Chapter 15: Crossroads

"It was a noble move on his part, but he's more or less dead now. That cannot interfere with what we're doing. I need you to swear it won't."

"What makes you think he didn't get away?" Jack asked, inclining his head sideways. "And why would it matter to me?"

Mahone raised the hand he had been running over his jaw and chewed down on his thumb. It was a bad habit of his whenever he grew overly anxious. The withdrawal pangs reverberating through his body as a result of his midazolam abstinence weren't helping.

Neither was Jack's habit of glancing at him every few minutes with the full expectation that he would snap at any moment.

"They pulled off a suicide ruling for Kim because he wasn't co-operating," Mahone finally replied. "But Kellerman already testified in the courts. He was talking. A public assassination would only have validated what he was saying. That's why they didn't find a body."

There was silence as he turned away from Jack's unrelenting stare.

"And he protected Audrey Raines when you couldn't."

It was a low blow, but Mahone couldn't help but glean a small piece of satisfaction from the spasm in Jack's cheek. His partner had impinged on a mission that he'd had no right forcing himself into. While Mahone's prospects of undoing the situation were slimming by the second, that didn't mean he couldn't remind Jack where his priorities lay.

Indeed, judging from Jack's tight grimace, it seemed he had forgotten that Kellerman had ceased to be an insignificant Company hit man in the last week. When Jack at last spoke, his voice was quiet.

"If you think his disappearance is going to affect my performance in the field, there are worse things I can think of. What I need to know is whether you're in the right state of mind to go ahead with this or not."

"Of course I am," Mahone said, far too quickly and far too irritably.

Jack frowned. Before he could elaborate on his concerns, however, two plates were dropped down onto the table separating them. Hiding his face, Mahone waited until the server uttered a lacklustre "Enjoy it" and darted off before he gazed down at his food. The sight didn't improve his appetite.

He felt a twinge of amusement as he noted the relish with which Jack was already digging into his steak and chips. There had been signs that things weren't quite right with his partner ever since he had met him. However, Mahone had completely overlooked the true horror of Jack's past, and he wondered now how that had been possible.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" he asked.

Looking up from his meal, Jack swallowed down a large dose of bemusement along with his food and replied, "Tell you what?"

"The whole story."

For the entire trip up to Seattle, Mahone and Jack had spoken to each other only when they had been arguing with each other. While Jack had obviously decided that Mahone was a danger to himself, Mahone had been unable to placate his nerves to the point where they didn't jump with every slight movement that Jack made. He'd been expecting a double-cross with every corner they'd taken, and the feeling had only grown stronger the closer they'd gotten to the city.

The tension between them was manifest now, and Jack squared his shoulders, clearly wanting to avoid another confrontation within plain sight of the other diners.

"You should eat," he murmured, nodding at Mahone's untouched ham roll.

Mahone's lips quirked. "Not really."

Pushing his plate forward and leaning his elbows on the edge of the table, he rested his chin in his left hand and studied Jack. It was a technique that had never failed to break the more fragile of the numerous criminals he'd come across in his career.

And the potential for a full mental breakdown had been lying just close enough to the surface of Jack's placid exterior for Mahone to be aware of it ever since he'd discovered the truth about his partner's two year long 'retirement'.

Jack, however, continued his infuriating facade of calmness. He polished off his steak and took a sip of water, avoiding Mahone's eyes.

"You know, internalising everything and deflecting attention from your own issues – you can't keep it up forever," Mahone continued, voice and expression blunt. "It's going to catch up with you. I know, believe me."

"Shales can't compare to what I've been through," snapped Jack in return, and Mahone smiled at the flash of anger in Jack's eyes, never failing to derive enjoyment from the few displays of humanity his partner afforded himself.

"Our prisons might have been different, Jack. But we've both been through the same kind of hell."

Mahone didn't know whether his casual shredding of Jack's implacable veneer or Jack's realisation of his own hypocrisy when it came to disguising the truth was more entertaining. Nevertheless, a smirk found its way onto his face as his partner stood. Striding off to the restrooms, Jack left Mahone's statement hanging in the air.

There was the sound of a door swinging closed, and something heavy thudding to the floor.

"Sorry," an accented voice muttered.

Pivoting as far around in his seat as he could while still remaining discreet, Mahone spotted a bald-topped man wearing an oversized leather jacket facing away from him just outside the restrooms. The man bent to pick up the bag he'd knocked to the ground as Jack kneaded his right shoulder, his face expressionless.

He met Mahone's eyes, however, and narrowed his own in a scathing glare as the stranger stood back up. Grabbing his bag, Jack swept into the restrooms without a word in thanks. Mahone readjusted his position as the man approached his table.

His heart pace quickened as the man passed him, and the nondescript protrusion underneath the leather jacket he'd immediately scrutinised became more distinct.

Abandoning his pretence of staring vacantly out at the highway, Mahone got to his feet and shifted away from the window. The guttural roar of a motorcycle engine filtered in from outside. Mahone kept to the shadows as the man lifted a helmet onto his head.

Then, with chilling self-awareness, the man turned to look back at where he and Jack had been sitting only minutes before.

Shrinking further out of view, Mahone watched the motorcyclist speed off. Spinning on his heel, he made it to the men's room in four strides before barging inside.

It was empty save for Jack. Mahone was about to reel out his fiercest verbal tirade yet when his eyes fell on the mirror and he caught the look on his partner's face. Real fear was evident in the hooded depths. For the first time, Jack seemed to have lost himself to his own thoughts.

Mahone's entrance hadn't even registered. Staring at his reflection, Jack appeared more consternated by the person looking back at him. It was as though he was estranged further from himself than from the man he'd just bumped into.

"We were followed."

Jack looked around in surprise as Mahone appeared in the mirror behind him. Before he could protest, Mahone yanked the satchel from his shoulder and dumped its contents out onto the sink counter.

"Do you mind me asking what the hell you're doing?" Jack asked stonily, his glacial mask settling back into place as he whipped both of his pistols and Mahone's revolver out of sight. "Or should I assume you've reached the point where you want to get caught?"

"We were followed," Mahone repeated, sifting through the contents of Jack's bag and tossing aside each item with abandon.

"You know that's impossible." Jack made a frustrated noise as Mahone lifted his bag again and began to search through its front pocket. "You're being irrational."

Continuing to ignore Jack, Mahone winced as his fingers snagged on something sharp at the bottom of the satchel. Digging past the hunting knife, his hand enclosed around the second metallic object flashing up at him. He raised the miniscule item and dangled it in front of Jack.

"What's this?" he asked, not even looking at the discovery in his hand and instead visually interrogating his partner.

Jack studied it, shifting on his feet as Mahone's blue eyes seared into him. It didn't take him long to shake his head.

"We just lost whatever leeway we might've gained by you keeping your mouth shut," he hissed, pushing past Mahone and restocking his bag. "There's a listening device on that as well."

