Your Massacre of Me
DON'T PANIC
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1. Please accept my sincere apologies for my poor attitude. I'm very sorry that I didn't communicate kindly in some of my author's notes.
2. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story. I tried to keep the characters real, but it can be hard to imagine how someone would feel about and respond to some of these circumstances.
3. If Zachary Levi really is a Christ-follower, I call dibs. (I'd pull light out of a black hole just to see his smile.)
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Chuck sat back at his desk and rubbed his eyes. When his vision cleared, he looked at the clock and sighed. It was ten at night, which meant he'd been studying for nearly five straight hours.
"Still hard at work, I see," Bryce observed as he entered their room.
"Yeah, well, the next time I decide to take nineteen credits, shoot me."
"You're the one who suddenly decided to dual major. Besides, I don't know what you're so worried about; you always do great. You could probably fail your finals and still four-point the classes." He flopped down on his bed. "How'd your algorithms and data structures final go?"
Chuck moved to his own bed. "I dunno. I was so tired that the words kept turning 3-D on the pages. At least I only have two more. How about you? How was your calc test?"
Bryce shrugged. "I know I got at least one of the problems wrong, but I'll probably get credit for the work. Brandenburg's pretty cool about that stuff. He even brought coffee and donuts for everybody."
"Ugh, don't mention coffee. I've had, like, twenty cups today."
"Run outta Mountain Dew?"
"Yeah. I didn't feel like going to—" His cell phone went off before he could finish his sentence.
"Hello?" Chuck asked after fishing the phone out of his pocket. "Hey, Ellie…I'm in my room." He furrowed his brow. "Yeah. Why?"
Bryce watched his friend, whose face slowly transformed from confusion to nervousness and then shock.
"But what—I mean…is he okay? Is he hurt?" Chuck fell silent again as he listened to his sister. His breath caught in his throat and Bryce could see his friend's eyes grow larger. "Ellie…okay, but—but I—I have tests…I know, I know! I'm sorry! I don't—I don't know what to do." He started to choke up. "I don't know what to do…"
Bryce got up and took the cell phone.
"Ellie, it's Bryce; what's going on?"
He heard her take a deep breath before explaining, "Our dad was in a car accident…he didn't make it." She took a few more calming breaths. "Chuck needs to tell his professors what happened and come home right away. A friend of mine, Devon, offered to come get him."
"No, no; I'll email his profs and drive him down tonight."
"But you've got finals, too."
"Don't worry about it. I've got everything covered on this end. We'll be at your house by morning."
"Thank you," she whispered. "Take care of him."
"I've got his back," Bryce replied. "Always."
Bryce woke up in the hospital and looked around his room. The last thing he remembered was…Venezuela!
He had burst into the room and found Ankulos using Chuck as a shield. Then he shot his gun and…and he woke up on the floor and heard Ankulos yelling about money and work and preparing to kill Chuck. But I shot him first, Bryce remembered. I shot him and went over to Chuck, who…
"No. Oh, no," Bryce moaned softly. It had been too late.
But what had happened after backup arrived? Everything after Chuck's death was a blank.
Bryce disconnected himself from his IV and turned off the monitoring equipment. He got as far as the doorway when the guard outside his room noticed him.
"You aren't supposed to be up, sir."
"Where am I?"
"You need to get back in bed immediately, sir."
"Just tell me where I am!"
"Sir, if you don't get back in your room, I'll be forced to restrain you."
"I'm not going anywhere until you answer my question!"
Casey appeared suddenly and motioned for the guard to leave them. He ushered Bryce back into the room and closed the door. "You're a lot less annoying when you're unconscious."
"Where am I?"
Casey decided against any further insults. "Guantanamo. They've got good medical facilities."
"What do I need a doctor for?"
"Special forces thought you could use some medical care when they couldn't wake you up. You've been unconscious for the past—" he glanced at his watch "—eighteen hours. The doctors thought you might not wake up at all."
Bryce stared pensively at the wall and reflected on his failure. So many mistakes; so much tragedy. He'd never be able to forgive himself for Chuck's death. It should have been me. Bryce teared up. It should have been me; I'm responsible for this. Chuck, I would give anything to trade places with you. I'm so sorry.
"You should get some more rest," Casey said gruffly, unnerved by the watery glint in Bryce's eyes. He stood up and prepared to leave.
"What are you even doing here?"
"What do you mean?"
"I figured you'd have had yourself reassigned as quickly as possible. You probably aren't even fazed," he scoffed. "Good 'ole John Casey—doesn't care who lives or dies just so long as the job gets done."
Casey balled up his fists. "Y'know, I'm getting pretty sick and tired of these accusations. Is there something you want to get off your chest, Larkin?"
"Chuck was nothing but nice to you! He put up with everything we forced him into and didn't even complain. You could at least show a little sadness that he was killed! Why doesn't that upset you?" he demanded.
Casey, prepared to tear into Bryce, paused. "Wait. What?"
"You could at least acknowledge that you failed to protect him."
John stared at Bryce for a moment and considered the best way to respond. He actually felt sorry for the other agent. "Chuck isn't dead."
"…What?"
"Chuck isn't dead. I mean, he was at one point, but they got his heart started again. The doctors are hopeful he'll pull through."
Bryce suddenly looked as if he would pass out. He lay down in his bed for the support. "He's alive? I thought—he stopped talking and he looked like…he looked dead." Larkin turned to Casey. "What're his odds?"
"The doctors didn't say."
"What do you think?"
"I'm not a doctor, but Bartowski doesn't give up easily; he'll keep fighting…" Casey averted gaze. "If there's something to fight for."
"You should be in bed," Sarah murmured.
Bryce shrugged and continued to stare at his friend. "I'm fine."
Sarah remained quiet and kept her eyes on Chuck, but she allowed her hand to brush against Bryce's. His fingers sought hers and they stood there until Sarah led him to one of the room's chairs. She sat beside him on the doctor's rolling stool.
"That was a pretty outstanding rescue operation you pulled off," she commented. "How did you manage to find him? We weren't even sure what hemisphere to start looking in."
"Just lucky, I guess." He spoke in monotone and avoided eye contact. "What're his injuries?"
Sarah sighed. She didn't want to answer, but that would only aggravate Bryce further. "Broken nose." She took a calming breath. "Two missing teeth, fractured eye socket, fractured wrist, shattered clavicle, contused lungs, five fractured ribs, bruises and cuts everywhere. They removed his left kidney and had to repair a hernia in his diaphragm that was letting stuff in his stomach go into his chest. There was a lot of blood loss."
