Shelter, Part 1
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"Chloe, that your phone?” Stuart O'Brian asked, cutting off his wife and his daughter in mid-conversation.
"Yeah, I guess so,” Chloe answered, pulling her purse onto her lap and feeling around inside it. Now that they'd exited the brightly lit levels of airport parking, it was dark in the back seat of the car, and it took her three rings before her groping fingers came across it. She pulled it out at last and held it to her ear without looking at the number on the display. "O'Brian.”
"Chloe, it's me, I need your help,” said the last voice she'd expected to hear. Jack Bauer. "Get into CTU Medical, get as much gentamicin sulfate as you can, then get on the next plane to Chicago – "
"I'm already in Chicago,” Chloe interrupted, and Jack stopped short. "What?”
"My parents sent me a plane ticket for our Christmas family reunion,” Chloe said. "I've just landed and now we're driving to Kalamazoo. What kind of help do you need?”
There was a long pause, and then Jack said, "Chloe, I've been shot.”
"Are you all right? Wait, that's a dumb question,” Chloe corrected herself. "If you were all right, you wouldn't be calling me.”
"It's infected,” Jack told her. "I need some antibiotics, but I can't go to a doctor.”
"Where are you now?”
"I'm –" Jack hesitated, then said, "Downtown.”
"We've just left the airport,” Chloe reported. "We can pick you up, take you home with us, and figure something out there.”
"I'll have to think about that,” Jack said, then added, ”Chloe, I have to hang up now. I'll call you again in a few minutes.”
There was a click as the conversation ended. Chloe looked up, but before she could speak, her father asked, "Who are we picking up?”
"A friend of mine,” Chloe said. No sense in revealing more until Jack called back.
"Downtown Chicago, in the dark, in this weather?” Chloe's mother Susannah was not a fan of big cities, even on the best of days.
"Maybe. He'll call back,” Chloe said.
"He?” her father asked, hope audible in his voice.
"Da-ad,” Chloe said with a scowl. She was saved from other, more embarrassing questions by the beeping of her cell phone. "O'Brian.”
"Chloe, I'll be at Navy Pier, inside the Family Pavilion, close to the Crystal Gardens,” Jack said, and Chloe repeated it.
"Make sure you're not followed, and come in alone,” Jack went on. "Your parents should wait in the car.”
"Okay,” Chloe replied. It both surprised and frightened her that Jack was so willing to accept her offer. Several months ago, Jack had been forced to fake his own death to avoid either being assassinated or shipped off to a Chinese prison. Only four people, all of them former colleagues from the Counter Terrorist Unit Los Angeles, knew he was alive; his own daughter had no idea. Since then, he'd lived under the radar, travelling under an alias and trying to avoid anything or anybody connected with his former life. For him to call her, just like that, was unprecedented – it made her wonder if he were dying.
"Navy Pier?” her father asked when Chloe had hung up. "That's going to be a nightmare at this time of year.”
"Chicago is a nightmare at any time of year,” Chloe's mother muttered.
It took them almost an hour to get there, which was a nightmare for Chloe. She'd never been patient. Then it took her another small eternity to find her way from the parking space up to the right level. The place was almost packed, and even when she'd gotten to the place where Jack said he'd be, it took her a few minutes to spot him. Because she'd expected to find him slumped on a bench, or perhaps even collapsed on the floor, she was surprised to see him walking towards her. His jacket was obviously not adequate for the Chicago winter, and the messenger bag slung over one shoulder looked almost too heavy for him to be carrying it. His face was very white and pinched; he moved slowly and stiffly, and Chloe was afraid he was going to keel over at any minute.
"C'mere, I've got a plan,” Jack told her, taking her by the arm. "There's no need for your family to get involved.”
"My family wants to get involved,” Chloe said. "They've already decided that you get my room and I get to sleep on the couch. My mother wants to feed you chicken soup and orange juice, and my father's hoping you'll marry me before you recover and realize what you're doing.”
Jack gave her a look of sheer bewilderment, and she said, "I told them you have the flu.”
Shaking his head slightly, Jack merely replied, "Come on, we don't have a lot of time.”
