Fallout

Ingredient #5 - Time, time, and more time. Time plays a major role in the development and strengthening of trust. Don't expect an overnight change of attitude from either yourself or your partner.

- Five Ingredients for Developing Trust in a Relationship


The house was quiet when he unlocked the front door and reset the security code for the downstairs, and he couldn't help but be grateful. If Ellie had been waiting up for him, or Awesome had returned home, he would have to talk to them, and he wasn't sure he was up for that. He didn't think Sarah had noticed, but he was shaking from head to toe, tiny, microscopic shakes that seemed to be the only way he could express his fear and fury and terror and exhaustion and confusion and fear. He was certainly in no mood to lie and give a postgame recap, not when he still wasn't sure what had been real and what hadn't been about the whole damned date.

It had been going so well.

He poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge and swallowed four Ibuprofen. His body was going to hurt like nothing else come morning, he knew. The only reason it didn't know was that his brain just didn't have enough left over to process physical pain, but he had a strong feeling that the morning wasn't going to be pleasant. Maybe the doctor Ellie inevitably dragged him to when she found out about his car would prescribe the good drugs. Maybe something good might come out of this mess. Sighing, he moved the Converse All-Star magnet on the fridge, his "Chuck is home" habit, and went upstairs.

Normally, he might go straight for his computer, check emails, maybe do some trouble-shooting or even play a game for a bit if he was in the mood, but tonight, he passed his office up. He was burned out on computers for the night; ironic, given that he now was one, thanks to Bryce. Instead of going into his office, he stripped out of his overshirt, which was covered in schmutz from the accident, and tossed that on the sofa bed on his way to check on Violet.

It had been a long night in the same way that Comic Con was just a little bit nerdy.

He eased open Vi's door, an automatic habit before he went to bed whenever he was up working late. Usually, it was just a quick peek, to reassure himself she hadn't been carried away by minions of David Bowie, but tonight he didn't move away from the doorway.

Vi slept the same as she always did: aggressively, taking up as much of the bed as her slender form would allow and twisted up in the sheets, her face shoved into the mattress and one arm lovingly strangling Chewie. It looked like she and Aunt Ellie had indeed painted their fingernails. Chuck couldn't be sure, but tonight's color looked like bubblegum pink. She seemed entirely unchanged, though she'd probably sprung up another half inch or so, a pretty regular habit for her every time he turned around.

How the hell was he ever going to keep her safe?

There were a thousand scary things on the planet—major illness, minor illness, boo-boos, scrapes, injuries, accidents, fire, flood, pestilence, disease, bad people, strangers, Cylons and someday the worst thing of them all: boyfriends. And now, terrorists and spies.

He was never sleeping again. Without knowing what he was doing, Chuck moved away from the doorway and settled in on the floor of Vi's room, leaning his back against the dresser. The white enamel knobs dug into the skin just to the left of his spine, but he ignored it.

How as he going to keep her safe?

He must have made too much noise, for Vi began to stir. She rolled over to face him, those eyes opening to slits that glinted a bit in the light of her Tinkerbell nightlight. "Daddy?"

He lifted his chin off of his hands. "Yes, Megabyte? I'm right here."

Even half-asleep, Vi could give him the "I know that, Daddy" look rather well. "What'choo doin'?"

"Just, ah, just thinking."

"What 'bout?"

Chuck scooted forward, stroking a hand over Vi's hair to pull it away from being crushed into the pillow. "Adult stuff. Were you having a nightmare?"

"No," and with that, Vi was content to roll back over and fall right back asleep. Chuck grinned despite himself when her breathing slowed.

"You're trouble," he told his sleeping daughter, and brushed her hair back once more. Normally, he would have given her a quick kiss on the forehead and gone to bed himself, but tonight, he stayed where he was, one hand resting on her back, for hours longer.

# # #

"Took you long enough," Casey said when Sarah let herself into the FBI office he'd appropriated for his mission against Chuck Bartowski and the theft of the Intersect.

She didn't roll her eyes: she wouldn't give Casey the pleasure. She was tired, thanks to her days of stake-outs and everything that had gone down on officially the most disastrous date in history, and it looked like the night was only half-over. Normally, she would have told Casey to shove it, but—well, damn it, she needed his help to keep promises she'd made. And she didn't really feel like getting into any more fights tonight. She could probably take Casey, but why bother?

So she nodded, curtly, and peeled out of her jacket. "I did a walkabout. Nobody suspicious in the area."