Seconds ticked by before Bryce could speak. "I have to tell you something," he whispered. "…We let Vega escape."
"You what?"
"Graham and I decided to make it possible for Vega to escape custody. We figured he would go to his contact in the Agency and then we'd get the senior agent. We didn't know it was Harry Ankulos or that he'd be so cunning. Vega never contacted him in any typical handler methods, though; he just disappeared from the country. I went to track him down while Graham informed you to take Chuck underground. Ankulos's plan couldn't have been any more brilliant," he said bitterly. "And we couldn't have made it any easier for him."
Bryce leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "Y'know, Chuck and I hit it off right away at Stanford. After a few weeks, it felt as though we'd been friends our whole lives. During that first Thanksgiving break, he invited me to his home because my parents were in Europe." He chuckled softly. "There I was, some rich kid from Boston who'd spent his Thanksgivings at the country club, witnessing hugs and laughter and Christmas music and cooking. They sucked me right in, like I'd suddenly become a member of the family. And Ellie and Chuck! I couldn't believe how they got on like best friends. I'd never had any siblings," he admitted. "Until then."
He fished the letter to Ellie out of his pocket and handed it to Sarah. "I found it in the pocket of his trousers. He must have written it to her when he was underground." He gave her some time to read and rested his eyes.
Sarah's spirit sank lower and lower with each passing sentence. It just got so easy to use Chuck. He never shied away from helping people—always wanted to do the right thing (even if "the right thing" conflicted with a mission). She had never really considered how it all affected him; like Bryce and Casey, she'd been trained to disregard emotions in favor of the greater good. But how much bad did one person have to suffer for everyone else's good?
She handed the letter back.
"I was so relieved when I found out he hadn't died," Bryce reflected. "I thought I was responsible for his death. Now…I think I might be responsible for something worse."
"If Dr. Perfect gives me one more piece of advice or meaningless platitude, I'll strangle him with his stethoscope," Chuck warned his sister.
"Oh, Chuck, Devon's just trying to be kind. He can't understand what you're going through." She sighed and offered her brother an apologetic smile. "But I'll ask him to refrain."
Chuck slumped a little further down in his bed and regretted saying anything about Ellie's boyfriend. She was right, of course; Devon only wanted to help. Contrite, he handed his sister one of the bags of blue gummy sharks and then opened a glass bottle of Sprite to go with a mouthful of Ellie's homemade sugar cookies. She certainly knew his comfort foods—and comfort television.
"'And if your hands were metal, that would mean something,'" Chuck quoted along with Mike. "That never gets old."
"How many times have you seen this tape?"
"Enough that I can quote the entire thing from memory, although it helps to have Morgan around so we can take turns—y'know, when two different people are talking. It's kind of weird to do all the voices yourself."
"Yeah, that's the weird part."
Chuck stared at the TV, then smiled sadly. "Dad and I watched this sometimes. I actually taped the episodes for a few months and played them when he was home, hoping he'd sit down and watch with me. Pretty stupid, huh."
Ellie didn't say anything, but listened intently.
"But Bryce and I watched 'em all the time. Every Saturday morning, we'd split a box of Apple Jacks and sit in front of the TV like kids. And Star Trek! If there was a rerun of Next Gen or the original on, Bryce would find it. Except, he didn't like Voyager, but I did." Chuck looked down at his hands. "They were all stuck together in the Delta Quadrant, but they became really close…like a family," he said quietly.
"What happened, Ellie? I've been home for three weeks now and I still don't understand what happened. I mean, Bryce was my best friend—he was practically my brother. I would have done anything for him and—and—and I don't understand why he did this to me!" Chuck had never been good at expressing anger or hurt feelings. "Mom left and then dad died and now Bryce…" He put his head in his hands. "I'm not gonna have anybody left at this rate."
"Not a chance," Ellie reprimanded, grabbing her brother's shoulder. "You've got me. No matter what happens, I'm not leaving you—and I know you won't leave me. After mom left, we took care of each other. After dad died, we just kept right on doing the same. And even if you do leave, Chuck—even if you go away and don't call me or email me or have anything to do with me for decades—I'll be ready to pick up where we left off when you come back. I am your big sister, Chuck, and I will always be here for you."
Chuck was astounded by the forcefulness of her words and, although he had to look away so she wouldn't see the tears in his eyes, it comforted him to know the depth of his sister's love. "Wow," he replied hoarsely after a moment to compose himself. "That almost topped the MST3K videos and the candy and cookies you got me."
"Yeah, well, I take my role as big sis pretty seriously."
He looked down at his hands again. "I take my role seriously, too, El. I'd never abandon you." He looked up at her and smiled a little. "Not even if you decided to marry Dr. Perfect."
Ellie lightly punched him in the shoulder, then reached across him to get a sugar cookie. "Married," she laughed. "Yeah, right."
Chuck could not even begin to describe the pain pulsating through every nerve in his body. Only half awake, it seemed like a better idea to continue sleeping and hope that the throbbing would disappear. A few times he managed to go back to sleep, but the pain continued its intensity. Finally, he forced his eyes open as far as they would go and waited for the blurry surroundings to come into focus.
When they did, he spotted someone typing furiously on a laptop on the other side of the room. Unfortunately, Chuck's feeble attempt to get some attention only resulted in a softly uttered "unh." Something's wrong with me, he thought. My face isn't working. Two very confused minutes passed while he tried to reassemble a mass of jumbled memories and emotions.
I'm alive, he realized. There was a cockroach, and then Bryce, but he died, and Ankulos got very angry, but…but Bryce didn't die and he shot Ankulos. Then…Spock?
A very slight shift to change his position caused Chuck so much pain that he cried out loud, which incidentally caused him to tear open one of the cuts on his mouth, causing further agony.
The figure in the chair jumped up and nearly dropped the laptop on the floor. "Chuck?" he asked, rushing to the bed.
"Ice?" Chuck mumbled when Bryce came into view.
Bryce, momentarily surprised into inaction, collected himself and grabbed a tissue to wipe away the blood on his friend's chin. "Hey, buddy, welcome back to the living. I'm gonna go get the doctor—"
"Get…me…drugs," Chuck managed, now fully cognizant. "I hurt."
