"Don't go too far," Ryan called after David, as he ran off into the woods. He watched the boy absently nod, not breaking pace and Ryan almost felt a little silly for bothering. David was smart enough to not go too far but Ryan still couldn't shake that sense of worry. It'd been over two months since he'd spoken to Jack about what was happening outside and he hadn't heard anything since.

Sometimes, he almost had himself convinced that no news must be good news. If something had gone wrong, somehow, he'd know it, he'd sense it. Most of the time, he knew that was complete bullshit and divided his time between worrying and wondering how he could find out for certain.

He looked down at his book again, trying to focus on the words on the page. After a minute, he gives up, closing the book and looking for David in the distance. Watching the boy investigate the trees and bushes around him, Ryan makes a mental note to talk to Elaine about getting him a dog.

Surprise surprise.

I feel loved when...

The Five Love Languages

My Primary Love Language is Physical Touch

<th colspan="2">My Detailed Results:</th>

Physical Touch:	9
Quality Time:	8
Acts of Service:	8
Words of Affirmation:	4
Receiving Gifts:	1

About this quiz

Unhappiness in relationships is often due to the fact that we speak different love languages. It can be helpful to know what language you speak and what language those around you speak.

Tag 3 people so they can find out what their love language is.

Take the Quiz!
Check out the Book

His daughter was thirty-one.

Sometimes, Ryan would have trouble remembering how old the kids were supposed to be. He never forgot but like he'd occasionally call one of them by the wrong name, he'd sometimes forget how old they were. That Ryan Jr. and Chris' birthdays were so close didn't help.

They just grew up so quickly.

It was easier then, and less embarrassing than asking, to remember that Chris had been born when he was twenty and go from there. She was twenty years younger than him, his son a year younger than that and Caitlin several years younger.

Except the math didn't work anymore. The clock had stopped for him at forty-eight. He was now seventeen years older than his daughter right now, not twenty.

The first time he'd realized this he'd been more than confused. Time had passed and even though he didn't miss his life as much as he once had, there was still that sense of loss as life had moved on without him. His youngest was now twenty-four. Ryan had a granddaughter that he'd never met who would be four in November.

Sometimes, Ryan wondered if he'd be here long enough and if enough time would pass outside that the day would come that his daughter was the same age he would be forever. Maybe even older.

It was easier then to try to keep up with what was happening outside so when the time came to remember little things, like how old his children were, it wouldn't be such a shock. He didn't follow the news as much as he once did but every once in a while he'd ask for a newspaper. Like today. Just something to make him feel more connected, though sometimes it only served to remind him of the gulf between his life and now.

Like now.

The bar had given Ryan a copy of the New York Times from July 6, 2012. The front page was dedicated to the same stories.

At least 33 people died and dozens were hurt in a suicide bombing in Houston on Wednesday. The blasts occurred at two supermarkets, Kroger's and Whole Foods Market, located near downtown Houston. Both attacks took place during the late afternoon when stores are busiest.

It was a bold attack. More low-tech than anything that had happened before (that he knew of) and more dangerous for that reason. It was easy to do, easier than hijacking a Soviet nuke or engineering a lethal virus and both of those had been done. Harder to detect when it could be anyone in a crowd of hundreds or thousands. When he'd been at CTU, this was always one of the scenarios they had discussed when trying to imagine future attacks and how to stop them.

Law enforcement officials have identified Derek Murphy and Ziyad al-Fawzaan as the men behind one of the attacks.

Unlike all the close calls before, all the almost-similar incidents, this wasn't an isolated event. The man they quoted, some idiot from the FBI who would surely get a dressing down from his boss if not a demotion for giving too much information, said they were investigating the possibility it was a copycat.

It's the third attack in as many days, with the attacks in Chicago and Boston claiming 164 lives.