"Uh-huh. Sure you weren't busy humping the mark?"

"Quite sure," Sarah said, inserting a bit of frost into her voice.

Too much, she saw immediately. Casey smirked; he knew perfectly well he'd gotten a rise out of her.

"You talked to the bosses?" she asked, determined to move past this without any interagency incidents.

"Teleconference in five minutes. You cut it close."

"I'm still here in time." Sarah rolled her shoulders. The visitor chairs in the office looked comfortable, but since Casey wasn't sitting, she wasn't going to either. No reason to give him the advantage. Why couldn't the NSA and CIA have sent somebody a little less antagonistic for their investigation? Right now, John Casey was the biggest pain in her ass that he could possibly be, and she had a feeling he both knew it and reveled in that fact. "What was their reaction?"

"I got them out of bed in the middle of the night to let them know a civilian has the greatest security asset in the country in his head. What do you think their reaction was?"

"There's got to be some way to get it out of his head," Sarah mused.

"Not our problem, Walker."

"Suppose not." Silence fell. She crossed her arms over her chest, grateful her shirt hadn't gotten torn during their earlier stunts, so that she still looked somewhat presentable to the bosses. Graham, she knew, but for the NSA—

The screen at the head of the office sprang to life, Graham's face filling the left half of the screen, and on the right…

"Good evening, General," Casey said. "Director."

She shouldn't have been surprised to see General Diane Beckman's cranky face take up half of the screen, though she wasn't exactly displeased. At least Beckman wasn't one of the penny-pinching Generals. They wouldn't have to worry about the project being cut due to funding.

Wait a second: project? The main subject of any so-called project wants nothing to do with us. Way to get ahead of yourself, Walker.

"Good evening, General, Director," she said, moving to Casey's side and adopting a similar stance. It wasn't quite the military "At Ease" stance, but it was close enough for government work. "Our apologies for waking you." Though Graham had on a polo shirt, Beckman was clearly wearing a robe. They really had dragged two of the highest ranked people in the Intelligence community out of bed, all over a civilian who had basically told the both of them to go to hell—Sarah, literally.

May your life be interesting really was the worst curse you could bestow on somebody, Sarah thought.

"Major Casey, Agent Walker, perhaps you would like to explain to me the reports I've just received that a civilian disarmed a bomb in a major Los Angeles hotel with..." Beckman glanced down, and Sarah had to assume she was reading a hard copy of said report. "A computer...virus?"

In spite of herself, Sarah shared a sidelong look with Casey. Neither of them wanted to be the one to tell Beckman of the nature of said virus.

Or how...well endowed it had been.

"Er, yes, ma'am," Casey said, apparently deciding to take the fall.

"Perhaps, Major, you should start at the beginning," Graham said. "I'd like to hear both of your versions of tonight."

"Yes, sir."

"Of course, sir."

The story came out a little untruthfully, and Sarah wasn't sure if she was bothered by the fact that Casey downplayed how many men had come into the club with him to nab Chuck, as it meant he also had to reduce her own role in disabling his team. The accident, he blamed on her. It burned somewhat, but she reminded herself that she needed Casey's support to keep Chuck out of the bunker.

When they reached the hotel segment of the story, she took over the narrative. "We attempted to keep Chuck away from the bomb, but he proved to be the one most capable of disarming the bomb. Apparently, the virus circumvented any shutdown protocols that would have triggered the bomb. Chuck was very helpful in both locating the bomb and gathering information on the bomber, apparently learned by way of the Intersect. We've coordinated the local LEOs searching for the bomber."

"Mm-hmm. And you say that this Chuck Bartowski used the Intersect? Without computer backup?"

"No, ma'am, it's all inside his head. As best we can tell, it works as some sort of...live database. We don't know how it works, yet, but I do know Chuck seemed to, ah, 'flash' on information in my presence three times. I didn't notice the first, but he did flash on the hotel and discover that the CIA had intercepted some floor plans last week of the hotel."

"And that the NSA had also received intel on a bomb of the size and magnitude to topple the Millennium Hotel," Casey said. "Bartowski seemed to have cross-referenced this intel himself."

"Essentially, Chuck Bartowski has become the Intersect," Sarah said, feeling foolish for even having to make the statement, even if it were true.

Beckman's eyes went wide. "How is this possible?"

"When Bryce sent it to him, he apparently encoded the Intersect into a video game that he and Mr. Bartowski used to play. By viewing the entirety of the Intersect files, Chuck has apparently turned himself into a computer."