Bryce nodded and hurried out of the room while Chuck briefly reconsidered his request. He'd been force-fed so many drugs in the past couple weeks that it seemed almost dangerous to take more. But if I don't get something for this, I'm gonna throw up, and then I'll be in more pain, which will either kill me or make me wish Harry had just finished the job.
Moments later, Bryce and a middle-aged man in a lab coat speed-walked through the door. Soon, a woman in a lab coat entered, followed shortly by a younger man in a lab coat carrying a syringe and vial.
"I am very sorry, Mr. Dent," the older man said, addressing Chuck while simultaneously checking vital signs. "We weaned you back from the heavy doses of medication to help you wake up, but I imagine the pain is unbearable. I'm Doctor Getz and if you'll just give me a minute—oh, good, Major Giffen," he exclaimed when the woman entered. "Where's the hydromorphone?"
"Captain Keller's bringing it now, sir; he keeps the key to the cabinets. How do the vitals look?"
"Elevated everything, but that should come down when the pain does."
"Did somebody order drugs?" Captain Keller asked as he rushed in.
Dr. Getz nodded. "Standard dose, patient is approximately 80 kilos."
Captain Keller stuck the syringe into the vial and managed to pull out the correct dose of drug while also walking to the patient. "This should do the trick," he assured Chuck as he placed the needle in the IV catheter. "It should give you a good few hours of relief."
Seconds later, the pain dissolved into a mere nuisance while a feeling of peace and warmth spread over him. Chuck visibly relaxed and closed his eyes. "Oh, thank you, God," he mumbled.
Dr. Getz pointed at the captain. "Would you—"
"Go get the drip equipment?" Keller guessed. "I'm on my way. I'll grab some metoclopramide, too, Colonel, in case of nausea."
"Good man."
As Captain Keller exited, Sarah and Casey entered. Chuck felt muted surprise at their presence, but that emotion—like all others—stayed swept under the carpet of a powerful opioid. He deeply appreciated the dearth of feelings.
"What's going on?"
"Is he o—you're awake!"
"He doesn't look right."
Colonel Getz turned to look at the three spies in the room. "You're all dismissed."
"But—"
"You're not doctors; you're not colonels; you're not needed. Mr. Ford," he said, speaking to Bryce, "you should go rest. Major Prosser, Miss McMillan, you can go wait somewhere and I'll update all of you…when I feel like it." He returned his attention to the patient, but muttered to Major Giffen, "Intelligence personnel—think they have to be privy to every little thing; they drive me up a wall."
"So, who's gonna debrief him?" Sarah asked the next day while she, Bryce, and Casey sat in a far corner of the base's cafeteria.
They stared at one another, each hoping somebody else would take responsibility. It wasn't as if they were going to hit him with a stick—only ask him to relive every horrible thing that had happened. In detail. For the record. And to find out if he had, at any time, compromised the nation's security.
"I'll do it," Casey finally grumbled.
Sarah shook her head. "I don't know if that's wise."
"It's not like I'm gonna beat it out of him!"
"How about drugging him?"
"I did what I had to do, Walker, just like you. And at least I don't lead him on to get what I want. There's nothing a guy loves more than being toyed with."
"Except getting threatened, insulted, and pushed around all the time."
Bryce slammed his hand on the table to silence their bickering. "I will talk to him." His hand turned into a fist that he rested his chin against. He sat, mute, staring broodingly at an empty chair while he thought. Right before the quiet became too much, he turned his attention back to Casey and Sarah. "You two need to think about where you stand. I am determined to help Chuck; I don't know what that means exactly, but it'll definitely require a confrontation with Graham and Beckman, so decide now."
The following day, Bryce peered into Chuck's room to see if he was awake.
"Can I come in?"
Chuck looked up from the book Captain Keller had lent him—The Neverending Story. ("I've been to South Korea, Afghanistan, and here," he explained at the time. "It's seen me through all of them. Try not to get any blood on it.")
"Can I say no?"
Bryce shrugged. "You can, but I have to debrief you eventually, so…no, not really."
Using his good hand, Chuck gingerly placed the book on the overbed table and turned his full attention to Bryce, who sat down next to the bed.
"Why do they call me 'Mr. Dent'?"
"It's an assumed identity, same as the rest of us. I told 'em your name is Arthur Dent."
"Arthur Dent?"
"Yeah."
"As in Arthur "Hitchhiker's Guide" Dent?"
"…Maybe."
Bryce tried to look nonchalant. "The swelling's gone down," he observed. "And they're gonna get a dentist to replace the teeth you lost as soon as Colonel Getz gives the okay." He pulled out a pad of paper and a digital tape recorder. "Have you ever been debriefed before?"
"Not really."
"I just need to know what happened, starting with your first interaction with Harry Ankulos."
The Intersect sat silently as he thought over the past week's events. The sadness in his eyes, though, belied Chuck's stoic façade, so he closed them and spoke slowly. He described Harry's sudden appearance at the underground facility, his apparent amiability and caring. He talked about the kidnapping, the negotiations with the Russians and Chinese, and Vega's betrayal and murder. He divulged the Chinese Intersect download. He even admitted to telling Harry how the Intersect worked in his head. When he finally stopped talking, Bryce looked up from his hurriedly scribbled notes.
"Is that all?"
Chuck looked down. "Yeah," he said softly.
Bryce fiddled with his pen for a moment and tried to figure out the best way to approach his friend. "It isn't…really…everything, though…is it." It wasn't a question. "I mean…" He took a breath. "You didn't mention calling Ellie."
Startled, Chuck turned his head quickly to face Bryce. It didn't help with the pain. "How did you know about that?"
"I had access to all of her calls and voicemail messages."
"What happened after she heard it?"
Bryce shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I was closing in on your location and I didn't want her to hear that and freak out, so I deleted the message. If she'd heard it, we would've had to bring her in."
"Oh."
"Yeah. So…what happened with that call?"
Chuck pushed his book around while he avoided looking at Bryce. "Vega had a bag of prepaid phones he used to call the Russians and Chinese. I managed to steal one and called Ellie from the bathroom. I wanted to warn her to leave L.A. because Ankulos had threatened to hurt her if I tried to escape." He paused and looked at Bryce, whose expectant stare forced Chuck to continue. "He must have heard me through the door because he broke it down, grabbed the phone, and smashed it on the floor."
"What happened after that?" Bryce asked softly.
