Moah25Charrah3of
Previously
The CIA pukes did you no favors by allowing you to serve in the field with acute PTSD
"I wouldn't be here if he'd survived, if I hadn't been a coward and had just answered his fucking question".
FT Meade, MD NSA Headquarters
"Yes, General I understand what you're saying. I just don't agree. I think it's a mistake to allow this young woman to continue to believe that her "Chuck" is dead. You are being unnecessarily cruel, even for you."
"Be that as it may, I've made my decision. She stays in the dark regarding Charles Carmichael until I decide the time is appropriate. Don't worry, Doctor, it will all come out in the wash. Keep the sessions up as long as you can. She still has a lot to learn about herself and it's really not time for her to resume her role in this. But I want her ready to go, psychologically, as soon as possible. But I want her also ready to go emotionally and professionally. He doesn't need a cripple, a barnacle, he needs a true partner whose skills will complement and supplement his own."
Los Angeles CA Hotel Suite
The NSA put Chuck and Casey in adjoining rooms of a 'suite'. Chuck suspected it was so Casey could be at his side in an instant if the situation demanded it. Chuck also suspected it was to make sure he ate all this disgusting yuppie food the NSA dietician had prepared and sent over daily. Why couldn't he just eat at Mickey Dee's or the Subway or a normal restaurant. He hadn't been in an Arby's in ages. He missed real food.
Ok, that was a lie. Sort of. He really did miss decent food, well, his definition of decent. No, he missed her. Every time he saw a tall blonde with long hair he watched, hoping… well, hoping for something that was not going to happen. With his luck the next time he saw Walker or Burton would be on a mission with her screwing the ears off her latest mark.
He thought about Angie Fuentes. Nope, don't go there Chuck. Sexual harassment, inappropriate activities with a subordinate… not good at all. So not awesome. Speaking of Awesome, he and Ellie were having problems. Apparently some nights Ellie slept in his room. He had no idea why. Neither did Devon. So he was planning on sliding over to Casa Bartowski and having dinner with his sister and Devon later in the week. He'd have to be really circumspect about the whole thing. It wouldn't do to have Morgan show up.
Morgan. He had taken his death hard and his reaction was threatening his relationship with that sexy little kung fu princess, Anna Wu. Wonder what he could do about that? Nothing. Collateral damage.
He picked at his food. It was utterly disgusting. He would find out who the NSA dietician was through the intersect, find her home, B&E and ravage her refrigerator. He would bet he'd find friggin' Twinkies and frozen pizza, not this disgusting, tasteless cardboard crap. Tofu? Who the hell ate Tofu. He wanted a steak, baked potato, lots of sour cream, bacon bits and chives and … but he picked at his tuna casserole, pushed his salad around, but balked at his decaffeinated ice tea. That was the last straw.
"Casey, Casey, I know you're in there. Open this fucking door!" Chuck's fist hit the door with every word.
John Casey opened the door with pistol in hand. "What the fuck is your problem, Chuck?"
Chuck looked over Casey's shoulder. Ah ha! "I thought I smelled steak and baked potato. And you'e making me eat friggin' Tofu? I ought to shoot you and take your dinner. But instead, I'm telling you I'm going out. To eat. Some real food. Don't try and stop me either. I'm armed and dangerously hungry…"
John Casey just smiled. Chuck was back. And hungry. He'd call the NSA dietician and tell her the good news tomorrow.
"OK, go ahead. You're a big boy. Just don't forget to take your cane and keep your coat on." and closed the door on a surprised Chuck.
He walked up the street. There was a Johnny's a couple of blocks up. He'd enjoy the evening air and just walk. It was good exercise and he'd promised Lydia he'd keep on his feet and walk as often as possible. Damned limp slowed him down though. But if he exercised and didn't screw up he'd be back to normal in a year or so. Normal. What a joke. He no longer knew what 'normal' was.
He was deep in thought, standing at a cross walk waiting for the light to change when he heard "Director" shouted from a slowly passing car. He looked up and saw a red Miata, top down, slowing down. Unconsciously he'd reached for the butt of his pistol but stopped when he saw who was driving. Angie Fuentes.
