“No! Stay with me!” Jack pumped Saunders’ chest again, and again, panicking more and more by the second. His pulse was fleeting, blood pouring from the gunshot wound onto Jack’s hands.
He knew it had all seemed too easy, too simple, like things couldn’t have possibly gone so smoothly, that something had to go wrong at some point.
The fact that Jane had managed to get her father on the line for long enough to allow Adam and Chloe to track the signal already felt too good to be true. And when they’d found him, even though Saunders had been stubborn and insistent, and put up a good fight, they’d still managed to capture him. And then after Jack had threatened Jane’s life, Stephen had wilfully complied with telling CTU whatever information they needed to prevent the virus spreading further than the Chandler Plaza Hotel. By now, the other vials had been found, remaining quarantine zones were being established. As far as the Cordilla virus went, everything was being wrapped up. CTU had it all under control.
Jack’s uneasiness had been well-founded when Tony had called NHS to check on Michelle, only to discover she’d never arrived. They’d checked with the hotel, hoping there’d been some kind of mistake, but alas, the hotel had signed her out. It hadn’t taken them very long to suspect it was somehow related to Saunders and the virus. Saunders had seemed to indicate otherwise, that it wasn’t any of his people, but he’d also indicated that he might know something about it. That while he might not have been involved directly, he certainly could have made a deal about her location with somebody in exchange for money, drugs, intel, anything.
However, Theresa Ortega’s grief and overwhelm had consumed her when she’d seen him walk through CTU so nonchalantly, so calmly, as though he hadn’t been wholly responsible for the death of the man she loved. She’d shot him using a gun that happened to be sitting unguarded. Presumably an agent had left it on their desk, quickly grabbing something before they stowed it. Nobody had paid her any mind, until she shot him, of course. Her aim hadn’t been particularly precise, but she’d managed to hit an artery.
In the background, Jack could hear Theresa wailing. He sympathised with her, of course. He couldn’t blame her in the slightest after the damage he had done today.
But there was one piece of information Saunders hadn’t given yet. And it was that piece of information that Jack couldn’t get from anybody else except him.
Because he was the only one who might know where Michelle Dessler was. Taken at some point from the hotel on the way to NHS, they currently had no leads, not a single, fucking clue where she was or who had taken her.
“Stephen, who took her? I just need a name…I just need a name…” He pleaded, desperately. Tony could only stand there helplessly, hoping to God that his dying breath would give them something, anything. All day he’d spent worrying about her, from the shock and hurt he’d seen on her face when she’d found out about the sting, to finding out she’d been exposed to the virus, to finding out she was immune, it had been an emotional whirlwind. The only plan that had been on his mind was to take her home, to talk through everything, then to lie down in bed, holding her, making sure she was with him.
As Jack asked him again, shaking him by the shoulders, Saunders laughed weakly. The concentration was already fading from his eyes. They were losing him.
No, they were losing her.
“Damn it!” Jack shouted.
Standing up, he stumbled over to Chloe, who was biting her lip so hard it was ready to bleed. She had been working on Saunder’s phone and computer, looking for contacts, locations, information that could help them. Tony followed him from behind, silently, like a ghost, not having visibly reacted to Saunders’ death. In fact, for most of the day, he’d been fairly stoic. He was pale, hands tensed into fists by his sides.
If Chloe didn’t find anything, he was sure he’d simply combust.
“Please, tell me you have something.” Jack hovered over her shoulder, eyes flitting about the screen.
“There’s nothing here…he…he must have wiped it before he gave it to us! No recent call history, no contacts…this may as well be a new phone.” She sounded exasperated, as shocked and disappointed as she was sure Jack was.
Before he could respond, a loud bang sounded, causing all to fall quiet in the bullpen. Tony had punched a nearby filing cabinet, his knuckles bloody, the cabinet slightly dented.
Meeting Tony’s eyes, Jack watched his jaw twitch, his hand seeming to tremor with the aftershocks of the strike. Walking into the bathroom, he slammed the door so hard, it rattled. Jack glanced at the other agents, looking down at the floor awkwardly. He looked at Saunders, and the pool of blood beneath him. He looked at Chloe, who was still biting her lip.
He cleared his throat, speaking calmly. “New priority. I want all of you who aren’t working on finalising quarantine zoning and vial collection to comb through anything and everything in Saunders’ file that might help us find her. Every second is precious. Every second that we are not looking for her could be a second on her life.”
“I’ll put an APB and inter-agency alert out.” Chloe offered.