Looking in all directions, he led her to the restrooms. At first he lingered close to the drinking fountain, but as soon as the corridor was empty, he grabbed Chloe, opened the handicapped restroom with a special key usually reserved only for people with disabilities, and hustled her inside.
"Jack, what are you doing?” she asked, watching him lock the door behind them.
"I've got a bullet in my ribs,” he said, placing his messenger bag on the side of the sink and opening it up. "I can't get it out by myself. Here.”
Chloe looked down at the pistol in alarm. "You want me to shoot you again?”
"Hit me over the head with it.”
Startled, Chloe glanced up, and Jack explained, "If I start screaming, people will wonder what's going on in here. While I'm unconscious, you find the bullet and pull it out.”
He dipped into the bag again. "Here's a pair of tweezers, and some hydrogen peroxide. Once you've got the bullet out, just pour the peroxide over the wound. Flood it.”
"Jack, I'm not a doctor,” Chloe protested, watching him.
"You can do this, Chloe. I trust you,” he said. He was holding himself upright with his left hand, and when he pulled some bandages out of his bag, his other hand shook. The bandages fell into the sink.
"What about the antibiotics?” Chloe asked, biting her lip.
"Never mind. Just get the bullet out,” Jack said, looking down without otherwise moving.
"And then what?” Chloe asked. She reached into the sink, pulled out the bandages, and lined them up on the shelf next to the bottle of peroxide.
"Then you bandage it, wash your hands and go back to your car.”
"And just leave you here?” Chloe asked.
"Yeah.” Jack knelt down facing away from her, then extended his left arm, halting in mid-movement. "Help me get my jacket off.”
"You gonna spend the night in here?” Chloe was surprised at how hot his hand was when she brushed against it, sliding the sleeve down his arm. The jacket came off to reveal an old wool pullover with a pear-shaped stain of reddish brown under the left shoulderblade.
"I'll find shelter,” Jack murmured. "You ready?”
Looking at the dried blood and thinking of his fever and the sub-freezing temperatures outside, Chloe knew she had to offer him something better than just plain "shelter,” whether he liked it or not. She raised the gun and brought it down on his head, watched him collapse onto the floor, then grabbed her cell phone and dialed her mother's number.
Part 2
"Chloe, that your phone?” Stuart O'Brian asked, cutting off his wife and his daughter in mid-conversation.
"Yeah, I guess so,” Chloe answered, pulling her purse onto her lap and feeling around inside it. Now that they'd exited the brightly lit levels of airport parking, it was dark in the back seat of the car, and it took her three rings before her groping fingers came across it. She pulled it out at last and held it to her ear without looking at the number on the display. "O'Brian.”
"Chloe, it's me, I need your help,” said the last voice she'd expected to hear. Jack Bauer. "Get into CTU Medical, get as much gentamicin sulfate as you can, then get on the next plane to Chicago – "
"I'm already in Chicago,” Chloe interrupted, and Jack stopped short. "What?”
"My parents sent me a plane ticket for our Christmas family reunion,” Chloe said. "I've just landed and now we're driving to Kalamazoo. What kind of help do you need?”
There was a long pause, and then Jack said, "Chloe, I've been shot.”
"Are you all right? Wait, that's a dumb question,” Chloe corrected herself. "If you were all right, you wouldn't be calling me.”
"It's infected,” Jack told her. "I need some antibiotics, but I can't go to a doctor.”
"Where are you now?”
"I'm –" Jack hesitated, then said, "Downtown.”
"We've just left the airport,” Chloe reported. "We can pick you up, take you home with us, and figure something out there.”
"I'll have to think about that,” Jack said, then added, ”Chloe, I have to hang up now. I'll call you again in a few minutes.”
There was a click as the conversation ended. Chloe looked up, but before she could speak, her father asked, "Who are we picking up?”
"A friend of mine,” Chloe said. No sense in revealing more until Jack called back.
"Downtown Chicago, in the dark, in this weather?” Chloe's mother Susannah was not a fan of big cities, even on the best of days.
"Maybe. He'll call back,” Chloe said.
"He?” her father asked, hope audible in his voice.
"Da-ad,” Chloe said with a scowl. She was saved from other, more embarrassing questions by the beeping of her cell phone. "O'Brian.”