"Cut the act, Jack. You expect me to believe you were planning on playing along with the Company agent who just happened to find us in the restaurant you picked?"

Mahone was torn between rage and mirth as Jack mockingly took on his acerbic tone. "Are you implying I called someone in?"

When he didn't reply, Jack went on, "If I wanted someone to shadow us to the Venhart Carinae facility, I would have been a little less discreet about it. For all we know, the Company wants us to know they're onto us. For all I know, you placed the tracker here, hoping you could create a distraction later on enough for you to slip away. I didn't miss that you've searched my bag twice already."

"I think you're overestimating how much it would take to outsmart someone like you."

Jack's face twitched again. Instead of attacking as Mahone was already preparing for, Jack took the button-sized device from his hand and crushed it underneath his boot.

"It doesn't matter who was responsible for this," he said, slinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder. "We need to move before your paranoia leaves your son down a parent a second time."

Despite the fact that Mahone had thrown enough abuse Jack's way over the past few days to warrant him questioning when his partner would insult him back – as opposed to if he would – he hadn't expected the resulting wound to cut so deep. He took a shuddering breath, shocked into silence that Jack had managed to touch upon the source of his festering guilt so absolutely.

Jack knew he had crossed the wrong line. "Alex, I didn't mean …"

"No." Mahone took a step back, a concentrated form of madness echoing through the restroom as laughter escaped his lips. "No, you're right. Thank you for saying that. It's better if I stop denying it."

He lurched out of the restroom before Jack could intervene. Passing the counter and out the restaurant exit, he headed towards the Jeep. Pulling at the door handle and realising it was locked, he promptly slumped with his back against the passenger door and waited.

Though it was early afternoon, Mahone could see his own air vapour rising in front of him. A trickle of icy Seattle weather was seeping through his thick jacket. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to rid himself of the cold. He was more successful at that than he was at dampening the flashes of Pam's body he had tried so hard to assuage his mind of.

The 4WD gave a sudden beep, and he glanced up to see that Jack had opened it remotely. Not wishing to see Jack's remorse up close, he climbed into the passenger seat and crossed his arms, staring fixedly out the window.

It wasn't until Jack joined him in the vehicle and threw a brief look his way that he realised his gesture had been akin to that of a sullen teenager's. He sat up a little straighter, preparing for Jack's apology.

None came. They both remained mute as they left the parking lot. By the time an hour had elapsed, the silence had become stifling.

Another half hour passed before Jack finally said, "We're almost there."

"So I'll give you the coordinates when we get there," Mahone replied brusquely. Jack didn't look at him, but Mahone could still sense his unwanted attention. "What is it?"

Jack sighed, clenching his scarred hands around the steering wheel as he drew to a stop at a freeway bottleneck. He didn't respond until they were half-way through.

"I still blame myself for my wife's death sometimes."

It was the last thing Mahone had expected Jack to say. He hesitated a moment, waiting for Jack to elaborate on a hypothetical situation or a cruel joke. When neither came, he twisted in his seat, his glower backed by the full weight of his thirst for revenge.

"Don't."

"The day she died," Jack continued, dismissing Mahone as he inched the Jeep forward on the road, "The day Teri died. I had a chance to kill the woman responsible, and I didn't take it. There isn't a day that goes by when I don't ask myself whether investigating a little further here or paying closer attention there would have exposed her as the traitor she was before it was too late. It's something I can't shut out."

Mahone swallowed imperceptibly. He didn't need to look at Jack to know he wasn't even receiving a fraction of the full picture. He wasn't sure he wanted to see it.

"I'm sorry about that," he said at last, his voice hollow.

Facing Mahone, Jack broke out the sincere yet cold half-smile he seemed to have perfected down to a fine art.

"You don't want me empathising with you any more than I want you sympathising with me. I'm telling you this because I want you to understand. There was no way I could have guessed that my actions would lead to Teri's death. There was no way you could have known that calling Pamela would lead to her death."

"It's not that simple."

"It has to be." Jack returned his gaze to the freeway as they left the bottleneck behind. "You'll destroy yourself otherwise."

Mahone had long ago drained himself of the energy to defend himself against each successive accusation of his acute self-neglect. It was futile when the edges of the path he had made for himself grew only more black and more concrete with every step he took and every body he allowed to fall by the wayside.

Yet for a long time he'd managed to suppress it all. The fact that Jack could coax him out of his singularly vengeful mindset with one look and a few pointed words unsettled him more than he would ever admit.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, his thoughts wavered erratically between the building ahead and the FBI-issue safehouse somewhere in the heart of Pocatello whose location had already been compromised.

"Schapker Memorial."

Mahone blinked as Jack pointed out their whereabouts, nosing the Jeep onto the curb at the same time. When he continued to stare blankly out at their surroundings, Jack's face hardened, all traces of leniency vanishing.

Retrieving his satchel from the back seat, his partner pressed, "The coordinates, Alex."

"The entire area surrounding the facility is under round-the-clock surveillance," Mahone replied, undoing his seatbelt and opening the passenger door. "We have to take the last few blocks on foot and run recon on the facility before we do anything else."

"If Kingswood's expecting you, getting ambushed is the least of our concerns."

"Not if we want that situation reversed."

Jack sent a sharp glance Mahone's way. He mirrored his movements as he exited the 4WD, walking quickly around the vehicle and confronting him on the sidewalk.

"I know you want to bring him in alive," Mahone cut in, striding ahead and forcing Jack to follow before he could open his mouth. "But you don't know Ryan like I do. I've seen the way he is in prison – he'd rather die than be thrown into another one for the rest of his life."

"How do I know you aren't setting up his death anyway?"

Mahone smiled ruefully. "I never said you should rule that out as a possibility."

Looking less assured by the second that joining Mahone on his renegade mission had been the right course of action to take, Jack nevertheless refrained from arguing as they crossed the freeway.

Darkness borne from the setting sun was beginning to descend on the horizon. Street lights flickered on as Mahone approached a multi-story parking structure looming before them like a dilapidated watch tower. He climbed the stairs that led up to the second level.

"If we pass through here, we can save five minutes," he said, reaching the landing and turning at the door. "And there's probably a good vantage point up ahead we can use to spec the building."

Mahone froze as he saw that Jack had fallen behind and pulled his cell from his bag. He battled his natural preference for baseless accusations, and chose instead to state in a more rational voice, "I thought we agreed there weren't going to be any phone calls."

"I'm not inept enough to take the risk of calling a team down here and exposing our position," retorted Jack, joining Mahone as he opened and entered the door to the second level. "That doesn't mean I'm planning to go in there blind."

"You really think the Company doesn't have a monitoring system in place to detect incoming satellite activity?"

Reacting to Mahone's seamless ability to read his thoughts by merely raising a silencing hand, Jack stopped next to a metal railing and adjusted his cell against his ear. Mahone fumed as Jack faced away from him, all but ignoring his warning.

"Yes. I need it … yes, I need it within the hour. I don't care what laws you have to break, Chloe, just task them. Please."

