A/N: I don't own Chuck. I'm not making money off this. I still like reviews.
Previously on Chuck: The Echo of Memory [if you've skipped it, I recommend going back and reading Chapter 7]
Chuck experiences an Evening With Morgan. Chuck and Morgan get kidnapped. Chuck bullshits his way into buying valuable time. Abby shoots the kidnappers dead, without giving them a chance to surrender. Chuck dumps "Carmichael" and becomes Charlie Pulaski. Behind Chuck's back, Abby and General Beckman toast to how successfully the planned kidnapping went. General Beckman warns Abby that putting Chuck in danger will alienate him from his kids and family. Abby responds "I certainly hope so, General."
May 23, 2022, 9:30 a.m. Westside Hospital
Chuck knocked on Morgan's hospital door. "Hi buddy. Are you up? Want some company?"
"Of course man, come on in." Morgan responded from his hospital bed, putting down a glass of orange juice.
Chuck entered and took a seat on the empty chair next to Morgan's bed.
"I can't believe that Abby shot me. Hasn't she ever heard of asking the bad guys to surrender? Or thought about using tranqs?," Morgan asked, a disgruntled expression peaking upward from his chin.
"I know buddy, I get it. I already went to Beckman about it, but she backed Abby's call."
"The protection of the Intersect, and all that jazz?" Morgan asked.
Chuck pondered a bit, then spoke: "Yeah, something like that. Thing is, the more I think about it, the less I buy it. Something's up with her and Beckman. I mean, besides violating the whole 'don't kill people you don't have to,' principle. Shooting to protect the Intersect only works if you have perfect aim. Abby doesn't. She's not like Casey. Or Sarah. Especially Sarah. She hit you. But she could just have easily have hit me. Then there's the other thing. . . "
"What?"
"How damn calm she was. She killed two people, wounded you, and it's like it had the emotional impact for her of choosing a brand of table salt." Chuck noted.
"Any different from Casey and Sarah, especially when you met them?" Morgan inquired.
Chuck thought deeply. He had seen both Casey and Sarah kill many times and go on, seemingly unaffected. "Yes . . ., no, well . . . um, I don't know. With Sarah and Casey, I always knew there was something underneath, something good. With Abby, I don't know. Even at the beginning, before I Chuckified them, Sarah and Casey, if they wounded a civilian, they would have felt something."
"So what are you going to do?"
Chuck looked up at the ceiling, as if seeking inspiration, then remarked: "I'm not sure. But things don't add up. I may need to get close to her, closer than I would like. Now, as for you, are you ok?"
"Me. I'm dandy. It's not like I haven't been shot before."
"You know, Morgan, there was a second, half-a-second, when you screamed in terror and I thought I lost you. You're my brother, and because of her, I almost lost you. Ten inches more to the left and, you know."
"I lost a brother once," Morgan replied, smiling at Chuck, "but, seeing you last night, I'm lucky. I got him back."
"Paraphrasing Star Trek V, seriously?" Chuck asked, returning his bearded friend's smile.
"Most underrated of the original cast films. It's the only one that really captured the Holy Trinity of Kirk, Spock, and McCoy," Morgan answered, making the sign of the cross for emphasis.
"Does that make you Kirk, and me Spock? Because I'm far too emotional to be Spock." Chuck responding, laughing.
"No, you're Kirk. I'm more like a less cranky, less antsy McCoy. But seriously, getting kidnapped and everything, it was the most alive you've been in years. And pulling that financial crap out of your rear to save our hides, that's the Kirk I remember. The kobiyashi maru Kirk. The 'I don't like to lose," Kirk."
"I know," Chuck responded in a whisper, his smile disappearing. A despondent shadow crept across Chuck's face, and thoughts screamed through his head:
'How screwed up do I have to be that it takes getting kidnapped and held at gun point to bring out the best of me? What's even screwier is that the whole mess is probably the most *fun* I've had in years. Yes, *fun.* The rush. The damn rush. How can I possibly think that?'