Jack nodded, thanking her.
Satisfied with the immediate return of the agents to their desks, their work already appearing fervid, Jack slowly opened the bathroom door. Tony was standing, staring at himself, dissociatively in the mirror. His hand was still bleeding.
“Why did it have to be her? Why couldn’t anybody else have gone in there?”
His eyes fell to the gauze on Tony’s neck. “I’m sure she probably thought the same thing about you this morning.” He tutted. “Michelle was, is, an agent doing her job.”
“What?” Tony scoffed. “Like your wife was?”
Jack shoved him against the wall by the collar of his shirt. “Watch it.” It was obvious the anger was a mask for the sadness and worry, but that didn’t mean what he said hadn’t struck a nerve. “This hasn’t exactly been an easy day for me either. I shot Ryan in the back of the head for fuck’s sake, you think I’m not trying to deal with that too?” He sighed. “I am sorry that this has happened, but I promise you we will find her.”
A heavy silence fell between them. Jack had sacrificed a lot for the Salazar mission, he understood and respected that. It was just hard for him to remember that when Michelle’s whereabouts were the first thing on his mind. Biting his lip, Tony looked down, not wanting to see the pain in Jack’s eyes. “What if we can’t? What if we’re too late?”
Jack released the grip on Tony’s collar and placed his hand on his shoulder. “We will. We have to. No matter what it takes.”
Twelve hours later, they’d declared her missing. Chloe left searches running, but with the aftermath of the virus outbreak finally getting to everybody, it was just skeleton staff remaining. Jack noticed the light in Tony’s office was still on. Walking up the stairs, he found him staring despondently at his screen. In one hand, he fiddled with Michelle's necklace, the one she’d taken off before leaving for the hotel. His eyes were bleak, the bags beneath them indicative of exhaustion.
“You leaving?” Jack asked, standing at the doorway.
Tony said nothing.
Jack walked forward, softening his voice. “You’re exhausted. We all are. The other agencies are aware of it now, just go home and get some sleep.”
Tony’s breath seemed to hitch on the word ‘sleep’. Jack realised he probably didn’t want to come home to an empty house. Didn’t want to sleep in a bed that she normally occupied half of. “I’m staying here.” He responded hoarsely, motioning with his head to the couch in his office. The couch was rock hard, it was mainly used for private meetings, things that didn’t take more than an hour.
He made a commiserating face, but understood. “Alright. I’ll…I’ll probably go home for a bit, but I’ll be back. Call if you need anything.”
“Thanks.” He muttered.
Jack felt at a loss. Tony seemed to want to be left alone, which he respected, but the idea of Tony being left with his thoughts didn’t sit right with him either. But nevertheless, completely and utterly drained, Jack left. His heart twinged at the quiet cries he could hear coming from the office, looking up to see Tony’s head buried in his hands, most likely assuming nobody could see him.
When Jack finally sat in his car, the car park otherwise dark and empty, he felt tears brimming in his eyes. Closing them, he took a shuddering sigh.
Cases of missing agents were always so much worse than agents killed in the line of duty. The overhanging uncertainty, the nagging discomfort of not knowing whether they were dead or alive. Especially when they had few or no leads, it only made the situation feel grimmer. Despite having stopped the virus from spreading too far, despite having apprehended the Salazars, despite the day having been mostly successful from an investigative standpoint, he felt defeated. His heroin problem had been exposed, Nina’s death was causing him to feel more sick than relieved, and a good friend of his was missing. By CTU’s plan, he was supposed to be in rehab right now. But he couldn’t leave. Couldn’t leave Tony to deal with that kind of stress on his own. Couldn’t leave the other staff, who were already struggling to fill the positions of those who’d succumbed to the virus and died. CTU needed him.
He remembered that the heroin was still in the console of his car. He wanted so badly to use it. So badly to just shoot up and let the warmth wash over him. Let the drug make him forget everything. Jack pulled the kit out, fumbling a little, noting his hand was shaking, likely from fatigue and withdrawal. Every second further he took in the process, he hated himself more and more.
But he continued anyway, ignoring the voice that told him he could stop, that he needed to stop.
Rolling his sleeve and tying the tourniquet around his bare arm, he grimaced at the tattoo on his wrist, now haunted by his time with the Salazars. Finding the vein, it disgusted him how little he reacted to the sharpness of the needle, already filled from earlier that day in the car with Dr. Duncan. The full-bodied exhale he released fogged the window a little as a familiar sense of dizziness and nausea consumed him. Only then did the tears start falling, the sense of defeat he already felt further expanding. A loud sob escaped his throat, rife with the pain and torment of that day. He felt tired too, ready to fall into a deep slumber, not particularly mindful of whether or not he woke up.
