Your Massacre of Me

The Lies that Bind

A/N: I'm pretty excited about this story, partly because I haven't posted in so long and partly because it's really fun to write. I'd be awfully indebted for your thoughtful reviews. You're my readers: The ones who praise and the ones who critique. Many thanks. —your humble author


"Chuck."

Four seconds passed.

"Chuckles."

Another four seconds—maybe five.

"Chucky Chuck Chuck."

"What do you want, Morgan?"

Morgan sat down on the edge of the bed. "I know you're sleeping, buddy, but I managed to score an advance copy of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles release—y'know, the sixth season. Anyway, the DVD player in my computer isn't working because I have the wrong codecs, so I thought I'd just come use your TV, but it's all…messed up. Could you fix it? And could I rip your codecs?"

Chuck finally opened his eyes. He debated all possible reactions to this early morning intrusion—from simply smacking Morgan upside his head to strangling him—and opted for a sigh. Even though the week had been a hellish combination of no sleep, constant flashes, and gun fights, Chuck never had the heart to get angry at Morgan.

"All right, get me the remotes for the TV and the DVD player."

Morgan jumped up and procured the necessary items. After Chuck synced the TV and DVD player, his friend began pulling out various box sets. "Hey, while I get the DVD started, you wanna go grab us a couple bowls of Cap'n Crunch?"

"I don't know if we have any Cap'n Crunch—"

"You do. Ellie bought it when she went grocery shopping on Thursday. Oh, and she got that Tropicana that isn't from concentrate, so bring in a couple of glasses."

Chuck smiled to himself as he left the room. Leave it to Ellie to get his favorite breakfast cereal and orange juice. And leave it to him to have not noticed. Team Chuck really needed to relax. Well, not the whole team; just two of its members. The two with guns.

"I had such a crush on her," Chuck garbled through his mouthful of Cap'n Crunch with Crunch Berries. He pointed to the television with his spoon. "I can't believe the new show got rid of April's jumpsuit."

"It was classic! And her new outfit is so…"

"Like something Anna would wear to work?"

"Yeah, but it looks wrong on April."

Morgan got up to put in the next disc, then refilled his bowl and topped off Chuck's glass of orange juice. They settled back against the bed's headboard, both men content with such a familiar situation. Chuck couldn't even remember the last time he'd been able to truly relax and enjoy Saturday morning cartoons with his best friend.

"I wish they made an entire box of just Crunch Berries."

Chuck paused the DVD. "We've been over this before, Morgan. If you didn't have the yellow bits, you wouldn't appreciate the Crunch Berries. They complement each other. It's like Ellie and Captain Awesome—"

"You mean Captain and Mrs. Awesome," Morgan retorted.

Chuck put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "It never would have worked between you two. You're free-spirited, Morgan—you can't just settle down with a white picket fence. You have cons to attend and MMORPGs to play." He let his hand drop. "Besides, what would Anna think? And what would she do to Ellie?"

"Something that wouldn't leave any traces."

"Comforting."

Morgan resumed the DVD and, half way through the first disc, both grown men were sound asleep. An episode later, they were spooned up against one another. By the time Ellie walked in on them, the DVD had already looped back to the menu page. They were still spooning.


"Chuck," Ellie said softly while she knelt at his side. She touched his shoulder gently. "Chuck, wake up; Sarah's here and I need to go to work."

Chuck opened his eyes and saw Ellie's smiling face. After a moment, he realized that Morgan was pressed up against him, with an arm slung over his midsection. Humiliation came and passed quickly as Chuck extracted himself from Morgan's grip. Not only did Ellie not pass judgment, she tossed a blanket over Morgan and picked up their dirty dishes.

"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?"

"It's quality entertainment," he argued while digging for a sweatshirt.

"Hey, you don't have to explain yourself to me; I bought the entire box set of Jem, remember?"

They exited together, Ellie going to the kitchen and Chuck meeting Sarah in the living room. She didn't look especially happy.

"Is everything okay?" Chuck asked.

"We need to go to Casey's apartment."

Ah, yes, the day was too good to be true. So along came Sarah Walker and John Casey and Bryce Larkin and his Intersect and the U. S. government and every single bad guy in the world. Where did they all come from?

"All right, let's go." He opened the door, then said over his shoulder, "I'm going to Casey's; I'll be back at…a time…that's later."

"Have fun!"

