Author's Note: Why yes, I am a sick and damaged bastard. Why do you ask?

Chuck Bartowski slowly came to wakefulness.

The dim early morning light crept in through the windows, just barely illuminating the bedroom. Chuck couldn't help but smile at the fact that he had woken up this early. There was once a time – when he was at Stanford, and for the five years after – that he would have slept FAR later than this. In fact, Chuck was pretty sure it couldn't even possibly be 6:00 AM yet – not with the light this dim.

But the truth of the matter was, he enjoyed waking up this early these days. He enjoyed looking at the other pillow on the bed and seeing that blonde head of hair, feeling her warm body pressed against his. In fact, Chuck would hazard a guess that those first few minutes, when he was awake, and she wasn't, were the best part of his day.

After a few minutes, he could feel her beginning to stir. Actually, maybe THIS was the best part of his day – getting to wake her up. Moving a little bit closer to her, Chuck gently kissed the back of her neck, eliciting an appreciative "Hmmm" from her.

Encouraged by the response, Chuck continued around, kissing the side of her neck, and then moving up to her jaw. He lifted himself up a little bit, for better access to her cheek -

Without warning, she flipped over, and thrusting herself upward, captured Chuck's lips with her own. His eyes involuntarily closed as he kissed her. And yeah, as much as Chuck appreciated every morning with her, the mornings when this happened were BY FAR the best.

Chuck snaked an arm around behind her, pulling her body as close to his as he could. He could feel her shudder as he continued kissing her, could feel her soft moans into his mouth as she began to writhe against him.

He paused a moment to catch his breath. "Do we have time this morning?" he whispered.

"We should," she answered, her voice catching, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "It's not quite 8:00."

Huh?

It should have been a lot brighter at 8:00 in the morning in June. It was still WAY too dark outside -

Wait a second. The voice. THE VOICE WAS WRONG.

"Oh my fucking God," Chuck whispered, his stomach suddenly convulsing as he came to the horrifying realization.

It was so dark outside because it wasn't June, it was November. November of 1980. And that wasn't Sarah Walker he was kissing.

It was Rebecca Franco.

SARAH'S MOM.

Chuck rocketed out of that bed so quickly he practically broke the sound barrier.

The Night Before

The seven month old girl in Chuck's arms was not a happy camper. She was pissed off at having been woken before, and because her mother had declared it Chuck's fault, she had handed Samantha off to Chuck to get to go back to sleep.

"Shhh," Chuck whispered, rocking her in his arms. "Go to sleep, little girl..."

In response, she screamed, causing Chuck to wince. "I don't understand," he grumbled. "You were fine earlier when I held you."

But wait. Sarah Walker in 1980 was, at her core, the same person as Sarah Walker in 2010, even if she was just an infant. Maybe Chuck just needed to appeal to the right part of her personality.

Chuck grinned. "So," he whispered. "I was thinking, if we can get some time off – me from the Buy More, you from the CIA – maybe we can take a vacation together -"

And it was like turning off a faucet. Samantha stopped crying, and looked up at Chuck, her eyes wide – and then a smile appeared on her face. "Yeah, you like that idea, huh?" Chuck's grin got even bigger as the infant clapped her hands together. "Of course, I have to get back to 2010 first -"

Sarah Walker punched Cole Barker in the face as hard as she could. The traitorous British agent went down, hard -

John Casey and Roan Montgomery both went for their guns, and Sarah turned for hers -

The shot rang out, filling the night sky behind the San Diego Sports Arena -

A red bloom appeared on Sarah's chest, marring the white hoodie she was wearing -

She looked down, with a look of "What the hell just happened" on her face -

She collapsed to the pavement -

"NOOOOO! SARAH!"

Chuck's breath caught in his throat as he looked down at the little girl in his arms. The golden hair, the blue eyes – even her smile -

"Oh, God," he whispered. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he angrily blinked them away. "No," he insisted. "I have to get back, I have to save you." He hugged Samantha tightly against his chest. "I can't let you die -"

"Chuck?"

Chuck turned toward the sound of Rebecca Franco's voice, trying to blink the tears out of his eyes, but to no avail. Seeing the tears in his eyes, she froze. "Are you alright?" she asked uncertainly, unable to hide the note of concern that crept into her voice.

