"Perhaps all pleasure is relief."

-William S. Burroughs, Junky, 1953

It was a party at the Salazar's. It was always a party at the Salazar's.

Jack scanned the crowd, alert. Even undercover, in his party persona, he wasn't relaxed. Girls danced and spun with the men around him, grinding and sweating in the warm Columbian night air. Tables were laden with trays of meat, fruit and cakes. The wine had been plentiful, and everyone was drunk, dancing to the live band, knocking about the lights strung from pole to pole around the patio, creating a dancing, writhing mass of movement.

He had been sitting at his table, slightly withdrawn from the party, all night. A few glasses of wine had done a little to lift his spirits, but he wasn't in the party mood. Even the automatic instinct to blend in couldn't force him to his feet, to dance with a pretty girl, to put an arm around his 'comrades' and have a good time.

Merriment was not Jack's style. Not anymore.

He'd been undercover nearly 4 months now, and the men accepted him as one of their own. He'd fought for them and killed for them, indispensible in their drug warfare. He'd even saved Ramon's life during an assassination attempt by a rival gang, cementing Jack in the Salazar's trusted circle.

He was in with them, but it wasn't jelled yet. Nights like tonight, when they were off duty, when it was fun time, he just couldn't bring himself to it. He tried, but he wasn't a party guy, never had been. He'd never been a great dancer. Teri had worked laboriously for months before their wedding to teach him a few simple steps so they could dance their first dance together without him accidentally breaking his foot.

"I'm not going to spend my honeymoon in a cast, hon," she'd said, poking and prodding him each time he'd grumbled about dance lessons.

"Jack!"

His head snapped up as someone called his name. Hector, cutting through the crowd dragging behind him his girlfriend of the moment. The girl, he'd seen her before - the daughter of one of the ranch hands. She seemed flushed and giddy with the excitement of the party, and perhaps too much wine. Her thin dress clung to her, and Jack could see what Hector saw in the girl.

"Jack, my friend, you should join us! Come, relax!" Hector's face split into a grin, and he clapped Jack on the shoulder, urging him out of his seat.

"I don't know, Hector. I'm just kind of keeping an eye on things," Jack said, avoiding Hector's gaze. He ducked his head, glancing furtively away. He cursed himself for the slip in body language, and looked back to Hector. He made an attempt at a smile.

"Ah, always on duty, this one," Hector laughed, pulling the girl close to him and kissing her. She giggled, and pulled away from him, seductively wetting her lips and turning with a flip of her hair to go into the house. Hector inhaled sharply, appreciatively. "Ah...what a woman. What do you think, Jack?"

Jack stood and turned to look at the retreating form of the woman as her hips swaying back and forth, knowing the men were watching. "She's...very beautiful." He tried to cover his indifference with a slightly leering smile, but it faded quickly and he dropped his eyes as the woman disappeared into the house.

Hector put an arm around Jack's shoulders. "You know, a woman can make everything better. She makes the wine sweeter, the air fresher..." He paused for a moment, sizing up Jack. "You know, you need a woman. You're too tense, a woman would relax you, ease you up some!" He playfully swatted at Jack's hair, mussing it up.

Jack had long played the serious guy in this group, the heavy who got things done. He wasn't popular after hours, but on the job he was respected, and valued. It was a role that fit him well, and he stuck to it. It was his usual cover - ex-military, dishonourable discharge for running drugs while stationed in South America. The right connection, the right place, the right time - and he was in. Still, he needed these people to trust him implicitly. When the time came, he'd need to lead Ramon Salazar right into the trap, and Hector, his brother, would have to willingly, unknowingly, help.

Jack laughed coolly, hollowly. "Nah. I don't think a woman would help." The only one that could help was...he dismissed the thought. He was getting good at that, not thinking. All the hallways to past memories were neatly walled off, as were his feelings. The perfect CTU field agent. Calm. Effective. Emotionless.

"Walk with me." Hector and Jack made their way through the dancefloor, heading past its boundaries to the back entranceway of the house. The strolled inside through the ornate foyer. The party sprawled everywhere, couples taking more private moments in corners, groups of men or women talking.

"Sometimes, the job is hard, you know? We need to relax. Some of the men do that with drinking, with women. The party helps. We reward our men for their hard work." They walked through a hallway towards one of the sitting rooms. Jack wondered where this was leading. He kept his eyes alert for a trap, though at this late stage of his infiltration, exposure was unlikely. Unless he made some mistake. Had he made a mistake?

"We take care of our men. Give them what they want, what they need. Anything you need, Jack, is yours. We'll take care of you." Hector opened the door to the sitting room, and he and Jack went inside.

The sitting room had five men in it, including Ramon Salazar, Hector's brother and leader of the international drug cartel. Two men lay sprawled on a couch, another two lounging on throw pillows on the floor, looking asleep, or passed out, Jack couldn't tell which. Ramon, his eyes watchful and calculating, was seated in an easy chair watching the flickering lights of the outside festivities through a window. He turned towards the entrance as Hector and Jack entered, and he rose to meet his brother.

"Ah, my two favourites. Are you enjoying yourself tonight?" Ramon asked as he embraced first Hector, then Jack. He held onto Jack, gripping both arms tightly and searching his eyes. Jack stared back, undaunted, into Ramon's eyes, allowing a warm smile to curl his mouth upwards. He couldn't quite make it reach his eyes, however. In his eyes was reflected the deadness, the emptiness inside of him. It was the distance he could never really hide when he was undercover. It had never been a problem before - he'd always been taken for the psycho, the violent sociopath who felt nothing. It at once brought him fear and respect, and that was the way Jack liked it. He was trusted by his employers, but feared by them at the same time, and they never pushed too close. He made friends, but always at a comfortable arms length from his true self. They never got in deep enough to touch him.