Chuck's inner monologue kept spiraling. Trying to regain his footing, he turned back towards Morgan and spoke: "You know, Diana's been learning about other planets in kindergarten. I don't know where she got it from, but two days ago, she actually asked me if God needs a spaceship to visit Mars. You know how I responded?"
"You didn't."
"I did."
"What does God need with a starship?" the two friends said simultaneously, breaking into laughter.
Just then, they heard a soft knock on the hospital door.
"Hi, am I interrupting?" Alex Grimes said, peaking her head in.
"No, I was just leaving," Chuck responded. Chuck gave Morgan a soft nod as he got up from his chair, stood up, and threw his wind windbreaker over his shoulder. As he did, Morgan translated Chuck's non-verbal cues -
"Of course she's interrupting, Morgan, but you two need to talk so I'm getting out of your way. It's for your own good, little buddy"
Morgan nodded back, slightly shaking his head exasperatedly. Chuck translated his nods from Morgonese -
"Come on man, you're leaving me?"
Chuck gave another nod, this time an obvious "yes," and began walking towards the door.
"I brought you a coffee, you can have coffee, right?" Alex asked.
As Chuck left the room, Morgan begrudgingly waved Alex in, inviting her to sit upon the empty chair that Chuck recently vacated.
"I'd love a coffee, thank you." Morgan said.
"You've been ducking my calls, Morgan." Alex said, firmly.
"I know," Morgan sighed.
"Figured I'd catch you when you're kind of a captive audience. My dad filled me in. Are you ok?"
"I'm fine, and I don't need to get shot to speak with you Alex, it's just, um, I didn't know what to say."
"So why don't you listen?" Alex pleaded.
Morgan softly nodded "o.k."
"I want you back, Morgan. I have for a long time. Heck, I never wanted you gone. I know I screwed up. I know it's been three years. But can you see the way to giving us another chance?"
"What about the studly rich assbutts you've been dating? What about Bryan?"
"Bryan was mean, cruel." Alex explained.
"Jorge?" Morgan asked.
"Jorge was a bore and a drunk." Alex
"Bryce?"
"A good baseball player, but a total douche."
"Figures, with that name," Morgan quipped.
"Morgan. Stop. The other guys all had one flaw. They weren't you. I miss my little kind, sweet, bearded troll. It was a big mistake, Morgan, that I made, but it was one mistake .. can't you forgive me?" Alex beseeched.
"You don't get it, do you? I can't forgive myself. My insecurities, my childishness. That's what drove you to him in the first place." Morgan responded.
Alex thought back. Morgan had a point, from a certain point of view. Before the affair, they had been feuding over Morgan's Peter Pan syndrome. He had been pushing off having children. He didn't think deep about history, art, politics. Despite their nearly 10-year age gap, she often felt like he was the child. Professor Green just seemed so worldly, so knowledgeable, so adult. That's how she stumbled.
"Morgan, nothing was your fault. I made my own mistakes. You never did anything other than dote on me. That's why I broke it off with 'Professor Assbutt' so quickly. That's why I never told you. I didn't want to hurt you, more than I had."
Morgan sighed: "A great nerd profit once said, marry someone just attractive enough to turn you on. Anything more causes problems. You were too pretty for me, Alex. You still are too pretty for me, Alex."
"If your answer to me is 'no,' you need to supply a better reason than misquoting Defending Your Life. You don't even like romantic comedies." Alex responded.
"Well, technically, it's in the fantasy genre. But what I meant was, the entire time we were together, I was looking over my shoulder waiting for the other shoe to drop. When were you going to realize your mistake, and get with someone smarter, or richer, or taller, especially taller? Then you did. And I can't get it out of my head that it will happen again. No one as wonderful as you, in your right mind, would stay with me."
"Morgan, honey. I'm not in my right mind. I'm hopelessly in love with you. Always have been. And the last three years of dating handsome, rich jerks has only made me love you more," Alex said, her hand now caressing Morgan's cheek, as a tear dripped from her eye.