"Uh... I don't know," Chuck whispered, shaking his head a little bit. He had an overwhelming urge to tell Rebecca the truth, but... "It's just... there's so much..."

"Okay, that's it," Rebecca said, the note of uncertainty in her voice being replaced by the stern command note of an EMT. "You are clearly not alright. I bet you haven't been to a hospital to be checked out, have you?"

Chuck shook his head again. "Well, no..."

Rebecca sighed and took Samantha from Chuck, who very reluctantly let the little girl go. "Give me Sam, and go inside," she ordered him. "Sit down on the couch and don't move. I'll be in in just a minute."

Without a word, Chuck nodded, then turned and walked from the front yard into the house.

Rebecca watched Chuck go inside, and then turned to the men standing around the wrecked sports car on the side of her property. She realized that they were looking at her. "Hey!" she shouted, walking toward them. "You gonna get that wreck out of my yard, or what?"

Two of the men – government-looking types – looked at Rebecca in frustration, and ignored her. However, the third, a rather geeky type, approached her. "If we can get a tow truck, I can get it out of here right now," he replied.

Rebecca frowned. "Crap."

Chuck sat on the couch, staring off into space. This had all gone severely sideways.

If only he had stayed out of his father's files. If only he hadn't gone digging. If only he had left well enough alone when he came across the Delta-clearance Project Kali file.

If you hadn't intercepted Dr. Brown, Fulcrum might have a nuclear bomb now, a voice in his head reminded him.

But much as the rational part of his brain tried to remind him that what he was doing was the right thing, there was another part of his brain that reminded him that Sarah Walker was dying, even as he sat there, thirty years before the fact.

The thought that the whole situation was like Schroedinger's Cat popped unbidden into Chuck's head. He didn't know if Sarah was alive, if she was dead – in a manner of speaking, she was both all at once.

The door opened, and Chuck looked up – but it wasn't Rebecca coming in the door, like he had expected. It was his mom.

"Agent Carmichael," she said, looking at him.

"Agent Bartowski," he replied.

Mary Bartowski sat down in a chair across the room from Chuck. "Are you alright, Agent Carmichael?"

Chuck was getting a little tired of the question. "Look, Agent Bartowski -"

"Please, call me Mary."

That'll be the day, Chuck thought to himself. "I'd prefer to keep some semblance of formality," Chuck replied. "It's, uh, it's kind of the only thing I have left to hold onto right at the moment."

Good thinking, Chuck.

"Understandable," she replied. "But the question stands."

Chuck sighed. "No, I'm not feeling alright," he said. "I got shot back in time thirty years. I was in a really bad car accident just a few hours ago. And right before I left, I watched my g- uh, my partner get shot right in the chest. I don't know if she's alive or dead."

Mary Bartowski was slightly stunned at the torrent that had poured forth from Chuck. She had indeed caught his slip as he began to say "girlfriend", but she wisely chose to not mention it. "It's understandable, Agent Carmichael," she said. "Have you considered getting some sleep?"

Chuck looked at her and laughed bitterly. "You want me to sleep at a time like this?" he asked, an incredulous note to his voice. "Come on, M- uh, Mary, you know me better than that."

She narrowed her eyes. "I thought you wanted to retain 'some semblance of formality'."

"I changed my mind," Chuck replied, his voice turning to irritation. "Is that a problem?"

"It is," Mary shot back. "And why, exactly, would I know you better than that, Agent Carmichael?"

"Uh -"

"Just how well do I know you in the future?" she asked. "Because you seem to think I know you pretty well."

"Agent Bartowski, I really can't -"

"Your name is CHUCK," she snapped, getting out of her chair. "Am I really supposed to believe that there's another Chuck from Encino who I KNOW besides my -"

"Don't say it," Chuck warned.

"Dammit, Agent Carmichael – which, by the way, I don't think that's your name – if you are who I think you are, you really shouldn't be taking that tone with me."

"Stop it!" Chuck shouted.

"Agent Carmichael, am I your -"

"STOP IT!"

And with that, something went haywire. It might've been the overload of emotions, the confusion, the temporal displacement – but suddenly, the Intersect went berserk. A series of images bombarded Chuck – the pain – the sudden flood of information to his brain – OH GOD, THE PAIN –

Chuck Bartowski slumped over and fell off the couch, unconscious.

"Chuck..."

Chuck slowly came back to consciousness – and oh, GOD, his head was pounding.

