Chpt 10

A/N: Thanks for all the positive feedback. For those who felt Sarah would not faint, consider 1. emotional state; 2. she probably hadn't eaten since Chuck flew the coop; and 3. the rubber band of her emotional control simply snapped with the adrenaline rush. In any event, it's how I wrote it and it is my tale to tell. Well, ok, the voices in my head told me to do it. For those awaiting the arrival of grizzly-bear-momma-Ellie, she's just around the corner. And boy is she p-ssed.

This is definitely AU now. I haven't seen an episode since the Xmas one and am refraining from reading any fan fic. I don't want to be influenced by other plot lines. I have a definite plot line for this story and don't want to plagiarize someone else's fine ideas unwittingly. So bear with me please.

"Major Casey! I need you here!" Sarah Walker did not faint. Unfastening her seat belt, General Beckman called out to Casey and then bent to retrieve the cell phone that had dropped from Agent Walker's nerveless fingers.

"Hello, this is General Diane Beckman, Director of the NSA, to whom am I speaking?"

Casey bent down over Sarah's limp body, bent over at the waist, still held fast by her seat belt. Holding her shoulders, he leaned her back against the seat, unfastened her seat belt and felt for a pulse. "If her seat belt had been any tighter … how could she breathe?" was his first thought.

Feeling a strong pulse, he took in the shallow breathing, the pale skin…"Wonder when she ate last? Or slept?"

"Unh, General, this is Deputy Sheriff Marcus Brunner, Fulton County Sheriff's department. I was just telling the young woman I was speaking with that she couldn't recover the body of her boyfriend and why when I heard the phone drop. Is there a problem?"

"Why don't you tell me what you told her and I'll decide if there's a problem".

Oh shit, oh dear, Marcus, just what have you gotten yourself mixed up with any ways? The frikkin' NSA…

"Ma'am, the reason she can't recover the body is that there is no body. He's alive and in the operating room, but I don't have any idea how he's doing. Just that he was alive and fighting when he was brought in. I managed to wrestle the .45 away from him but he was dead set on dying. Kept raving about someone named "Fulcrum" and how he wasn't going to betray his country. Ma'am, he one of yours?"

Casey almost fainted himself! He was half listening to the conversation when he saw a miracle. It had to be. It just wasn't a natural event. General Diane NMI Beckman, Director of the NSA, actually smiled! Not a little smile either, but a full-blown multi-megawatt-I-won-the–lottery-crinkle-your-eyes-shut smile. And it melted the years off her face and Casey saw the pretty young woman she used to be for just an instant.

"Yes, Deputy Brunner, I'm glad to say he's one of mine… now I have some instructions for you. I need them carried out immediately until I can get agents on the scene. Will you help me?"

"Of course, General. What do you need me to do?"

"First, that's a very important young man – important to this country's security. I want you to go to the operating room and wait outside the door. When the surgery is completed, I want you to accompany the patient wherever he goes. If anyone asks, just tell them it's police business. Use your authority."

"Yes, ma'am, can do."

"I expect you to maintain your post until properly relieved by agents who will identify themselves as 'blackbirds', or by myself and my two agents, is that understood?"

"Crystal clear, General, 'blackbirds' or yourself and your agents."

"Thank you." She disconnected the call. "Major Casey, it appears that Chuck Bartowski's escape and evasion exercise is over. I trust you've learned something from this experience. I know I have. Once we're on the ground, organize ground transportation for us. Now I suggest you help Sar… er… Agent Walker compose herself. She'll want to look her best when we get to the hospital. I doubt she's eaten since the inception of the exercise, so see what you can scrounge up in the galley."

'Who are you and what have you done with Ball-Breaker Beckman' thought Casey as he got Walker to her feet and guided her to the galley area. 'Exercise my ass.'

Diane Beckman smiled at the retreating agents. The Chinese were correct. With crisis comes opportunity for the bold. She thumbed her cell's address book and speed-dialed a number. "This is Beckman, secure, I have a priority Zebra-1 situation at Fulton County Memorial Hospital. I want a Blackbird team dispatched to secure an intelligence operative who has been injured in the line of duty. Find Deputy Sheriff Brunner and relieve him but ask that he remain on the scene. I want to personally debrief him on his experience with our operative. Secondly, I want the best surgical team available on the west coast, all specialties, in place at the Moab facility. They are to remain there pending the arrival of our operative and his protective detail. Beckman out."

