24: Brittany House/Jake Hannigan, stages of a relationship: outcome
Title: Infractions 4: Breakdown
Fandom: 24
Pairing: Brittany House/Jake Hannigan
Prompt: #5 -- Morning After/Outcome/End of the Road
Word Count: 377
Rating: PG
Summary: This is the breakdown they'll never get back.
Author's Notes: Another in the Infractions series. Follows "Spaces."
Two weeks later, Jake Hannigan leaves Los Angeles for New York City. He doesn't remind her that he's leaving. He doesn't bother resolving what they've started. He doesn't even say goodbye.
In Jake's mind, he's said and done all that he needed to do. She knew he wasn't going to stay and she knew that he was not going to give her any sort of concrete affection. It was a feeling, a whim, an impulse briefly acted upon. He has no regrets, because he is doing what's best for him, what he has to do. He never expected to be around anywhere long enough to be close to someone. He knows getting any closer would have ended badly.
Best to end it on that one evening of silence and a few stolen kisses, while they had the chance at all.
She comes into the office the next morning and finds his desk cleared out. She doesn't have to be told that he's gone and he isn't coming back. She's not going to ask her father to track him down, because she knows Jack didn't care for him in the first place. Brittany has no idea what to feel. She didn't know Jake long enough to cry over him, but she knew him well enough to feel something for him. A numbness, a pause for due respect to a man who was a first-rate asshole...but also the first man to kiss her, the first man to show any sort of interest in her whatsoever. It doesn't matter anymore. He's gone, and it probably would have come to nothing, anyway.
She moves on. She rekindles her romance with Michael Colefield, and she marries him a year later. The relationship is functional, a real love story, flying in the face of reality. Then Greg House enters the picture and everything falls apart. She divorces Michael, and marries him a few months later. Always driven by her heart, by love. The memories now are of Michael and Greg, and all the things they have been through.
What came before has disappeared from her memory by the time she arrives in New York, and looks into the eyes of a man who is now a stranger, who could have been her everything.
Title: Sleeping Satellite
Fandom: 24
Pairing: Brittany House/Jake Hannigan
Prompt: #5 -- Morning After/Outcome/End of the Road
Word Count: 4195
Rating: PG-13 for language and a scene of violence
Summary: They always thought they shouldn't have met. That one of them would always beat the other. That a victor would rise. But from the ashes of the war, have they found the one relationship they both needed to survive?
Author's Notes: Follows the events of Eve, Answering The Bullet and Speaking In Ciphers; it can be seen as a bookend to the Jake Hannigan origin story Underneath. This one will jump around in time a bit, and speculate on their futures. It includes scenes adapted from the novel Glass Waltz. The lyrics this time are from "In Her Eyes" by Josh Groban.
she stares through my shadow
she sees something more
believes there's a light in me
she is sure
and her truth makes me stronger
does she realize
I awake every morning
with her strength by my side?
December 15, 2006
The one thing Jake Hannigan found himself focused on was the front door. Not because he was planning on bailing, not this time, but because he was waiting for someone to come through.
She said she was coming, and I swear if she left me here with these guys already doped up on eggnog, I'm going to do something very bad to her, he ruminated, leaning against the wall of the CTU New York bullpen. He wasn't sure who had made Christmas parties an annual tradition, because he didn't like them very much, but he always felt that as a ranking officer he was responsible to attend. At least hopefully someone whose presence he actually liked might make it easier to fake holiday cheer.
Then there she was, all holiday bluster and bustle and happiness, and he found himself smiling despite himself.
Brittany House came striding into the bullpen, Santa hat firmly affixed to her head, wrapped up in her familiar leather jacket. This time, she went straight for him, and this time, he had no problem in sliding an arm around her shoulders. He still wasn't the hugging kind of person, but he'd been working to overcome his apprehension about public displays of affection.
He had to remind himself that while showing it in public was still new (and to the mortification of everyone who had seen them fight over the years), the feelings underneath had been there for a long time.
"Almost thought you weren't going to make it," he murmured, looking at her, the lines under her eyes from lack of sleep caused by raising a newborn and the twinkle in her eye that could only be described as holiday joy. It irritated him and yet, he couldn't blame her. "I thought you were gonna leave me here with all these freaks."
Her eyes flickered out over the bullpen, "Need I remind you these are your freaks, Hannigan."
"They might be my subordinates, but they haven't been mine in a year and four months." He shook his head, a twinge of bitterness still seeping into his voice. He had elected not to try and earn back the trust of his colleagues, figuring that if they mistrusted him that much, he wasn't going to waste his time kissing ass. His actions would prove his worth. "Also, you assume I care."
"Didn't you, once?"
He didn't answer her.
"Things will get better," she continued, sensing his hesitation. "You know as well as I do that things happen in seconds and the important things happen in lifetimes."
Jake wasn't going to be that optimistic. He looked over at her, and simply said, "I'm glad you're here."
She smiled, just a little. "Anything for a friend, Jake."
He opened his mouth to protest, then fell silent, just tracing his fingers over her upper arm. It wasn't wrong anymore. The word had finally found its place in their complicated lexicon. And he was proud that it had, because it meant there would always be someone there.
Someone looking for him.