Time seemed to flow strangely, one minute his eyes were shut, then when they opened, it seemed to be lighter in the parking garage, a few other cars having joined him. Half-asleep, he heard screaming, gunshots, his bizarre dreams seeping into reality. When he finally jolted awake, breaths intermittent and fast, it was dark still. Looking down at his watch, only around two hours had passed since he’d walked out of CTU. Upon noticing a shadow in the corner of his vision, he sat up, gazing intently out the car window. A tall, dark figure walked through the carpark and out, not making any motion to indicate they were getting in a car to drive off. He couldn’t recognise the person from a distance, but had an inkling as to who it was.
He furrowed his brow. The only thing within walking distance from CTU that was open at this hour was a small convenience store staff sometimes went to for a quick lunch, never able, or permitted, to tear themselves from work for too long. Now struggling to keep his eyes open, Jack dug his nails into his palm to keep himself awake, interested in confirming the person’s identity. When they did return, they seemed to stumble in their gait, a tall, brown paper bag in one hand. The neck of a bottle was exposed, the lid off. As they neared, Jack felt his stomach sink.
Tony happened to look up at his car, meeting Jack’s equally bloodshot gaze. He froze, the tension and mutual shame between them palpable. He walked away, to a corner of the garage Jack knew was a blindspot in the cameras. He suspected he’d probably looped or wiped the footage for the current time either way. Eventually, after taking a considerable swig, Jack heard Tony smash the bottle, and watched him walked back into CTU, presumably to sleep on the couch as he’d indicated before.
Not feeling quite right to drive, or to leave Tony, Jack decided to let his eyes shut again, this time reclining the seat in hopes of sleeping properly.
And the cycle repeated itself.
Seemingly every night for the next three months, after yet another unsuccessful day of little or no further answers about Michelle’s whereabouts, both of them would yield to their respective vices, never mentioning a word about it. But it was apparent between them that they each knew about it. It was in the way that Jack would offer Tony a mint if he could smell the whiskey on his breath. It was the way Tony gave Jack a container to dispose of the needles with, lest they risk being found mixed with everybody else’s trash. Physically though, it was becoming harder and harder to hide from everybody else, Jack neither confirming nor denying the continuation of his usage to Kim or Division or anybody who was insistent on him going to rehab.
When Tony walked out into the garage one night, he was surprised to find Jack leaning against the hood of his car.
“We need to talk…”
He chewed the inside of his lip, before conceding, joining Jack to sit in the car.
“You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You’re going to slip up and start making mistakes, then you won’t even be allowed to continue the search.” The team allocated to look for Michelle had already been reduced. They couldn’t afford to spare that many agents when there were more pressing issues arising each and every day. Imminent attacks of all sorts were being thrown at them left, right, and centre. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to search for Michelle or any other missing agents, they simply had to prioritise.
“You’re one to talk, Jack.” He glanced down at the bruises on the inside of his elbow.
“I know your father was an alcoholic, Tony.” Jack didn’t meet his gaze.
“Who said I was an alcoholic?”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Look…I didn’t say anything at the beginning because I was, no, still am, no better. I’m medicating too. I’m dealing with my stress too. But at this point…” He sighed. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to keep going. Every time we get a new lead, and then it doesn’t pan out, we just use it as an excuse-“
“Don’t act like this is the same for you as it is for me, alright? Michelle is my wife. Your problem has nothing to do with mine.” His voice softened a little. “You should be in rehab. Ever since Teri died, I know you’ve just been trying to find something new to shove the pain down with, first drinking, then just throwing yourself back into work, and now heroin. Your problem is ongoing. My problem stops when we find Michelle. I won’t need to keep doing this after.”
“Had we found her in two days, I would have agreed with you. But you have to accept that the timeline for finding her is indefinite. I’m not telling you to give up on her, of course I’m not, but at some point you’ll need to pull yourself together.”
Tony said nothing, but judging by the look on his face, seemed to be coming to terms with the reality of the situation.
“Six months.” Jack said after a beat. “It’s been three. If we get to six months and still nothing, both of us are going to rehab, to fix our lives up, okay? Is that fair?”
Tony slumped his shoulders. “Fine.”