24, Milliways: 'Tis the Season (1/1)

[knitwitfics]

Fandom: 24
Characters: Jack Bauer
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Christmas Eve isn't too early to start forgetting.  Originally written for a post for milliways_bar, however all RPG references have been removed.  Whitetext is from Vienna Teng's "Atheist Christmas Carol". Post-Season 4.
Challenges: Used for prompt #92 - Christmas at fanfic100.
Originally written: December 13, 2005.

If he has to hear Bing Crosby warbling "I'll Be Home for Christmas" one more fucking time he's going to smash his stereo to pieces.
It's the season of scars
He crosses the floor of his small cabin, wiping dish soap from his hands, and snapping the stereo off before Bing can get to that line that always make him feel like someone's stabbing him in the heart.

 

I'll be home for Christmas/If only in my dreams.

The silence is deafening, but he can't change the station or turn on the TV; every station is all Christmas music, Christmas programming, and he doesn't want to see it.  Doesn't want to remember what day it is, what day it will be in a few hours.  Which is why he has three bottles of scotch in the kitchen cupboard.  If he gets desperate, he can always drink himself into a stupor and wake up on the 26th. 
And of wounds in the heart
There's a part of him that doesn't want to do it though, that doesn't want to spend...what, his third or fourth Christmas drunk off his ass in an effort to forget what day it was?  He was supposed to be past that.
Of feeling the full weight of our burdens
But everytime he heard a Christmas carol or went into town and saw the decorations...the only thing he could think about were all the people he cared about, so far away across that distance he can't break for all their safety.  And in moments like that it felt as though the lonliness and pain would crush him.
It's the season of bowing our heads in the wind
Better to give into the temptation of the alcohol in his cupboard than that of the gun in the drawer of his bedside table.
And knowing we are not alone in fear
He tosses the towel on the kitchen counter and moves to stand in front of the plate-glass window looking out on the lake.  Pine and fir trees shelter the cabin from the worst of the winds, though there's still a great deal of snow drifting down outside the window.  He crosses his arms over his chest, cold despite the warm sweater and the fire in the woodstove a few feet away.
Not alone in the dark
He can feel a deep ache in his chest, thinking of all the people he loves: Kim, Chase, Angela, Tony, Michelle...Audrey.  Everyone from his old life that he missed so deeply that sometimes the ache threatened to choke him.  Through his wandering, when he'd settled here...  There had been a tiny part of him that had hoped that maybe he could find a way to see them, to talk to them more often, safely.  But every time he thought about it, the risk for their safety was just too great and that was one thing he couldn't compromise.  And somehow eight months had passed, one long, empty day at a time.
Don't forget
God, just to see them one more time, to hug Kim, to play with Angela, to talk to Tony...  He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling the sting of tears.  It's the only thing he can ask for this Christmas, but it's a whispered prayer that even he can't hear.  How many more Christmases will there be in exile, before time or nature or chance or his own hand gives him that release?
Don't forget I love, I love, I love you.
He sniffles, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his sweater. Turning, he heads to the kitchen cupboard, pulling down one of the bottles and cracking it open. 
Don't forget
Christmas Eve isn't too early to start forgetting.