"As far as we can tell, ma'am, Director, there's been no actual contact between Larkin and Bartowski." Casey shuffled his feet and looked annoyed. "Bartowski claims he wasn't in on the theft or destruction of the original Intersect. And for what it's worth...I believe him."

Even as Sarah turned to give him an incredulous look, Casey continued, "I don't think Bartowski would even know how to steal candy from a gas station."

So close, and then the insult comes.

"And neither of you has figured out why there would be any reason that Bryce Larkin might have sent the Intersect to Bartowski?"

"No, ma'am," Sarah said.

"He might have sent it, believing that we wouldn't be able to track the transmission and would never think a civilian might have the software," Casey said. "It's possible Chuck Bartowski was never intended to view the Intersect files and become a living Intersect himself, sir, ma'am."

But why put it into a video game that Chuck would surely play and trigger the download, then?

The bosses seemed be thinking along Sarah's line of thought, however, from the doubtful frowns on both of their faces—of course, Sarah mused, that could have just been their default expressions. Graham had never seemed like a fountain of fun in all of the time he'd served as her mentor. "Intentions matter little here, Major Casey," General Beckman said. "Either way, this is problematic. Our most valuable security asset is in the head of an unprotected civilian. We need to get him into a protected facility as we possibly can."

Sarah took a deep breath and stepped forward. "I understand your concerns, but may I speak freely?"

"I'm not sure that's—"

"Go ahead, Sarah," Graham said, cutting Beckman off.

Great. Way to start me off on the wrong foot with Beckman. Thanks, Graham.

Sarah pushed back the stab of annoyance. "We have a unique opportunity here. Mr. Bartowski's anonymity is his biggest asset—nobody knows he's the Intersect save the people in this conversation, and none of us are certainly the type to go spilling our greatest secrets. If you were to put Mr. Bartowski into a protected facility, I have reason to believe he would protest every step of the way, and given his knowledge and the fact that he has downloaded the Intersect with no problems, cause a great deal of trouble."

"Get to the point: what are you suggesting?"

"We use Bartowski."

"Come again?"

"The fact that Chu—Mr. Bartowski can access the Intersect like a database can't be a coincidence," Sarah said. "Those files were encoded specifically with a human host in mind, weren't they?"

Casey shifted his feet a fraction, which told Sarah he had indeed been read in on the original intentions of the Intersect Project. It also told her that her sally had found its mark, a fact she also picked up from the annoyed looks that overtook the faces of their bosses. "For better or worse, Mr. Bartowski is now your human host, and nobody would suspect him, which makes him more ideal than you'd think. Install Major Casey and myself out here in California semi-permanently while you search for a solution to get the Intersect out of Mr. Bartowski, and we'll act as security or the Intersect, and his family."

"His family?"

"That's the other problem, Director. Mr. Bartowski also has primary custody of a four-year-old daughter. It's...the main reason I believe he will cause problems."

General Beckman's frown deepened. "Problems?"

Crap. Now I have to figure out how to keep them from just sniping Chuck at the first whiff of any hint of trouble. Nice one, Walker.

Sarah took another deep breath and addressed Graham, whom she sensed was her foot in the door in this argument. "Wasn't it you, sir, who's always quoting at me that opportunity often comes in disguised in the form of misfortune, or temporary defeat? Mr. Bartowski saved a lot of lives tonight, a lot of lives that would have been lost without his intelligence and capabilities as the Intersect."

For a long moment, Graham was silent, fingers clasped in front of his face so that his chin rested on his joined hands, obviously mulling over her argument. Her heart wasn't quite in her throat, but she did feel her pulse speed up a little. Chuck had looked so frustrated and defeated when she had dropped him off at his place, so upset over something that hadn't been his fault at all. He needed an advocate, and he needed a good one, but in the same way that life was never fair, that was not going to happen unless Graham and Beckman deemed him worthy of it. For now, Chuck's greatest advocates were the fact that he had indeed disarmed the bomb, and that he had her on his side.

Finally, Graham nodded, and Sarah felt her knees weaken just a little. She kept herself still.

"General Stanfield is an old golfing buddy of mine," Graham said. "The country owes Mr. Bartowski a debt. Very well, Walker, we'll play it your way—unless Major Casey has any objections?"

"Sir? I'm not sure this—"

"You did say you were feeling pasty, Major. Consider this an opportunity to get that sunlight you desired."

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Bartowski's family is important to him, you say?"

