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Mar. 30th, 2007 12:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action_antiheroJuly 10, 2012
7:54am
He's up at the same time Chris is, as he had been every morning since the attacks started; some days, it was the only time he really got to spend with her, before she was exhausted by a long day at CTU.
A cup of coffee in his hands, he turns on the TV, almost dreading what he'll see on the news networks. Every day, there's something: another attack, increases in senseless violence against anyone who looks Arabic, destruction of mosques and businesses. Things just seem to be getting worse, spiralling rapidly out of control.
None of it prepares him for what he sees when he changes the channel to CNB, however. Nothing makes him suspect that it might become so personal.
PALMER ASSASSINATED IN L.A.
His eyes spots the banner at the bottom of the screen almost at the same time the rest of his brain saw the stock footage of Palmer, registering as something not quite right. For a moment, he stares at that word--assassinated--trying to make sure the word is really the one that he thinks it is.
"Chris, you should see this," he calls distantly. She needs to see the television report, if only to tell him that he's seeing what he thinks he's seeing.
David Palmer is dead. The thought echoes numbly through his brain, as the solemn platitudes of the anchor gradually fades into his consciousness.
"After two attempts on his life on the day of the Califormia primaries, President Palmer not only won the nomination as Democratic candidate, but went on to become the first African-American President in United States' history. Palmer was widely commended for bringing integrity and honesty back into the Oval Office--"
As it starts sinking in, Jack lowers his head, his shoulders sagging. Though he's never been entirely comfortable calling Palmer his friend--the man is the former President of the United States, after all--he had trusted Palmer, because Palmer had trusted him. Palmer had tried to give him time to find evidence the the Cyprus recording was faked, he had put his faith in Jack. Sometimes that had been a thought that was more frightening than heartening, true, but it had meant a lot to him. Even when he'd asked Jack to do things Jack hadn't wanted to contemplate. Following Saunders' orders and killing Ryan. Taking on the raid on the Chinese consulate, even though he knew that if they were caught the government couldn't be implicated. In both cases, the only person he could trust with those acts was Jack, and that meant something to him, even if they were more of a curse than a blessing. Even if Jack would have given anything to not have been the only one who could do the job in Palmer's eyes. They still meant he had the trust of someone he respected, greatly.
He lowers his head for a moment, the weight of it falling on him, rubbing his eyes as they started to water. Palmer is dead, and the country seemed somehow diminished by the loss. Palmer might have damaged his campaign with his stance on internment in the last few days, but he still had the power to do good; still some hope that somehow the country would come to his senses and start following his lead.
Now that power is gone, forever; a voice of sanity in the midst of chaos, now gone silent.
7:54am
He's up at the same time Chris is, as he had been every morning since the attacks started; some days, it was the only time he really got to spend with her, before she was exhausted by a long day at CTU.
A cup of coffee in his hands, he turns on the TV, almost dreading what he'll see on the news networks. Every day, there's something: another attack, increases in senseless violence against anyone who looks Arabic, destruction of mosques and businesses. Things just seem to be getting worse, spiralling rapidly out of control.
None of it prepares him for what he sees when he changes the channel to CNB, however. Nothing makes him suspect that it might become so personal.
PALMER ASSASSINATED IN L.A.
His eyes spots the banner at the bottom of the screen almost at the same time the rest of his brain saw the stock footage of Palmer, registering as something not quite right. For a moment, he stares at that word--assassinated--trying to make sure the word is really the one that he thinks it is.
"Chris, you should see this," he calls distantly. She needs to see the television report, if only to tell him that he's seeing what he thinks he's seeing.
David Palmer is dead. The thought echoes numbly through his brain, as the solemn platitudes of the anchor gradually fades into his consciousness.
"After two attempts on his life on the day of the Califormia primaries, President Palmer not only won the nomination as Democratic candidate, but went on to become the first African-American President in United States' history. Palmer was widely commended for bringing integrity and honesty back into the Oval Office--"
As it starts sinking in, Jack lowers his head, his shoulders sagging. Though he's never been entirely comfortable calling Palmer his friend--the man is the former President of the United States, after all--he had trusted Palmer, because Palmer had trusted him. Palmer had tried to give him time to find evidence the the Cyprus recording was faked, he had put his faith in Jack. Sometimes that had been a thought that was more frightening than heartening, true, but it had meant a lot to him. Even when he'd asked Jack to do things Jack hadn't wanted to contemplate. Following Saunders' orders and killing Ryan. Taking on the raid on the Chinese consulate, even though he knew that if they were caught the government couldn't be implicated. In both cases, the only person he could trust with those acts was Jack, and that meant something to him, even if they were more of a curse than a blessing. Even if Jack would have given anything to not have been the only one who could do the job in Palmer's eyes. They still meant he had the trust of someone he respected, greatly.
He lowers his head for a moment, the weight of it falling on him, rubbing his eyes as they started to water. Palmer is dead, and the country seemed somehow diminished by the loss. Palmer might have damaged his campaign with his stance on internment in the last few days, but he still had the power to do good; still some hope that somehow the country would come to his senses and start following his lead.
Now that power is gone, forever; a voice of sanity in the midst of chaos, now gone silent.
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no subject
Date: 2007-03-30 04:16 am (UTC)Chris hits the speed dial, intending to return one of the calls. However, hearing the words, "David Palmer was 55 years old," she snaps the phone shut. "Wait. What?"
Oh my God.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-30 04:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-30 04:26 am (UTC)Noticing the slump of Jack's shoulders and the look on his face, she walks over to take a seat next to him. Looking at him, Chris takes his hand in hers. "I'm so sorry, Jack."