June 21, 2011
It always starts with just one look.
Six years ago it was pure and unbridled anger, the eyes letting out the punches they couldn't throw with their fists. Over the years, the anger was still there, but there were other things. Vulnerabilities exposed. Understandings never verbalized. Silent pleas for help. Times have changed. Yesterday he just turned forty-two. He's older now. So is she. But who they are, fundamentally, has never changed. Neither has what they are to each other.
He's standing there, in her living room, hands on his hips. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, collar open, jeans smudged with a little dust and dirt -- and those same old piercing blue eyes, staring right at her like the calmest storm you've ever seen.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Inwardly, he blames himself. He had been there, with her, for part of this -- he should have been there to support her when she was obviously coming apart. He should have trusted her to lead the way but he should have been there to have her back. No matter if they would have punched each other, he should have been around.
But he has neither the words nor the vulnerability to express that, so he just stares at her.
Brittany stares right back. Her eyes are blank, hollow, distant, like she's been crawling further and further into herself since she got off that plane, and Jake doesn't doubt that she has. "What's wrong with me?" she echoes, giving him a sarcastic, bitter smirk. "My son's got a dysfunctional mother, my employer now thinks I'm a little bit insane, and my ex-husband has decided that since we still can't look at each other and not suffer for it, that it's best if he walks out of my entire life, so how's that for things that are fucking wrong?!"
It takes him only a couple of seconds to process that information. Though the last is a bombshell, he doesn't let his face show it. His face remains unchanged as he crosses to stand at the end of the couch, fingertips splayed across the arm, his eyes never leaving hers. His tone is matter-of-fact as he says, "Anyone who leaves somebody during a traumatic experience is a bastard and that's the end of it."
"It was a traumatic experience for him, too, Jake," she replies.
"He's not who I'm concerned with," he tells her.
There's a long, tepid pause between them. His lips are pressed in a thin line, his eyes daring her to contradict him. She just sits there, chewing on her lower lip, mulling over his choice of words. They may hate each other, but hate is an emotion, signifying that even if it's a negative feeling, there are still feelings between them. Still a relationship of some investment. An investment neither of them is comfortable with, but neither is willing to break.
They'll just push the limits over and over again.
"What is it gonna take for you to be functional?" he asks her once she's been cowed. He doesn't say 'okay' because 'okay' is bullshit.
She exhales. "I want my husband and my son to be okay. I want to know my ex-husband doesn't have to run out of my life because of shit we've been through. I want a memory wipe of the last sixteen days."
A quirked eyebrow. "Well, I could do that, but you'd have to be a willing participant."
"Dream on, Hannigan." The barest hint of a smirk plays on her lips. "Even though you already do that."
"All the time," he retorts without missing a beat. "Brittany, your husband, your ex-husband and your son are their own people. You can't judge what will make them okay. Only they can do that. Your husband, is more fucking worried about you, if anyone, and your son is just going to be put under more strain if his mom isn't in one piece. Michael is doing whatever the shit he does. But they are not within your control. Understand that. You do not control their coping process. You have to save yourself first, or you may as well tell them to go fuck themselves."
She's startled by his language. Good. When he has her off-guard, he can get through to her. It's still a battle between the two of them. A battle to get through.
"Jake..."
"Shut up." He's not about to let her get a word in edgewise. "You are not going to turn into the man I used to be after you brought me here."
"Only because you wanted to go," she insisted.
He gives her a sharp look. "That was less than half of it. I was digging my own grave and you know it. I don't like living under the shadow of being a corrupt, dysfunctional, fucked-up son of a bitch and the only reason that I am where I am today is because I knew it would piss you off even more if I stayed, and then I realized that I didn't have anywhere else to go!" His voice is tight. "I am not going to let you go that far for me and then shoot yourself in the fucking head, because you know what, sometimes it does have to be about you, but you have never fucking understood that!"
"That's not how it works for me, Jake!" she snaps back. "I have a husband and a son and..."
"Well, that's the way it'd better start working right now!" He has no problem matching her anger with his own. He's angry that this has happened to her. He's angry that he wasn't there. But he's angriest at her, for not fighting back. He wants her to fight. And he knows he's the best target. He knows he can get her to the breaking point and after years of experience, he knows just how to do it.
"You don't understand the way things work. You want everybody else to be okay before you're okay, but you don't realize that your not being okay affects everybody else. It's like you live in some big world until it comes to you personally, and then you think you live in a fucking bubble. How stupid are you?"
She gets to her feet, staring him down. "Don't talk about shit you know nothing about, Jake."
He just needs to push her a little bit farther. He's saved this one for last. A small smirk spreads over his lips. "Maybe you have a guilt complex? What'd you do, get hot and heavy with the ex-husband while Greg was over here pining for you?"
He has no way of knowing that he's sort of right. All he knows next is that she backhands him, hard. Which is exactly what he wants her to do. He rides the blow, his head snapping around. But Jake's reflexes are as fast -- probably faster -- than his brain, and he reaches up to grab her wrist with one hand, using his other hand to give her a hard shove back into the couch until he's got her pinned there, and then all the niceties and considerations go down the drain. Once a punch is thrown, there are no apologies.
"You know, the sad thing is, I'm almost jealous," he says.
