BartBurt4

A/N: This is Sarah's 2nd session with the counselor and things are not all that great in Sarah-land. Chuck's doing his thing but she's being...Sarah. Follows He Said2 Read and let me know what you think. Read the A/Ns for He Said2 for questions. Also, I'm going to publish a 'glossary' for those of you who've never served. No shame, just filling in the definitions since I tend to use acronyms or common names of things soldiers use that you civilian types won't understand. OK. Here I am. We need to make this quick. I have a 'date' for New Year's Eve and I need to go shopping for a gown. Please don't look at me like that. I'd be divorced if he wasn't where he is now. I could be divorced if he'd just sign the papers. There's no hope. We've become different people than the two who got married. Too much has changed. I'm back full-time with the Agency and I'm happy for the first time in a long time.

Sarah Said2

Fine. Back to the beginning. OK, 2003. Larkin and I were sent to Syria to try and locate and trace the WMD shipped there from Iraq back to their originating locations in Iraq. Some bonehead thought that if we could locate either the manufacturing or storage locations we could somehow prove their existence as well as possibly locate other caches.

We spent a month in Damascus and finally found a lead and followed it. We'd had to make some drastic changes in our appearance. I dyed my hair dark brown and used a vegetable stain to become darker skinned. I wore brown contact lenses only when required because they bothered me. We used traditional garb and I became his 'slave' for lack of a better term. We don't have one in English.

Bryce and I traveled the roads, listening, following up leads from the original one. Finally we located a storage bunker with some 122mm rockets that had chemical warheads – active chemical warheads. Bryce pulled the core from one, we noted the GPS location and then contacted our case officer.

We got on a truck traveling through Syria to Baghdad and headed out to rendezvous with some Army grunts who would provide us with transportation and an escort into safe hands. That was the plan, anyway.

We got stopped at an impromptu checkpoint and the head grunt and Bryce exchanged passwords and then things got hairy. Bryce pulled a weapon on the soldier and threatened him because he wouldn't drive us through a raging sandstorm. My partner was an asshole. This guy knew what he was talking about but Bryce being Bryce thought he knew better and basically hijacked the command vehicle.

We piled into the Humm-V and the officer in charge sent out the reporter and cameraman to another Hummer and then started issuing an op order when all hell broke loose. Some Sunni bandits were hitting the civilians and then started on the Army convoy.

He ordered his men to lock down the vehicles and disperse in a standard anti-ambush deployment. It was him. Bart. He said his name to add weight to his order. He said '3rd Herd, this is Bartowski…' and I saw his profile in the dim light of the vehicle lamps and it was him, my Bart. Before I could say or do anything, he ordered us out into the ditch and then got out himself.

Bryce ended up in a ditch on the other side of the road from me. I huddled down in the bottom, trying like hell to untangle my pistol from the cloth sack I had to carry it in. Bart poked me in the back with his rifle and said something but for just a moment I was back in that Florida foxhole and I threw myself on him, murmuring that I loved him and that I was sorry I ever left him.

Long story short, he shot one bandit and then the other but not before he got hit with a burst and then run through by a bayonet. The pain must have been incredible but he only whimpered and tried to pull it out. I jerked it out and found his field dressing and then a couple of his men and Bryce carried him to the remaining Hummer.

The damned cameraman caught us on tape and we had to leave in the other Hummer. I didn't know if he lived or died until I saw the CBS clipping of Madison Wainwright, covered in his blood, holding him in her lap imploring God and anyone else not to let the man she loved die. It made for good TV. I heard they got engaged or something but I think that was just some crap to boost ratings.

Something else. I told him I loved him. While I was putting on the field dressing in that ditch - I told him that I loved him and to never forget it. He looked so damned good but I had to go. The mission wasn't over. I don't know if he even knew it was his Burt. We never talked about that except one time years later when we were arguing and I threw Madison in his face.Bryce and I got to Baghdad and turned over our find and then boarded a transport for Spain and some well-deserved time together. I tried to forget him but I was haunted by the look on his face on the news clip. He looked like he was dying and there was blood everywhere. The cameraman got the right angle and captured his face and that of his 'lover'.

I know, I know, they weren't lovers then but they hooked up after he was sent to recovery in Baghdad and my sources confirmed he was OK. I was glad he was alive but jealous as hell that he was screwing the newsie's brains out. Yeah, Sarah Walker Bartowski, hypocrite. So what? At least I admit it. I was a hypocrite. I was sleeping with Bryce and judging him for sleeping with Madison. He never mentioned her. I had to. I threw it in his face years later in an argument because he was deploying again. I don't think he knew that I knew about them..

How did he react? He didn't. He just said 'That's cold, even for you, Walker. The woman is dead and buried. Let it alone. Don't you dare throw a dead woman in my face.' He walked out on me. God! That man drives me crazy. He doesn't argue fairly. He uses facts and he never yells. He just stares me down with those big brown eyes of his. I ask you, is that fair?