Sarah wouldn't answer his questions during their short walk to Casey's. Instead, she kept him close to the side of the building and her hand hovered near the gun in her waistband. When they reached the door, Casey opened it, grabbed Chuck, and hauled him inside. Sarah remained by the door for a few seconds, canvassing their surroundings.

Chuck wrenched himself from Casey's grip. "I didn't really need the physical assistance finding your living room, thanks."

"Shut-up. Sit down."

A little tiny ball of fury flared inside of Chuck, then fizzled out. He'd just never been very good at rage—even when Bryce got him kicked out of Stanford, he'd been more overwhelmed than incensed. He let himself fall back onto the sofa.

"We're clear for now," Sarah said as she walked into the room, which somehow cued Casey to turn on the television. For, possibly, the billionth time, Chuck came face-to-monitor with Director Graham and General Beckman.

"Have you been contacted?" General Beckman demanded, looking at Chuck.

"Contacted? By whom?"

"By Joseph Vega."

"Who?"

"The Fulcrum agent!"

"What?"

"Mr. Bartowski," Director Graham interjected, drawing everyone's attention. "The Fulcrum agent who knows your identity escaped from our custody six hours ago. His name is Joseph Vega. Has he, or anyone else, attempted to contact you?"

Realization brought mild terror. "The Fulcrum guy escaped? He—um, no. Nobody's contacted me." He looked over at Sarah. "Should I expect a phone call or something? I thought he wanted to kill me."

"He doesn't want to kill you," General Beckman stated. "He wants to kidnap you. You're worth hundreds—probably thousands—of millions of dollars, Mr. Bartowski. Governments will kill to possess what's in your brain. Thankfully, the NSA and the CIA are here to protect you."

It was Graham's turn. "Agent Walker and Major Stacy will escort you to a safe location where you will wait for us to recapture Vega. At Agent Walker's request, you will leave in one half hour, which gives you time to pack a bag and inform your family that you are taking an extended vacation."

"But I—I don't wanna go—"

"Chuck, it's only until we find the Fulcrum agent," Sarah explained, trying to assuage his fears. "And you know how fast we work. Besides, capture and torture isn't something you want to become familiar with. And I know you don't want Ellie and Morgan to become targets. You have to trust us to take care of everything."

He hadn't thought of Morgan and Ellie becoming targets. "All right," he relented. "I'll go."

Sarah stood up to walk him home, but Director Graham intervened. "Agent Walker, we need to speak with you and Major Casey. Mr. Bartowski can pack his bags alone as long as he wears a transmitter badge. That way, we can monitor the sounds around him and his vital signs for any changes."

Casey dug around in a bag and pulled out a small, flesh-colored sticker, which he promptly stuck on the side of Chuck's neck. "It's got a homing device, too, so stay away from magnets."

"What? How are those two things even related?"

"Just go pack your bags, Bartowski."

Chuck made it a third of the way home before he remembered that he needed to shower. If the transmitter badge couldn't handle a couple of refrigerator magnets, it probably couldn't handle a rush of water. He turned around to go ask for transmitter badge bathing procedures. Not exactly the sort of topic he'd ever imagined broaching.

"But there has to be another way," he strained to hear Sarah state as he opened Casey's door. "I told him that this was a short-term situation."

"Which is probably for the best," General Beckman responded. "If Chuck knew that this move was supposed to be permanent, he wouldn't cooperate."

Director Graham took his turn again. "I understand your hesitation, Agent Walker, but the Intersect needs to be protected. Vega may have already informed his superiors of the Intersect's identity. Since we don't know the extent of the compromise, we must take all necessary precautions. That means permanently relocating Mr. Bartowski to a safe location underground. It's in everyone's best interest."

Chuck closed the door quietly and stood outside in the mid-morning sun. A permanent relocation? Underground? That meant never seeing Ellie or Morgan or Captain Awesome or anybody ever again.

He remembered, when the crazy kebab girl had tried to kidnap him, just how much it wrenched his heart to leave. He'd managed to get by with the knowledge that the relocation wasn't forever—he'd see his big sister again. Still, as he stood on the roof—handcuffed—trying to say goodbye to Sarah, he had come very close to begging for freedom.

There was no way he could give up his family permanently. His mind rejected that concept completely, which left only one option.

Chuck needed to run away.


Morgan continued to sleep soundly. It made Chuck want to give him a big hug. Instead, he carefully removed the transmitter badge and placed it on his best friend, who nestled further under the blanket.