"I'm sure you are," she replies, and kicks him in the midsection, sending him backward onto the coffee table.
There's a smirk on his face as he stands there, shoving things out of the way and backing up into the middle of empty floor space. For once, he's smarter than she is. She has no idea she's playing right into his hands. "You want to do this?" he says. "You really want to throw down, see which one of us is better? Come on. Take the shot."
A pause.
"You know I would."
She does know that. Which is probably why she crosses the room and decks him, hard.
Maybe she's not hitting him. Maybe she's hurting other people. Lindsay, for getting her involved in this in the first place. Michael, for leaving. The people who almost killed her husband. Maybe she's taking a piece out of herself. But she's getting her revenge on someone, something, this whole sad, fucked-up affair.
And Jake Hannigan is an expert at throwing a fight while still making it real.
To him, there is nothing more raw and real than this moment, this fight that seems to go on forever, laying everything on the table. Seeing the real woman behind the many walls and layers she's kept up over the years. Seeing her, for who she really is, he understands. And every punch, every epithet, every move has a meaning. He doesn't know how long it goes on or how much either of them will hurt in the morning, but it doesn't matter. Because both of them are too strong -- they've always known any fight between them would end in a stalemate.
And because all that matters is that she comes back to fight him another day.
He's got her pinned to the wall, nails digging into her wrists, body shoved up against hers, and every muscle in him is screaming in pain. He can feel the cuts and the scrapes and the bruises but it doesn't matter, none of it matters. He can see the open wound on her cheek, the bruises already forming, but those are unimportant. She asked for those. He needs to see into her eyes.
There's blue and brown and then there's acceptance.
Acceptance that there are things in this life that are out of her hands, just like this is out of her hands, as much as she would love to be able to make everything okay.
Jake doesn't say a word. He carefully lifts his right hand and wipes the blood from her cheek with his fingertips. Delicately, carefully, he gets every last drop off her skin. His eyes never leave hers. He watches it all slide into place in her head. The disappointment of defeat. The realization that she's human.
He needed that lesson, too, once upon a time.
She doesn't say a word. She lets him lead her into the bathroom, where he stands there and cleans and bandages every wound and scrape and cut he left on her body. His hands move with the same care and concern that hers did, years ago, in a locker room in New York. After he risked his life to save her husband and paid the price. She took care of him then and he's going to take care of her now.
Brittany stares silently into the mirror. From blankness, to sadness, to disappointment, to the knowledge that she has no choice but to move on, with the wounds she's suffered, without some of the most important people in her life.
But she'll always have somebody there to take their place.
Jake looks her over for a long moment. No doubt thinking back to when these roles were reversed, not so long ago. He leans down, and presses his lips to her uninjured cheek. Just like she did to him, years earlier. Some people might call it payback. To him, it's just something he wants to do.
"If you go, I go," he says, and he damn well means it.
"I can't."
"Then don't." A long pause. "I'm sorry if we broke anything."
"No, you're not."
"You're right, not that much. But it had to be done."
"Yeah, it did." Her eyes meet his. "Just shut up." A swallow. "And don't leave me."
There's a long pause, as Jake Hannigan looks at her looking at herself in the mirror. Looks at himself, looking at her, looking at herself, and what she must be seeing, and what he sees in her. He sees that there's nothing blank.
The two words are the hardest and easiest he's ever said.
"I can't."
September 15, 2011
Jake is standing with Brittany when the call comes to her cell phone. When he can see the look on her face of complete and utter shock, and he knows that after five years of toil and trouble, she's finally going to be moving up in the world. That all they worked for since January of 2006 has finally come to something good.
Jake takes the ball in both hands, twirling it between his fingertips. He's gotten used to being her constant companion over these last couple of months. They go to dinner together when Greg's indisposed. He hasn't missed a single Princeton home game and gone to all the New York road games. They play these same pickup games every Thursday. Both of them were in need of a friend, and in all honesty, he likes what he's found with her. Not that he'll ever tell her that.
When he turns around, he sees her staring at the phone. Arching an eyebrow, he tucks the ball under one arm and walks over toward her. Only when he's standing there, looking down at her, does she look up at him, with a small smile on her face. "That," she says, "was Billy Donovan. I'm one of the finalists for the associate's job in Gainesville."
The ball drops to the floorboards with a thud, and Jake takes her into his arms, wrapping her in a tight hug. His lips pressed to her forehead. "That's great news, Brittany," he says, laughing softly. "I'm proud of you. That's great news. Congratulations."
When he pulls back, she just quirks her lips slightly, and says softly, "I've never looked good in orange."
That makes him just shake his head and laugh, and say, "No, but you will look good at a major basketball program."
They forget about the game. Packing up their things, the two of them walk out of the gym together, heading towards the athletic complex parking lot. There are few cars there, even at this hour. Slinging their gear into the back of his car, the two of them decide to take a walk. Of lately, they've had far too much to talk about. This isn't remedying that situation.
When they reach a small park bench on the grounds, she drops into it, Jake following suit. She leans forward, elbows on her knees, thinking for a moment. About moving to a whole other part of the country and starting over for the better outcome. Doesn't that sound familiar?
She closes her eyes. "I couldn't take this job in Gainesville," she says after a moment.