"Chuck, wake up."

"Don't wanna..."

"Chuck, I really need you to open your eyes," the voice said concernedly.

Chuck sighed. "Fine," he grumbled, forcing his eyes open. The light that poured in seemed to burn his retinas, but he made himself keep his eyes open nonetheless. "Is that better?"

Rebecca Franco appeared in his vision, blocking out some of the light. "Yes, because your eyes dilated normally when you opened them," she said, a relieved tone in her voice. "Agent Bartowski asked me to apologize to you for her."

Chuck sat up slowly. "She's not here?"

"No," Rebecca replied. "Everybody except for Agent Montgomery left. He's sleeping outside in his van."

"Oh," Chuck said, starting to get confused. "What am I supposed to do?"

"You're going to sleep in the guest bedroom here, where the trained medical professional can keep an eye on you," Rebecca answered, a stern note entering her voice. "Although Dr. Brown did ask me to tell you to behave." She frowned. "Chuck, why would Dr. Brown be telling you to behave?"

"It's along and overly complicated story," Chuck sighed, shaking his head. "Believe me when I say, you don't want to know."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "Yes I do."

"No," Chuck replied. "I can't tell you."

"Oh, yes, you can," Rebecca shot back. "Right now." And that was when she fixed him with THE LOOK. It was a look that Chuck had only ever seen on Sarah Walker's face, but it made perfect sense that she would've gotten it from her mother. And never had the look failed to make Chuck spill his guts.

"I'm from the future."

Rebecca's eyes went wide, and she was silent for a moment. "Wait, what?"

"The year 2010, as a matter of fact."

"Come on," Rebecca whispered. "Bullshit."

Chuck reached in his pocket and withdrew his wallet. Fishing inside, he pulled out his California driver's license. "Here you go," he replied. "Issued May 8th, 2008."

Rebecca's face had begun to lose its color. "But I don't understand," she breathed. "How is this possible?"

Chuck smiled slightly. "Rebecca, think about it for a moment," he said. "The car I have is a DeLorean DMC12. Have you ever heard of it?"

"No..."

"That's because it doesn't go into production till next month. My driver's license says it was issued in 2008. In fact -" Digging back into his pocket, Chuck came out with his iPhone. Turning it on, he handed it over to Rebecca. "Have you ever seen anything like this?"

Taking the iPhone, she looked at it in disbelief. "What is this?"

"It's called an iPhone," Chuck said. "It's made by the Apple Computer Company. Plays music, videos, and believe it or not, is an actual phone."

Rebecca looked back up at Chuck - "But... how?"

"When you have eliminated the impossible, that which remains, however improbable, must be the truth," Chuck replied. "Mr. Spock."

"Star Trek Mr. Spock?"

"Exactly," Chuck said, grinning. "Except the movie he says it in doesn't come out until 1991."

Four hours later, Rebecca was still very much awake. Chuck had told her some impossible things, yet the proof he had shown her was almost irrefutable. The iPhone, especially. The fact that he had The Empire Strikes Back on it... and it was so sharp and clear...

There was no way she could sleep. Not with these thoughts running through her head.

If he was from the future – maybe he knew what happened to her -

No, Rebecca, don't even, her mind warned her. He told you, anything he does to affect the future could have disastrous consequences.

As these thoughts ran through her head, though, she heard crying – but it wasn't her daughter. No, Sam was sound asleep.

Rebecca rose from the couch and peeked into the guest room. Chuck was asleep – and he seemed to be crying in his sleep. "What on earth..."

"Please," she heard him gasp. "Please, don't go... you can't leave me."

Entering the room, Rebecca sat down on the edge of the bed and gently put her hand on Chuck's shaking shoulder. "Chuck," she whispered. "It's alright."

"You can't go," he insisted. "I can't live without you..."

Rebecca slowly rubbed her hand across his shoulder. "It's okay, Chuck," she said quietly. "I'm here. Everything's going to be alright."

And to Rebecca's amazement, hearing that seemed to calm Chuck down, as he stopped shaking, and his body relaxed. "Please stay," she heard him whisper, still talking in his sleep.

"Don't worry," she said to him. "I'm not going anywhere."

The next morning

Chuck rocketed out of the bed so quickly he practically broke the sound barrier.