"Need a lift, Director. Any place I can drop you?" She'd changed clothes. He almost didn't recognize her.
"Just walking up to Johnny's. Tired of room service Tofu and that crap I have to eat to keep Casey off my ass." He unconsciously blushed at his use of "ass". "Sorry, butt, off my butt."
Angie Fuentes had a delightful laugh. It was full and rich and not forced. No demure giggling for this woman. Nope. A full laugh. "Well, it's your lucky night. That's where I'm headed. I wouldn't mind the company if you didn't. Unless you're meeting someone or …"
"NO, no, that would be nice." Danger Will Robinson Danger… thoughts of lawsuits and crap…left Chuck's mind when she pushed open the door and beckoned. She was wearing the shortest shorts he'd seen in, well, ever. And he was a guy. And he was…" "You coming, Director?" smiling. Like she could read his mind. 'God, I hope not' thought Chuck.
Dinner was nice. It had been a long time since he'd spent time with anyone interested in something not related to the NSA and the fucking intersect. They talked about some of the professors still teaching at Stanford from Chuck's era. The changes in the school. They talked about nothing special but to Chuck it was all special. He'd been lonely and just needed someone nonjudgmental to talk with. Someone who didn't know Chuck Bartowski and his long tale of woe. Someone his own age with normal everyday interests in a non-spy world. He thoroughly enjoyed his time with Angie Fuentes.
When she dropped him off at his hotel it was after 1am and Casey was livid.
"Where have you been? You didn't take your cell. You didn't take your watch. I was almost ready to call Beckman. Chuck, you're a Deputy Director for Intelligence now. You can never be out of contact. Ever. I would have called Beckman, too. Believe me. Walker didn't."
"Sorry. You're right. I wasn't thinking. We got to talking and I guess I lost track of the time. I didn't walk back, she gave me a lift. Won't happen again, Casey. 'Night" and closed the door in Casey's face.
Casey was stunned. 'She gave me a lift'? Who the hell was 'she'?
Chuck let Casey's comment slide. He knew he'd screwed up. He should have taken his cell and watch. But what did he mean 'Walker didn't?'
Los Angeles, CA Office of Argent Security Corp.
"Casey, it's no big deal. I used to go to these things all the time back when … well, back then. You never used to be such a studda bubba about such things. Honestly, it's no big deal. Go in, flash the folks, relay them to you and get out. Piece of cake. It's important we take down this sleeper cell group. And this is the only way to identify the primaries of the 3 lead cells. Everything else is mere follow up."
"Chuck, it's more complicated than that. You don't have real agent training. You suck at hand-to-hand, you've been really lucky with your handgun and you're not really 100% back to your old self. You still use a cane. You still get dizzy spells. You can't go in there alone, Chuck. It's not safe. It's not smart. Don't be such an ass and try to prove you're as capable as she… as capable as a regular agent. Rule #1, Director. You always need a partner. "
Chuck knew John Casey was absolutely right. He needed a partner. Someone to watch his back. And he couldn't attend a Charity event with Casey as his date. Well, OK, he could do that in L.A. and San Francisco but the people they were after were homophobes, haters. They wouldn't be caught dead in the same room with a gay couple. So, it was Chuck and a female. That was it. Casey couldn't flash. He could. End of mental debate. Chuck won.
"Rule #2, Casey. The Director is always right."
He looked out the door of his office. Angie Fuentes sat at her desk cleaning her Glock. 'Where did she keep that cannon?'
"Mrs. Fuentes, do you have plans for this evening?" Chuck smiled that killer smile that Sa… NO, do not go there. He smiled his killer smile, anyway.
Palos Verde Peninsula – Home of Victor and Selena Rinaldi
Casey drove the Mercedes limo up to the galleried staircase leading to one of the most opulent homes on the PVP. He stopped and watched the red-coated flunkies fall all over themselves opening the door.
Chuck got out first, a real chore with his cane and a risk of falling since his dizzy spells came most frequently after riding in a car or long periods standing. The docs hadn't figures that one out yet. Standing upright, he offered his hand to Angie Fuentes.
