She hadn’t signed up for this.  Nope, not in a million years would she agree to be shot at.  Chase had promised it would be easy and she’d taken him at his word.  After all, he was the field agent.  “It’ll be fine, Chloe.  You’ll see.  It’s just an in and out job.  Yeah right,” she muttered mockingly to herself as she tried to run faster.  “If this is his idea of fine I’d hate to see what he considers trouble.”  Remembering the SWAT tactics 101 Chase had given her, she dove behind a pile of boxes.

            “Where the hell are you, Chase?” she snapped.  “I’m gonna kick your ass when I get out of here.”  A line of bullets cut over her head and she pushed herself lower to the floor, amending, “If I get out here.”

            For God’s sake, she was a computer geek.  She did not shoot people and get shot at in return.  That was Chase’s job.  It was simple.  She told him who, where, and when to shoot and he did it.  This was so not in her job description.

            The bad guys had taken her wire and cell phone so she couldn’t call Chase and yell at him to come get her.  She didn’t even have a gun to begin with.  Well, she did, but it was a .22 that would just piss off the men chasing her.  At the moment she was wishing very hard for the .45 Chase kept under his pillow.

            One of the baddies called out, “Come out with your hands up, woman, and we will not hurt you further.  Do not try to resist.”

            Rolling her eyes, Chloe stuck her hand up and gave him the Bird.  What bullshit.  Digging the gun out of her bag, she slammed in a clip.  Maybe after she died she could haunt Chase for putting her in this position.

            It really was rather ironic, Chloe O’Brian, geeky, blunt, little Chloe, going down in a blaze of glory.  She just hoped Chase remembered she wanted a closed casket funeral.  The gunmetal was cool against her cheek.  Closing her eyes she dredged up everything Chase taught her about field work and put in the forefront of her mind.

            Her dark eyes snapped open, blazing with anger.  It wasn’t fair!  She wasn’t supposed to die like this.  “Woman, this is your last chance…”

            “Fuck you,” she yelled back.  They wouldn’t take her alive.  That way they couldn’t break her for information.  She had no illusions about her own abilities, and withstanding torture was not on the list.  Turning, her legs tucked under her, she prepared for her first and last ever frontal assault.  “Damn you, Chase.”

            In a blur of motion she threw herself to her feet and charged the men.  The gun was gripped between her hands pointing straightforward.  With each shot the impact of the grip against her hands ran up her arms.  Those sons of bitches might kill her, but she wasn’t going down alone.

            A heavier, deeper crack answered the pops of her .22.  Someone was shooting a larger caliber handgun the analytical part of her mind noted.  In front of her, the man she’d been rushing looked startled.  He turned away from her.  Another three steps and she pulled the trigger again.  His head rupture like an overripe melon, spraying her with blood and other stuff she tried really hard not to think about.

            “O’Brian, what the hell are you doing?”  Jack Bauer bellowed at his new employee.  He’d watched her suicidal charge with his heart in his throat.  She was his responsibility, he’d promised his partner he’d take care of her.  And here she was covered in gore with an empty gun at her side, her chest heaving with every gasp.

            Wiping her mouth with her grimy sleeve, she demanded, “What took you so long?  They were trying to kill me!”

            Jack strode over and grabbed her arm in a grip hard enough to bruise.  “Get over it, O’Brian.  What was that?  You have a death wish?”

            “No, idiot,” Chloe growled, “I couldn’t let them interrogate me.  I know too much about the CTU server to be taken alive.”  She yanked her arm from him.  “Can we get out of here now?”

            Someone shouted in Arabic and there was the clatter of feet on the catwalk grating of the warehouse.  “Dammit!”  Jack glanced frantically around.  His eyes settled on a half-opened crate.  “Follow me.”  Looking incredulous, Chloe obeyed and walked over as he slid down the top of the crate some more.

            It’d be tight, but they’d both fit.  Laying on his back on the bottom with his knees slightly bent, Jack gestured, “Get on top of me.”

            “You have to be kidding,” Chloe scowled.  “There is not way I’m…”

            “Get in or I’ll shoot you myself,” Jack growled.  Muttering to herself Chloe slipped on top of him, her light frame barely hindering his breathing as they lay front-to-front.  Her legs parted to let her feet settle on either side of his bent knees.  Hearing foot steps, he quickly reached up and slid the top of the crate into place.  “Keep quiet,” he ordered.