Chuck's hand shook as he rifled through the book's pages. "He said I'd made a mistake. He said he couldn't hurt me, so he'd have to hurt Ellie. He asked if she was pretty." Chuck moved his hand to his side because he couldn't control its movements. "I begged…I begged him not to hurt Ellie. I promised to cooperate; I told him I'd do whatever he wanted if he left her alone. After that, I got the Chinese download and woke up the next morning."
Bryce had stopped writing out of necessity; he was gripping the pen so tightly that it nearly broke in two. "Is that everything?"
"It is."
Bryce put away the notepad, pen, and tape recorder. He had planned to stay and talk and try to work things out, but now he couldn't fathom how to begin. What could he possibly say?
"Captain Keller said you've only been using a third of the Dilaudid they're giving you."
"I don't want to take drugs."
"I'm sure they wouldn't let you get addicted, though. Trust me, you need to get rid of the pain so you can rest."
"I don't want the drugs," Chuck replied angrily. "I get to decide what I will and won't take. Nobody else gets to decide that."
Chuck's reaction left Bryce speechless. He was now even less sure about how to approach his friend. Frantically, he brainstormed possible responses that might segue into a discussion that could lead to a dialogue that offered, maybe, a glimmer of reconciliation and hope. Nothing came to mind. Thankfully, Chuck took the opportunity to ask a question that had long been on his mind.
"Why did you get me thrown out of college?"
"What?"
"I saw the video of you talking with Professor Fleming, but why didn't you give me a chance to turn down the CIA? I could have told them I wasn't interested without getting kicked out of college. You never gave me a chance to decide for myself."
"You have to understand, Chuck; the CIA isn't used to being told they can't have something. They're extremely persuasive."
"Oh, I understand that perfectly."
Bryce sighed and sat back in his chair. "I'd already been with them for a year when Dr. Fleming said he was gonna pass your name on to the Agency. I'd mostly done training for that year, but a few weeks before Fleming's test identified you as a candidate, I took a four day weekend to go on a mission to San Diego. It was supposed to be reconnaissance; a Yemeni citizen was passing funds from a Kuwaiti citizen to finance cyber terrorism. Unfortunately, I drew attention to myself and we had a little standoff. It was kill or be killed, so I shot him.
"In one respect, I was very satisfied to have killed a terrorist; I had protected my country. But I'd never taken anybody's life before and it really haunted me. We're conditioned to value life and people's right to it, so it was hard to reconcile seeing myself as a decent human being who'd shot and killed someone. It took me a long time to come to terms."
He chuckled softly. "And you. I knew you'd agree to join because they would have played to every soft spot you have—help others, do the right thing, use your genius to benefit the world. That's how they got me. And for a brief second, I thought it'd be amazing if we could work together like that, but you were horrified that time you ran over a squirrel. How would you come to terms with killing a human being? How would you feel knowing your computer program neutralized ten militants—and a group of unlucky school children? I could see it playing out in my head, Chuck, and I knew I couldn't let them destroy a really great person."
"Then why did you—"
"Send you the Intersect? You were the only person I could think of. Whomever I sent the program to had to be capable of understanding it, trustworthy, and under the radar. I couldn't count on anybody at the CIA—anybody in the government, really. I couldn't use it on myself because Vega was after me. And, frankly, I knew that when push came to shove, you'd always do the right thing."
Bryce hung his head. "I'm really sorry, Chuck. I'd give anything to go back and change all that's happened."
"But you can't."
"I know."
They sat in complete silence. Bryce hoped that his friend would say something—get angry and yell, forgive and reconcile, continue asking question. But Chuck just stared at his book. Eventually, Bryce stood up to leave.
"If you need anything…or you wanna talk, y'know…"
Chuck nodded but kept his gaze down. After a second, he opened his book with his good hand and waited for the door to close before he began reading.
Chuck recuperated over the next week. He discussed his pain medication with Doctors Getz and Giffen and convinced them to prescribe less addictive drugs. He read and reread (and reread) The Neverending Story. With the exception of a video conference with Director Graham and General Beckman, he avoided all intelligence officers on the base. Captain Keller, though, provided the occasional conversation.
Eating Chuck's bowl of Jell-O, Keller sat in the chair Bryce had formerly occupied. "This is why I got into nursing," he explained. "I can't understand why you don't like it."
"Just the green kind."
"Nah, that's my favorite."
Chuck swirled his chicken broth with his spoon. The silences with Captain Keller weren't nearly as uncomfortable as those with Bryce or Casey or Sarah. In fact, the nurse's amiable, laid-back attitude let Chuck feel comfortable enough to ask a question.
"D'you ever feel really angry at somebody, but maybe you don't have the right to be?"
"Hm, that's a hard one. I'm not sure I understand exactly what you mean."
"Well, suppose you had a friend. A best friend. The kind of best friend who's like a brother." Chuck stopped for a second to figure out the scenario. "And he joined a company. And he found out that his company wanted to hire you, except he thought the company would be really bad for you. Now, he decides that you shouldn't join, but he can't stop the company and he can't really talk to you about it. So, instead of letting you possibly choose to join the company, he gets you kicked out of—um, he destroys your reputation so the company can't hire you. He's ruined your life, but with the best of intentions."
Captain Keller nodded sagely. "Ah, the best of intentions; we know what road those pave." He contemplated Chuck's hypothetical situation. "Ruining my reputation to keep me from making a poor choice seems like a pretty poor choice in itself—sorta like amputating an entire leg when only the toes have gangrene. What, exactly, makes my friend think he has any right to make my decisions for me?"
"Well, admittedly, he's working off information you can't possess, so he's more informed. But he also has a tendency to, y'know, take charge."
"Which never bothered me before," Keller surmised, "because I'm pretty easy-going."
"Plus, when you both started…uh, at your first company together, you might have started a year early, whereas he took a year off before starting."
"So I'm two years younger than he is."
"Right."
Captain Keller pondered over the facts for a few minutes. He thoughtfully bounced his spoon on the remaining Jell-O cubes and sighed a couple times before eventually responding, "That's a tough one. I can appreciate that my friend wants to look out for me, but, clearly, he's way overstepped his boundaries. I'd say you're—or, rather, I'm—fully justified in being angry. In fact, I'd probably want to beat the crap out of this hypothetical friend."
"Would you ever be able to not want to beat the crap out of him?"