The blood drained from Mahone's face. Jack's side of the conversation was swallowed up by the low roaring which erupted in his ears. The waspish requests withered away until they were nothing more than background noise. He took a small step forward as Jack remained oblivious to his rising fury.

"If anyone asks questions, put them on the line with me," Jack went on, placing his free hand on the railing. He listened for a moment, before pivoting around to Mahone and calling, "Now would be a good time for those –"

There was a split second between the time when Jack registered that Mahone was right behind him and when Mahone grabbed his wrist and twisted. The cell had barely fallen from Jack's hand and smashed onto the concrete below before Jack jabbed his left elbow backwards. Mahone blocked it, however, and wrenching Jack's arm behind his shoulder, he kicked out at the small of his back, sending him crashing to his knees. Thrusting Jack's face into the metal barrier, he pulled his bag from his body and tossed it over the railing to join his cell.

He was about to reach for Jack's right arm to render him fully immobile when his partner whipped upwards in one lightning motion. The top of Jack's skull connected with his lower jaw, and roaring in pain as he felt something splinter, he threw Jack around and pushed him away. Jack kept his footing and straightened himself, his gaze savage.

"Are you out of your mind?" he yelled, keeping himself out of striking distance as he clutched his shoulder. "I have done and put up with everything to help you get here, and the first thing you do is attack me? I'm on your side!"

Rubbing his jaw, Mahone took the time to laugh before replying, "So I take it that telling me you invited Morris O'Brian to come along with us to Seattle was a common courtesy you were saving for later."

Jack didn't even bother keeping his face from falling into an expression of disbelief. Mahone chuckled again, lowering his hand and steadying himself on his feet.

"You really think I'm an idiot, don't you, Jack? I've seen your file. I've read everything that happened the day you disappeared – I know the real reason President Logan stepped down. I couldn't place where I'd seen O'Brian before until I remembered that he helped you expose the truth about Palmer's assassination. Along with his ex-wife. Chloe."

The last word that came out of Mahone's mouth sounded strange and distant to his ears. He cleared his throat as Jack chanced a quick glance around them at the vacant parking lot.

"I guess your idea of trust's flexible enough after all," Mahone finished in a snarl.

"You weren't going to let me come along one way or another," Jack said heatedly, shifting sideways as Mahone raised white-knuckled fists. "I didn't betray you. I did you a favour. Marking yourself a dead man in return for two seconds of revenge might seem a fair deal now, but your son will pay the price for it for the rest of his life."

"God, I am so sick of everyone telling me what's best for him!" Mahone shouted. "He was three years old when I walked out on him – I'm not his father anymore. I can't be anymore. This is how it has to end!"

Jack shook his head as they began to circle each other. "You won't win if you fight me, Alex."

"I'm not the one who's spent the last 18 months in a Chinese concentration camp."

Despite his snide tone, Mahone had to smother a surge of panic as he sized up his partner. Jack's steps were immaculate, refusing to surrender any weak openings that Mahone could take advantage of. It was impossible to tell which side Jack favoured, nor whether he was more proficient at kickboxing or hand-to-hand combat as Mahone was himself. He suspected with a sinking feeling that the ex-CTU agent possessed a far more multifaceted approach to improvisational fighting.

Not to mention that Jack already had the trump card of seeing Mahone fight up close – something that hadn't been reciprocated.

An explosion of movement caught Mahone unawares. He saw Jack's leg a fraction of a second before he crossed his forearms and stopped the blow connecting with his ribcage. Letting out a primal yell of anger, he lashed both fists forward. Jack managed to trap his right hook in a steel grip, and pulling his left arm down, he rammed the sole of his boot into Mahone's stomach. Mahone flew backwards onto the hard concrete ground.

The air rushed out of Mahone's lungs as pain shot up his spine. Clutching his chest, he sat up and scrambled away from Jack as he made to stand over him.

"End this," Jack spat, rolling his sleeves up and looking well and truly out of patience. "I'm through trying to bargain with you."

Mahone answered by shooting a foot at Jack's kneecap. Jack easily caught his ankle, and didn't miss a beat before snapping it around. Rolling onto his front, Mahone narrowly avoided a broken leg as he followed Jack's excruciating pull. Yanking himself free, he staggered upright again. They both retreated a few steps, weighing each other up once more.

Fighting had never been one of Mahone's formidable points. It was a domain he had always neglected in favour of military and manhunt stratagem. Whatever dominance he had ever held over previous assailants had been the result of the tricks Ryan had passed on to him during their tenure at Division 5. Mahone knew, meeting the ire on Jack's face, that even those wouldn't help him now.

He had to play to his own strengths.

"You did kill her, didn't you?" he murmured. When Jack flinched and creased his brow at the same time, he continued, "Nina Myers. You cornered her, disarmed her, and shot her like an animal even when she was incapacitated. That was the easiest connect-the-dot in your file."

Jack stiffened. "You wouldn't know that by reading my file."

"No." Mahone couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face. "But I do now."

Launching himself forward again, he feinted a kick at Jack's hip joint. Jack saw the distraction coming, however, and slammed his palm into Mahone's bruised jaw before Mahone's elbow could collide with his face. Mahone dodged his ensuing uppercut and smacked him in the temple.

They were soon punching and parrying so rapidly that their hands became nothing but a single blur. Blocking fist after fist with his still bandaged left arm, Mahone could feel Jack catching onto his weaknesses and exploiting them.

"She was your friend," he choked out, vision blurring as Jack came away with another blow to his cheekbone. "That's why you trusted her. That's why you murdered her. You know exactly what it's like to be betrayed by someone so close, and yet you're above the rules when it comes to dealing with them. You're worse than a hypocrite."

"This is different. Kingswood is the best chance we've got of exposing the Company and disbanding it."

"Oh, it's always different. How many loopholes did you come up with for Nina before she killed your wife? Or did everyone just assume that because you used to sleep with her that she was exempt from suspicion?"

Murderous rage seized Jack's expression. Roping his arm through Mahone's unguarded one, he swung him around and hurled him into the window of a nearby car. Glass shattered everywhere as Mahone's back smashed against the door. He gritted his teeth as he felt cuts blossoming on his unprotected neck.

But his words had produced the desired effect. Instead of backing up to a safer defensive position, Jack lunged at him again. Mahone ducked the straight punch to his solar plexus and shot up behind his partner. Taking advantage of Jack's open right side, he bashed the back of his neck and grabbed his shoulder at the same time.

Jack let out a pained roar as he felt Mahone's fingers digging into his wound. Bucking against Mahone's hold, he threw his left arm behind him in a haphazard attempt to free himself, but Mahone caught him by the wrist. Using his full weight to shove Jack into the car door, he released his shoulder and wrenched the strap of the driver seatbelt out through the broken window.