I didn't see him again after the Iraq ditch affair for a long while. He pulled another tour in Iraq and then went off the grid for a while. He was still in the Army but his status was 'classified' way beyond my clearances. I couldn't find out anything other than he was still in the Army and alive. I never planned on contacting him or anything like that. I just wanted to know that my Bart was still alive and well.

What? No, I didn't say that. No. I – he – no, I didn't mean 'my' like 'my' I just meant…don't put words in my mouth. It was a slip of the tongue, that's all. OK, TWO slips of the tongue but damn it that was then and this is now and nothing we're going to talk about is going to change what has happened.

Where were we? Yeah, OK. Bryce and I moved up the food chain a lot after finding those warheads. I don't know why nothing was ever done about them, why no one said 'Hey, the CIA found WMDs in Iraq' but that wasn't my call. I, OK, we just did our jobs.

After that we pulled assignments that got hairier and hairier until finally Bryce pushed his luck too far and ended up getting badly injured. He spent two months in the hospital and another two months getting back in shape at the Farm. I didn't want to just cool my heels waiting for him so I got myself a slot out at the Presidio and immersed myself in learning Pushtu since I figured after Iraq, Afghanistan would be next on our plate. It was a total waste of 3 months. We only got tasked into Afghanistan once, for a month, and we hardly ever left the embassy grounds.

We read intel reports from a confidential source. We got insights into the tribal mindsets and even into some of the identities and relationships in the Taliban forces. The quality of the information was excellent and…no, I never learned the source. It was hush-hush.

You're shitting me? Chuck? But we were told it was NSA source material and we figured it was from signals intel, sigint. When was he in Afghanistan and why?

Yeah, I'd really like to read his versions of how we met and got along. Is it allowed? Are they telephone transcripts? He emails stuff? Well, he never sent me squat except a yahoo email from a dead account telling me I could fool around all I wanted to but he'd die before he signed the divorce papers and that I'd be Sarah Bartowski for a long time.

Look, give me the copies and I'll read them and we can discuss the obvious differences at our next session. I need to buy a gown for New Year's Eve and I haven't started looking yet.

Don't give me that look. I told you when we started this farce that it was a waste of time and that I was back where I belonged. I'll take domestic tasking as a start but I will get back into the international scene. I was the best before I got mixed up with him and I'll be the best again.

No. I don't have a partner yet. The Agency is still trying to sort out the ideal profile before assigning me one. I just don't want to go deep cover as a companion or girl friend. I'm on the wrong side of 35 and it just wouldn't be right.

Being married has nothing to do with it. I – I – I just don't want to be a cheater, OK? He never cheated on me, never. I just can't do it to him now. Not after all these years. I just won't do it. If I were divorced, it'd be different but not until the idiot signs the damned papers. That's what I told the Agency and I meant it. No divorce, no spreading the legs for the greater good.

Have a happy New Year's, Doc. Maybe you'll get lucky.

NSA Monitoring Center

The General's aide watched in fascination as the General ripped the headphones off his head, pulled the plug out of the monitoring console and threw the headphones to the carpeted floor and stomped on them repeatedly while cursing all women but CIA-trained blondes in particular.

It was going to be a long evening. He hoped to get home at a decent hour but it didn't look like he'd see home for a while.

"General, your car's out front, your briefcase is packed and you're officially off duty for the next 48 hours. Your schedule is clear and the summaries are on your computer ready for review when you're ready."

"Take off, Fred. See ya in 48. Don't party too damned hearty. Bad for the image."

'I need to remember that he has a wife and a new baby. He doesn't need to stand around waiting to hand me a tissue if I sneeze or pick up a pen if I drop it. He's a serving officer and he's learning all the wrong things on this stint. Maybe I should talk to Diane and see what tasks she had her aide doing. It's a waste of his time.'

Casey Residence
Bethesda, MD
New Year's Eve

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number from a list he fished out of his pocket.

"Bartowski, secure."

"Chuck, John Casey. Just called to wish you a Happy New Year. How are things going? You're staying in base camp, right?" He could hear the whine of the Abrams' gas turbine and cursed his young friend for wanting to lead from the front.

"You wouldn't want me to lie to you, would you, General Casey, sir?" He could hear the humor in Chuck's voice. It made him feel less like a complete tool.

"No. But I do want you to promise me you'll watch your ass, young Major."

"What for, Casey? I mean, who gives a shit other than the President's National Security Adviser, you and my sister?"

"Chuck…"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, too. Things just suck all the way around for me right now. I suppose I'd feel a little less maudlin if I were heading out for the bright lights with a willing girl on my arm but hey, you got to play the hand you were dealt, right? Y'know, all those years ago, before Ellie's wedding…"

"Yeah?" There was a burst of static on the line. "Chuck? You still there?"

"Yeah. Well, you were right, John. I was just too stubborn to see it. No. I didn't want to see it. Man, I was so sure of things back then. So confident and sure. The world was just waiting for me to bust a cap in its ass and start over with everything I ever wanted sitting beside me. Look, General Casey, we're coming up on the MLR and I got to have my head in the game. Happy New Year, Casey. Drink one for me. And if you see Sarah, tell her I signed the damned papers and will get them in the mail as soon as this mess is over."