"Oh my fucking God!" he gasped in horror. "Oh, God, oh no – oh fuck -"

Chuck bolted out of the room and across the hall, into the bathroom. He barely reached the toilet before his stomach spasmed, and its contents vacated into the toilet.

As Chuck was trying to compose himself, Rebecca appeared in the doorway. "You know," she said quietly, "I know that what we were doing just there was probably wrong, but that's the first time I've ever had that particular effect on a man."

Chuck looked up at her, and felt his stomach clench again. Swallowing, he said, "Rebecca, you don't understand."

"I understand that you're from the future, and that you're trying not to screw that up," she replied, a hard edge to her voice. "But I hardly understand how that would make you find me so repulsive that you throw up after kissing me."

"Rebecca, it's complicated."

"Well, uncomplicate it, dammit!" Now Rebecca was furious. "I let you into my home, I offer you my hospitality, and you can't even have the decency to tell me why you're suddenly so repulsed by me?"

"DAMMIT, REBECCA, SAMANTHA'S MY GIRLFRIEND!"

Rebecca's eyes went wide, and her jaw dropped. "Wh... what?"

"Your daughter," Chuck said bitterly. "Samantha Lisa Delacroix, or as I know her in 2010, Agent Sarah Walker of the Central Intelligence Agency, is my girlfriend. When I woke up this morning, I thought you were her."

Rebecca just looked at Chuck, and was silent for a long moment. Finally, when she spoke, she whispered, "I think you should leave."

Chuck looked back at her. "I think you're right."

Standing, he crossed the hall back to the guest room. Pulling his shoes on, he stormed back out to the living room. Rebecca hadn't moved, and didn't until she heard the door open and then shut again.

That's when her brain kicked in. What is wrong with you? it screamed at her.

Turning, Rebecca rushed to the front door and pulled it open. "Chuck!" she yelled at him.

He turned and looked at her, the troubled look still on his face. "Be safe."

He just nodded and walked out of the yard – right past Roan Montgomery's van, and on down the street.

A half hour later, Chuck found himself trudging through the campus of San Diego State University, yet again, when he heard the sound of a 427 cubic inch Ford engine behind him. A moment later, a horn beeped, and then a voice called out to him.

"Mr. Carmichael!"

Chuck turned to the sound of the voice – and sure enough, there was John Casey – ALEX COBURN, Chuck reminded himself – pulling up to the curb behind him. "Hey, Alex," Chuck said, bending down to look in the window of the Galaxie.

"Hitchhiking again?" Alex asked, in a tone of voice that Chuck knew very well – the tone somewhere between pity and mockery.

Chuck shrugged. "It's been a complicated morning."

"Need a lift?"

Chuck grinned. "Why not," he replied, opening the shotgun door. As he got in the car, he noticed that Alex was in his ROTC uniform. "What's with the uniform?"

Alex sighed. "I went to speak with Captain Beckman this morning, like you suggested," he said. "I wanted to talk to her about transferring to Marine ROTC."

"Oh?" Chuck asked. "What happened?"

"She tore me a new one," Alex replied quietly, as he pulled away from the curb. "She was really pissed that I even dared to consider leaving the Air Force."

That doesn't seem right, Chuck thought to himself. Casey's GOTTA be in the Marines. "Let's go talk to her."

Alex looked over at Chuck with a look that Chuck was most familiar with – the look of, Alright, Bartowski, you've lost your mind. "You're kidding."

"Not at all," Chuck answered. "I can talk some sense into her."

A cross between a grunt and a laugh came out of Alex's mouth – Grunt #4, Chuck thought, humor. "I think I would actually pay to see that," he replied. "However, you've gotta make it clear to Captain Beckman that this was completely your idea, and I protested the whole way."

"I can do that," Chuck replied. "Just take me to her."

Ten minutes later, Alex Coburn and Chuck Bartowski sat outside of Dianne Beckman's office on the campus of San Diego State University. Finally, the door flung open, and Captain Beckman stared out. "What IS IT, Coburn?" she snapped, glaring at him. "And who the hell is this?"

Chuck looked at Captain Beckman and tried not to laugh. Some things never changed.

"Uh, Captain, uh, ma'am, this is Mr. Carmichael. He insisted on coming to talk to you about my, uh, request for transfer. I told him that, uh, it was a bad idea -"

"Shut up, Coburn," Beckman growled. "What the hell were you thinking, bringing him -"

To Chuck's horror, Alex Coburn started looking like he was about to cry, and that was something Chuck was not ready to see from the man he knew as John Casey. "Uh, Captain, if we could speak in your office," he said hurriedly, literally pushing Beckman into the office and shutting the door behind him.