Now Jake looks at her. "Why not?"
"Because I'd have to leave you." She meets his eyes then, shaking her head. "I don't want to leave you, too, Jake."
But Jake Hannigan is a smarter man than she is. And in the few minutes that pass, as they sit there silently, as he looks into her and realizes just how far they've come -- that she's saying she can't and won't go on without him, that he's wanted and needed and fuck it all, he wants and needs her, too -- he has an idea. The barest of smiles plays on his lips as he slides his fingers through hers and holds on tight.
"You wouldn't have to leave me." He almost grins. "We have a field office in Orlando. And do you remember who's still working in that office?"
It takes her a moment, but: "Christian Brady...Jake, you have got to be fucking kidding me. You don't want to work with that man again."
"No." He shakes his head. "No, I don't. But I don't doubt that I can possibly convince him to consider that divisional promotion he's been rumored to be looking at, and write me one hell of a letter of recommendation." The grin is turning evil now. "He still owes me for clearing his name six years ago. Time to call in the favor."
Jake Hannigan has always wanted to run his own field office. He wanted control of CTU New York, years ago, and he's just been waiting for his opportunity to be considered for a Special Agent In Charge post. He's been Assistant Special Agent In Charge at New York for eight years now; it's time for him to move up the food chain, anyway. Orlando doesn't seem a half bad place to start. Especially when he knows he can probably strongarm his way into the job, and he has absolutely no qualms about doing just that.
Hell, he may even enjoy it.
She's staring at him. "You love New York, Jake. You've lived here for a dozen years. You'd just pack up and move to Florida for me?"
"For you, no. For an SAC job, in a heartbeat." He pauses, running his thumb over her knuckles. "Most of the time, you have to be willing to give up something to get something that you love."
Love. What an interesting word, coming from Hannigan. Brittany sees the confidence in his eyes, and decides not to ask him about that. She just nods her agreement.
June 12, 2013
Standing alone in the men's bathroom, Jake Hannigan doesn't know whether he ought to start laughing or crying or at least doing something. Some display of emotion for what he's about to go through. What he's always wanted.
It took him fourteen years, one fall from grace, and one long fucking climb up again, but he's about to be confirmed as the newest CTU Special Agent In Charge. Unit director of the Orlando field office. He will have no one to answer to but himself. He'll hold the lives of agents and the success of missions in his hands. It's as far as he'll ever go in his career, and he knows it. Nothing matters more than this.
He's defied everyone who said he couldn't do it. Everyone who said he wasn't worth it. He can laugh in their faces now. What he has always wanted will be his, when the director of the CIA swears him in. Yet, for all of that, he just finds himself looking into the mirror, and waiting.
There's a soft knock on the door and he's not surprised when she sticks her head in the door, followed by the rest of her. "Should've figured you'd come looking," he says, without taking his eyes off his own reflection.
"I think you already did." She shuts the door behind herself, folds her arms over her chest. It's been about a year and a half since she moved to Gainesville, and he can see the tan color coming back to her skin after years of living in the New Jersey cold. She'll be a familiar face in the brand new chapter of his life. This time, he'll actually be happy to see her.
How ironic.
"Jake, I don't know what the hell you're thinking so I'm just gonna say this," she tells him, looking at him looking at himself. "Fuck what anybody else says, I'm proud of you, and I know you're gonna do a better job than anyone thinks you can. Anyone but you and your gigantic ego, that is."
He chuckles, and shoots her a look. "I'm surprised you had time for me, you know, when you're not busy working on your tan, there."
She mock-glares at him, but she knows this is normal. What's a conversation between the two of them without a few insults? Things are different now. The insults sometimes still remain, but eight years later, they're almost never meant to wound. Instead, they're reminders of how far they've come.
And how far they truly have come.
"Coach Donovan didn't mind giving me the time off. I wasn't going to miss this moment," she tells him seriously, crossing toward him. "You've really earned this, Jake. I'm so fucking proud of you, you have no idea."
"I think I have all the idea I need," he replies quietly, looking down at her. Without saying a word, he draws his arm around her, pulling her to his chest, kissing the top of her head. He rests his chin there, looking at the door, trying to see through to the other side and the world beyond. "Thank you. For standing by me. For staying."
"You had to stay, too," she reminds him. A soft swallow, before she adds, "I guess it was just a case of too little, too late."
Jake pulls back and looks down at her. The one person he let under his skin, all those years ago. In that split second he lets himself think of missed opportunities. Of the words he said, of the things he almost did, of the way they used to look at each other. They're older, they're wiser, and their paths have been chosen. She will never be everything he wishes she could be to him. But she's still wearing his pendant around her neck. Still within his grasp. And that, will be good enough for him.
He's survived with a whole lot less. But right now, he feels like he might actually be living again.
"I guess it was," he says.
She pauses just long enough to give that moment its quiet death, before she says, "Fix your tie. We don't want you to be late to your own confirmation."
Jake fixes his tie, checks his collar to make sure her makeup isn't on it. He takes one last look at himself in the mirror and one more deep breath in his lungs. He holds his head high as he goes through the door.
He has the security of knowing she will always be right by his side.