"Wow, Arthur, you really know the tough questions to ask. I guess…I dunno. I'd certainly like to settle the matter—it's hard to go through life being so angry at someone; that'll wear you down. In my case, I'd probably try to work it out if only for my own peace of mind. Of course, that's extra hard if my friend still thinks he did the right thing."
"Actually, he might be reconsidering that. He might be regretful."
Keller mulled over this new information. "In that case, I'd probably not beat the crap out of him, although that still sounds very satisfying. I might even consider giving him a second chance if he could learn to stay out of my business."
Chuck considered the captain's advice. It sounded good. It sounded like something Ellie would advise. If she could ever know the truth. Or see him again.
Captain Keller set the empty bowl of Jell-O on Chuck's tray. "I'd better get back to work before Colonel Getz notices I've been eating a patient's food instead of administering medication." He stood and stretched. "It's just that you make better conversation than the enemy combatants. And you speak English." He was about to leave when he remembered some papers in his pocket. "Hey, I photocopied some more Sudoku for you."
"Payment for the Jell-O?"
"Yeah, we'll call it even."
At the end of the week, Colonel Getz cleared Chuck for travel back to the United States, where he would get to spend more time sitting idly in a hospital bed. "Oh, at least another week—probably two," the colonel exclaimed when asked how long the new hospital stay would last. "Yes, your injuries were very severe, Mr. Dent; the blood loss alone could have been fatal, not to mention all of your broken ribs, which need time to mend. And I can't even remember the last time I came across a diaphragmatic hernia. Indeed, Mr. Dent, it's a miracle you survived at all."
On his first day at the new facility, Chuck mostly slept. He hadn't wanted any strong pain medication before the trip, but that changed quickly when he had to get up and move around. He welcomed the hydromorphone and offered Captain Keller a smile of sincere gratitude. He then lost consciousness.
A lot of nothing occupied the next three days, but on the fifth, Chuck received a surprise visitor.
"Can I come in?" Sarah asked.
Chuck nodded and put down his magazine. During his short stay at the hospital, he'd discovered that medical personnel had terrible taste in literature. AARP, Sailing World, Golf Digest—had they never heard of Wired? He'd even be content with Ranger Rick.
"How're you feeling?"
"Okay."
She smiled unsurely and looked around. "Bored?"
"Not too badly."
He sat and patiently waited for the silence to overwhelm her. It wasn't that he wanted to make her uncomfortable (that was just a side benefit), but she'd come to him—presumably for a reason. ("I'm here to let you think I have feelings for you," he imagined her saying. "Then I'm going to remind you that it's all pretend and not understand why you're hurt. But before that, I have to tell your sister you're dead." Mentally, Chuck shook the thought from his head and chided himself for getting angry and defensive at Sarah's mere presence.)
"Look, Chuck…" Here it came. "The last time you and I spoke, it wasn't really…pleasant. I didn't have much time to think about it then because of the search for Vega. But now I want to tell you that I'm really, really sorry. I couldn't disobey my orders, but maybe I could have handled them…differently? I don't know. I shouldn't have let you think it was a temporary move underground. And I shouldn't have told Ellie that you died; there must have been something else I could think of."
Wow. Chuck hadn't anticipated an unqualified apology. When Sarah occasionally apologized for her actions, she usually chalked them up to necessity.
"I don't normally care what people think of me," she admitted with unusual candor. "And I don't expect you to just forgive me or trust me again, but do you think you could ever stop hating me? I don't want to be the black hole inside of you."
For a moment, Chuck was awed by the depth of her sentiment. It sounded familiar, though. Where had he heard about hate and black holes? Why did it sound so meaningful?
"My letter," he realized. "You read the letter I wrote to Ellie! That wasn't any of your business!"
"Bryce had it! I'm sorry!" She hadn't meant to implicate Bryce; it just popped out.
"What is the matter with you people?" he fumed. "I can't even write a private letter to my sister without it being passed around the CIA office. I didn't choose this life, Sarah—or whatever your name is today. I'm tired of being government property; I'm tired of being spied on by a group of people who cannot, for a single second, understand that I'm not the sum of the computer in my head. I am not the Intersect; I am a guy who misses his family and his life and—and…" Overwhelmed, Chuck closed his eyes and finished the sentence with a sigh.
"I'm tired," he said calmly. "I'm too tired to hate—you or anyone else. But I don't know how to come to terms with all of this. I don't think I even speak the same language as you guys. Where I come from, people care about each other because they want to, not because it's their job."
"I do care about you, Chuck. I really do care what happens to you and if you're okay. I have feelings, even if don't always show them." She reached out and took hold of his hand. "If I didn't care, I wouldn't be here. This isn't in my job description."
He looked past her for a minute, then asked, "You aren't doing this because you have to?"
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Are you kidding? I got into this business for the action and adventure, not so I could bare my soul to a guy whose opinion I value way too much. The only reason I'm here is because I really want to mend our friendship, Chuck."
"That could take a lot of time," he admitted.
She smiled gently. "Good. I like having a goal to work toward. And who knows," she added wistfully, "maybe something positive will come of all this one day." Chuck stared at her pointedly and Sarah nodded. "Yeah, I'm not gonna hold my breath, either."
In D.C., Casey sat across from General Beckman.
"How is the Intersect?"
"Improving."
General Beckman nodded. She seemed distracted and a little unsure—two very unusual descriptions for the director of the NSA. It weirded Casey out.
"I've been in contact with Agent Larkin," she stated.
"Oh?"
"Yes. He's contacted me repeatedly about releasing the Intersect back into society. He believes that, since the Fulcrum threat was neutralized with Harry Ankulos's death, Mr. Bartowski is safer than before this debacle. Agent Larkin has even proposed a method of returning the Intersect without creating suspicions."
Casey raised both of his eyebrows. He knew, of course, that Bryce wanted to harass the government into letting Chuck go home, but it seemed ludicrous. How would people react to seeing the victim of a recent fatality alive? Sure, it'd be great if Bartowski could go back to the way things were. In fact, Casey, himself, wished the poor kid could get a break, but it would be hard to explain away a resurrection.
"What did you tell him?"
General Beckman shrugged indifferently. "I told him that I had already chosen another assignment for you. As you know, Major, there have been increased tensions with the Soviet—I mean, with the Russian Federation." The general remained stoic, but Casey smiled at her slip. "We need a good man in Russia—someone with a passion for the country, who knows the language, the culture, the ins-and-outs. We also need someone who has experience with…clearing obstacles."
