Sixty
Seconds
by wordsthatfail
Rating: R for language
Pairing: Jack. Just Jack. Mentions of Kim, Chase,
Chappelle, Nina, the Salazars and Brad Hammond.
Spoilers: Season Three
Summary: After the events of Day Three, Jack Bauer
needs a minute.
Disclaimer: The characters aren’t mine; the
words are. Please don’t take legal action —
lowly college students aren’t worth suing, unless
you’re in the market for Ramen and a two-year-old
iPod.
A/N: This is my first attempt at 24 fanfic;
I just finished the third season and felt compelled to
write this vignette. Feedback is my emotional chocolate,
but be brutal. I welcome comments and criticism of all
kinds.
He strode out of the
hospital on wobbly legs.
Everything’s fine, he told himself as he
fished his keys from his pocket. Kim’s fine.
Chase will be fine. Everything’s fine.
He climbed into the driver’s seat of the CTU-issue
Expedition and closed the door, the quiet click
reverberating through his brain.
For the first time in more than twenty-four hours, Jack
Bauer was completely alone.
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Click.
He was handcuffed and helpless in the Salazars’
plane.
Click.
He was watching Hector Salazar gasp his final breath.
Click.
He was standing over Nina Myers’ body, his gun still
smoking.
Click.
He was executing Ryan Chappelle.
Click.
He was running, hard and fast, terrified that the gunshot
had hit his daughter instead of her assailant.
Click.
He was amputating Chase Edmunds’ left hand with a
fireman’s axe in a middle-school chemistry lab.
Click.
Jack opened his eyes and stared sightlessly at the
steering wheel. He needed to go somewhere for a while,
he’d told Kim.
But he wasn’t sure where.
Truth be told, Jack didn’t know what he needed.
He only knew he was tired. Exhausted. Completely spent.
Jack gripped the steering wheel as his eyes filled with
tears. An acrid, bitter taste coated the back of his
throat.
He needed a minute. Just one minute to expel the rage.
The sadness. The guilt. Just one minute.
“Jack?” The walkie-talkie function on his cell
crackled to life. “You there?”
Fuck.
He squeezed his eyes shut and wiped at his cheeks with
shaking hands.
“Jack?”
It was Brad Hammond.
He drew in a deep breath and pulled the phone from his
coat pocket.
“This is Bauer,” he replied, willing his voice
to remain steady.
“Look, we’re about to question Saunders’
courier. We could really use your help down here.”
He jammed his key into the ignition.
“On my way.”
If there was one thing Jack Bauer didn’t have, it
was time for himself.
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