I am not a hero
I am not an angel
I am just a man
a man who's trying to love her
unlike any other
in her eyes I am
Fandom: 24
Pairing: Brittany House/Jake Hannigan
Prompt: #5 -- Morning After/Outcome/End of the Road
Word Count: 377
Rating: PG
Summary: This is the breakdown they'll never get back.
Author's Notes: Another in the Infractions series. Follows "Spaces."
Two weeks later, Jake Hannigan leaves Los Angeles for New York City. He doesn't remind her that he's leaving. He doesn't bother resolving what they've started. He doesn't even say goodbye.
In Jake's mind, he's said and done all that he needed to do. She knew he wasn't going to stay and she knew that he was not going to give her any sort of concrete affection. It was a feeling, a whim, an impulse briefly acted upon. He has no regrets, because he is doing what's best for him, what he has to do. He never expected to be around anywhere long enough to be close to someone. He knows getting any closer would have ended badly.
Best to end it on that one evening of silence and a few stolen kisses, while they had the chance at all.
She comes into the office the next morning and finds his desk cleared out. She doesn't have to be told that he's gone and he isn't coming back. She's not going to ask her father to track him down, because she knows Jack didn't care for him in the first place. Brittany has no idea what to feel. She didn't know Jake long enough to cry over him, but she knew him well enough to feel something for him. A numbness, a pause for due respect to a man who was a first-rate asshole...but also the first man to kiss her, the first man to show any sort of interest in her whatsoever. It doesn't matter anymore. He's gone, and it probably would have come to nothing, anyway.
She moves on. She rekindles her romance with Michael Colefield, and she marries him a year later. The relationship is functional, a real love story, flying in the face of reality. Then Greg House enters the picture and everything falls apart. She divorces Michael, and marries him a few months later. Always driven by her heart, by love. The memories now are of Michael and Greg, and all the things they have been through.
What came before has disappeared from her memory by the time she arrives in New York, and looks into the eyes of a man who is now a stranger, who could have been her everything.
Title: Sleeping Satellite
Fandom: 24
Pairing: Brittany House/Jake Hannigan
Prompt: #5 -- Morning After/Outcome/End of the Road
Word Count: 4195
Rating: PG-13 for language and a scene of violence
Summary: They always thought they shouldn't have met. That one of them would always beat the other. That a victor would rise. But from the ashes of the war, have they found the one relationship they both needed to survive?
Author's Notes: Follows the events of Eve, Answering The Bullet and Speaking In Ciphers; it can be seen as a bookend to the Jake Hannigan origin story Underneath. This one will jump around in time a bit, and speculate on their futures. It includes scenes adapted from the novel Glass Waltz. The lyrics this time are from "In Her Eyes" by Josh Groban.
she stares through my shadow
she sees something more
believes there's a light in me
she is sure
and her truth makes me stronger
does she realize
I awake every morning
with her strength by my side?
December 15, 2006
The one thing Jake Hannigan found himself focused on was the front door. Not because he was planning on bailing, not this time, but because he was waiting for someone to come through.
She said she was coming, and I swear if she left me here with these guys already doped up on eggnog, I'm going to do something very bad to her, he ruminated, leaning against the wall of the CTU New York bullpen. He wasn't sure who had made Christmas parties an annual tradition, because he didn't like them very much, but he always felt that as a ranking officer he was responsible to attend. At least hopefully someone whose presence he actually liked might make it easier to fake holiday cheer.
Then there she was, all holiday bluster and bustle and happiness, and he found himself smiling despite himself.
Brittany House came striding into the bullpen, Santa hat firmly affixed to her head, wrapped up in her familiar leather jacket. This time, she went straight for him, and this time, he had no problem in sliding an arm around her shoulders. He still wasn't the hugging kind of person, but he'd been working to overcome his apprehension about public displays of affection.
He had to remind himself that while showing it in public was still new (and to the mortification of everyone who had seen them fight over the years), the feelings underneath had been there for a long time.
"Almost thought you weren't going to make it," he murmured, looking at her, the lines under her eyes from lack of sleep caused by raising a newborn and the twinkle in her eye that could only be described as holiday joy. It irritated him and yet, he couldn't blame her. "I thought you were gonna leave me here with all these freaks."
Her eyes flickered out over the bullpen, "Need I remind you these are your freaks, Hannigan."
"They might be my subordinates, but they haven't been mine in a year and four months." He shook his head, a twinge of bitterness still seeping into his voice. He had elected not to try and earn back the trust of his colleagues, figuring that if they mistrusted him that much, he wasn't going to waste his time kissing ass. His actions would prove his worth. "Also, you assume I care."
"Didn't you, once?"
He didn't answer her.
"Things will get better," she continued, sensing his hesitation. "You know as well as I do that things happen in seconds and the important things happen in lifetimes."
Jake wasn't going to be that optimistic. He looked over at her, and simply said, "I'm glad you're here."
She smiled, just a little. "Anything for a friend, Jake."
He opened his mouth to protest, then fell silent, just tracing his fingers over her upper arm. It wasn't wrong anymore. The word had finally found its place in their complicated lexicon. And he was proud that it had, because it meant there would always be someone there.
Someone looking for him.
June 21, 2011
It always starts with just one look.
