When Jack closes his eyes, he’s surrounded by the familiar environs of his room in Milliways, curled in his bed as a few rays of moonlight slant through chinks in the blinds
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She remembers how cold the steel-topped table is to the touch, and the feel of rough concrete at her back.
(She remembers Jack's anger, and bearing the brunt of questions that rang like bullets in her eardrums. And more than that, she remembers being held here without him, an IV in her arm and fire in her veins, sweating and shaking.)
She doesn't like this room, but it's better than the one she left.
(It's safer - this much, she knows. Cheng isn't here; she's not bound to a hospital bed; she's wearing her own clothes.)
She approaches Jack, half a smile curving her lips.
Jack jumps at the voice behind him. There’s a split second before he realizes who it is, a split second of thinking no it can’t be, I have to be wrong before he turns and sees--
“Audrey,” he says, softly, a deep ache blooming in his chest.
This is the Audrey he’d hoped to see, when he got back from China, and he can’t forget that it’s not the Audrey he found.
“Found each other?” Jack asks, once he can figure out which of the hundred questions in his head he should ask first. “How are we even here? The last I knew, I was going to sleep about as far from CTU as you can get.”
She knows more about this room than its physical structure - she's been here before, literally and figuratively, more than a few times.
Its shape and weight are familiar comforts, even as the walls bleed to iron bars and back to concrete. This is the place, ever-changing but constant, she can hide. It's the one place she's free of Cheng, from his guards and his needles.
"I don't know how to answer that," she says, and she's more accepting of the fact than she might be in any other situation. "But I'm so happy to see you."
Jack takes a small step forward, reaching toward her for a moment before he realizes what he’s doing. This does seem so real, and last he remembers he was in the bar, where pretty much anything was possible. Not that that’s enough of an explanation for him to really believe what he’s seeing.
But if this is real, there’s one thing he should say--one thing he’s been wanting to say to her.
She might say that, but that doesn’t ease the feeling that he needs to apologize. That an apology isn’t anywhere near enough for what she’s been through. “You wouldn’t have been in China in the first place if it wasn’t for me.”
“Your father does, and I can’t blame him for it.” Even as Jack had tried to convince Heller to let him talk to Audrey at CTU, that he’d been able to get through to her very briefly that one time, he’d known, deep down, that what Heller had said was true.
You’re cursed, Jack. Everything you touch, one way or another, ends up dead.
Her voice hitches; for one free-falling moment, she's six years old again, wrapped in her dad's arms after scraping her elbow, and hiccuping a watery laugh when he tells her a knock-knock joke they both know by heart.
"He's angry," she says, sadness shading the words. "But that doesn't change what happened. I went to Beijing knowing there could be consequences."
“I never wanted you to get hurt, Audrey. I should have been the one facing the consequences--the one still facing them. You should be the one moving on, not me.”
It’s one of the major things holding him back, even as everyday life in the States gets more and more familiar to him again. How can he move on and have a regular life--how can he even try to be happy again--when Audrey doesn’t have the chance to do the same thing, and might never have it? How can he even think of healing when she’s the one that’s so damaged, all because of him?
"I never wanted to get hurt, either," she says, her mouth twisting into a brief frown. "But I knew what I was doing was risky. What happened ... "
(The questions never end - Cheng's men shout at her in dialects she doesn't understand, and try as she might, she can't block out everything, because it's too much, her brain on fire and her muscles convulsing.)
She pulls herself back to the conversation, refocusing on Jack.
"It wasn't something we could control."
She places a light hand on his shoulder.
"As much as you want me to move on, I want the same thing for you."
He can see her go somewhere else for a moment, and he’s pretty sure he knows where. This time when he reaches out he does touch her cheek, gently running his thumb along her cheekbone.
“It’s all right, Audrey. You’re safe now. They can’t hurt you any more.” No more than she already is, reliving everything she’d been through.
“I just want you to be okay. I want you to be happy,” he says, his voice a little hoarse.
She remembers how cold the steel-topped table is to the touch, and the feel of rough concrete at her back.
(She remembers Jack's anger, and bearing the brunt of questions that rang like bullets in her eardrums. And more than that, she remembers being held here without him, an IV in her arm and fire in her veins, sweating and shaking.)
She doesn't like this room, but it's better than the one she left.
(It's safer - this much, she knows. Cheng isn't here; she's not bound to a hospital bed; she's wearing her own clothes.)
She approaches Jack, half a smile curving her lips.
(She's safe, mobile and coherent.)
"Jack."
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“Audrey,” he says, softly, a deep ache blooming in his chest.
This is the Audrey he’d hoped to see, when he got back from China, and he can’t forget that it’s not the Audrey he found.
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He's so familiar it hurts.
She resists the urge to smooth her silk blouse or run her palms down the sides of her pencil skirt.
"We found each other, after all."
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Its shape and weight are familiar comforts, even as the walls bleed to iron bars and back to concrete. This is the place, ever-changing but constant, she can hide. It's the one place she's free of Cheng, from his guards and his needles.
"I don't know how to answer that," she says, and she's more accepting of the fact than she might be in any other situation. "But I'm so happy to see you."
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“It’s really you?” he says, softly. “The last time I saw you...”
The last time I saw you, you’d hardly even look me in the eyes and you didn’t even realize I was there.
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"Yeah," she says, just as soft. "It's really me."
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But if this is real, there’s one thing he should say--one thing he’s been wanting to say to her.
“I’m sorry, Audrey.”
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"Jack, don't." She shakes her head slightly. "You don't have to apologize."
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A beat.
"But I don't blame you for what happened - even when part of me wants to, I can't."
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You’re cursed, Jack. Everything you touch, one way or another, ends up dead.
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Her voice hitches; for one free-falling moment, she's six years old again, wrapped in her dad's arms after scraping her elbow, and hiccuping a watery laugh when he tells her a knock-knock joke they both know by heart.
"He's angry," she says, sadness shading the words. "But that doesn't change what happened. I went to Beijing knowing there could be consequences."
Her eyes never leave Jack's.
"I think that's what upsets him most."
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It’s one of the major things holding him back, even as everyday life in the States gets more and more familiar to him again. How can he move on and have a regular life--how can he even try to be happy again--when Audrey doesn’t have the chance to do the same thing, and might never have it? How can he even think of healing when she’s the one that’s so damaged, all because of him?
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(The questions never end - Cheng's men shout at her in dialects she doesn't understand, and try as she might, she can't block out everything, because it's too much, her brain on fire and her muscles convulsing.)
She pulls herself back to the conversation, refocusing on Jack.
"It wasn't something we could control."
She places a light hand on his shoulder.
"As much as you want me to move on, I want the same thing for you."
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“It’s all right, Audrey. You’re safe now. They can’t hurt you any more.” No more than she already is, reliving everything she’d been through.
“I just want you to be okay. I want you to be happy,” he says, his voice a little hoarse.
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