"Clearing obstacles? But we can't do that anymore; they wouldn't even let the CIA take out bin Laden in the '80s and '90s."
"Yes, the CIA's been under a lot of scrutiny since the Church and Pike Commissions. However, the NSA is not the CIA. And, of course, we would never consider asking one of our agents to break federal or international laws. However, Russia is a dangerous place, Major. Between an unfettered mafia, corrupt political base, and separatist militants, important figures can come to an untimely end."
Casey couldn't believe what he was hearing. "So, you're offering me the chance to go back there and…?"
"Establish a network, gather intelligence, keep us informed. And troubleshoot—as the need arises." She sat up straighter. "Casey, you were the first person I thought of when the NSC brought it up. They need the best and you've been asking for an assignment more appropriate to your skills. I can have you set up in Moscow in a month."
This was news he'd been hoping to hear for the past year. Finally, he'd be back in the action, able to work without the interference of Sarah Walker or the fear that he'd mess up and lose Chuck. And no more Buy More!
"There is, however, one small matter for you to clear up before I reassign you." She waited a moment before continuing, "I told Agent Larkin that, without the presence of an NSA agent, the Intersect would have to be returned to custody. I also informed him that I would not risk further contamination by assigning a new officer to fulfill your duties as handler. Therefore, Mr. Bartowski must go back underground…unless you choose to forego Russia and continue your present assignment."
Casey's excitement immediately fell to pieces. He couldn't believe the general was giving him such a difficult choice. For her part, General Beckman was surprised that her best agent didn't unhesitatingly choose Russia. She'd assumed the choice was easy and would immediately put an end to the Intersect nonsense.
"Major?"
"Yeah." He sighed. "Look, General, normally I would love nothing more than helping a few Russians find God or sabotaging an important oil pipeline." He paused and realized that his upcoming statement was surprisingly truthful. "But I'd rather stay with the Intersect assignment. I don't like to leave loose ends and, to be honest, it's been a…learning opportunity; the circumstances have stretched my skills as an operative."
"And, apparently, your compassion." When Casey wouldn't look at her, she added, "There's no need to feel bad, Major. It happens to the best of us. And at least it's compassion for a law-abiding American and not, say, Vladimir Putin."
John immediately looked up at her. "Is he on the table? Because I'll go there if I'm allowed to facilitate his state funeral."
"Putin is definitely not on the table."
"Oh. Fine."
General Beckman handed Casey a file. "That's the information for explaining the Intersect's sudden resurrection and appearance. You can coordinate it with Agent Walker and Mr. Bartowski when he's cleared by the doctor." She stood up to walk her favorite agent to the door. "I must admit, Major, I'm very surprised by your decision."
"So am I," he mumbled.
"Just remember," she warned him at the door, "the Intersect can't stay free forever. At some point, he'll have to return to custody. We cannot risk the safety and security of 300 million Americans for one young man. You understand that, don't you?"
"I do."
She watched him exit and marveled at how much change he'd undergone in only a year—and wondered how many more complaints she would receive about his behavior at Buy More. There had never, in the history of the world, been a person less inclined to customer service than John Casey.
A week after he began to reconcile with Sarah, Chuck found himself headed—with his guard—to the radiology department at the hospital. The nurse wheeled him there while the guard walked behind them. No one spoke. They weren't supposed to. Chuck had been warned to converse only with people whom Graham or Beckman had personally cleared. So far, that included: Graham and Beckman. Not even his handlers or Bryce seemed to be on the list. They hadn't shown up since Sarah extended her olive branch.
In addition to reading, Chuck's time alone gave him the opportunity to think about his relationships and future, the latter of which didn't seem especially bright. Usually, the thought of a lifetime in a human storage facility filled him with despair. He hoped, however, that he'd be able to make friends over time and, maybe, transfer somewhere nicer, like Guam. Surely no one would think to look for The Intersect there.
He had briefly considered asking if they would place him in the same facility as Laszlo, with whom he could now better relate. That seemed unlikely, though, since the government wouldn't trust either of them. Besides, Laszlo wasn't exactly the most stable Jenga piece in the tower.
Relationships were less depressing than the future, but more complicated. Except Casey. Chuck figured he'd never see Casey again, since the older man seemed to feel nothing but contempt for him. (Chuck hated himself for feeling sad about that.)
He felt that, with time, he could grow to be friends with Sarah, though. Her honesty had surprised and touched him. Maybe it was wrong, but it felt good to know how bad she felt about her work. He hoped she would visit him underground and maybe bring pictures of Ellie and Devon and Morgan.
As for Bryce, Chuck felt a growing desire to give the other man a second chance. He could, sort of, appreciate Bryce's motives, even though those motives had disastrous results. More importantly, Chuck Bartowski wasn't the kind of person to refuse an honest apology.
"Excuse me."
Startled from his thoughts, Chuck looked up to see the nurse standing above him.
"Sorry to leave you here, but I need to go get a radiology tech; the X-ray machine is giving me some trouble. If you have any problems while I'm gone, pull the emergency cord on the wall."
Chuck looked around the room. "Where's the other guy?"
"You mean your acquaintance? He had to make a call, so I sent him outside. No cell phones in the hospital; they interfere with some of our equipment." She headed for the door. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
A full thirty seconds passed before Chuck realized he was alone. There were no agents standing outside his door. No doctors or nurses to report on his whereabouts. Surely neither agency had the foresight to install monitoring equipment in an X-ray room on the off chance that a security risk would randomly be there alone.
Chuck pulled himself up into a sitting position. He swung his legs around and slowly stood, grateful for the diminishing pain in his chest. It still hurt to cough, sneeze, breathe deeply, bend down, or stretch, but the pain had steadily decreased in intensity over the nearly three weeks of recovery.
He walked nervously to the door and peered through its small window. A single technician stood in the hallway flipping through someone's chart. She looked busy and confused. Chuck tightened the belt on the robe the hospital had graciously provided and opened the door. The technician didn't even look up.
Externally, Chuck remained very calm while he walked down the hall. Internally, he had a nervous breakdown.
What are you doing? he demanded of himself. We can't leave! Where are we going to go? How will we get there? We are in pajamas and a robe! That has to draw attention! We might as well wear a sign that say, "Escaped Patient: Please Return to Psych Ward."