Instead of the short redhead in her 2-inch heels, out stepped a sleek diminutive lynx in a black dress that looked like she'd taken a black dress pill and sweated it on. It had no back and a slit up the side so high that Chuck was sure she was absolutely naked underneath. And although she assured him she had her Glock with her, he still couldn't figure out where she hid the damned thing. And she looked absolutely stunning. Perfect makeup and hair and sandals with 4-inch heels. Utterly stunning. And the NSA had kindly supplied a king's ransom in emeralds to go with her dress and hair. Chuck was entranced, tongue-tied and feeling guilty. Like he was cheating on someone. Well, no one who cared, that was for damned sure.
Angie Fuentes was out of her element. Give her a pair of shorts, a t-shirt and flip-flops, hair under a Dodger's cap and she was at home. But this dress (or lack of) was more (or less) than she'd ever worn before. And the sandals. She hated strappy heels. So not her.
"Relax, Angie, you look beautiful and no one here can hold a candle to you. Just relax and be yourself. I'm Charles and you're Angelina. Two people out on the town. Remember, be yourself and you'll do fine. Just follow my lead if we get in trouble. If I use the code word we agreed on, abort and make your way to the limo. Casey will have my back if the shit hits the fan."
He felt comfortable, more than any time since, well, in a long time. He took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to the palm, just like young lovers. All part of the cover. (Yeah, Chuck. A cover. Keep telling yourself that. She's getting to you and you're letting it happen).
Angie Fuentes knew that Chuck was wrong, Code word situation or not, she would have his back.
Chuck handed the flunky their invitations and together they entered the large drawing room full of the Beautiful People of Hollywood. It looked like an A-List party. Good. Maybe make some contacts for the business.
He turned to his left and flashed. Achmed Khalid, Hamas weapons procurement specialist. He raised his cuff mike and reported it to Casey. He leaned over to whisper in Angie's ear. "Hamas, 9 o'clock, long greasy hair and Armani tux out of a 50s Bogart movie. Photo".
She laughed and lifted her purse as if to shield them from prying eyes in their conversation. The purse contained a micro-camera and Casey logged the image. She had to admit this was going well. She was very nervous at first about going with the Director but things were progressing nicely. He'd been very complimentary of her appearance. That had worried her. His approval was suddenly very important to her. 'Angie Gillespie, do not fall for the boss. Career killer.'
They identified 4 other Middle Eastern cell members over the course of the next hour and a half as well as a host of lesser players including at least one Mossad agent who had better have a good reason to be in the U.S. without the NSA knowing about it.
This guy Victor Rinaldi would bear watching in the future. He had dangerous friends.
They were preparing to leave when Selena Rinaldi approached and introduced herself and commented on the emerald necklace and earrings. She didn't stop talking for the next 10 minutes. Chuck had been standing for two hours and his leg was beginning to bother him. And when that happened, a dizzy spell could sneak up on him. If that happened here, it could draw unwanted attention to him and his date for the evening.
She'd been watching him. Saw he was tiring and knew from Casey's briefing that the Director was still not fully recovered from his injuries (Casey would not go into detail, simply stated "need to know") and prone to the sudden onset of dizziness. She was still holding his hand as the overdressed woman went on and on about nothing at all. His palm was damp and she knew this was a precursor to his vertigo. She palmed the clasp of her purse sending Major Casey the distress signal they'd agreed upon should this occasion arise. The Director would not approve, but it was not his decision. She was his protective detail, even if he didn't know. And she had gone to great lengths to ensure he didn't.
Almost instantly Chuck's cell phone vibrated. Chuck apologized to Mrs. Rinaldi, "Sorry, business, I have to take this call" and used the need for privacy to leave the home. The limo was waiting and Casey was holding the door. Chuck ushered Angie in and almost fell into the limo. They'd just barely avoided a scene that might draw unwanted eyes.
Angie was worried. "Major Casey, what can I do? Director, are you alright?" She was very concerned. She'd never seen one of his spells.
"He'll be fine, Mrs. Fuentes. He just needs to rest his leg a bit. He'll sleep until we're back at headquarters."
