be a few minutes.
Finally, her eyes flutter open, and then close again. She's still for a second before she rolls onto her side, back to you, and heaves, clutching her stomach. She seems to have nothing to expel but still her body convulses again and again until she is gasping for breath.
"Renee," you murmur again, as if trying to comfort her with the sound of your voice. Eventually her gasps quiet and her body relaxes. You fear she's passed out again, but she shakily pushes herself upright, tripping over her feet and into the wall where she leaves bloody handprints. She pauses to steady herself. She won't look at you.
She bends down and picks up the knife she gave up earlier, turning it over in her hands, like she's considering what she should do with it. "Renee, don't," you plead. You don't even want to imagine coming this far and having you both survive only to see her give up. "Just untie me and we can get out of here."
The sound of your voice finally seems to register, and she looks at you, then down at the knife in her hands. She drops to her knees at your feet and hastily cuts away the bungee cord tied too tightly around your extremities. Your hands and feet tingle painfully as the blood rushes back into them. Immediately you try and pull her towards you but she shoves your hands away and looks at you as if to say "don't."
"Ok," you say. "Ok. Let's just go. Please."
Mutely, she nods. You pick up her beretta and stow it in your jacket, just in case. She picks up the grenade and stumbles out of the room, forcing you to chase after her. Her knees are shaking so badly she almost trips down the staircase. You reach out a hand but she still won't let you touch her.
You make it out the door and the cool air is a relief from the tang of blood and death in the house.
At the doorstep she pauses and takes a long look at the house, eyes glazed over with what you're sure are memories. You don't notice the hand that drifted into her jacket pocket. Before you can stop her Renee pulls the pin and throws the grenade back into the front door. Your eyes widen and your hand shoots out and catches her wrist, legs already moving fast as they'll go, yanking her along with you.
A second later the explosion rips through the house and you feel the concussive shockwave from twenty feet away, sending both of you face first into the mud, a wave of uncomfortable heat rippling over your heads as the oxygen is sucked from the air around. You're sure you shouted an oath, but it's lost to your ringing ears. For a moment all you can do is suck in air and try to stop the uncontrollable pounding of your heart.
"Come on," you say finally, reaching for her, but she rolls out of your reach and on her back, balancing her weight on her elbows, eyes glued to the scene. All the windows have blown out the front of the house and a gaping, flaming hole is where the front door once was. You track the flames with your eyes as they engulf curtains in the windows and spread, the exceptionally hot flame produced by the thermite reaction easily consuming the structure. It's not until the roof goes up in flames and you hear the first beam creak and fall that Renee tears her eyes away, suddenly looking tired.
"Jack," she says finally. "Take me home."
A wave of emotion overtakes you. Gratitude. Protectiveness. Affection.
You simply nod, and this time she doesn't resist as you reach for her and bundle her into your arms, lifting her weight easily. One hand cradles her head against your heart. "It's going to be ok," you say, thinking your words must sound empty to her.
When you get back to the cabin you prop her up on the toilet seat and run the shower, waiting for the freezing water to become an acceptable temperature. You don't bother taking any of either of your clothes off but pull her directly into the warm spray, where she clings to you, shivering and sputtering as the water washes away any evidence of the events of the last hour. Your hand drifts down her neck and you feel her pulse under your thumb, heartbeat steady and vital and comforting.
She turns her face into the stream and tilts her chin upwards, eyes closed. Blood and dirt swirl down the drain in watery rivulets.
Like rebirth.
That's all folks!