That completed, he had to figure out where he could go in the next half hour that wouldn't be easy to find. He couldn't drive his car because it had tracking equipment installed. He couldn't drive someone else's car for too long because local law enforcement would be told what to look for. It took a few minutes for him to work it out, but Chuck finally decided to call for a taxi on his cell phone, meet it at the gas station down the street, and head for the airport. On his way to the gas station, he'd stop at the bank, which was conveniently located only a couple businesses farther down.

He grabbed his backpack and shoved a few articles of clothing inside, then added his wallet, cell phone, a picture from last year's Christmas party, his laptop, the Spanish-English dictionary, and his secret stash of money, which would put him over 2500 after the bank withdrawal.

Before leaving, Chuck grabbed a piece of computer paper and wrote Ellie a quick note. He left it on her pillow.

Sis—I have to go on a trip. I'm not sure when I'll be back, but don't look for me. I'm okay. Be careful and don't trust anybody (even Sarah). I love you. –Chuck

In the taxi, half way to the airport, Chuck called Sarah on his phone. It took a few tries to dial her number; his hands refused to stop shaking.

"Chuck?"

"Hey, Sarah." Don't panic, don't panic…you can do this. "I'm done packing; I just wanna grab a shower. Is that okay?"

"Just be quick." She paused, then added, "The sooner we get you to safety, the better."

He wanted to ask her whom it was better for, but simply agreed and hung up. That would buy him another ten minutes, then whatever time their confusion afforded. He hoped it was enough to buy a ticket to Yuma and get lost in the airport's crowd. He'd certainly be able to get lost in Yuma and, maybe later, Mexico.


"Chuck?"

Casey checked his watch. "He should be near by; we're practically on top of the transmitter signal. Unless that idiot went too close to a magnet."

"That's a complete rumor."

"No it's not."

Sarah rolled her eyes and walked toward Chuck's bedroom, where she expected to find her charge doing something productive. Instead, she discovered Morgan sprawled across Chuck's comforter.

"He should be in here," Casey whispered, determined to let Morgan sleep and, therefore, stay quiet. "The transmitter's within seven feet of my watch." He moved further into the room. "Four feet."

Sarah bent down to look under the bed, but found only Rubbermaid containers filled with Magick cards, comic books, NES and SNES and N64 and Sega and PS2 products, some Star Trek and Star Wars books, loads of textbooks, and masses of writable CDs that contained self-penned programs.

"He's not here."

"He has to be here." Casey walked around the room while eyeing his watch. "He should be in the vicinity of the bed." He scrutinized the bed, looking under it and over it and at the ceiling. He prodded the mattress. Finally, he leaned over Morgan's prone body. Three seconds passed before he noticed the transmitter badge. "That idiot."

"What?"

Casey grabbed her arm and walked them swiftly out of the room. "Your idiot boyfriend has either been captured or run away. His transmitter badge is on his slightly stupider friend. And I'm pretty sure Fulcrum didn't get him," he said while he pushed buttons on his watch. "We'd have heard something and—here it is. His heart rate jumped from 110 to 65." Casey looked ready to murder someone. "Almost as if he suddenly fell asleep."

"Why would he do this?"

"I don't know, but we need to find him now. I'll contact General Beckman; you look for clues to where he went."

Sarah began searching the apartment. She noted his missing laptop, money, and picture. She found his passport, though, which kept him somewhere in the United States. She knew, however, that it didn't take a mastermind to cross the Mexican or Canadian borders without proper identification.

In Ellie's room, Sarah found the letter and pocketed it. It broke her heart to know that Chuck was being wrenched from the only family he had in the world, but she was even sadder to know that he didn't want her to be trusted.

What was different this time? Why was he reacting to the move so much more forcefully than before? Where had his good-natured attitude gone?

Casey met her outside the apartment.

"Beckman and Graham agree that he's run off. I've activated the homing device in his wallet and it's transmitting from within the LA/Ontario Airport," he explained, letting her see the tracker in his hand. "I'm going to get him. You've been ordered to provide a cover story to his sister and then meet us at the landing pad."

"Shouldn't I be the one to get him?"

"Why, because you're afraid I'll be too mean? He ran away from us, Walker. We have our orders."

She glared at him, but she couldn't argue. Instead, she shoved the note to Ellie into Casey's shirt pocket. "A little empathy wouldn't kill you," she stated before walking away.

Casey didn't bother replying or looking at the note. He headed directly for his car and sped off toward the airport. It was only fifteen minutes away, but he'd seen a lot of damage happen in less time than that.