He continued to rant to himself even as he entered the nearest elevator and pushed the button for the first floor. As he descended, Chuck questioned his sanity. He knew he had a lot to work through after being kidnapped, repeatedly threatened, and then nearly beaten to death, but he hadn't expected the psychological wounds to manifest themselves through an act of sheer lunacy.
The elevator's doors opened on a bustling lobby that Chuck stared blankly at. He stepped out and obscured himself in a corner where he could collect his thoughts.
Okay, they're gonna know I'm gone in a couple minutes. I need to…uh…uh…I need to…what do I need?
He closed his eyes and tried to think, but no ideas presented themselves. Gradually, as the stress of the situation built up, he realized that he couldn't try to escape again. He didn't have the resources or the stamina.
I need…to go back upstairs, he admitted to himself sadly.
Chuck trudged back to the elevators and pushed "up." When one opened, he moved inside and stood before the buttons. The bottom two buttons were for the basement and lobby. The next two were for the second and third floors. The next for the fourth and fifth. They continued rising to the eleventh floor. Unfortunately, Chuck had no idea which level he had come from, or even how long he had been in the elevator to begin with. Downtrodden, he proceeded to press every button. He would have to look at each floor to find something familiar.
On the seventh floor, Chuck finally saw a sign that read "Radiology." He stepped out of the elevator and headed back down the hall he'd come from. He tried to think of a good excuse to explain away his absence to the agent. Got lost searching for the bathroom? Needed a drink? Briefly abducted by aliens? As he opened the door to the X-ray room, Chuck decided on the bathroom excuse; the aliens one might get him sent to a different section of the hospital.
"Hey, Chuck."
Chuck stood in the doorway. "Bryce? What're you doing here?"
"I wanted to see you before you went home."
"Oh." He sat down on the X-ray table. "I'm kind of glad you showed up; I wanted to talk to you."
Bryce suddenly looked a little nervous. "Really?"
Chuck nodded and took a moment to pick the right words. "When I first found out why you got me kicked out of college, I was a little relieved; I'd always just thought you suddenly hated me, so it was nice to know you had a reason for ruin—for doing what you did." He'd have to choose his words carefully. "But that didn't change the fact that you decided for me—"
"I know, and I'm really sorry—"
"Yeah, yeah. Look…what's done is done. I don't want to be angry about it anymore. Besides, you said you were sorry—and you did stop Harry Ankulos from killing me."
"You did the same for me."
"All right, so you can owe me one."
Bryce smiled knowingly. "I owe you a few, but I think I can earn myself a little redemption." His grin grew wider. "I got you transferred to a different facility. It's in California." He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "Lemme see, here…oh, yeah, you'll be staying with a Miss Eleanor Bartowski in Los Angeles. Apparently, she has a spare room."
Chuck's eyes grew wider and his jaw dropped a couple centimeters. At first, he couldn't respond. "I'm going back home?"
"It'll be like you never left."
"How can you do that? Ellie thinks I'm dead."
At this question, Bryce's grin became a little smug. "According to Sarah's story, you died in a car accident after colliding with a pickup truck. Since the government didn't want to produce a body, your charred remains were supposedly unrecognizable. Therefore, Ellie never actually saw you dead.
"I suggested to Director Graham and General Beckman that your reappearance could be explained as a case of mistaken identity; your body had been misidentified as one of the people on the pickup truck and you spent the last month in a coma and wrapped up in bandages. Now that you've "recovered," you've been able to identify yourself. Thankfully, you don't have any memories of the car accident."
Bryce chuckled a little. "It was a close call, though; when you left here, Beckman thought for sure that you were trying to escape again. She was ready to pounce when you stepped out of the elevator on the lobby."
"How did she know…?"
"She's the one who arranged for you to be left alone. She wanted to see if you'd leave or stay. If you had stepped outside the hospital, there's no way she would have consented to letting you go home."
Chuck lay down on the X-ray table. "I can't believe it. I can't believe I get to go home."
"Frankly, I can't either. This is unusual for any security risk, but you're the mother lode. Graham was fairly receptive, but Beckman wouldn't have anything to do with it. To tell you the truth, I think Casey may have gone to bat for you."
"Casey? He hates me."
"Not nearly as much as he hates me, but go figure."
Both men stayed silent waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Chuck asked his friend, "Now what?"
"Now you go back to your room, I guess. I have to go brief Director Graham and get my next assignment. You'll fly to L.A. tomorrow, though, with Sarah and Casey. You'll need to get your stories straight before you find Ellie; you might want to get some smelling salts, too, for when she passes out. And then it's back to life as usual."
Chuck nodded.
Bryce nodded.
They stared at one another.
"So…I'd better get going," Bryce said and inched toward the door. "You should stay here until the nurse and agent come back. And no more elevator trips."
Chuck smiled. "Qapla', Bryce," he stated as Bryce began to exit. Bryce turned around and grinned.
"Qapla', Chuck."
"Do you need a sedative or something?" Casey asked as they waited in his car. In the apartment, Sarah was delicately breaking the news of Chuck's not-death to Ellie. In the car, Chuck couldn't stop bouncing his legs up and down or control the mild tremor in his hands.
"No, I'm just a little nervous. And excited. I thought I'd never get to see her again; I thought I'd never get to come home."
Casey didn't look at Chuck, but he asked very nonchalantly, "So, you're pretty glad to be back?"
Chuck turned to stare at his reticent handler. "Glad? I—" He stopped when he comprehended the question's subtext. "I'm more than glad. I'm whatever is the most glad you can be. And I'm really grateful to, y'know, whoever made this possible. That person must be pretty amazing."
Casey grunted noncommittally and continued to watch the streets for possible threats.
After a moment, Chuck saw his sister bolt out of their front door and frantically look around. She took a few hesitant steps toward the car and tried to ascertain the identity of the person inside. Still nervous, but fueled by adrenaline, Chuck opened the car door and stepped out. He only made it a few paces before Ellie raced forward and wrapped her arms around him.
"Oh, Chuck! Oh, Chuck, I can't believe it!" she cried, clinging on to him despite his cast and sling. "I can't believe you're alive. I'm so grateful! This is the happiest day of my life!" She sobbed happily into his shoulder, then pulled back to see his face. "Oh, look at you." She touched his cheek. "My baby brother."