Her own feelings for the former president didn't allow her to feel much. She certainly wasn't happy he was dead but much of the sadness Chris felt was for the people he left behind. For the people who cared about him. Even though she understood more about that day and knew that Palmer had agonized it, he still allowed her father to die and she couldn't get past that.
She wonders if she should call Caiti, if her sister was in the room when it happened. "They didn't say anyone else was hurt, did they?"
no subject
Date: 2007-03-30 04:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-30 04:33 am (UTC)Reluctantly, she pulls away from him."I should still try to call her." Before she can grab the phone, however, there's a knock at the door.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-30 04:45 am (UTC)"I'll get it; you call Caiti," he says, getting to his feet.
As he looks through the peephole, though, there's an added feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach. It's not one of the neighbours at the door; it's three men in suits and sunglasses, and he opens the door warily.
"Can I help you?" Jack asks, glancing at the men, taking in details behind a calm facade. Coiled wires tucked behind their ears; dark, conservative suits and ties--they look like Secret Service, but something seems off.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-30 04:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-30 05:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-30 05:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-30 06:34 am (UTC)An awful sinking feeling comes over Chris. If they were Secret Service then their visit might have something to do with Caiti.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-30 06:36 am (UTC)"Your sister was injured in the attack on President Palmer this morning. We were requested to bring you to the hospital, along with Mr. Bauer, if he wished to accompany you."
no subject
Date: 2007-03-30 03:49 pm (UTC)There's one thing he is certain about, however: they can't leave with these men.
Nodding, Jack feigns concern, reaching behind him, trying to find Chris' arm and make sure she's not going to go running out of the apartment. "All right--we'll be down in a minute. Just give us a couple minutes to get ready," he says.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-30 07:39 pm (UTC)Jack says something and Chris doesn't hear all of it but she nods along anyway, just trusting that she should listen to him right now.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-30 07:41 pm (UTC)Behind him, the other agents shuffle their feet, moving a little closer to the doorway. "Could we come in instead of discussing this in the hall?"
no subject
Date: 2007-03-31 01:05 am (UTC)He only manages to close it by a few inches before the agent at the front of the group puts his hand on the door, pushing against it. There's a second where Jack stares into the sunglasses of the "agent", knowing in the pit of his stomach that he had been right, before he lashes out, trying to hit the agent in the face, to distract him. It backfires, the "agent" dodging the blow and throwing his weight against the door, tearing it from Jack's grip.
In the split-second he has, Jack turns, yelling, "Bedroom; call 911!" to Chris, before the pseudo-agent kicks the back of his knee, grabbing his shirt collar as the others push their way inside.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-31 01:40 am (UTC)Almost at the door, she can hear the scuffle behind her and decides she'd be better off with her gun than the phone. Not that it matters. Before he hand even touches the door knob, she feels an arm around her waist and a hand covering her mouth to muffle her scream. Struggling with the agent, Chris scrapes one foot down his shin before slamming her heel down onto his foot.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-31 01:46 am (UTC)From the hallway he hears a muffled cry, and he knows one of them has gotten to Chris. Fuelled by anger, he pushes through the pain and tries to land a blow to a more sensitive part of his attacker's anatomy, but he's outnumbered, and the movement only earns another kick in response.
Down the hall there's a yelp from one of the attackers; at least it sounds like Chris is having better luck than he is. Not for long, though, as while he struggles to catch his breath, he can hear the third man heading toward her.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-31 01:55 am (UTC)The sudden sound of a gun being cocked ends that thought.
"Cooperate and no one gets hurt," the third agent says while the other agent twists her arm behind her back and slaps the cuffs on more forcefully than necessary.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-31 01:57 am (UTC)Though he'd love nothing more than to grab the gun and take down all three of them, he can't be a hundred percent sure that one of them won't get a shot off first, and the last thing he wants to do is risk Chris getting hurt. Scowling, he obeys, the "agent" pulling Jack's hands behind him and putting him in handcuffs. Jack doesn't think for a moment that these guys are Secret Service, but obviously this one at least has a law enforcement background. He can feel his heart rate jump at the feeling of cold steel closing arouns his wrists, and he fights the anxiety he can feel in the pit of his stomach. It's been a while since he last had a panic attack; he can't afford to freak out now.
Yanked to his feet, Jack feels a hand shove him in the back, pushing him toward the door. "Move, and don't try anything." Stiffly, trying to control his temper enough to stay aware of the situation and anything that could work to his advantage, Jack obeys.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-31 02:00 am (UTC)"You'll find out," the man behind her says, following her down the stairs.
Chris opens her mouth to say something else, ask how they know about Caiti, but thinks better of it. If they had her sister, they would have said something already. They push the doors open and the "agents" guide her and Jack over to a dark blue van, where a fourth man is behind the wheel.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-31 02:06 am (UTC)As the van takes off, one of the agents pulls out a set of keys. "I'm gonna cuff you in front, but if either of you try anything, don't think my partners won't hesitate to shoot." Jack's a little surprised at the switch, but then it makes sense. He and Chris are outnumbered, and while in the condo there was the chance they could try attracting attention, they're on their own here. Cuffing someone in front makes it easier for a captive to move on their own; you just have to have the right force available to make sure they don't try anything funny.
His hands in front of him now, Jack glances over at Chris, trying to think of how to get them out of this. There aren't any windows in the back of the van, but judging from the traffic sounds around them and the lack of stops they're headed somewhere remote, somewhere out of Valencia and the other suburbs.
He's not entirely sure whether that helps their chances or worsens them.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-05 09:06 pm (UTC)There were only a few reasons for them to go somewhere so remote and none of them were good.
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