"Jack, Jack." Ramon sighed and shook his head, placing his hands on either side of Jack's face, cupping his cheeks. "Such a hard man. You need to relax. You're among friends here." Jack inwardly raised an eyebrow at the irony of these men trying to earn his trust, when in fact he was here to secure theirs.

Hector chuckled. "That's what I said, brother. Maybe we can help him find a little peace?"

Jack's eyes followed the indication of Hector's nod. On the coffee table in the middle of the room lay several needles, and little brown vials scattered among bits of food and ornaments. Heroin.

Jack's breath quickened as a surge of adrenaline shot through him. He looked again at the men who lay about. Their eyes were glassy, their foreheads moist, breathing slowly, chests barely moving. Jack pressed his lips together, biting down on the protests that automatically started. He couldn't say no and leave. It would look strange, and abrupt - a former drug trafficker, frightened at the sight of a few drugs? No, he had to stay and play this one out somehow.

They all sat down around the table, and Ramon picked up one of the needles, calmly filling it with the yellowish liquid as he spoke. "We provide for the men in our care. They do service for us, we do service for them." He tapped the syringe, knocking any air bubbles to the top. "You, Jack, have done so much for us. You've looked out for our business, and more than that, you're protected our lives." A tiny bead of liquid pooled at the top as he squeezed the plunger ever so delicately.

"But what I want to know," Ramon asked, placing the filled syringe down on the table between them, "is what can we do for you, Jack?"

Jack stared at the needle, absorbed, his heart drumming a heavy beat. He couldn't afford to let his discomfort show, and yet he felt his palms beginning to sweat where they lay casually at his sides. He looked up at Ramon and Hector, who watched him expectantly.

A test. This was a test of his loyalty. Intending to quiz him while he was under the influence? To hook him, to hold him to their will through heroin addiction?

Hector noticed his hesitation. "It is no big deal, many of the men here use occassionally, and we make sure all our product is safe. Our very own brand," he said with a smile. "Relax. You've earned it. Just forget about worrying for a while."

Jack's eyes slid back to the needle, its belly filled with the amber fluid. He knew, of course, what it would do to him. Physical and mental pollution, something he well couldn't afford on an undercover mission. Heroin, a painkiller. Kills the pain. The pain. The pain he'd lived with so long he couldn't remember what it was like before. But his pain was part of what made him who he was. He clung to it because it was all he had left, sometimes.

But to refuse was to raise the Salazar's suspicions. Even now they watched him with expectation. It was either yes or no, and to hesitate any longer was foolhardy. He had to decide. Yes or no. Yes, or...

Before he could change his mind, Jack slid forward in his chair and rolled up the sleeve of his left arm. Ramon wordlessly handed him a tourniquet from the table, which Jack secured around his arm just above the elbow, like he'd seen in the movies a thousand times.

He flexed his hand into a fist, the prominent veins on the inside of his elbow bulging, pulsing. He picked up the needle and smoothly slid it into his skin, wincing slightly at the slight burning sensation in his arm as he depressed the plunger, sending the heroin flowing into his veins.

He pulled the needle out, tore off the tourniquet, flinging them onto the table almost in desperation. Ramon and Hector gave a shout of celebration, the shout of the first beer drunk, the first woman slept with. The first hit.

Jack sat back in the lounge chair, his heart pounding, his adrenaline racing, waiting for...something. Clinically, he knew what would happen to him. A rush of pleasurable sensation, then depressed respiration, sedation and cloudy thinking. Possible side effects including dry mouth, vomiting, itching all over the body. Clinical, cold terminology that were nothing compared to what he was about to feel.

He shuddered as a wave of blinding ecstacy rolled through him, dulling his sight and collapsing his world in on itself. He gasped, feeling every muscle in his body release, as though he had been holding himself tight for years without realizing it.

"Oh...my god..." he muttered as his head lolled backward, his eyes fluttering against the sensation. He tried desperately to hold onto reality, to sanity, but the shreds of his self-control were swept away in a tide of pleasure. He tried to hang on to that control, but it eluded him, running farther from his grasp until suddenly he didn't care anymore, and forgot what he'd been so desperate to hold onto. He was dimly aware of Ramon standing up and approaching him, taking his chin in his hand.

"Relax, Jack. You've earned it, my friend. Relax, and enjoy yourself."

Jack giggled, a silly sound that seemed to come from outside him. He stared in fascination as Ramon receded from his vision. His eyes fell to his hands, resting on his lap before him. His hands...

His hands, holding Teri. Clutching his dead wife to him.

His hands, holding a gun to Nina's head, ready to kill her.

His hands, holding a needle to his arm, depressing the plunger.

Images slowly flowing from one to another through his mind, until they faded into oblivion,and he was left with...his hands. A man's hands, nothing more, nothing less. He stared at them in grave fascination, his breath slowing, his speeding heart slowing. Time crawled to a stand still.

A memory surfaced, of Teri, the night it had all begun, so long ago. Of kissing her neck, stroking her hair as they walked the hall to talk to their daughter. The memories of Teri had been locked away for some time now, and weren't welcome. To painful, to sharp. They were put away for good.

But this time, it didn't hurt. He watched the memory play out.

"Teri," he whispered. He felt tears on his cheeks. But, unlike the tears that had viciously torn their was through his self-control in the past, these ones didn't make him scream in pain, tearing at his hair, his clothes, anything to distract him from remembering. They came, unbidden, tracing paths along his cheeks as he relaxed deeper and deeper into the comfort of the armchair. He remembered. He remembered, and it didn't hurt. He didn't feel anything.

For the first time in forever, Jack Bauer was at peace.

THE END

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