Six years ago it was pure and unbridled anger, the eyes letting out the punches they couldn't throw with their fists. Over the years, the anger was still there, but there were other things. Vulnerabilities exposed. Understandings never verbalized. Silent pleas for help. Times have changed. Yesterday he just turned forty-two. He's older now. So is she. But who they are, fundamentally, has never changed. Neither has what they are to each other.
He's standing there, in her living room, hands on his hips. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, collar open, jeans smudged with a little dust and dirt -- and those same old piercing blue eyes, staring right at her like the calmest storm you've ever seen.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Inwardly, he blames himself. He had been there, with her, for part of this -- he should have been there to support her when she was obviously coming apart. He should have trusted her to lead the way but he should have been there to have her back. No matter if they would have punched each other, he should have been around.
But he has neither the words nor the vulnerability to express that, so he just stares at her.
Brittany stares right back. Her eyes are blank, hollow, distant, like she's been crawling further and further into herself since she got off that plane, and Jake doesn't doubt that she has. "What's wrong with me?" she echoes, giving him a sarcastic, bitter smirk. "My son's got a dysfunctional mother, my employer now thinks I'm a little bit insane, and my ex-husband has decided that since we still can't look at each other and not suffer for it, that it's best if he walks out of my entire life, so how's that for things that are fucking wrong?!"
It takes him only a couple of seconds to process that information. Though the last is a bombshell, he doesn't let his face show it. His face remains unchanged as he crosses to stand at the end of the couch, fingertips splayed across the arm, his eyes never leaving hers. His tone is matter-of-fact as he says, "Anyone who leaves somebody during a traumatic experience is a bastard and that's the end of it."
"It was a traumatic experience for him, too, Jake," she replies.
"He's not who I'm concerned with," he tells her.
There's a long, tepid pause between them. His lips are pressed in a thin line, his eyes daring her to contradict him. She just sits there, chewing on her lower lip, mulling over his choice of words. They may hate each other, but hate is an emotion, signifying that even if it's a negative feeling, there are still feelings between them. Still a relationship of some investment. An investment neither of them is comfortable with, but neither is willing to break.
They'll just push the limits over and over again.
"What is it gonna take for you to be functional?" he asks her once she's been cowed. He doesn't say 'okay' because 'okay' is bullshit.
She exhales. "I want my husband and my son to be okay. I want to know my ex-husband doesn't have to run out of my life because of shit we've been through. I want a memory wipe of the last sixteen days."
A quirked eyebrow. "Well, I could do that, but you'd have to be a willing participant."
"Dream on, Hannigan." The barest hint of a smirk plays on her lips. "Even though you already do that."
"All the time," he retorts without missing a beat. "Brittany, your husband, your ex-husband and your son are their own people. You can't judge what will make them okay. Only they can do that. Your husband, is more fucking worried about you, if anyone, and your son is just going to be put under more strain if his mom isn't in one piece. Michael is doing whatever the shit he does. But they are not within your control. Understand that. You do not control their coping process. You have to save yourself first, or you may as well tell them to go fuck themselves."
She's startled by his language. Good. When he has her off-guard, he can get through to her. It's still a battle between the two of them. A battle to get through.
"Jake..."
"Shut up." He's not about to let her get a word in edgewise. "You are not going to turn into the man I used to be after you brought me here."
"Only because you wanted to go," she insisted.
He gives her a sharp look. "That was less than half of it. I was digging my own grave and you know it. I don't like living under the shadow of being a corrupt, dysfunctional, fucked-up son of a bitch and the only reason that I am where I am today is because I knew it would piss you off even more if I stayed, and then I realized that I didn't have anywhere else to go!" His voice is tight. "I am not going to let you go that far for me and then shoot yourself in the fucking head, because you know what, sometimes it does have to be about you, but you have never fucking understood that!"
"That's not how it works for me, Jake!" she snaps back. "I have a husband and a son and..."
"Well, that's the way it'd better start working right now!" He has no problem matching her anger with his own. He's angry that this has happened to her. He's angry that he wasn't there. But he's angriest at her, for not fighting back. He wants her to fight. And he knows he's the best target. He knows he can get her to the breaking point and after years of experience, he knows just how to do it.
"You don't understand the way things work. You want everybody else to be okay before you're okay, but you don't realize that your not being okay affects everybody else. It's like you live in some big world until it comes to you personally, and then you think you live in a fucking bubble. How stupid are you?"
She gets to her feet, staring him down. "Don't talk about shit you know nothing about, Jake."
He just needs to push her a little bit farther. He's saved this one for last. A small smirk spreads over his lips. "Maybe you have a guilt complex? What'd you do, get hot and heavy with the ex-husband while Greg was over here pining for you?"
He has no way of knowing that he's sort of right. All he knows next is that she backhands him, hard. Which is exactly what he wants her to do. He rides the blow, his head snapping around. But Jake's reflexes are as fast -- probably faster -- than his brain, and he reaches up to grab her wrist with one hand, using his other hand to give her a hard shove back into the couch until he's got her pinned there, and then all the niceties and considerations go down the drain. Once a punch is thrown, there are no apologies.
"You know, the sad thing is, I'm almost jealous," he says.
"I'm sure you are," she replies, and kicks him in the midsection, sending him backward onto the coffee table.
