Nightfall, Wildcat Bar.
Owen had just sat down when Carlos walked in. Spotting their usual booth, Carlos smiled and made his way over.
"Buddy, long time no see…"
Their hands clasped tightly—once brothers-in-arms, it had been ages since they'd last met. Back when Owen was with CTU Los Angeles, they still saw each other occasionally despite their hectic schedules. But after Owen helped Carlos get into the CIA—something Carlos had dreamed about for years—their chances to meet became rare. And then Owen transferred to Washington, and the two hadn't seen each other since, save for a few phone calls.
"So, how's it feel over there?" Owen asked with a grin, knowing the CIA had always been Carlos's dream.
"It's intense. Seriously intense. I love that feeling of walking the edge between life and death every day. But from what I hear, you've been the real star lately. Tell me, that lone hero in the White House—was that you?"
"Haha…"
Owen laughed it off, neither confirming nor denying it. The White House incident had officially been credited to an unnamed CTU agent. That was President Palmer's decision, made for security reasons. Publicly touting the hero's identity might've brought glory to CTU, but it would've also painted a target. Jack, being a low-profile man, had also turned down several offers from Hollywood to use CTU as material—he didn't want the organization becoming a household name like the CIA.
"Oh ho, that means it really was you…" Carlos said excitedly, eyes lighting up. He looked like he was dying to ask more, even though he knew the answer would be classified. Finally, curiosity got the better of him. "Come on, just tell me one thing—does that secret tunnel Kennedy supposedly used to sneak Marilyn into the White House really exist?"
Owen chuckled and shook his head. "No comment."
"Fuck!"
Carlos gave Owen a mock punch in the shoulder, laughing in disappointment. He had known full well Owen wouldn't spill anything, but he couldn't resist asking anyway.
"Alright, alright, put away that rookie curiosity of yours. You're a battle-hardened federal agent, not some greenhorn. By the way, what's going on with Carl? I called him earlier and he said he'd be here—what's keeping him?"
Owen patted Carlos's shoulder, pulling out his phone to call Carl, their third musketeer. This bar was their old hangout spot. Now that Owen was back in town, he had wanted to reunite. He'd called Carl earlier in the afternoon, but the guy was still MIA.
Just as he was about to dial, Carl's name popped up on his screen. Owen flashed the screen at Carlos before answering.
"Dude, where are you?" Owen asked.
Carl's voice came through. "Steve, is Carlos with you?"
"Of course."
"Great. Come outside—I'm at the front. I'm taking you two somewhere."
Owen was about to ask why, but Carl had already hung up. He and Carlos exchanged puzzled looks. What was this about? Some kind of surprise? They were grown men, not teenage girls.
Stepping outside, they saw a patrol car parked at the curb. Carl, in full uniform, waved them over.
"What's this about?"
"Just get in. I'll explain on the way."
Still baffled, they got in the car, curiosity piqued.
A few minutes later, the patrol car turned toward the West Hollywood precinct.
…
Meanwhile, in the city.
George—"Old Man George"—emerged wearily from an old apartment building. He had just settled a domestic dispute between a Mexican couple who had gone ballistic over some trivial matter. The place had been trashed, their kid had been terrified into tears, and the neighbors had called the cops. George had come to mediate.
He hadn't had a moment's peace all day. That morning, he'd handled a traffic accident. In the afternoon, he wrote up three speeding tickets—earning himself a barrage of insults. Oh, and he'd also rescued a dog. That had been the weirdest part.
The poor mutt had apparently leapt from a wall and gotten tangled in wires and barbed fencing. It had been stuck, whimpering. George had been driving by when he heard it. He stopped the car, climbed onto the hood, and scaled the fence.
The stray dog barked furiously at first, thinking he was a threat. George, crouched and cautious, inched his way closer, using a pocket knife to cut away at the wires. Luckily, the dog's movement was limited by the entanglement—though it snarled and lunged, it couldn't do much harm. George kept talking softly while carefully freeing the animal, even enduring a few near-bites.
As soon as the last wire was cut, something shifted. The dog stopped growling. It had realized George was trying to help. Its demeanor softened, tail wagging.
"Alright, alright, you're free now. Just be careful out there, okay?"
George chuckled as he scratched the dog's head, speaking in the same gentle tone one might use with a child. A warm, satisfying feeling rose in his chest.
If this had been years ago, he wouldn't have wasted a second on such "insignificant" matters. He'd always believed in tackling the big cases—locking up real criminals. But lately, he had begun to cherish these small moments. Every person he helped, every little thing he did—it nourished something inside him. A quiet, steady fulfillment that no headline arrest could ever match.
Just then, the dog bolted away.
George turned to leave, but the stray came bounding back, something in its mouth. It was an old bone, which it dropped at George's feet. Then it barked once, nudged the bone toward him with its nose, and wagged its tail furiously.
George burst out laughing. This silly mutt…
In that moment, he actually considered taking it home. He had no kids, no family—maybe a dog wouldn't be such a bad companion.
Crouching down, he looked the dog in the eye. "Hey, dummy… want to come live with me?"
The mutt didn't understand, of course, but kept wagging its tail like crazy.
George shook his head at himself. "Look at me, going soft in my old age…"
He turned and started walking toward his car. Behind him, the stray picked up its bone and trotted after him.
George glanced over his shoulder, lips curled into a smile. He said nothing, but he didn't shoo it away either.
Back at the patrol car, he opened the rear door. The dog jumped in without hesitation, bone still clamped between its jaws.
George laughed and gently closed the door. "Alright then, buddy. Let's go."
______
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