cybertoothtiger: (bed)
[personal profile] cybertoothtiger
Author: Cybertoothtiger
Rating: M for drug use and some cuss words.
Characters: Jack, Ramon, Chase, Juan and Diego (OC)
Summary: Stoned!Jack does a raid for Ramon
A/N: Don't own it, please don't sue. I know it's not Saturday, but it's done and I'm impatient. Plus, if I post I can get back to work instead of fiddling with it for a few more days.

Jack knows he shouldn’t be driving. He probably shouldn’t even be walking, he’s so trashed. He definitely shouldn’t be heading into a gun fight. Unfortunately, high as he is, he’s not quite high enough not to care.


But he has no choice; Ramon had thrown a party, and the other guys were in worse shape than he was. He’d been cutting back, really he had, and now that they knew and accepted him, it was easier for him to let the others go first so they wouldn’t notice how much he was taking. Except Ramon. Ramon had noticed. That’s why he’d made sure Jack did his share of ‘relaxing’ before he decided they should go bust some heads in the village.


Fucking Ramon.


Of course, Jack understood. Ramon knew Jack was a junkie; he wanted to see if Jack could still perform even when he was stoned. Otherwise Jack was just a liability. Unpredictable, undependable. So Jack had no choice but play along even as he’d tried to talk Ramon out of this mission. Ramon wasn’t easily dissuaded once he’d set his mind to something.


Which is why Jack finds himself here, steering into the middle of the road. He’s trying to keep the centre line firmly between the headlights as they barrel through the dark, praying he’ll be able to swerve in time to miss anyone coming the other way.


He’s going to kill someone tonight regardless, but he doesn’t want it to be someone innocent.


The SUV rounds a bend and headlights suddenly loom into view, blinding him. Jack jerks the steering wheel and feels the sickening lurch of the right wheels hitting the gravel shoulder. Years of practice and training tell his muscles what to do, even if his mind can’t, and he doesn’t over-correct. He holds the shoulder until the vehicle passes – a bus. A fucking public transit bus packed with families. Jesus. He eases back onto the road and feels the sweat on his palms making the steering wheel slippery. Beside him, Ramon is laughing and cheering, smacking the dash with approval.


The speedball and adrenaline and alcohol coursing through Jack’s veins makes it more difficult than usual to resist reaching over to grab the son-of-a-bitch and rip his throat out. He’s jittery, on edge, ready for action. They’d better get there soon.



An hour later he’s driving back and coming down hard. The coke has worn off and he’s worried he might have got the mix wrong, taken too much heroin. He was already pretty drunk when he cooked the dose. He’s got the window rolled down to help keep him awake, but even so, the centre line seems to shift more often, wandering through the night.


This time Ramon is quiet, subdued. Moans come from the back seat as Juan tries to stem the bleeding in Diego’s shoulder. He’s having a hard time because Diego keeps fighting him. Young guys, both of them. Promising, but careless and invincible. Or not.


Jack knows he doesn’t have to tell Ramon he told him so. He knows that despite the one injury, Ramon found out what he needed to know, and Jack passed with flying colours.


The other gang didn’t even see what hit them. The raid has helped the Salazars punch a hole in their rival’s supply line and solidified their position in the lucrative trade near Mexico City. Ramon said the territory was necessary to provide some cash flow for another deal he’s brokering. A big one, not drugs, but he won’t tell Jack what it is. He’s pleased, though. Jack’s performance tonight has convinced him to bring Jack along.


Jack hopes it will be worth it. The whole raid was like a dream. All he can remember are random images of gunfire and screaming and blood. He’s amazed he survived.


He gets back to his room and all he wants to do is sleep. His limbs feel like they’re underwater, floaty and hard to move at the same time. He shucks off the Kevlar vest that he convinced Ramon to buy for all the guys and falls onto his bed, still in his jeans and long-sleeve t-shirt. The red glow of the clock radio on his dresser catches his eye and triggers a thought far back in his brain. Shit. He’s supposed to call in today.


Jack hauls himself up again, fighting the urge to pass out, and checks the door and hallway. Nobody around. Everyone else is probably as tired as he is. He closes the door quietly and retrieves his Blackberry from its hiding place. The blue glow from the screen highlights the haggardness of his face as he opens the messenger program. Thank god he doesn’t have to talk. He’s sure they would be able to tell how loaded he is. Texting is safer all round.


At CTU in Los Angeles, Chase’s computer pings and he excuses himself from his conversation with Chloe. He reads the short summary of Jack’s activities for the week and replies with Tony’s report from his end. Then he adds something.


K called. She says it’s happening on June 17.


Jack’s forehead wrinkles. What is happening? What is he supposed to remember? He can’t think. Fuck, he hates the drugs sometimes. If only it were more than sometimes.




She said you’d know.


Dammit. No clues. Of course not. He’d been very specific that anything about his family should be kept vague in case it was intercepted. Maybe this will mean something to him tomorrow.


She wants to know if you’re coming.


Coming to what? Think, Jack.


I’ll be there.


Chase’s heart sinks. That is going to be a logistical nightmare. But he can understand why Jack wouldn’t want to miss his daughter’s graduation from college. Chase wonders if he can be Jack’s back-up that day. She sounded pretty cute on the phone.


Jack signs off and returns the phone to its hiding place before collapsing on the bed again. As consciousness slips away from him, he hopes he’ll remember this in the morning. If he wakes up in the morning. 
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April 2010

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