This most certainly was not a copy cat attack. Ryan had combed through the papers (he'd ask the bar for two more, to compare the information) and was certain it was a coordinated effort. Might be Second Wave or al-Quaeda, both groups favored coordinated attacks. He'd have to get out encyclopedias, maybe ask for a laptop to find out the significance of the dates. The Fourth of July had it's obvious connotations but there might be something more. September 11th had been the anniversary of the Camp David Accords as well as the day when international forces left Beirut, among other anniversaries. Victor Drazen had chosen the two year anniversary of Nightfall for his strike. September 20th marked an attack on the MI-6 building in 2000 and the date of David Palmer's first speech in front of the Senate on the need to intervene in the former Yugoslavia. June 10th marked the end of the Six Day War and Syria's surrender.

Dates had meaning. Years could pass and the numbers could blur but there was always someone who remembered.

It was well into the afternoon, hours after he'd received the paper, that Ryan realized how useless his research was. Whatever he found, someone out there new already (he hoped) and even if they didn't, he had no way of telling anyone. There was nothing he could do here but wait and worry.

Much later, Ryan returns to the bar to ask for sleeping pills. When he finally falls asleep, he remembers twisted metal frames against a red sky, the constant sound of sirens in the background and the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh.

He tells himself it's a dream, his worried mind playing over memories. Maybe it was really just a matter of time.

It's a slow Sunday afternoon, the kind Ryan thinks he might spend watching football if he were alive.

But he's not and David's starting to get stir crazy from being cooped up inside all this time. After a brief stop at the bar, where Ryan soon tired of fielding questions about all the puppets and how would puppets eat because David didn't accept the answer "That's Milliways", he decides it's warm enough to try ice-skating.

Borrowing skates from the bar, the two head outside.

It's been a while since Ryan's gone ice skating, though he gets into the swing of it easily enough. His first movements are wobbly (which David finds hilarious) but at least he's not skating on his ankles. David, on the other hand, takes to skating easily though he's a little wary at first of going very fast.

After a while of this, Ryan offers to go inside to get some hot drinks. When he returns, David has found a stick and a rock and is playing some rudimentary version of hockey.

"Loosen up your knees," Ryan calls, watching the boy chase after the rock.

He couldn't be more more proud of David.

After his chat with Chase (and a few shots of vodka), Ryan makes his way back to the flat. He's willing himself not to think about anything he just saw or discussed, hoping that eventually he'll convince himself that it never happened.

It's not working yet but he's going to keep believing. Unlocking the door, he steps into the flat. "Elaine?"

Placeholder

It's early in the day and Ryan got a small gift for Chris - two books, unwrapped. There are two other gifts nearby, just some thing he picked up for David (3-D puzzle) and Elaine (art supplies).

Feeling a lot calmer about this anniversary than the last. Sunrises no longer freak him out, yay! He's been pondering last year's journey though heaven and hell and everywhere in between and how this relates to his feelings on Tony's death.

Yeah. Placeholder.

Depending on one's point of view, it's either very late or very early when Ryan returns to the flat. He stayed with Chris at the infirmary for a couple hours while Jack was being healed. It was a miracle she'd come out with only cuts and bruises, though he knows the most serious injuries weren't physical.

He had told her she could have a place to stay here but she chose to stay behind in the infirmary. He didn't like the idea, she needed rest not to be fussing over Jack, but he didn't argue with her either. At least she wouldn't be alone.

As quietly as he can, he opens the door, hoping not to disturb David and Elaine.

With a frown, and too impatient to look for the pot holder, Ryan uses two paper napkins to lift the pot over to the sink.

Paper napkins, however, are poor protection from the heat. Something Ryan learns as it becomes more and more uncomfortable to hold the pot. Teeth clenched, he mutters, "Fucker."

The steam was not helping matters.

The spaghetti drained he, quickly returns the pot to the stove and, just as quickly, returns to the sink to run his hands under the cool water. No blisters or burns, just a slight sting.

Drying his hands, he wonders if he should call David in to wash up before dinner or if he should wait till Elaine got back. He hadn't seen her when he went into the bar but he hadn't looked for long.

He decides to give David a few more minutes outside and returns to the stove to get dinner ready.

I play _chappy_, geeky_agent and callmedavid. If you're familiar with any of their canons, please tell me if you think I'm doing anything wrong with them in terms of characterization, voice, development or anything else. Hell, tell me even if you're not familiar with their canon.

IP logging's off and anons are allowed.