Fulton County Memorial Hospital – Operating Room 3

"How's our boy doing? Done rewiring his motherboard?" Dr. Robert Johnson was a thoracic surgeon with a low opinion of neurologists, since they used technology in lieu of true surgical skills (in his opinion, of course, never voiced aloud).

"He's all yours. We'll keep the EEG and monitors live and monitor remotely while you carpenters and plumbers fix the body. Seriously, he's in bad shape physically. I didn't cut corners but I didn't just stroll around in his head either. Time is of the essence. We got the bleeding from the accident stopped and even repaired a chronic SDH while we were in there. He's got some neural bundles branching all over the place. I swear they look like they're recent growth. I've never seen anything like it. It's like his brain has connections running to places we don't normally use. Well, you go do your magic. We're outta here."

"OK, people, let's get a chest tube…"

Outside the operating room, Deputy Sheriff Brunner stood waiting for the operation to end. "Hey, Dr. Johnson, how's my boy doing in there?"

"Well, Marcus, we got the bleeding contained, did some repairs and then got out of the way for the trauma team to have at him. How's the hand? Why are you still here?"

"Thumb's broke. My own fault. I'm just waiting to get some details to close out the paperwork."

"Well, if you're planning on questioning John Doe in there, you'll be here for a while. I won't kid you. He's a mess."

"Thanks, Doc. I'll see ya later." John Doe? As good a name as any until the General says otherwise.

Forty miles north of L.A.

"Dammit, Devin, I can't believe it. I thought she was the one. Chuck loved her. I thought she loved him. I asked her to be my Maid of Honor for Crissakes. She's a spy? A killer?"

Ellie Bartowski was on a roll. Devin wished, at that moment, that he had Demerol or Morphine or duct tape to shut her up. He loved Ellie Bartowski with all his heart and soul but he'd been listening to this for the last 300 miles.

They had delayed leaving for a day having told Sarah Walker that they were driving in on Monday when Ellie had spoken to her. No sense changing the plan just in case they were being watched. Chuck, a spy? Not awesome. Not awesome at all.

"Ellie, please. Please. Just give it a rest. Get some sleep. You'll need to be sharp in case Chuck calls and needs help."

"Devin, he's my baby brother. He's all the family I have left and he's in trouble. I can't just 'sit in the car', I have to do something to help him."

Devin knew the he had to choose his next words very carefully.

"Babe, just what is it you think you can do? We don't know where Chuck is, where he's going, what his plans are… and that's the way he wanted it. He didn't want to involve us and he wanted to keep you safe. You're all the family he has left. They'll be watching us. The best thing we can do is make them think we're as surprised by all this as they "seem" to be. So take a micro-nap until we're back in Burbank."

He was dreading the confrontation between Ellie and "that bitch" as Ellie now called the person they knew as Sarah Walker. Trained assassin or not, he'd put his money on the Momma Bear.

Somewhere over Northern California

"When was the last time you ate anything, Walker? Your blood sugar is probably zip. Let's see what the General has in the way of goodies in the frig."

He'd seated Sarah in the fold-down jump seat in the galley. She hadn't said a word to him, hadn't lifter her head up or made eye contact. "You going to be ok here or do I have to belt you in? Wouldn't look good on your record to have had you faint twice in front of the General." No response, not even a nod.

"Look, Walker, Bartowski's alive, and from what I can put together from the General's side of a phone conversation he's in surgery and the General has everything well in hand. We need to start developing a plan for handling the fallout with Ellie Bartowski. You need to get your head in the game or Beckman's gonna check you into Moab. C'mon, Sarah, Chuck's gonna need you at the top of your game."

Casey pulled open the refrigerated drawer in the galley. He'd seen the catering service following the cleaning crew out of the plane after prepping it for the next leg on its trip. 'The brass really travels in style, budget cuts and all' thought Casey. Ah, box lunches. He was willing to bet a month's pay that it wasn't anything like the usual government in-flight meal: baloney and cheese on wheat, an apple and whatever you already had to drink.

"Casey, he's in surgery?"