            Chloe rolled her eyes again.  As if she couldn’t figure that out for herself.  Between the dark and the small space she should have felt like she was in her coffin.  The morbid thought made her shudder.  But caskets didn’t come equipped with the warm, solid body under her or the steady, reassuring heartbeat she could hear through the thin cotton shirt.

            The crate heated up quickly.  Sweat beaded her face and made her clothes stick to her unpleasantly.  She shifted slightly to try to ease some of the stickiness and froze.  ‘No, No, NO!  This can’t be happening,’ she begged silently.  The pleasantly itchy sensation in her groin was only getting worse.  ‘This is Jack Bauer for God’s sake.  He’s an asshole, total bastard, jerk extraordinaire.  I am not getting aroused by lying on top of the man.  I am not.’

            Her body seemed to disagree.  She gritted her teeth as she felt her nipples tighten and her inner-muscles begin to unconsciously clench.  ‘STOP IT!’  No effect.  The heat Jack was radiating seemed to seep into her skin and travel down her nerves in a jumble of sparks and fire.  She bit back a moan.

            Jack’s hands, same calluses as Chase’s but heavier in form, came up to rub her back.  At first she wanted to snap at him and tell him to stop.  The sensation of his hands through her silk blouse was almost too much.  Then she realized that he must think she was scared.  After all, she was tense and whimpering barely audibly.  Resisting the urge to bang her head on his shoulder, she focused on ways to stop this.  ‘Recalibrating the secondary operating system…Nope.  Okay, physical sensations then.  Ice, snow, DC in the winter, Jack in front of the fire…  NO!  Chase after a bar fight.  I have to press that ice pack against his mouth.  Chase!  Not Jack!  Chase!  My slime ball of a husband.  Jack in bed when I come home.  Down, girl!’

For the first time in her life, Chloe found her genius IQ being overcome by her body’s demands.  Trembling she fought the urge to grind herself against his thighs.  The warmth coming through her khakis was almost unbearable.  Her breathing picked up slightly so Jack pulled her closer in a comforting gesture.

Chloe’s body didn’t take it that way.  Humiliated, she came then, her body twitching.  Muscles uncoiled and her breathing slowed down, but her face felt like it was glowing neon red at the coolness that coated her crotch.  Jack squeezed her gently, assuming he had soothed the woman.  She couldn’t find the pride to pull away.

Time passed measured only by Jack’s breathing.  ‘Inhale, exhale, 461, inhale, exhale, 462…’  The repetition pushed the humiliation from her mind as she focused totally on her numbers.  ‘Inhale, exhale, 466…’

Voices spoke English nearby.  The wooden crate muffled too much for the words to sound coherent.  However, one of the voices Chloe would know if she was taking her last breath, drowning in some crevasse on the ocean floor, or standing in the middle of a crowded mall.  Ignoring Jack’s desperate attempt to grab her, she knocked off the lid of the crate, crying, “Chase!”

“Chloe!”  Chase was next to her.  He lifted the petite woman out of the crate, her feet dangling above the floor as they hugged.  Her arms wrapped around his neck and she sobbed in relief.  “Thank God, thank God.  You’re okay?  You’re okay, thank God,” he babbled, his hands pushing the hair out of her face so he could see her.

She didn’t cry, she never cried.  But she didn’t let Chase go either as he whispered reassurances into her hair.  Pulling back, she choked out, “I’m going to kick your ass.  Now get me the fuck outta here.”

Warm, woody smelling leather settled over her shoulders.  She clutched the lapels of Chase’s coat, taking comfort in the familiar odors of sweat and gun oil.  Their hands knotted tightly.  “I’ll take you out to the van.  You need to get checked out by medical,” Chase rambled.  She didn’t protest.

The loss of focus brought to light her huge, undeniable stupidity.  She couldn’t make eye contact with anyone, and didn’t even dare to glance at Jack.  Not commenting on her strange behavior her friend guided her outside to the vans.

“Would it kill you to smile,” Chase sighed, nudging Chloe’s hip with his own.  When she ignored him, he made his voice deeper and rougher, mimicking Jack’s interrogation voice.  “Talk to me, Chloe.”  She shuddered and turned slightly, then went back to staring straight ahead.

He sighed again, accepting she wasn’t going to talk now.  They’d wait until he got her home.  She’d tell him once they got somewhere private.  She always did.  He draped an arm over her shoulders and let her lean into him.

Jack passed them.  Glancing over shoulder he spoke to Chase, “Take good care of Edmunds.  I want her later.”  Chase frowned at the wording and Chloe turned brilliant crimson once more.

“I am so fucked,” she whispered.  Chase didn’t ask.