He secured Jack in three loops. As he twisted his partner around to face him, his eyes fell on a glint of metal underneath Jack's shirt. Jack sensed Mahone's gaze and tried to shunt him off, but Mahone ripped the chain from his neck before springing out of reach.

Grappling with the seatbelt tying his hands together, Jack could only watch as Mahone ran the chain's pendant through his trembling fingers.

"What are you going to do, Alex?" he clenched out, lifting himself to his feet as he continued to yank at his restraints. "Even if you manage to get in there and kill Kingswood, what are you going to do afterwards? Who's going to unearth the Company for you? How the hell are you ever going to get your life back?"

Jack stopped, getting his answer as Mahone pocketed the tracker and spun away from him.

"Alex, no. You don't want to do that. Damn it, Alex, think about what you're doing!"

"When you get yourself free, follow the signal and you'll get what you came here for," Mahone replied in an even voice. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jack."

The dull buzzing in Mahone's ears grew to a deafening roar as he walked away, drowning out Jack's increasingly desperate shouts.

Arriving on the first level of the parking lot, he made his way over to Jack's dropped satchel and pulled the revolver Ryan had given him from its confines. Mechanically flipping its cylinder out and checking the load, he stored the gun in his jacket and left the parking lot. Keeping his eyes ahead, he refused to spare a glance behind him.

The time for redemption had passed.

Mahone had never set foot within two states of Venhart Carinae. Despite that, and having only heard the kinds of stories about the Division 5 stronghold that had built it up as more a myth than a reality in his head, he managed to track down the building with time to spare.

Lights were still switched on within the vicinity. Cars were drawing out of the back lot, and Mahone narrowed his eyes, unable to decide whether the combination of the brisk emptying of the site along with the total lack of security was indicative of an exfiltration or the end of a typical work day. He knew the facility housing the servers was a front for a dummy corporation. That didn't necessarily mean there were any innocents inside.

All the same, he waited a few more minutes until the last vehicle had disappeared. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he withdrew the tracker and strung it around the chain link fence separating him from the compound. More lights went out as he bowed his head and let out a long sigh. Then, with a nimbleness that belied his injuries, he scaled the fence and dropped down on the other side.

The apprehension boiling in the pit of his stomach worsened with every step he took towards the building's entrance. It was pointless trying to find another route inside, however. Ryan was expecting him to barge through the front door guns blazing, and he didn't want to disappoint.

Silence greeted him. Unnerved, he eased the door shut behind him, and edged along the wall with his revolver held firmly against his chest. Sweeping his eyes across the ceiling, he realised with mild consternation that the security cameras pointed down at him were deactivated.

"No more games, Ryan!" he called out, swivelling his gaze around the poorly lit lobby as he moved past the reception desk. "Show yourself!"

There was a pinging noise. He whipped to his left, eyes wide with anticipation. A deep rumble followed, and stalking closer, he saw that a pair of elevator doors had opened for him. Hesitating for only a fraction of a second, he stepped inside and hit the button for the top floor.

He darted out quickly as the doors opened again on the ninth floor. Running along the passageway and keeping his gun out in front of his tensed body, he searched left and right. He halted as he passed a conference room and caught sight of a broad pair of shoulders standing before a jagged mosaic painting hanging from the wall.

Doubling back, he slammed the room's glass doors open. The man was already turning to face him. Glimpsing the bald head and heavily decorated jacket, he stopped dead in his tracks.

A harpoon of painful memories speared through his heart. Neither of them spoke for an eternity.

Finally, Mahone came around the opposite side of the wooden drawing table and spat, "Where's Ryan?"

"We may have parted ways a long time ago, Alex, but that doesn't clear you to ignore common decency and respect. Maintain discipline."

Inhuman laughter fell from Mahone's lips as he arrived opposite the man. He barely kept himself in check, the urge to blow a hole into the weathered and frowning face almost overwhelming him.

"Okay, sir. I want to find your poster boy and break every bone in his body before I snap his neck. If you do that, General sir, then I'll afford you the dignity of keeping your head intact when I kill you."

Hable reacted to the revolver rising squarely towards his torso by peering out the glass doors and saying, "You're not prepared to make the same mistake twice. Lower your weapon so we can talk."

The gun discharged against orders. Hable made a grunting noise as a bullet tore through his right clavicle. He staggered forward onto the table, only just keeping himself from collapsing onto the floor. His expression somehow remained stoic as blood poured over his military regalia.

Alarm crept into Mahone's eyes as he returned his former mentor's gaze. In spite of that, the sentiment just as swiftly disappeared.

"Tell me where Ryan is," he said, coldly drawing out his words.

"Nobody is left inside the building except you and me. The Venhart Carinae database has already been transferred to an offshore location. He left hours ago."

"Then tell me where he is now!" Mahone barked, pulling the hammer back on his revolver and storming mere inches away from Hable.

Hable spun one of the chairs towards himself and eased onto it. Clutching the hole in his shoulder and taking laboured breaths, he kept his gaze on Mahone, ignoring the gun pointed straight between his eyes.

"I think sending after him a man who would do anything to see him dead would defeat the purpose of designating him as the new head of the Company."

"The new head of the Company," Mahone repeated, not even blinking in surprise. "You old bastard."

"Alex, sit down for a moment and think about why I'm here," said Hable, his voice insistent. "I stayed behind to offer you a choice. You could have it all. Partner with Ryan and help him coordinate the Sona project. Pull it off and the Company will be impregnable – you'll have all the power you ever wanted. You'll never have to answer to anyone about Shales again."

"I've never heard of the Sona project."

"You will one way or another." Hable wiped his forehead, leaving a streak of blood in his hand's wake. "Trust my word when I tell you that you do not want to discover the other measures we have in place to get you to co-operate if you take the less favourable option."

"14 years ago, you gave me a choice," Mahone rebutted, shifting the gun in his hands. "To walk away from Division 5 and every single crime I knew you were committing, or to go down fighting. I spent every day that I worked for you taking the best route for me, so I left the same way. I'm done with taking the easiest way out."

"It's not the coward's path. It's one that would put you in a position to do great things for this country. To heal it. To make it stronger. You and Ryan could make the Company the true power it was always envisioned to be."

"If you think for one second that I could ever work with my wife's murderer …"

"Pamela was killed on my orders."

Mahone's mouth closed mid-sentence as Hable's statement hit him. He had figured out as much since learning that Hable was alive – that the man he had fractured his soul for and resumed bastardizing it for a decade and a half later had been the overseer of the complete destruction of his life – yet it ripped him apart all the same.

A desert seemed to well up inside his throat, and it took him a moment to work his vocal chords again.

"The only thing I ever wanted was to be with my family again," he whispered, unable to bring himself to care that all of the fight had left his voice. "How dare you decide for me that being dragged back to Division 5 was the best thing for me? How dare you assume that … killing Pam was a service to me?"

"You compromised her life when you told her the truth. But a part of you must have understood that she was an acceptable loss in the greater scheme of things."