"Chloe, I'll be at Navy Pier, inside the Family Pavilion, close to the Crystal Gardens,” Jack said, and Chloe repeated it.
"Make sure you're not followed, and come in alone,” Jack went on. "Your parents should wait in the car.”
"Okay,” Chloe replied. It both surprised and frightened her that Jack was so willing to accept her offer. Several months ago, Jack had been forced to fake his own death to avoid either being assassinated or shipped off to a Chinese prison. Only four people, all of them former colleagues from the Counter Terrorist Unit Los Angeles, knew he was alive; his own daughter had no idea. Since then, he'd lived under the radar, travelling under an alias and trying to avoid anything or anybody connected with his former life. For him to call her, just like that, was unprecedented – it made her wonder if he were dying.
"Navy Pier?” her father asked when Chloe had hung up. "That's going to be a nightmare at this time of year.”
"Chicago is a nightmare at any time of year,” Chloe's mother muttered.
It took them almost an hour to get there, which was a nightmare for Chloe. She'd never been patient. Then it took her another small eternity to find her way from the parking space up to the right level. The place was almost packed, and even when she'd gotten to the place where Jack said he'd be, it took her a few minutes to spot him. Because she'd expected to find him slumped on a bench, or perhaps even collapsed on the floor, she was surprised to see him walking towards her. His jacket was obviously not adequate for the Chicago winter, and the messenger bag slung over one shoulder looked almost too heavy for him to be carrying it. His face was very white and pinched; he moved slowly and stiffly, and Chloe was afraid he was going to keel over at any minute.
"C'mere, I've got a plan,” Jack told her, taking her by the arm. "There's no need for your family to get involved.”
"My family wants to get involved,” Chloe said. "They've already decided that you get my room and I get to sleep on the couch. My mother wants to feed you chicken soup and orange juice, and my father's hoping you'll marry me before you recover and realize what you're doing.”
Jack gave her a look of sheer bewilderment, and she said, "I told them you have the flu.”
Shaking his head slightly, Jack merely replied, "Come on, we don't have a lot of time.”
Looking in all directions, he led her to the restrooms. At first he lingered close to the drinking fountain, but as soon as the corridor was empty, he grabbed Chloe, opened the handicapped restroom with a special key usually reserved only for people with disabilities, and hustled her inside.
"Jack, what are you doing?” she asked, watching him lock the door behind them.
"I've got a bullet in my ribs,” he said, placing his messenger bag on the side of the sink and opening it up. "I can't get it out by myself. Here.”
Chloe looked down at the pistol in alarm. "You want me to shoot you again?”
"Hit me over the head with it.”
Startled, Chloe glanced up, and Jack explained, "If I start screaming, people will wonder what's going on in here. While I'm unconscious, you find the bullet and pull it out.”
He dipped into the bag again. "Here's a pair of tweezers, and some hydrogen peroxide. Once you've got the bullet out, just pour the peroxide over the wound. Flood it.”
"Jack, I'm not a doctor,” Chloe protested, watching him.
"You can do this, Chloe. I trust you,” he said. He was holding himself upright with his left hand, and when he pulled some bandages out of his bag, his other hand shook. The bandages fell into the sink.
"What about the antibiotics?” Chloe asked, biting her lip.
"Never mind. Just get the bullet out,” Jack said, looking down without otherwise moving.
"And then what?” Chloe asked. She reached into the sink, pulled out the bandages, and lined them up on the shelf next to the bottle of peroxide.
"Then you bandage it, wash your hands and go back to your car.”
"And just leave you here?” Chloe asked.
"Yeah.” Jack knelt down facing away from her, then extended his left arm, halting in mid-movement. "Help me get my jacket off.”
"You gonna spend the night in here?” Chloe was surprised at how hot his hand was when she brushed against it, sliding the sleeve down his arm. The jacket came off to reveal an old wool pullover with a pear-shaped stain of reddish brown under the left shoulderblade.
"I'll find shelter,” Jack murmured. "You ready?”
Looking at the dried blood and thinking of his fever and the sub-freezing temperatures outside, Chloe knew she had to offer him something better than just plain "shelter,” whether he liked it or not. She raised the gun and brought it down on his head, watched him collapse onto the floor, then grabbed her cell phone and dialed her mother's number.
Part 2