There's a smirk on his face as he stands there, shoving things out of the way and backing up into the middle of empty floor space. For once, he's smarter than she is. She has no idea she's playing right into his hands. "You want to do this?" he says. "You really want to throw down, see which one of us is better? Come on. Take the shot."
A pause.
"You know I would."
She does know that. Which is probably why she crosses the room and decks him, hard.
Maybe she's not hitting him. Maybe she's hurting other people. Lindsay, for getting her involved in this in the first place. Michael, for leaving. The people who almost killed her husband. Maybe she's taking a piece out of herself. But she's getting her revenge on someone, something, this whole sad, fucked-up affair.
And Jake Hannigan is an expert at throwing a fight while still making it real.
To him, there is nothing more raw and real than this moment, this fight that seems to go on forever, laying everything on the table. Seeing the real woman behind the many walls and layers she's kept up over the years. Seeing her, for who she really is, he understands. And every punch, every epithet, every move has a meaning. He doesn't know how long it goes on or how much either of them will hurt in the morning, but it doesn't matter. Because both of them are too strong -- they've always known any fight between them would end in a stalemate.
And because all that matters is that she comes back to fight him another day.
He's got her pinned to the wall, nails digging into her wrists, body shoved up against hers, and every muscle in him is screaming in pain. He can feel the cuts and the scrapes and the bruises but it doesn't matter, none of it matters. He can see the open wound on her cheek, the bruises already forming, but those are unimportant. She asked for those. He needs to see into her eyes.
There's blue and brown and then there's acceptance.
Acceptance that there are things in this life that are out of her hands, just like this is out of her hands, as much as she would love to be able to make everything okay.
Jake doesn't say a word. He carefully lifts his right hand and wipes the blood from her cheek with his fingertips. Delicately, carefully, he gets every last drop off her skin. His eyes never leave hers. He watches it all slide into place in her head. The disappointment of defeat. The realization that she's human.
He needed that lesson, too, once upon a time.
She doesn't say a word. She lets him lead her into the bathroom, where he stands there and cleans and bandages every wound and scrape and cut he left on her body. His hands move with the same care and concern that hers did, years ago, in a locker room in New York. After he risked his life to save her husband and paid the price. She took care of him then and he's going to take care of her now.
Brittany stares silently into the mirror. From blankness, to sadness, to disappointment, to the knowledge that she has no choice but to move on, with the wounds she's suffered, without some of the most important people in her life.
But she'll always have somebody there to take their place.
Jake looks her over for a long moment. No doubt thinking back to when these roles were reversed, not so long ago. He leans down, and presses his lips to her uninjured cheek. Just like she did to him, years earlier. Some people might call it payback. To him, it's just something he wants to do.
"If you go, I go," he says, and he damn well means it.
"I can't."
"Then don't." A long pause. "I'm sorry if we broke anything."
"No, you're not."
"You're right, not that much. But it had to be done."
"Yeah, it did." Her eyes meet his. "Just shut up." A swallow. "And don't leave me."
There's a long pause, as Jake Hannigan looks at her looking at herself in the mirror. Looks at himself, looking at her, looking at herself, and what she must be seeing, and what he sees in her. He sees that there's nothing blank.
The two words are the hardest and easiest he's ever said.
"I can't."
September 15, 2011
Jake is standing with Brittany when the call comes to her cell phone. When he can see the look on her face of complete and utter shock, and he knows that after five years of toil and trouble, she's finally going to be moving up in the world. That all they worked for since January of 2006 has finally come to something good.
Jake takes the ball in both hands, twirling it between his fingertips. He's gotten used to being her constant companion over these last couple of months. They go to dinner together when Greg's indisposed. He hasn't missed a single Princeton home game and gone to all the New York road games. They play these same pickup games every Thursday. Both of them were in need of a friend, and in all honesty, he likes what he's found with her. Not that he'll ever tell her that.
When he turns around, he sees her staring at the phone. Arching an eyebrow, he tucks the ball under one arm and walks over toward her. Only when he's standing there, looking down at her, does she look up at him, with a small smile on her face. "That," she says, "was Billy Donovan. I'm one of the finalists for the associate's job in Gainesville."
The ball drops to the floorboards with a thud, and Jake takes her into his arms, wrapping her in a tight hug. His lips pressed to her forehead. "That's great news, Brittany," he says, laughing softly. "I'm proud of you. That's great news. Congratulations."
When he pulls back, she just quirks her lips slightly, and says softly, "I've never looked good in orange."
That makes him just shake his head and laugh, and say, "No, but you will look good at a major basketball program."
They forget about the game. Packing up their things, the two of them walk out of the gym together, heading towards the athletic complex parking lot. There are few cars there, even at this hour. Slinging their gear into the back of his car, the two of them decide to take a walk. Of lately, they've had far too much to talk about. This isn't remedying that situation.
When they reach a small park bench on the grounds, she drops into it, Jake following suit. She leans forward, elbows on her knees, thinking for a moment. About moving to a whole other part of the country and starting over for the better outcome. Doesn't that sound familiar?
She closes her eyes. "I couldn't take this job in Gainesville," she says after a moment.
Now Jake looks at her. "Why not?"