Morgan blushed, briefly. But as his blush faded, his look of despair and exasperation returned. "Alex, I'll always care about you, love you. But, despite what the movies say, love sometimes isn't enough. If I can get over my issues, and I say 'if,' we'd still have big issues. You still want kids, Alex."
"So do you, Morgan. . . or at least you did, three years ago."
"Yeah, I want little rugrats. But . . ."
"Your swimmers?" Alex asked, her tone conveying sympathy.
"More like my floaters. If they could swim I wouldn't have this problem," Morgan answered, his tone somber, "you know, it's ironic. Our horrible fights over having kids. Then, by the time we both want them, I learn I can't have them."
"Morgan, sweetheart, if that's your concern, there are options. . . Look, I'm not saying we move back in together tomorrow. I'm not saying our issues will magically be resolved with one Disney kiss. I'm just saying, will you have coffee with me sometime?" Alex asked.
"Aren't we having coffee now?" Morgan answered, cracking a smile and taking a sip from the Dunkin Donuts medium container in his hand.
"Yeah, I guess we are," Alex responded, a big smile growing on her face.
May 23, 2022, 10:15 p.m. Apartment of John Casey
John Casey's television fluttered on, with the image of General Beckman gracing the screen.
"I apologize for the late hour, Colonel Casey, but are you able to speak briefly?" the General asked.
John Casey, dressed in pajamas and a t-shirt, ceased eating his microwaved Salisbury steak t.v. dinner and looked up.
"Here, General," he responded.
"I just had a rather disturbing call with Agent Cooper."
"What happened?"
"I'm not at liberty to discuss the specifics, unfortunately. I'll give you the short story, though. Despite her successes at getting Agent Pulaski, Chuck, back to functional status . . . I get the sense that she doesn't really understand him at all, or what makes him effective."
"His lady feelings?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes."
"If that's the case, why not get rid of her, replace her?" Casey asked.
"I don't have enough for that, not yet. Remember, she's on loan to us. I don't have the control over her that I would with real NSA. Besides, she's made tremendous progress so far."
"So what do you want me to do?" Casey inquired.
"Watch her. Make sure that her, um, methods, aren't impeding the mission."
"You mean, watch out for Chuck?"
"Precisely."
May 23, 2022, 11:53 p.m., Casa Bartwoski-Woodcomb
Ellie Woodcomb walked past Chuck's room. The door was ajar. Tiptoeing inside, she found her brother hunched over his computer desk, his face resting on his arms, sleeping soundly.
She went over to him, hoping she could nudge him awake and into bed. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of his computer screen. Lines and lines of computer code, utterly indecipherable to her. The phrase "Project Firestorm." And an instant message, sent thirty minutes ago, and left unanswered:
Missile Commander: Hi Chuck! Are we secure?
Glancing at the rest of the monitor, Ellie noticed video surveillance footage of Sarah and Chuck playing in the upper-right quarter of the screen. She watched a few seconds of footage. It was . . . ordinary. On the monitor, Chuck and Sarah were lying on his bed in the old Echo Park apartment, sharing popcorn, and watching television. From the date-stamp, it looked like the video came from roughly seven months after they met. The video was of a cover date, one of many his brother and Sarah shared for about two years. Ellie looked back at the computer code. Although she couldn't understand it, she noticed that new code was being generated, automatically. It was almost the program, or portions of it, was writing itself. Then she noticed something very odd: Chuck hadn't activated his secure NSA log-in. That meant he had no access to government resources, and no government backups. It also meant that the government had no idea about what Chuck was doing. Chuck had, however, activated his own home-brew encryption package. Ellie knew that that meant: whatever this was, it wasn't NSA or CIA sanctioned.
Perched over her sleeping brother's shoulder, Ellie mumbled to herself:
"What the hell are you up to, little brother?"
A/N: Tell me what you like & what you don't like. The story is close to being half-way done, and some major surprises are in store.