"Your propaganda stopped working on me years ago," Mahone said, a tremor of disdain underlining his words. "Civilians and soldiers aren't autonomous. Increasing the viability of one doesn't justify destroying the other."

"It does if it's in the best interests of this country –"

Mahone pounded a hand down onto the drawing table.

"I will end your life if you keep substituting patriotism for psychosis!"

"So do it, Alex."

Hable's clear, merciless eyes were finally training on Mahone's revolver. It struck Mahone in that moment how much everything about Shales had reminded him of the General – the hulking figures, the pleasure derived from pain, and the power gained from the absence of any discernable conscience. He felt sick.

Hable nodded slowly as Mahone lowered his weapon to his side. Before Mahone could speak, his tormentor twisted his features into an unnatural expression. They gazed at each other for a long moment before Mahone registered with a start that Hable was smiling at him for the first time in his life.

He raised the gun and fired.

Head snapping backwards as a bullet punctuated his brow, Hable fell motionless onto the ground. The shot had elicited no fear or surprise in his eyes. Mahone didn't hesitate. Circling around the drawing table, he launched four more bullets into Hable's chest.

The wail of a distant siren was the only sound that haunted the air as Mahone stared down his outstretched arm at the dead general.

A countless number of corpses had fallen at Mahone's feet throughout his lifetime. He'd loved none of them more than Pam. He'd hated none of them more than Shales. And he'd never been left so brutally numb by one as he had just been done by Hable.

Dropping his empty gun, he clutched the top of his pounding head and backed away from Hable's body. He knew even before shock settled in that Hable had been right.

Closure had never been something he'd been able to attain through murder. He'd failed to learn his lesson with Shales, and now, once again, he was left with nothing.

Hunting Ryan down wouldn't change any of that. It was – all of it – pointless.

The sirens outside were growing louder. He could see blue and red beams slashing across each other along the wall. Feeling his feet move of their own accord, he withdrew from the conference room and covered the floor towards the fire exit. Clambering up the grey metal stairs, he heard shouts echoing up from the bottom floor. He ignored them all.

A blast of icy wind soothed his face as he stepped out onto the building's rooftop. He didn't blink as he approached the ledge. Pulling his jacket from his shoulders, he folded the garment into a neat bundle and set it down on the ground. It took all his willpower to keep his eyes dry as he stood again and scanned the brightly lit Seattle landscape.

He had lost himself for so long. Every day had been a waking dream since he had abandoned Pam and Cameron; every night had been an unbearable assortment of tormenting voices and tortuous nightmares.

Bitterness enveloped him as he fathomed that he was surer about what to do in death than he had been in life. Taking two sharp breaths, he pushed himself onto the ledge. Closing his eyes, he spread his arms out wide and lifted his head towards the star-free sky.

"Alex!"

Mahone didn't need to turn around to put a name to the voice. He glanced out of the corner of his eye regardless, and saw his partner advancing towards him from the staircase landing.

"Get off the ledge!" Jack shouted, aiming his gun up at Mahone's prone figure. "Now!"

Something akin to a smile carved deep into Mahone's face as he replied softly, "Tell Cameron and Chris that I love them."

"Alex, you son of a bitch – get off the ledge!"

"Or what? You'll shoot me off?" Mahone chuckled as he faced the landscape again. "I could use a break."

Jack realised the futility of threatening Mahone with his weapon, and promptly dropped it as he halted a few metres away.

Heavily armoured SWAT members chose that moment to storm onto the rooftop. Rounding on the officers, Jack yelled at them to stand down. They did so without protest, retreating just as quickly as they had appeared. Mahone tried to shut out the noise by taking another deep breath.

"Listen to me," Jack said, returning his attention to his partner. "You've been off midazolam too long. It's disrupting the way you think. You know you don't want to jump."

"Don't you ever get tired of saving people who haven't done a thing in their lives to deserve it, Jack?"

"Alex …"

"No, you listen to me!" Mahone screamed, and the anger that flared inside him made him spin around to meet Jack's blazing eyes. "I'm not their pawn anymore! I'm not your pawn anymore! If you want to know where they offloaded the VC servers … if you want to find Ryan … if you want to bring down the Company, find someone else who's willing to ruin their life and spend the rest of their days behind bars! Because I am done!"

"You think I only came here to secure the Venhart Carinae database?" Jack ran a hand over his forehead as Mahone's chest heaved with the effort of his outburst. "I don't give a damn about that. You're the issue here. I don't want you to die. I do not want you to die. You've come too far to give up now."

Devastation crossed Mahone's face. He turned away from Jack, attempting to hide the conflict that his words had seeded. Jack caught his expression, however, and moved closer until he could speak without shouting.

"I've been there, Alex. I admit it, you were right. We've shared the same hell. Two years ago … I lost three of the closest friends I ever had. The man responsible for all of it – I didn't think twice before executing him. I stood over his body, and I felt nothing … so believe me when I tell you that I know what it's like to lose everything, and then feel like you have no-one left to take it out on. I know you think your only option is to jump. To finish it. To give in just because you think there's no chance you can go back to what you had before. But all of the death we've seen together has been pointless. If you take the easiest way out now, then every single person who came before you will have died for nothing. After that, someone exactly like you will find themselves here, and they'll do exactly what you did, and you'll have died for nothing as well. It'll never stop. So I am asking you to end it here. Take your life back. Things are going to be horrible for a while, I won't lie to you. Only I've seen the way you handle things, the way you work, and I know you're strong enough to deal with it. I know you can make a clean slate for yourself – trust me, Alex. You can go anywhere once the worst has passed. You can live again."

Vision beginning to blur, Mahone's head sank downwards. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I want you to step down from the ledge. I want you to surrender peacefully to the authorities. I give you my word that I'll testify at your hearing and lobby for a lenient sentence. If you co-operate, you can be out in five years."

Mahone didn't move.

"You don't want your family to remember you like this, Alex."

A sharp gust of wind suddenly pierced the air. Mahone, already unsteady on his feet, swayed outwards, and Jack let out a yell as he misinterpreted the movement. Lurching forward, he grabbed Mahone's arm and made to pull him back onto the rooftop.

Losing his footing again, Mahone plummeted backwards. Jack caught him around the shoulders as he fell, barring him from colliding with the concrete floor. Mahone had barely managed to comprehend what had happened before Jack threw him onto the ground and lifted his gun on him.

"Don't move," he growled, reaching into the back of his jeans with his free hand. "I have to bring you in – I don't have a choice."

But Mahone could see the same mix of fear and doubt he had stumbled upon in the restaurant bathroom creeping back onto Jack's face. He grimaced as Jack pulled out a radio receiver and ordered the SWAT team to return to their location. Avoiding his eyes, Jack stashed his pistol away and stepped aside for the arriving officers.

Mahone didn't fight as he was hauled to his feet. A chill went through him as handcuffs locked around his wrists, and he continued to stare at his partner. Forced to walk towards the fire exit, he finally uttered Jack's name as he passed him.