"He is right here, y'know?" Chuck wasn't angry. He just didn't want to appear weak in front of Angie Fuentes. No, dammit, Chuck, Mrs. Fuentes…
Casey had been on the horn. NSA, FBI and local police were alerted and as those 'selected' at party departed they were followed to their destinations and arrested. The Mossad agent was less than cordial about accompanying 2 FBI agents to their headquarters but knew enough to keep quiet. Israel could always explain away monitoring terrorist activities.
Los Angeles, CA Office of Argent Security Corp.
"So, Director, a very successful operation. Very successful. Congratulations on NSA-W's first victory. Four major cell leaders and a host of arms dealers and smugglers and an Israeli agent taken into custody. And no casualties, no problems, and best of all, they didn't have a clue how they were identified. Excellent work. I think an infusion of additional cadre and support personnel is warranted in the near future. You've only just begun. A very auspicious start for your team and proof that the distributive network of NSA centers throughout the continental US will increase our effectiveness."
"Director Carmichael, a word in private, please." General Beckman was very pleased with the operation, especially with the coordination of non-NSA agencies and law enforcement.
Chuck gave Casey the "I'll see you later" look and he closed the door to the office as he left. Casey was happy, well, as happy as John Casey ever really allowed himself to be. The op was a smashing success and the use of non-NSA agencies to actually handle the arrests was brilliant. Those pussies now owed the NSA for the busts and the bad guys had no idea that one agency had ID'd them all. The General had given Chuck his due. That was for sure.
"So, Chuck, you're looking better than the last time I saw you." Apparently the General's proscription against video did not apply when she wanted to eyeball something – or someone.
"Well, what can I say, General, the afternoons at the beach, parties, weekends in the mountains, just what the doctor ordered. Really, I feel a lot better than I did a month ago. Was there anything in particular you wanted to discuss without Major Casey around?"
"I see your sarcasm bone is intact. But actually I wanted to inform you that you'll be getting a new Assistant Deputy Director soon to handle the analysis of intel gathered from the intersect and our other more mundane sources such as satellite and SigInt. And all, I repeat, all the staff are NSA. No CIA pukes or other agencies are involved. And these agents have been thoroughly vetted. No Fulcrum infiltrators. I promise you that. This is a pure NSA operation." General Beckman was not above petty turf politics, it seemed.
"Send me their files and photos and I'll review them after tomorrow's intersect update. I have to admit, smaller, more frequent updates are far superior to the old 'data dump' you guys used to use. Less painful, too." The last was said with a grin and a wink.
"Why don't we just incorporate the files on the new agents in the down load? No sense offering any opportunity for compromise. And how is the SPIF coming? Will it be ready as scheduled? These new agents and their equipment will require the special shielding to be in place before they can begin their operations."
"General, good idea. Merge the files for down load. And the SPIF is coming along nicely. We're 'borrowing' some of the lessons learned at the SAC Cyber Center at Barksdale AFB to avoid reinventing the wheel. We'll be on schedule and on-line on time." 'Damn, Chuck way too many 'on's'.
"Great. But Chuck, how are you doing? Major Casey's report on the PVP operation said you'd had another attack of vertigo. If your assistant hadn't sent the e-code to Major Casey it could have been… awkward."
E-code? What the hell was she talking about? John Casey had called him to report that the players were in place and to wrap up the operation. Wait, why didn't he just transmit over the earwig? Damn Casey. Something was up and the General had just been sloppy. Not like her at all. His assistant sent the e-code?
Diane Beckman knew she'd stepped in a large pile of warm fecal matter. She should never have mentioned the e-code. Dumb, Diane. Stupid. A virgin agent mistake.
Chuck's demeanor changed. Like a cold wind rippling wheat stalks, she could see him set up his defenses as his mind analyzed this new information. He was like a pit bull when presented with a mystery. He wouldn't let go.
"General, the matter was resolved without any untoward incident. I don't consider it worthy of your time or mine. Was there anything else, Ma'am?"
"No, Director Carmichael. That will be all."