"Wait, Chuck. Don't give up. Chuck?" Too late. He'd disconnected. And he'd given up.

He said a silent prayer for his friend and then dialed another number from memory.

"Sarah Walker, secure but in public."

"Walker, I just got off the phone with…with Chuck. He's heading into some shit but said to tell you he signed the damned papers and they'll be in the mail as soon as his unit disengages and is relieved. At least you'll have a Happy New Year."

"Casey, is he…" John Casey had hung up on her.

She paid for her purchases at the counter and left the liquor store and headed back to her apartment. Everything about her life lately was a lie. She didn't have a partner at the Agency. She didn't have a date for New Year's. She didn't have him home, safe and grinning, ready to toast the New Year and make love to her until they collapsed in each other's arms, exhausted.

"Ah, shit, Bart, where are you when I need you, baby?"

Her phone vibrated again and she read her text message. HNY BURT

She had her answer. He was always there when she needed him. She couldn't say the same. She started to text him back but stopped. What could she say? I LV U? I MS U? I NED U? Or how about THKS FR DVRS?

'It's not too late. You don't have to turn in the paperwork. You can wait for him, meet him at the airport or the dock or wherever he comes home and tear up the papers and try again. You don't have to go through with it. You're still Burt and he's still Bart. Don't throw him away because of your damned pride.'

I got into my car and drove back to my apartment. Reality sucked. I figured I'd mix a drink and read his sessions and see where we'd begun to drift apart. I had time to find my mistakes, our mistakes, before he got back.

I showered and changed into a comfortable nightgown and mixed myself a strong drink. All my drinks lately have been strong. My MasterCard bill looked like I was sampling all of DC's finer emporiums of booze. I spread out the pages of my husband's email responses to the counselor's questions and then stopped.

On a whim I dug out a few of our flash drives and started paging through the images of us in better times. I dug out my lockbox, kept on the shelf beside Chuck's. The movers had taken it along with mine when I'd moved out of our house out in the hills. I had a copy of his thumbprint saved for emergencies and I've never violated his privacy but was sorely tempted. I pressed my thumb against the digital reader and heard a 'click' and then opened my box.

There were 16 years of memories and documents in the box. And there, on top, was my Will and a letter I'd written to my husband when I still loved him. I started to cry.

I still love him. It was a Freudian slip, nothing more. I still love my lover under the cover, and my husband. I do.

I carried the box out to the table and started removing each memory. My glass was empty and I idly wondered how many I'd had but pushed the thought away. I didn't want to know. I poured myself another and added water and ice this time.

I removed my will and my 'last letter' to Chuck and then copies of our birth certificates, a DNA profile for each of us (in case a body required identification using extreme means) and our Nevada marriage license.

'Burt, will you marry me, stay with me, and love me for the rest of our lives?'

'Ladies and Gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to introduce for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bartowski.'

'Chuck, you be careful over there. I'll be waiting for you to come back to me whole and healthy. Stay out of the ditches and stay away from the reporters. You're too damned cute to resist and all those brunette TV skanks are probably lining up to hit on you. Seriously, Bart, watch your ass and come back to me. I love you, baby.'

I removed the boarding passes for our flight to Tahiti, some pressed flowers from my lei and then his picture from the Ranger School website. There it was. My Ranger Tab. This is where it all started.

It was well after 4am when I ran into the bathroom, vomited and then fell into bed. Now I had the first clues about where things went wrong for us. My alcohol-clouded brain pummeled me with memory after memory and excuse after excuse.

'ANOTHER damned call-up? I thought you told me you were in the inactive reserves now? I smell Beckman and Casey. Damn it, Chuck, I'm tired of waking up alone for a year every other year. I didn't marry you part-time. This better be the last damned time you have to go!'

'Chuck, I have to go to Chicago with a client. You'll just have to have your birthday with Ellie. She could use the company. I imagine she's bored to death now that Devon's moved out.'

'You need to talk to someone about these damned dreams. You don't sleep enough and you keep me awake with your mutterings. We both have jobs to do and I can't do mine looking like I haven't slept in a week. Yeah, maybe you should sleep in the guest bedroom.'

'Chuck, I'm taking an assignment myself. We're short-handed and it'll only be for a couple of weeks, a month at the most. We can talk about stuff every day on the phone. A month at the most. It's very high profile and it'll mean a lot for my business. Besides, I need to keep my skills sharp.'

'I don't want a child. I have everything I need. I have a business to run and goals to meet. I don't have time for a family right now. Maybe not ever. Don't wait up for me, I'll be late again. And try and get some sleep, Chuck. You look like crap.'

'Chuck, this just isn't working out for me. I need more in my life. I can't be a damned camp follower and I'm tired of waking up alone. I'm going back to the Agency full-time. I've been working assignments for them since Burbank. I want a divorce. By the time you get this letter I'll have filed for divorce and be on assignment. It's over. Please, if you ever loved me, give me my freedom. Sign the papers and move on.'

I fell asleep thinking 'See, this is all his fault'.