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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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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.