Diane Beckman terminated the video conference. She'd screwed the pooch big-time. She'd just have to be more careful in the future. Chuck Bartowski was not one of the usual run-of-the-mill agents and directors she dealt with. He was at the top of his game and head and shoulders above his nearest competitor. She'd better keep that in mind. Also, Bartowski was dead. It was Carmichael. Maybe she should delegate the more mundane duties to one of her subordinates. Maybe she was getting too old for this shit.
FT Meade, MD NSA Headquarters
Jennifer Burton was amazed at the quality and volume of intel originating from the NSA-W. And the General had indicated that NSA-South and NSA-Cent were in the wings. It was nothing short of incredible. And she was soon to be posted to the NSA-W as Assistant Deputy Director for Intel. A meet and greet had been scheduled for later in the month. The security chief of the facility was John Casey. That might prove awkward for her. She had no doubt about his feelings for her. No doubt at all.
"You turn your back on the kid and try going back to the way things were in the early days after all you've put him through and I guarantee you'll have a new assignment within 10 minutes of my phone call to Beckman. And it won't be in the field either. The field is no place for a coward. No partner will ever trust you again. You won't deserve it."
She didn't exactly turn her back on… on… him. No. She just needed more time to…well, Casey had made good on his promise. He'd made the call shortly after they'd arrived in Moab. After she'd told Chuck Bartowski she couldn't decide if she was Sarah or Jenny. And it was not a field assignment and she had no partner. But she did have a new direction. That she did deserve.
She was frustrated. She still could not find anything at all about the Director of NSA-W. Not his name, not his rating, no history at all. There were some vague notations regarding special medical requirements, special dietary regimen and physical therapy schedules. But all further entries halted abruptly. Almost like someone realized that the information could lead a spy to… to what? The secret identity of the mysterious superhero agent who ran NSA-W? She reviewed the staff assigned currently to NSA-W.
She found the first red flag after noting that the Deputy Director's Administrative Assistant had been a deep-cover operative investigating weapons smuggling on the Mexican border. Apparently the operation was a success and several US Border Patrol and Customs agents had been identified and arrested for weapons and drug smuggling. She'd even uncovered a plot to move bio-weapon components into the United States for distribution to terrorist networks for possible manufacture of bio-weapons.
What was she doing as an Admin Assistant?
The second red flag was a notation that she had attended a special course of instruction conducted by the Secret Service for those agents who might be assigned to the protective detail of a government official. She was someone's protective detail!
The General didn't even have a protective detail any longer. Not after the Praetorian debacle. She had a chauffeur and 2 NSA shooters who accompanied her. But she was a Director. This guy was a Deputy Director. Why would he require a bodyguard? It's not like he went on ops or was an asset…?
She pulled up the file on Angelina Gillespie Fuentes. Pretty. Red hair, well auburn actually. . At least not a damned brunette. High marks. Excellents on all her ratings. Divorced. Ex-husband on US Border Patrol arrested for… Well, that explained the divorce. Deep cover? Shit, she married her mark.
Her mind was going a mile a minute. Casey was security chief of a new installation. He'd been a burn-out, on his way to retirement and now he landed a critical position as security chief of NSA-W? You don't put burn outs into positions of such incredible responsibility. You put top agents, loyal and trustworthy. You put in people you know, people you can trust because you've had experience with them. So who trusted Casey enough to put him in this position? And she didn't mean General Beckman. It had to be someone local. The new director?
She got out a legal pad and started making notes. A timeline of sorts. She started with her assignment to the intersect. Two years until that dreadful accident in Fulton County, CA. Ninety-five days later Ellie Bartowski confirmed her brother's death. "I buried my little brother this morning…"
Less than a month later, NSA-W comes on-line. And begins feeding intel out into the system. And achieving spectacular results almost as if someone was connecting the dots… son of a bitch!
OK, time to get devious. Start looking at the problem from a different perspective.
She went back and did a query on medical staff at the Moab UT facility. Ah, there she was. The doctor who'd hit on her Chuck and thought she coul… NO, don't go there. Don't even think about… focus. Focus.
She pulled up the personnel file on Dr. Jennifer Dupree and dialed her office number. Her secretary answered and said that she was with a patient but would return her call immediately upon completion of the treatment. Not more than 20 minutes.
Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Dupree returned the NSA's call. No, the patient's surgeries went smoothly from a purely technical standpoint but the patient's vision could not be restored fully or even satisfactorily because of nerve damage. The date of the final treatment? Jenny Burton wrote down the date. Son of a BITCH!
She'd connected the dots.
Burbank, CA Casa Bartowski
Chuck felt like a stranger. He took a cab from his hotel to another hotel. He went in and called for another cab to pick him up. Once in Burbank he changed cabs again. He could just have asked Casey to drive him but he wanted to do this on his own, without the trappings of office. He was wearing a business suit and had his trusty cane and cannon. After all, he was going home. No need for the entourage.
He went to knock on his own door. Well, not his anymore. Theirs. Chuck Bartowski was dead. He'd never come home, never eat Fruit Loops and watch TV, never have to worry about Sarah Walker doing the cover girlfriend thing. That man was dead.
For all the recent success in his life, Charles Carmichael might as well be dead. He had no one to share it with. His sister had pulled away, not maliciously, just maintaining a distance from the stranger who was Charles Carmichael. And Devon had tried, really tried to keep the "Bro" thing going, but they lived separate lives now. And he would be a stranger in his own home.
So he turned and left. Called Casey and said he was coming back and not to worry. He had thinking to do. He'd take his 'cab roulette' getting home. What a joke. Home was where the heart was. And he had no home. Did that mean he had no heart either? Didn't feel like he did. In point of fact, he didn't feel anything anymore.
He paid no attention at all to the red Miata that had follow him to Burbank and would follow him back to his hotel. He was never alone, he just didn't know it.
He called Devon and made his apologies. Told him something had come up and he couldn't make it. Sorry. Promises. Idle chit chat. His life was like one hand clapping.
FT Meade, MD NSA Headquarters
She made a routine appointment with General Beckman to go over some legitimate items on the Daily Summary. She'd been professional, polished, sharp and to the point. Her questions were insightful and she filed the answers for further integration. She also updated the General on her team of analysts. They were ready to relocate as planned. But she had one final question.
"Why?"
"I beg your pardon, Jenny? Why what?" General Beckman had a feeling it had come to a head. But was she ready to deal with the truth?
"Why did you tell me he was dead? What could you possibly gain from this? His own sister told me he was dead. Said she'd buried her little brother and was I finally satisfied? Why would she do that? What kind of people are you?"
"Let me tell you a story, Jenny…" and the General told her about Chuck discovering the information linking Chuck Bartowski directly to the intersect. She told her how he'd devised a plan to avoid being bunkered, how he'd decided that Chuck Bartowski had to die, succumb to injuries during surgery. And how he'd developed the concept of distributive intelligence centers operating redundantly to the FT Meade facility.
She told her about the difficulties in downloading updates to the intersect and how he'd solved the problem with smaller, more frequent updates but how his physical condition continued to deteriorate to the point that his protective detail was constantly in touch with medical personnel whenever he was on a mission.
Finally, she outlined the organizational structure for the NSA-W and how she, Jennifer Burton, would head the Analysis section reporting to her directly on paper but to the Director in reality.
And then she dropped her bombshell. "You see, if your counseling sessions hadn't progressed so quickly and so far, if you hadn't made those breakthroughs, you never would have been considered for the position. Personal feelings aside, I would not have an operation jeopardized by unstable personalities trying to work together. It didn't work in the past, and it certainly wouldn't work in the here and now."
"I won't kid you. Sarah Walker did a number on Chuck Bartowski. And Jenny Burton almost finished him off. His emotional stability is fragile but he's coping better than anyone could expect. But he's lost, Jenny. Alone. Mrs. Fuentes reported that he got so far as the door of his old home and turned around without seeing his family. He has made decisions for the greater good and has paid a terrible price both physically and emotionally."
"So I'm asking you to answer the question Chuck Bartowski asked you so long ago… Who…are you? He's still broken. Are you still a pair? Or can you fix him, Jenny?"