"Because I'd have to leave you." She meets his eyes then, shaking her head. "I don't want to leave you, too, Jake."
But Jake Hannigan is a smarter man than she is. And in the few minutes that pass, as they sit there silently, as he looks into her and realizes just how far they've come -- that she's saying she can't and won't go on without him, that he's wanted and needed and fuck it all, he wants and needs her, too -- he has an idea. The barest of smiles plays on his lips as he slides his fingers through hers and holds on tight.
"You wouldn't have to leave me." He almost grins. "We have a field office in Orlando. And do you remember who's still working in that office?"
It takes her a moment, but: "Christian Brady...Jake, you have got to be fucking kidding me. You don't want to work with that man again."
"No." He shakes his head. "No, I don't. But I don't doubt that I can possibly convince him to consider that divisional promotion he's been rumored to be looking at, and write me one hell of a letter of recommendation." The grin is turning evil now. "He still owes me for clearing his name six years ago. Time to call in the favor."
Jake Hannigan has always wanted to run his own field office. He wanted control of CTU New York, years ago, and he's just been waiting for his opportunity to be considered for a Special Agent In Charge post. He's been Assistant Special Agent In Charge at New York for eight years now; it's time for him to move up the food chain, anyway. Orlando doesn't seem a half bad place to start. Especially when he knows he can probably strongarm his way into the job, and he has absolutely no qualms about doing just that.
Hell, he may even enjoy it.
She's staring at him. "You love New York, Jake. You've lived here for a dozen years. You'd just pack up and move to Florida for me?"
"For you, no. For an SAC job, in a heartbeat." He pauses, running his thumb over her knuckles. "Most of the time, you have to be willing to give up something to get something that you love."
Love. What an interesting word, coming from Hannigan. Brittany sees the confidence in his eyes, and decides not to ask him about that. She just nods her agreement.
June 12, 2013
Standing alone in the men's bathroom, Jake Hannigan doesn't know whether he ought to start laughing or crying or at least doing something. Some display of emotion for what he's about to go through. What he's always wanted.
It took him fourteen years, one fall from grace, and one long fucking climb up again, but he's about to be confirmed as the newest CTU Special Agent In Charge. Unit director of the Orlando field office. He will have no one to answer to but himself. He'll hold the lives of agents and the success of missions in his hands. It's as far as he'll ever go in his career, and he knows it. Nothing matters more than this.
He's defied everyone who said he couldn't do it. Everyone who said he wasn't worth it. He can laugh in their faces now. What he has always wanted will be his, when the director of the CIA swears him in. Yet, for all of that, he just finds himself looking into the mirror, and waiting.
There's a soft knock on the door and he's not surprised when she sticks her head in the door, followed by the rest of her. "Should've figured you'd come looking," he says, without taking his eyes off his own reflection.
"I think you already did." She shuts the door behind herself, folds her arms over her chest. It's been about a year and a half since she moved to Gainesville, and he can see the tan color coming back to her skin after years of living in the New Jersey cold. She'll be a familiar face in the brand new chapter of his life. This time, he'll actually be happy to see her.
How ironic.
"Jake, I don't know what the hell you're thinking so I'm just gonna say this," she tells him, looking at him looking at himself. "Fuck what anybody else says, I'm proud of you, and I know you're gonna do a better job than anyone thinks you can. Anyone but you and your gigantic ego, that is."
He chuckles, and shoots her a look. "I'm surprised you had time for me, you know, when you're not busy working on your tan, there."
She mock-glares at him, but she knows this is normal. What's a conversation between the two of them without a few insults? Things are different now. The insults sometimes still remain, but eight years later, they're almost never meant to wound. Instead, they're reminders of how far they've come.
And how far they truly have come.
"Coach Donovan didn't mind giving me the time off. I wasn't going to miss this moment," she tells him seriously, crossing toward him. "You've really earned this, Jake. I'm so fucking proud of you, you have no idea."
"I think I have all the idea I need," he replies quietly, looking down at her. Without saying a word, he draws his arm around her, pulling her to his chest, kissing the top of her head. He rests his chin there, looking at the door, trying to see through to the other side and the world beyond. "Thank you. For standing by me. For staying."
"You had to stay, too," she reminds him. A soft swallow, before she adds, "I guess it was just a case of too little, too late."
Jake pulls back and looks down at her. The one person he let under his skin, all those years ago. In that split second he lets himself think of missed opportunities. Of the words he said, of the things he almost did, of the way they used to look at each other. They're older, they're wiser, and their paths have been chosen. She will never be everything he wishes she could be to him. But she's still wearing his pendant around her neck. Still within his grasp. And that, will be good enough for him.
He's survived with a whole lot less. But right now, he feels like he might actually be living again.
"I guess it was," he says.
She pauses just long enough to give that moment its quiet death, before she says, "Fix your tie. We don't want you to be late to your own confirmation."
Jake fixes his tie, checks his collar to make sure her makeup isn't on it. He takes one last look at himself in the mirror and one more deep breath in his lungs. He holds his head high as he goes through the door.
He has the security of knowing she will always be right by his side.
I am not a hero
I am not an angel
I am just a man
a man who's trying to love her
unlike any other
in her eyes I am