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Nov. 12th, 2005

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(no subject)

Over the past few days Tony Almeida has found it increasingly easy to sleep, even in the midst of collecting a census. He wakes late and gets up even later. He's not sure what this means, but he knows it's something not good.

Nov. 3rd, 2005

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A Good Morning

Under the canopy of the trees Tony and Michelle lay sleeping, a blazer draped over Michelle’s shoulders as she nuzzled next to Tony. The cold, which was truly just mild, did not bother him. He was more concerned with his wife’s comfort than his own, as always. He couldn’t help it.

Yesterday they had jokingly referred to his amnesia as a system crash and said that his brain was trying to reboot.

Tony tossed one of his useless magazines at her in retribution, laughing.

They went to sleep smiling and content despite the rough spot they called their “bed.”

Now dawn was arriving. Tony opened his eyes and saw the colors of the magic hour painted on the screen of the sky. He made a slight stretch and gave a closed-mouth yawn. His eye moved downwards to the earth, to Michelle’s sleeping face. A strand of hair had fallen across her nose. He brushed it out of the way, his hand lingering on her ear.
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(no subject)

She said that he was a military man, a government agent. Not that he was a hunter. He liked the outdoors: he drove sports utility vehicles off-road when he could, loved to hike and explore the forests and hills surrounding Los Angeles when he had time. He would take her with him on occasion, although she preferred to stay in the city. This difference of interests never caused a rift in their marriage. Michelle had said he understood she needed her personal quiet time, and would plan his trips according to the signals he received in regards to her stress levels and need for introspection. As much as Tony hated to be alone (he was such an extrovert, she said), he'd willingly go into solitude for her sake.

Willingly, if none of his friends wanted to camp out with him.

Michelle told him all about the dinner parties, the nights out at the bar and the movie theater, the frequent gathering of the friends Tony had accumulated over his career at CTU and beyond. She told him all these things with a sad face. It did not take long before Tony realized that "beyond" referred to the past and not the future. The parties and the camps were things of the distant past. She never said what happened; she was vague about the present beyond stating what they did for a living, where they lived and what their house looked like. He kept silent his growing frustration with her lack of specificity, trying to understand, rather, why she wouldn't tell him these things. He searched through his things for a clue to the absent pieces and found only a bottle of Zoloft.

Nov. 1st, 2005

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Memory 1: Turbulence

"Sir, your flight has been delayed."

He sighed, exasperated, closed his eyes and lowered his head. He rose a hand to rub his forehead before looking up at the woman again. "How long?"

"An hour. Maybe more. It's the weather, sir."

He glanced out the expansive windows. Hadn't there been dividers between the panes, the windows would have been the unbroken walls of the terminals. Outside of these windows, framed by the dividers, was a pristine blue sky. "The weather," he repeated.

"Would you like to take another flight, sir?"

He shook his head. "No. I'll wait for this one, thanks."

Stepping away from the desk, bogged down by his laptop case, he dug inside his pants pockets and pulled out his cell phone. He frowned. Bad reception. Typical. Reception was always crap in airports these days. Besides wanting you to pay for the tickets, fast food and coffee, airports made money off of pay phones. $.75 a call. Unfortunately for him, he did not have three quarters in his pocket. Fortunately for the airport and the dealers and the publishers, there was a newsstand nearby.

He resigned to buying a copy of Wired and walked to the pay phones with enough money to call his wife with. "Baby?" he called into the phone. "My flight's been delayed. I don't know how long. Maybe an hour. They weren't specific. Listen, I'll call you once I'm at LAX. No, I'll take a taxi. No, no, it's all right. You don't have to pick me up. All right, fine. Yeah, that's fine. I love you. Bye."




It took two hours for the flight to arrive, another hour before it got off the ground. He hoped his wife wasn't waiting for him at LAX already. He knew she had things to do and was probably going to be late, not early. The woman loved to work, but she also found ways to work outside the office if she could. He would not be surprised to see her waiting there, typing on her laptop at a bench by the baggage claim, so engrossed in her work that she wouldn't know he was there until he tapped her on the shoulder. They were workaholics, the both of them. She even more so.

The plane had been airborne for an hour. The flight attendants were pushing through the aisles with beverages and snacks. He ordered a soda and a bag of pretzels, looked out to the clear sky. In-flight entertainment was a must these days, even if the flight lasted no longer than forty-five minutes. He had seen every in-flight movie, every syndicated television show, every condensed infotainment program the skies had to offer and had concluded that the sky itself, with its pristine blue color and its shape-shifting clouds, was more fascinating than anything man had to offer.

Which didn't mean that he watched it in silence, or completely ignored what man had to offer, particularly when it came to sports. And there was the occasional in-flight movie that pulled him away from the God-made skies. These films almost always had something to do with baseball. But there was something about the vastness of the skies that cleared his mind for thought. He'd think of his career, of where he was going, of what he did and what he would do next. He would think of his wife and what she might have been doing then.