Los Angeles, CA Office of Argent Security Corp. 3 days later
John Casey was not a happy camper. He'd just been advised by General Beckman that the new Assistant Deputy Director for Analysis was arriving with her staff of analysts to assume her position in NSA-W on Monday. And that Jennifer Lynn Burton was her name. No, he was not happy at all.
He didn't understand the General's apparent confidence that the situation would resolve itself favorably. Was that double-speak for what ever happens we'll just say it's how we want things to be? Well, he'd find out Monday morning. He hoped Chuck had a relaxing weekend planned. It would probably be the last peace he'd know for some time.
Deputy Director NSA-W Carmichael had just had a refresher download from the intersect. No pain at all. Just a slight sense of knowing something that he didn't. This had never happened before. He took note of the General's email instructing him to review certain priority files. He was probably the only person on the planet who got email attachments downloaded directly into his brain. God help him if they ever spammed the intersect.
It was a stacked file. A video marked "Top Secret – duplication not permitted". He'd long ago mastered the intricacies of video playback with sound. It expanded his downloads although video and sound files ate up megabytes of his mind. He always smiled when he thought of that. Still the computer nerd.
He opened the file and got the usual NSA logo and warning that such files yada yada yada. Mentally he hit "play" and wondered if all this high tech hocus-pocus would one day render them all obsolete.
-Clip 1 Not for duplication – Patient 30039
"And I just couldn't answer his question. I didn't know who I was. I wasn't sure then but I'm sure now. I am Jenny Burton. And I loved Chuck Bartowski. I still love Chuck Bartowski. I always will. I'll never love anyone again because I'm not through loving him in this life. He gave me time and space and I wasted my time. I chose the job over him. I killed him just as surely as if I'd pulled the trigger on him, cut his throat, whatever. And he died alone, with strangers, not even his family there to support him."
- Clip 2 Not for duplication- Patient 30039
"I want you to think about what he said when you were both on the chopper after the firefight." He consulted his notes. "He said 'I'm broken. Aren't we a pair.' And you said nothing in response. But what were you thinking?"
-Clip 3 Not for duplication- Patient 30039
"I was thinking that I was broken too and that he would heal me. We would heal each other. I really believed that. I still believe that. And I always will. I wouldn't be here if he'd survived, if I hadn't been a coward and had just answered his fucking question. I am Jenny Burton, Chuck, Jenny Burton and I'll always love you."
He was stunned. She thought he was dead and that somehow she had killed him. Why? Why would she think such a thing? She was in the goddamned NSA- for chrissakes, she could access God's tax returns. So why didn't she know he was alive and kicking?
He closed his eyes and reran the clips. He kept running them over and over and over…
"Chuck, Chuck, Goddammit Chuck, don't do this…" Casey was in a panic. Chuck was still in the intersect chair. He'd been worried when 30 minutes after the download session ended Chuck hadn't returned to his office and he'd gone in search of his Director. He never knew what trouble he'd get into on his own. And now he was in serious trouble. There was something wrong with the download. There had to be. He pushed the panic button in the download lab. Tears were streaming from Chuck's eye and he was rigid, almost on the brink of a convulsion.
"Medical Emergency in Laboratory 1 – Medical Emergency in Laboratory 1"
Cedars-Sinai Emergency Room
It's almost like a grand mal seizure but with none of the accompanying convulsive symptoms. EEG is almost normal but shows a high level of upper level activity. It's almost as if he's thinking at an astonishing rate.
The NSA-approved neurologist was not privy to the intersect. Nor would he become so. His job was to keep his patient alive until those with proper levels of authorization made themselves available. He'd ordered a CT scan and had mulled over the results. This was impossible. This man's brain looked like… he had no idea. For lack of a better description he tagged the image "spaghetti poured over brain". And the scan showed that he was utilizing fully 18% of his capacity. That was unheard of. He'd run the scan twice to be sure. He was already outlining his paper for the AMA Journal when a voice interrupted his musings.
"Thank you for your assistance, Doctor. You're excused." Devon Woodcombe was not a neurologist. But he did have intersect clearance. "Leave the scans, please. I'll have them properly disposed of" and motioned the doctor to leave with 'shooing' motions of his hands.