Casey looked up at Sarah. "Sorry, I didn't catch that. What?" said Casey.

"The asset's in surgery?"

"Chuck's in surgery. I guess he got a little banged up. Y'know, his vintage machine was not equipped with airbags. So he's probably got some minor problems. I don't know the specifics. Beckman's talking to the Deputy Sheriff on the scene and arranging some stuff."

Casey tried to minimize the medical issues. He didn't know specifics and knew his partner was still in Agent Mode. He kept it simple and straight-forward. Nothing too complex. Walker had just had a shock to the system and he didn't want to overload her until she'd eaten something.

A Chevy Impala. Good choice, Chuck. Not as good as a Crown Vic but right up there near the top. His approval of Charles Irving Bartowski went up a few points. There was more than just girly squeals to Bartowski. A lot more.

"Casey, I was on the phone with the Deputy. I heard the gunshot. He was dead. How could this happen? Are you sure it's the asset that's in surgery and not the other driver?" Sarah was still channeling the penultimate CIA Agent. Down to the monotone and bored disinterest in her voice. She still refused to call Chuck anything other than the "asset".

'Mmmmmmm, roast beef on whole wheat with all the trimmings… yes, traveling with the brass had perks…' thought Casey.

"Here. Eat this. Drink this. You haven't had a thing to eat and your blood sugar's low. No other reason for you to faint, right? I mean, you not preggers are you?" The last was said almost as a joke in passing, but also to verify that he had the agent's attention.

Silence. For about 5 seconds.

"No, John, a girl's got to have had intimate contact with a man to be "preggers". This was said with a little more life in her voice and a bit of longing.

Well, so Bartowski and Walker hadn't sealed the deal yet. That meant that Sarah was serious about her feelings for Chuck. Otherwise she'd have used sex as a 'reward' and threatened to cut him off from the goodies if he didn't "stay in the car."

It was SOP to use sex to control the mark. Not sleeping with Chuck despite the need to control meant that Sarah Walker would not cross that invisible line that kept intimacy out of the playbook. She would not use her body for the job. Bad spy craft but good for a relationship.

"Can I have another sandwich? I'm suddenly famished!"

Fulton Country Memorial Hospital

A caravan of black SUVs drove into the parking lot of the hospital. Each one was an identical black with heavily tinted windows. Two drove around to the rear of the building. The other two parked in front. Four men got out of each of the SUVs. They were almost identical in coloring and attire. All wore white shirts, black suits and ties and mirror lens sun glasses.

The 8 men from the rear of the hospital took up positions at all points of entry and egress. The leader of the detail motioned 2 men to positions by the door, 1 to remain in the communications vehicle and the other 4 to accompany him into the hospital. He would deploy them as the situation warranted. The first order of business was to locate Deputy Sheriff Marcus Brunner and get a sitrep.

The deputy was standing outside the entrance to operating room 3 when the men in black arrived.

"Are you Deputy Brunner?"

"Yes, Marcus Brunner. And you are?" He was suddenly aware that his weapon was in his patrol car and if these MiB were not from the General he could be in deep doo doo.

"General Beckman sent us. Blackbird."

"Good. The man is still in the operating room. I was able to speak with the head neurologist who did one of the surgeries and he said it was touch and go. The Trauma Team is in there now. No one else has entered or left." Now maybe he could get out of here, go home and pop some pain meds. His thumb was throbbing and he hadn't had anything to eat since early this morning. It had been a long and eventful day.

"Fine. I'm Agent Holmes. We are a team of 16 tasked with securing the hospital and guarding the injured man until General Beckman arrives… and that will be in less than an hour. You've done your country a great service. General Beckman wishes you to remain here so she can personally thank you and debrief you regarding the events of this morning. Agent Dean will escort you to a more comfortable waiting room. Thank you for your service."

Well, so much for getting home. He followed the agent to the conference room area in the admin wing.

Agent Holmes spoke into the cuff mike of his suit coat. " Deputy has been relieved and is standing by for Beckman's debriefing. All agents report…" It would be an interesting afternoon. He deployed his remaining agents to key points within the hospital and once again wondered who was so damned important that he needed the Director of the NSA to personally supervise his protective detail. Probably way beyond his pay grade but still, he was curious.