As soon as the door was shut, Beckman whirled on Chuck. "Look, asshole, I don't know who the hell you think you are," she snapped. "You do NOT get to tell one of my airmen that he should be a Marine, and you do not get to tell ME that I'm wrong."

Chuck shook his head. "Respectfully, ma'am, but you're wrong. Alex Coburn would be better suited as a United States Marine."

Beckman looked at him in disbelief. "Who the hell are you?"

Well, there was pretty much one way out of this. Withdrawing his wallet, Chuck opened it to his federal ID, careful to cover the date on it – just like the night before, when he had showed it to Rebecca Franco. "Charles Carmichael, Central Intelligence Agency," he replied.

Beckman's eyes narrowed. "Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, bullshit," Beckman replied. "I work for the National Security Agency, pal, and I call bullshit."

Chuck put his wallet back away and crossed his arms. "Then explain to me how I know that even though you just recently got married, you've had an ongoing affair with Agent Roan Montgomery since 1977, and you have no plans to break it off anytime soon."

Beckman's eyes went from very narrow to very wide, and her face went pale. "How... how do you know that?"

"Like I said," Chuck shot back, "CIA."

Beckman nodded. "Alright," she said uncertainly. "Then, uh, Agent Carmichael, you need to understand, I'm grooming Mr. Coburn to, uh, to come into the fold at the NSA one day, and I need him in the Air Force."

"Respectfully, I disagree," Chuck replied. "What if he someday ends up in a position where he has to protect an asset who has absolutely no training? I certainly think I'd be a lot more comfortable with that situation if Mr. Coburn had Marine Corps training because, no disrespect to the Air Force, but the Marines go through much more thorough training."

Beckman stared at Chuck for a long minute. "You think I should approve Mr. Coburn's transfer."

"I do."

A moment later, Chuck emerged from Beckman's office, and looked at Alex, victory written all over his face. "Well, congratulations," he said, "MARINE."

Alex jumped out of his chair. "You're kidding!"

"Not at all," Chuck replied.

"I don't believe it," Alex said. "How... how did you convince her?"

Chuck laughed. "Alex, I've always wanted to say this," he answered. "I would tell you... but then I'd have to kill you."

Jack Burton pulled his old Lincoln into the driveway of his house. Home at last.

And Rebecca's car was here, too. She must have had the day off.

He was home two days early. He wanted to surprise his wife – their marriage had been bumpy lately, and he wanted to make things right.

When he opened the front door, however, she screamed and just about jumped out of her skin. "Oh, God, it's just you, Jack," she said as he entered the house.

"Well, hello to you, too," he said uncertainly as she stood. "Are you alright?"

Rebecca shook her head. "It's been a weird couple of days," she said quietly – and that was when Samantha started to cry. "Baby's up," Rebecca said. "Let me go get her, and I'll be right back."

She turned and disappeared into the hallway – and then, a moment later, Jack followed. He wanted to see his daughter.

As he passed the bathroom, however, something caught his eye. "What on earth is that?"

A moment later, Rebecca returned to the living room, Samantha in her arms, clean diaper on, bottle in her mouth. "Look who's home, little Sam!" she started to say – but Jack interrupted her.

"Rebecca."

She didn't like that tone of voice, and looked up – to see Jack, holding Chuck's belt in his hand.

There was a quiet fury behind his voice. "Whose fucking belt is this?"

Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi
Rebecca Franco – Anna Torv
Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski
Cole Barker – Jonathan Cake
John Casey – Adam Baldwin
Roan Montgomery – John Larroquette
1980 Stephen Bartowski – Ryan Eggold
1980 Roan Montgomery – Chris Pine
1980 Emmett Brown – Charlie Sheen
1980 Mary Bartowski – AnnaLynne McCord
Alex Coburn – Sterling Jones
1980 Dianne Beckman – Jewel Staite
1980 Jack Burton – Kevin Connolly

For the record, yes, I'm aware that Spock quoted that line in the 2009 Star Trek movie. However, the first time he said it was in 1991's Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, when discussing how the Enterprise could possibly have fired torpedoes that were still on board the ship.