"Oh, Chuckster, what have you done to yourself now?" He consulted his protocol manual for this situation. It had never occurred before but there were protocols in place for such an occurrence.
"You have got to be kidding me!" and threw the glass of cold water in Chuck's face.
The response was instantaneous. He reached for his cannon and wiped the water from his eye and tried to orient himself all simultaneously with predictable results. He could not do any of them. Five point restraints. For just an instant he thought he was back in Moab. But just for an instant. He fought to focus his good eye on the doctor looming over him. "Hey, Devon, sorry about missing dinner…" and promptly fell asleep.
"Look, John, it's his life. You can't keep him from living it. Sarah er… Jenny is a part of him just like Ellie was a part of me. You have to let him go and make his mistakes. Just be there to help if he needs it."
John Casey stood outside the exam room where Chuck Carmichael slept, blissfully unaware of the tension and turmoil his "seizure" was causing.
"Dammit Devon, she's going to do it again. I know her. She's a coward when it comes to relationships. She'll run the minute things get to the commitment stage. She did it before, twice, and I'm damned if I'll stand for her fucking him over a third time. And what do you mean, 'Ellie was a part'?" He'd always liked Ellie Bartowski. Thought she was a helluva woman even for a flaming pinko liberal. Once you got past the Ellie-joy hugs and squeals, she was ok. Well, more than ok but ok would do for now.
"Ellie and I are… taking a break. I moved back in to my old apartment. The wedding is on hold, indefinitely. But that's my problem. My Bro's got a chance at real happiness, Casey, he deserves the shot. It's his life, not yours or mine. Let him make his own decision. He's a lot smarter than either of us."
"Not where she's concerned, he's not."
"Well, that's his decision. I trust him to make the right one. And you should too. Now, tell me what's been going on with my Bro there. He looks like shit, Casey. I thought you were taking care of him. Tell me all the gory details while I get his discharge paperwork done and we'll take him to where ever he calls home. You know, he's going to be pissed when he finds out you left all his clothes back at the office. Man, that sounds lame even to me…" And they enjoyed a laugh at Chuck's expense while Casey brought Devon up to speed on the Saga of the Carmichael.
Angie Fuentes waited impatiently in the Emergency Room waiting area. She had her boss' clothes with her. It was a good thing someone thought of these things. Men. She'd never understand how they forgot the little things. Hearing Casey's laugh and a voice that was vaguely familiar she decided she'd waited long enough and barged into the exam room.
"Major Casey, here are the boss' clothes I… Devon?" Angie looked at Casey, then her boss then Devon Woodcombe, a guy she'd dated when she'd first joined the agency before… before she went deep cover.
"Angie? You work for Chuck?" he was astonished. The very last person in the world he ever thought he'd see again was Angie Gillespie.
"You two know each other?" asked Casey, suddenly interested.
They explained that they'd dated while Devon was at UCLA but had drifted apart after he'd started seeing Ellie Bartowski.
Chuck made his presence known. "If you expect me to get dressed by myself, someone better release these damned restraints." Devon went to take care of the obvious leaving a curious Casey and an uncommunicative Angie Fuentes. "Look, I went deep cover right after I stopped seeing Devon. I never made the connection between The Carmichael and Ellie Bartowski. Don't make a federal case of it, Major."
"Hey, just asking here. Inquiring minds want to know. So, you know Ellie?" and the conversation progressed until a clothed Director and a grinning Devon emerged. "So, we're on for beers later tonight? You've never seen my apartment."
Chuck launched a preemptive strike. "Casey, he's a doctor. If I couldn't have beer he'd tell me. Quit being a mother hen and just get me the hell out of this hell hole. Reminds me of Moab and you know how cranky I get when I dwell on that hole in the ground."
"Yes, sir. Right away, sir. Moving with a purpose, sir." Chuck cuffed Casey's shoulder and said "Ok, enough. Just get us out of here. Devon, I'll call you for directions."
Angie Fuentes knew who was driving the Director to Devon's.
John Casey wondered what excuse he could come up with to see Ellie Bartowski.
Charles Carmichael just wondered why life was so damned hard sometimes.