Sometimes he thought of Jack Bauer. He always felt guilty when he thought about him. He wasn't so quick to get that thought out of his mind. He couldn't do it without feeling more guilt. He let the thought run its course, tuning out the radio feed, until nature's call grew loud enough to drown out the thoughts and the music. He stood up and walked down the aisle to the restroom to relieve himself. It was then that the pilot warned the passengers about "light turbulence."

Naturally the pilot would announce that while he was in the restroom. He grumbled and attempted to finish his business as quickly as possible, all the while feeling the jumps and shudders of the "light" turbulence.

He wasn't too concerned about the turbulence until one jump caused him to fall against the doorway. He held up his hand in time to prevent his arm from colliding with the wall, but not in time to stop the door from crashing into his shoulder. He cursed and pushed the door out of the way, glancing at a doe-eyed flight attendant with a jug of coffee in her hands. He straightened his blazer before attempting to move forward in the aisle.

Another jump. He pressed his hands against the walls to his left and his right as the plane shuddered violently.

"Light" turbulence his ass.

"Sir," said the flight attendant behind him, "you're going to have to return to your se--"

"That's what I'm trying to do, miss," he growled. He wasn't having a good day at all. He could hear the flight attendant make a displeased noise behind him as he walked forward, holding on to the tops of the seats as he headed towards his own chair.

What made his day even worse was the one thing he didn't see: his own unsecured laptop case dangling from the overhead compartment.

A pity, because he thought he would be safe once he reached his seat. But the one thought that occurred in Tony Almeida's mind as the laptop case came down on his head was that the pilot was talking out of his ass.

But, at the very least, he had given them the heads-up.

Feb. 7th, 2005

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Back at Home

Hey, guys, it's me again. I'm home now. You know all that stuff I said about spending less time at the computer and more time with Michelle? Thanks to this accident, that isn't gonna happen anytime soon. The only thing I pretty much can do is stay at the computer. The good thing for you guys at least is, now that I'm home and in a cast, I won't have much to talk about except for being at home in a cast. 'course, I could always find something to say about that, but...nothing's coming to me now.

Jan. 28th, 2005

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(no subject)

Hey, guys. It's me, Tony. I'm in the hospital. Michelle snuck in a computer for me to use. I just wanted to say that I'm doing ok and that I don't know when they're going to perform surgery on me again. Thank you all for the support you've shown Michelle and me over the past week. I really appreciate it.

Jan. 23rd, 2005

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More Updates

Tony is fully conscious now. I am not sure when he will be able to update his own journal. Maria and I are returning to San Fransisco today to make perparations for the funeral. Again, I wish to thank you all for your support. Tony and Michelle appreciate it, as do Maria and myself.

Jan. 20th, 2005

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(no subject)

FIC: Alex picks up Maria from the airport.Collapse )
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Update on Tony and Funeral Plans

This is Alex, Tony's brother. Michelle gave me Tony's password. I've seen Tony; he's been out of surgery for a half hour, still in intensive care. As he did not sustain any spinal injuries he will be able to walk after several surgeries and rehab. Our parents' wake will be on Sunday, the funeral on Monday, in San Francisco. Thank you all for your concern.
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(no subject)

For all the craziness that's been going down since my parents came here yesterday, I managed to have a good time with pa today. He didn't tell me they were landing at LAX at six-thirty. I really had to haul ass trying to get from here to there. Managed to get there in time, dropped them off at the hotel without any problems. But pa mistook me for a taxi driver. He's having me drop him off and pick him up to and from the convention. He's just lucky it's being held close to headquarters.

I miss Michelle. Having my parents here makes it a little better. Ma insisted on cooking last night, so I let her. Good food, as always. Tonight she didn't feel like going anywhere. She let me and pa go out by ourselves. Good idea. Ma's a genius.

Pa and I just caught up on things. He's doing okay at the newspaper. Still looking into television. He must've realized I'm never gonna get into television like he wanted me to so he's thinking about doing it himself. I told him he should stay in print. I like reading his column. I don't want it to go away. He probably won't listen to me but that's my two cents. The thing I love about pa is that he's in no rush to have grandkids from me. Sometimes it's so stressful being around my family because they all bother Michelle and me about children. Pa understands, sometimes you gotta get settled at home and at the office before you have kids. He said he couldn't talk since he and ma had us right away, but, hey, not everyone's gonna live the same life as their parents, and pa understands that, that's why he doesn't bother me about kids. He wished Michelle was here because he hadn't seen her since the wedding, either.

Ma told him about what's been going on between me and Alex. Doesn't have much to say. He know things have always been real strained between us, which is great, but, God, sometimes I wish pa had more to say about things, you know? I'm thankful he's not always judging me and telling me what to do but he's just so distant, like he doesn't really care what's going on as long as no one died or embarrassed the family or whatever. And he doesn't really have a clear-cut definition of what's embarrassing. Anything goes with pa. I just wish he gave me some direction once and a while.

Sorry. Tonight was relaxing. It was relaxing, but thinking about this...there's too much hanging between pa and me for him to leave without this coming out.

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