The SWAT officers paused, unsure how to respond. Jack looked equally indecisive, until he nodded at the officers to halt and drew level with Mahone.

"I wish things could be different," he said in a rapid murmur, meeting Mahone's blank eyes. "I can't keep your arrest from reaching the public. But I'll appeal to the President myself to have you placed in a secure detention facility well out of the Company's reach. And I will do everything in my power to keep your son and your brother safe."

"Thank you."

Even though Jack's expression didn't change, Mahone discerned from the slight widening of his partner's eyes that his first show of gratitude in two weeks hadn't gone unnoticed.

Jack allowed the corners of his mouth to upturn in a faint smile as he placed a hand on Mahone's shoulder and squeezed.

"You're the reason I'm home, Alex. And that's all I need."

Six weeks later – Detroit, Michigan

The rumble of the transport vehicle was cut off by a crackle of dust and the sound of braking tyres as it drew to a stop outside the barbwire fence.

Trying to ignore the pain caused by the shackles cuffed around his wrists and ankles like piranha's teeth, Mahone gazed out the back doors' windows at the looming compound. He noted with a small sigh of relief that it was devoid of a media scrum.

If he had never been a fan of the press before his incarceration, the public spectacle they had reduced his trial to over the last month and a half had only served to strengthen his intense hatred. Though he had been sorely tempted by cash offerings totalling four times the amount it would take to set Cameron up for life, he had ultimately refused all interview requests.

He was so tired of championing and romanticising the brutality of war.

The media had made do without his help. Each of his hearings had been a marathon of raucous spectators and relentless reporters. The frenzy stirred with his every word and testimony had grown even more fatuous when President Heller had awoken from his coma and almost immediately issued pardons to Lincoln Burrows and Sara Tancredi. Their exonerations had hung, no doubt, on the advice of his former aide.

Mahone felt a lump rise in his throat as he heard a familiar silken voice float through the van walls. Remaining obediently motionless as his chains were released from the metal rungs bolted into the floor, he squinted as one of the doors opened and the harsh sun met his unfocused pupils.

"Are you absolutely sure you weren't tracked?"

"Yeah. Pretty sure, sir."

Glancing quickly at Mahone before scowling at the young guard who had driven the van on the five mile trek to the prison facility, Jack snapped, "There's a big difference between pretty sure and definitely sure."

"Definitely sure." The guard pulled his uniform collar nervously under Jack's scrutiny. "I'm sure. Absolutely."

Mahone blinked, adjusting his eyesight as Jack turned away from the guard in disgust. His former partner was decked out in a polished and clean-cut suit, considerably improved in appearance by the fact that he had filled out to healthier proportions since their last meeting. He had seen Jack wearing the suit during the two days he had stood witness at his trial. It still looked jarring on him.

That had been weeks ago, however. He hadn't laid eyes on Jack since, nor spoken with him following his arrest at his hands. Needless to say, his resentment hadn't waned.

"How are you doing?" Jack asked, shoving a wallet into his pocket and opening the other van door. "Bill Buchanan told me they've been keeping you isolated."

"The peace and quiet was nicer than the courts." Mahone held up his hands, exposing the red welts marring his wrists. "But I've been better."

"Take those off him," Jack ordered without hesitation. "I'll escort him personally into the building."

"That goes against every rule in the book," protested the guard sitting opposite Mahone.

Jack was on him in a flash, pulling rank like he had been born to do it.

"Are you going against a directive handed down by the President's personally appointed special advisor on domestic security policy and foreign counter-terrorist activity? Because if you are, I can have you locked up in there along with this prisoner faster than you can spit out another insult at me. Take his cuffs off now!"

The two guards shared a look, before hurriedly moving to unfasten Mahone's restraints. He was soon free, and Jack stepped back, allowing him room to exit the van. Dismissing the guards with a wave of his hand, he took Mahone by the arm and led him towards the prison entrance.

Mahone smirked at Jack as they waited for the gates to roll open.

"Personally appointed special advisor on domestic security policy and what now?"

"I couldn't tell them I'm the head of a covert multi-agency department dedicated to toppling an organisation that still doesn't officially exist."

"My God, Jack. You do too much. There are other people out there who are qualified enough to figure out what Sona is. Take some time off. It goes without saying that you deserve it."

Brushing off Mahone's concern, Jack nodded at the guard on duty as they walked through the entrance gates. Crossing the parking lot, Mahone changed tactics when Jack continued to remain silent.

"How's Audrey?"

Releasing his grip on Mahone and steering him towards the metal doors leading into the facility, Jack sent him his deadliest warning glare before displaying his wallet. It allowed them through, and he muttered, "Paul's disappearance upset her a lot. She's not happy I'm still going against the Company after what I went through in China. I'm seeing a psychologist."

Arriving inside the prison's entrance lobby, Mahone nearly laughed at the non sequitur. He caught Jack's serious look as they leaned against the bars of a metal gate, however, and hastened to drown any signs of amusement as they were searched.

"Is it working out for you?"

Jack gritted his teeth as a hand patted down on his right shoulder. "I'd be lying if I said it was going either way."

The guards finally finished gawking at Mahone and opened the gate. Continuing unaccompanied down the corridor, they rounded a corner and made towards a connecting room that was evidently the jail's prisoner transfer area.

"So we're the only two here who know anything about the Company, right?"

Expecting the answer to be a foregone conclusion, Mahone stilled as Jack blew over his words with a slight tick of his eyelid. He repeated his question in a louder voice. Jack spun around as he saw that Mahone had paused halfway down the corridor.

"What?"

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

Jack drew closer to him. "About what?"

"About this place."

"What makes you think you need to know anything about this place?"

"You just ignored my question."

"No, I didn't."

"You just ignored my first question, Jack."

"There's nothing to worry about," Jack assured, exaggerating his point by brandishing a hand around at their surroundings. "This prison is sequestered, soundproof, satellite-proof, and stable. If the Company even thinks about trying to get to you in here, they'll pay the price for it, and they know it."

All but pushing Mahone in the direction of the transfer room, Jack forced him to walk ahead. It effectively freed him from any further questions, but Mahone couldn't shake the feeling that he was being deprived of a vital piece of intel.

They passed a long corridor to their right which a sign indicated led to the visitors room. Mahone contemplated his chances of ever using the amenity. Distracted by his sinking heart, he crashed into an auburn-haired woman and a small child hanging from her arm who materialised out of nowhere.

After much fumbling on both sides, they managed to pull themselves apart. The boy gave a quiet whimper as his mother brushed her hair from her eyes.

"I'm so sorry. Oh." There was a lull as Mahone avoided their collective gazes, not wanting to see the fear in their eyes when they deduced that he was a convict. "A guard invited us to the break room to pick up refreshments while we waited. It's been hours."

"That's great," he muttered, sliding past them and stalking towards the transfer room.