"I am so happy to see you," he managed, trying to conceal his own tears as he pulled her back into a hug. As they walked toward the apartment, neither could let go of the other.
Sarah beamed at the happy reunion and, as he drove to the apartment parking lot, even Casey found it a little difficult to maintain his gruff exterior.
"Wow. Okay," Chuck managed after unwrapping Jeff's gift and finding a blow-up doll box. He placed both hands strategically over the doll's picture. "I appreciate the thought, Jeff, but this isn't really my kind of…pastime."
"Nah, that's just the box I used. You have to open it."
Chuck glanced at the other room's occupants and then carefully peeked inside the packaging. He smiled with relief and pulled out a gold cartridge. "This is fantastic! Where did you find an original copy of The Legend of Zelda?"
"I got it on eBay. It didn't come with a case, though."
"Yeah." Chuck hurriedly set aside the game and placed the box under a pile of wrapping paper. "Yeah, maybe you could just use a bag or something next time. You don't even have to wrap it, really."
Jeff shrugged and took another bite of cake. "All right. Happy birthday."
"Thanks."
During his misadventures, Chuck had completely forgotten about his birthday. It was hard to believe that, as of the day he woke up in Venezuela, he had passed exactly one year as The Intersect. Now, with his jubilant return home and an impromptu birthday party set up by Ellie, circumstances didn't seem so horrible.
Ellie (and Devon) had given him the entire box set of Voyager. Morgan got him the 20th Anniversary Mystery Science Theater 3000 collection and a box of Cap'n Crunch. Anna, in an unusual gesture, gave him a traditional, red Chinese envelope with some money inside. Following her lead, Lester handed over eighteen dollars. ("It's a Jewish thing," he explained. "'Cause the letters add up to eighteen.")
Casey passed his present to Chuck. "Here."
After unwrapping the package, Chuck held up the gift. "A bottle of whiskey. From you." He examined the seal. "Well, at least it isn't tampered with."
"Are you kidding? That's an eighty-dollar bottle of whiskey. It should be treated with care and respect. Now send it down here because you're supposed to offer guests a drink when you get liquor."
Chuck laughed softly and obligingly handed the gift back, after which he accepted a leather-bound notebook from Sarah.
"It's just a place for you to write down your thoughts or ideas where no one will look at them. I promise it'll be totally off limits—to everybody."
He offered her a genuine smile. "Thanks, Sarah. I really like it."
Chuck reached for the final gift on the table and looked around. "Who's this from?"
Ellie, seated on Devon's lap with her arms around his shoulders, pointed at the door. "I don't know; it was in our mailbox today with a note to give it to you with the other presents. It was probably someone who couldn't make it."
Before Sarah or Casey could stop him, Chuck tore off the wrapping paper and found, to his handlers' relief, a copy of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Inside its front cover, someone had written simply: "To Arthur, From Ford." Underneath, the writer had penned gibberish with a mix of capital and lowercase letters.
"So?" Ellie asked.
"Oh. Yeah, you were right; it's just an old friend who couldn't make it." He set the book down and grabbed the MST3K box. "Who's up for some riffing?"
The group (except for Casey) consented and Chuck handed the box to Morgan, who turned on the DVD player. Chuck took the opportunity to move his gifts to his room. He smiled at the guests and excused himself quickly.
"Happy birthday," Bryce said when Chuck walked into his room. "What'd you get?" He looked at the gifts in Chuck's arms. "Voyager? Really? Don't you think that's kind of dorky?"
Chuck dumped his presents on his bed. "You're not really one to talk, Ford."
"At least I don't like Voyager. You're probably a fan of Enterprise, too."
"Ew, no."
Bryce led them out the window and away from any listening devices. He settled down in a secluded area of the apartment complex's garden.
"I thought you'd be off on a new assignment by now," Chuck commented casually as he sat down.
"Look, the thing is…Chuck, somebody else knows about you."
"Knows about me?"
"Somebody outside of the government contacted me after Ankulos took you to Venezuela. He provided me with the information to help find you, which means he knew about you, the Intersect, and Fulcrum. I think Fulcrum is bigger than Ankulos and Vega, who decided to work together and exclude their organization for a bigger payout. This informant wouldn't have called if he could have retrieved you by himself. But he's out there, Chuck, and he might not know anything about you except that you exist, but that's enough."
Chuck experienced a sharp increase in panic. "Does this mean I have to go back? I just got home!"
"No. I didn't tell Graham about my source until this morning; I wanted to wait until after you got home and saw Ellie. Graham will tell Beckman and she'll have a fit, but they can't really pull you out again without raising suspicions. Right now, my job is to find the informant—before he finds you."
Chuck slouched against the apartment building behind him and rested his head in his hands. "What happens now?"
"Now you let Sarah and Casey do their jobs and believe that I'm gonna do everything I can to get this guy. I know it's hard to trust any of us, but you have to; our biggest priority is to keep you safe."
"No," Chuck responded. "Your biggest priority might be my safety—maybe even for Sarah and Casey, I don't know—but the security of the Intersect is the government's priority. I understand that now and I can even appreciate it. But I'm home now and I'm not gonna let Graham or Beckman bury me in a holding cell forever."
"Chuck…"
"I won't run away or try to escape again, but I'm not prepared to roll over and take it, either. You can tell Beckman and Graham that their contingencies will need modifying."
Bryce stared at his friend in surprise for a moment and then grinned slightly. "I kind of like this newer, less amenable Chuck Bartowski. Graham and Beckman won't, of course, but I do." He stood up and walked back to Chuck's window. "You'd better get back in there before they start looking for you."
Chuck hoisted himself up to the window and looked back down. "Y'know, you might be legally dead and undercover and on a mission, but you don't have to be a stranger. I've got a pair of those glasses with a fake nose and moustache you can use."
"Yeah, I'll just stick with the window when I'm in town."
Chuck smiled. "I'll see you later, then."
"Yes, you will."
Bryce disappeared into the surroundings just as Ellie knocked on her brother's door. "Chuck, is everything okay? We're already past the first host segment."
Chuck opened the door and looked at his sister for a moment before giving her a hug. "Everything's fine; I was just thanking that old friend for the book."
"Good, then come on; everybody's waiting for you." She took his arm and led him out of his room. "Besides, Morgan is trying to explain the show's premise to Casey and he's looking kind of irritated. I think he may have growled."
"It's okay; he's harmless. Well, mostly harmless."
End