"Above all things, I believe so."

"Very well. Our primary responsibility is Mr. Bartowski, obviously, but no reason we can't include his dependants in our protection detail. Agent Walker, Major Casey, coordinate on the best way to go about that. General, will the NSA be comfortable taking point on seeing how to remove the Intersect from Bartowski's head?"

"Of course." General Beckman looked affronted that he even had to ask. "We'll put our best scientists on it. Casey, Walker, you'll be reporting to both of us about this, and us alone. For that matter, for the foreseeable future, Bartowski's full name shouldn't be used in reports, are we clear?"

"Crystal, General."

"I expect full reports from both of you waiting on my desk in the morning. Coordinate how you're going to run Bartowski's security and report back to us tomorrow. Briefing at 1200, eastern time. Agent Walker, since you seem so hung up on the civilian, you'll serve as his handler."

Sarah heard Casey's snicker and did her best to ignore it. "Yes, ma'am."

"It's never dull, isn't it?" Director Graham asked before the screens went black, leaving Sarah alone with Casey again.

He immediately turned to face her, crossed his arms over his chest, and began to chuckle. "Somebody has her panties in a twist over a civilian," he remarked, his smirk broad. "I'd wonder what Larkin would think of that? Oh, wait, it doesn't matter, does it? He's dead."

"You're an ass," Sarah said, and finally took a seat at the desk, booting up the computer.

"What are you doing?"

"My job." Sarah pulled up an Internet browser and tabbed over to Google. "I saw a house for sale a few houses down from Chuck's when I was dropping him off, it'll serve as a great base for the project."

"The project? Don't fool yourself, Walker. The bosses will come to their senses soon and pull this. Bartowski'll end up in a cushy government bunker where the intel will be safe. I'll put in a good word for him; his family can visit him."

Sarah pushed her hand through her hair, which was still down from the date, as she'd lost her hair-sticks in the leg of Casey's men. She'd called the hospital on her way back to the meeting with Casey and the bosses; all of Casey's team had survived, though one would be in physical therapy for a few months. "How is that even fair?" she asked. "He didn't do anything wrong!"

"Bad things happen to good people, Walker. We just have to deal with it."

"We saved a lot of lives tonight, Casey."

Casey shrugged.

"We did," Sarah went on, looking away from the screen and giving Casey—her new partner, it looked like—a cold look. "I don't know what you signed on for, but that's enough for me."

"And it doesn't hurt that the new Intersect is oh-so-dreamy," Casey muttered, snickering again.

Sarah lifted an eyebrow. "I didn't know you swung that way, Casey."

His eyes narrowed. She merely continued to smile innocently.

"Touché, Walker," Casey finally said. Silence fell for a minute before Casey sighed and reached for the phone. "It's going to be a long night, and not all of us got to eat out on the Intersect's dime. I'm calling for food."

Sarah bit her lip over a protest that she had offered to go Dutch on the meal. "Get me a burger, extra pickles?" she asked instead.

Casey grumbled, but he did so. Maybe, just maybe, this odd partnership might work, though Sarah still had her doubts. She picked up her cell phone and began to make the calls necessary for the night's work to happen.

# # #

Chuck didn't know how many hours he sat on Violet's floor, his back resting against the wall so that he sat between the bed and the nightlight, but Chuck's entire body felt weary and though it had been used by a punching bag by Olympian boxers when he finally pushed himself to his feet, kissed his daughter on the forehead, and made his way out into the hallway. No matter how much he simply wanted to curl up on the floor and sleep there, to really keep an eye on Violet, he knew better. She would suspect something if she woke up to find him sleeping in there, and she might say something to Ellie, which would start Ellie questioning Chuck.

So he made his way out into the upstairs living room, which doubled as his bedroom. He looked down at the daybed/sofa he usually slept on, but even though he was tired, he didn't think he would fall asleep.

Maybe he should go into the office, see if he could lose himself a bit in work, which was sure to knock him right out. He peeled out of his shirt and tugged on sweatpants instead of jeans. Ignoring a shirt for now—it was a bit warm in the house—he flicked on the office light and went to boot up his computer and power up all of the different machines in the office, which always took a couple of minutes. As he did so, he spotted the Prism laptop Morgan had brought over to be fixed, and his blood ran cold.

What if Morgan hadn't brought that virus to him?

You can't think like that, his brain told him. Suddenly, the house seemed too cold again. He turned to go grab a shirt—and froze.

There was a face in his window.