He didn't make it more than three strides before he froze. Footsteps were running up behind him and Jack was calling his name, but he was already pivoting on his heel. His eyes met Jack's confused ones for a brief second. Then, very slowly, he looked at the woman and child again.

Sara had done something to her hair. It was shorter on the sides and more knotted and unkempt – much different than the long ruby tresses she had once sported. Her face signalled exhaustion, and though it was fresh and made up at the current moment, Mahone knew from one look at her that she had cried several times over a very short and very recent time span.

She was a different picture from the strong woman he had met two months ago. But there was no mistaking the large brown purse slung over her shoulder. Nor the diminutive hand clutching one end of the bag.

And then his sapphire eyes were on Cameron's chocolate-brown ones. He staggered forward, half-fearing he was dreaming and half-fearing he would wake up at any moment. Crouching down in front of his son, he tried to formulate words, until he realised he had never expected this to happen, and hence hadn't prepared anything to say.

He wanted to kill himself. It had been so easy to visualise Cameron as he had remembered him – scrawny and defenceless – and convince his conscience that taking himself out of the equation of his son's life would improve it immeasurably.

Yet he recognised too well the pain within the depths of the eyes that reminded him so terribly of Pam. It had been his own when his mother had separated from his father and left him behind. A part of him had never recovered from that day.

He couldn't do the same to his own son.

A cough escaped Cameron's lips, breaking him out of his reverie. Realising Cameron was trying to summon the courage to say something, he grasped his son's tiny shoulders and smiled.

"What is it, Cameron? Don't be scared."

Cameron's gaze darted up to Sara, and she nodded encouragingly. Blinking innocently, he asked, "Who are you?"

It was as though a code red had been issued within the prison. Sara's mouth dropped open, and she whipped her head from Cameron to his father, already in damage control. Jack, who had been chatting on his cell phone a short distance away, turned to face them, looking more horrified than Mahone had ever thought him able to express.

Cameron's neatly laced shoe was tapping his impatience out against the linoleum floor. Mahone opened his mouth to reply. He choked on his answer, however, and shut it again, letting his hands fall away from his son.

He felt Cameron punch him on the arm suddenly. Before he could wince or cry, Cameron launched himself into his slackened embrace, wrapping his arms around him in a strangling hug.

"That was for leaving me and Mommy."

Overcoming his shock, Mahone returned the hug so fiercely he thought he might never let go. He studied his son's hair – it had faded to a darker blonde since his infancy – his body – he had grown five inches – and his face – the chubby cheeks were narrowing out, and the dark features were unmistakeably Pam's. He drank in every detail, more than well aware that it might be the last chance he ever had to do so.

"Daaad." Cameron squirmed underneath his arms. "The doctor and the spy-man are watching us."

Sara and Jack mustered disinterested fronts as Mahone regarded them for a split second. He let Cameron go and brushed a speck of hair off his button nose.

"I'm sorry." He tugged Cameron towards him and kissed the top of his head. "Cameron, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I love you. I will always love you, more than anything in the world. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. Whatever happens to me, whatever you hear – know that I would do anything for you. Anything. Do you understand?"

Tears slipped out of Cameron's large brown eyes as he nodded. Mahone pulled him close again and ruffled a hand through his hair.

"Good boy."

"I'm sorry, Alex, but we have to go."

Even Jack wasn't immune to the scorching glare Mahone directed his way, and he respectfully shrank back. Looking past where Jack had been blocking his view, Mahone spotted a reedy man with dark hair greying at the temples standing with his back straight at the end of the corridor. The expensive-suited man, who looked somewhere in his early 50s, was hardly subtle in showing his displeasure at the blatant display of affection inside the prison walls.

"What are you looking at?" Mahone growled, taking an instant dislike to the man.

Sara came around from behind Mahone and approached the stranger. She whispered something into the man's ear, and his eyebrows rose. Mahone stood side by side with Cameron as they walked back to him. Mahone didn't break eye contact with the man.

"Alex, this is Jonathon Beltrov," introduced Sara, acting as though she was a butterfly caught in the tennis net of a particularly violent match. "He's a reformed con who was originally given a twenty year sentence. He brokered it down to five based on all of the good work he did both here and in Wisconsin."

"I was also something of friend to Frank Tancredi before he committed suicide," Beltrov continued, his voice loud and overbearing despite the presence of both Sara and Cameron. "By the way – which moron granted you access to a secure area without at least a pair of handcuffs on?"

Jack stepped forward from the shadows. "That was my doing, sir. It was only a short distance from the transportation vehicle to the prison. I personally believed Alex didn't pose a substantial enough threat to warrant restraints."

"Personally? Where the hell do you think you are, Agent Bauer? There is no 'personally' when it comes to the felons who walk through that door. There is no room for subjective thought. This is a federal penitentiary and he is a criminal responsible for multiple deaths. So the next time you think you can come in here and grant favours to anyone who looks at you the right way, take the time to shove your prejudices up your ass first."

"Wait a minute."

All eyes focused on Mahone as Cameron's hand squeezed tighter inside his own. He didn't blink as Beltrov's eyes bored into his skull.

"Would you mind not using that language in front of my boy?" he asked in a low hiss. "And show a little respect for Jack Bauer while you're at it. You have no idea what he's sacrificed for this country."

Beltrov's mouth curled until it was almost a leer. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to, convict?"

"Warden," cut in Jack, and Mahone was forced to run a hand over his face in order to hide his sheer disbelief, "Alex just needs a little more time to get settled in."

"I don't have the time or the patience to wait for my inmates to be housebroken."

"Then you'll just have to make an exception. Strike this incident from the record. Time served begins when he walks through that door."

"My ass it does." Beltrov glanced from Jack to Sara and Mahone and back again, as though there was a hidden joke that had been lost in translation. "It's bad enough the FBI golden boy gets five years instead of the chair. Now he gets to hide behind bureaucratic bullshit-types like yourself?"

"Strike this incident from the record, and we can keep the indiscretion you committed last month in Panama from hitting the front page."

"Don't try to bluff me, agent," Beltrov snarled, advancing on Jack.

Jack's face darkened. "I'm not trying to bluff you, sir. But I am ordering you, backed by the full power of the Presidential office, to lay off Alexander Mahone until his stay at this facility is complete. Disrespect President Heller's wishes and you will suffer consequences and experience repercussions that you can't even begin to imagine."

It was plain to see that were it not for the security cameras covering the corridor and entranceway to the transfer room, Beltrov would have thrown a punch in Jack's direction. Demonstrating a healthy supply of common sense, however, Beltrov recognised the promise of an unhappy outcome if he were to set Jack off, and desisted.

"Fine," the warden sneered, straightening his jacket and returning his gaze to Mahone. "But the next time you play smartass with me, I will hang you out to dry just like any other piece of shit in gen pop. You understand?"

Lowering his finger from Mahone's bored face, Beltrov spun away and retreated down the corridor.

"So long as you do, Jonathan," Mahone called out after him.

Beltrov flinched at the stripping down of his title, but didn't look back. Disappearing around the corner, the warden stabbed a hand in Mahone's direction.

"Get some handcuffs on that son of a bitch and escort his unauthorised visitors from the building before all of the inmates start demanding favours!"

Four guards emerged in Beltrov's wake. Mahone raised his arms, trying to appeal for a few more minutes with Cameron. Ignoring his gesture, two of them shoved him against the wall, fastening handcuffs around his bruised wrists. The other guards did everything but physically lay their hands on Sara and Cameron in order to drag them back towards the prison lobby.

Twisting his head around, Mahone snatched a final glimpse of his son's teary eyes before he vanished. He ground his teeth together as Jack caught up behind him and barked at the guards to release him. They only did so when he pulled several documents from his bag which authorised him to oversee Mahone's full booking in.

Mahone pressed his mouth into a thin line, stymieing his anger as his details were evaluated. He finally blew apart when Jack was handed a clipboard and they were left alone in a corner of the transfer room.

"Bastard dragged me off to prison in front of my son and didn't even let me say goodbye!"

"Beltrov has a rough reputation," Jack replied, scrawling pen over paper. "I'm sorry it went down like that."

"Don't be. I'm actually impressed. You managed to track down the one federal prison in America led by a bigger asshole than Kellerman."

"He might seem a little forthright at the start, but he's a good man deep down. I've read his file. Ever since he became warden and implemented his zero-tolerance policy, Elderach Penitentiary's rehabilitation rate has come out as the best in the country eight years running."

Mahone chewed his lip as Jack passed the clipboard back. Waiting for the papers to be processed, the uneasy feeling elicited by Jack's sudden inability to meet his eyes or stay on topic returned with a jolt.

"Why is Sara here?" he asked, choosing his words precisely. "And why is Cam with her?"

Jack shrugged. Even then, his nonchalance came off forced.

"After she left Illinois, Audrey's contact took them to the same safehouse in Idaho where your son was being protected. Cameron wasn't communicating with anybody when they arrived. Sara was the only one who managed to bring him out of his shell. They've gotten pretty close. Audrey thinks the fact they both lost parents was a deciding factor."

Loosening his tie as Mahone digested the news, Jack added, "She's seeking legal custody."

"No."

Mahone spat the word before he could stop himself. Jerking his head sideways, he saw Jack peering at him worriedly, and reiterated, "No way in hell."

"It's a woman of Sara's integrity who genuinely cares about Cameron, or an adoptive agency. The very fact you're here now means you don't have a say in the matter. And if you're thinking about what you're probably thinking about, you don't have to stress over it. He left her a while ago."

Their conversation was interrupted by a clerk requesting another signature. Mahone didn't fail to register Jack's relieved expression as he was given something to do other than talk to his prisoner. He edged closer to Jack until they were nearly nose-to-nose, and he couldn't be ignored any longer.

"What?" Jack snapped, passing the sheet and pen back to the clerk as he glared at Mahone.

"You didn't pick this place because it was well enough protected," Mahone stated quietly. "You picked it because it ... wasn't. You've planned something, haven't you?"

Jack sighed, obviously having anticipated Mahone figuring things out. "You're going to have to trust me."

"What did you do?"

"What I had to do in order to do my job." Jack clamped a hand on Mahone's arm as he made to move away. "You cannot act like anything is different. The stakes are too high. And the less you know right now, the better."

Mahone briefly considered letting the issue go. But the fact that Jack had taken the trouble to hide an inevitably exposed truth fitted the last jigsaw piece into place, and he recoiled, face nauseous.

Before Jack could say anything more, Mahone rammed his body into him, throwing him backwards.

They had barely tumbled onto the ground before seven different batons were slamming into Mahone's back. He allowed himself to be wrenched onto his feet as the beating continued, and it didn't strain him to feign a struggle against the hands holding him in place.

"That's enough!"

Jack's roared order cut through the grunts of the guards laying waste to Mahone's torso. They stood down. Two of them kept their holds on Mahone as the rest parted way for the President's advisor.

Directing his middle and index fingers at the guards holding Mahone, Jack shifted his hand towards the gate which opened into the corridor leading towards gen pop.

"Both of you, take him straight to his cell right now. I'll sort out the rest of the paperwork from the lobby."

Nobody moved except Mahone, who began to struggle with far more force at Jack's words. The guard who had pulled him off Jack made a small scoffing noise, which echoed around the encompassing circle.

"No offence, sir, but the lunatic just assaulted you. We're talking a minimum of two weeks solitary here."

"I know Elderach's standard protocol. I'm superseding that. The warden can bring it up with me himself if he wants to. Just get him out of here and put him in his cell."

"Don't listen to him. Take me to solitary!" Mahone knew it was useless trying to convince the guards who were hauling him off to break ranks, and latched onto Jack instead. "I told you before, I don't care what the Company does to him. He ruined my life. You can't just expect me to forget that. I agreed to this sentence so I could forget that!"

"No matter what he says –" Jack grimaced at the guards "– he doesn't know what he's talking about."

"I am not delusional!" shouted Mahone, kicking a foot out at the gate as it closed in front of him. "Why are you keeping me out of the loop? What did your source tell you about Sona – what do they want with … Jack!"

But Jack's pallid face was already slipping out of sight. "I'll see you next week."

"Jack, you son of a bitch! Tell me what the hell's going on!"

The end of the corridor morphed into a gaping whirlpool sucking Mahone down into an unknown fate as he continued to yell Jack's name. Clean white lights were replaced by a harsher yellow. Reaching the entrance landing, he ceased his shouting as the ceiling expanded and heightened, and row after row of cells came into view.

The guards leading him to his own cell tightened their grips as his body sagged. Crude words and spiteful stares followed him along the bottom row of the block and up the stairs to the second level. He couldn't bring himself to lift his head and defy his ridiculers in response. His mind dreaded only one thing.

An open cell door was visible down the row. He pleaded to the guard on his right to take him back to see Beltrov, but the guard merely unlocked his handcuffs and shoved him forward.

Closing his eyes in horror, Mahone turned and stepped into the cell.

His eyes darted around the chamber as the gate locked into place behind him. It was larger than he had expected – and yet he felt as though he had just been buried alive. Entwining his fingers around the gate's metal bars, he stared at the back of a grey sleeve shirt bent over the running sink.

An intricate tattoo adorned the arm of the man shaving in front of him. After a few moments, Mahone's cellmate set the razor down and began to splash water onto his face.

Mahone flinched as the con straightened and finally said, "Sorry about the bottom bunk. The last guy who owned it was a little messy, so I cleaned the sheets this morning. But if you wait a couple of hours, it should dry up –"

Spinning around and facing Mahone, his cellmate's voice died away. The towel in his hands dropped to his side. His hazel eyes mirrored Mahone's stilted blue ones as they widened by the tiniest fraction.

"– and everything should be okay," Michael finished.

- END -