Flashback23

Miami International Airport
September 15 2pm

John Casey was fiddling with a hand-held transponder device that would send and receive only on Chuck's imbedded transponder. He'd set it for 'constant' meaning it would flash the signal to the transponder every minute and would sound an alarm only if the transponder responded. He figured that the flight from DC to Miami covered the Eastern Seaboard and it was a good time to check for Chuck.

"Casey, what are you fiddling with? You boys and your toys. My God, you're as bad as… never mind, what is it?"

"It's a transponder that transmits to Chuck's imbedded tracker and picks up his signal. I figured we were covering a lot of space with the flight and just wanted to try and pick something up. Nothing."

She put her hand on his arm. "Thanks, John. No one else seems to give a rat's ass about him."

"He's my friend. Don't tell him that, but he is. Damned nerd grows on you. Gets under your skin like a chigger."

Their flight to the Cayman Islands was called. They were flying 1st Class from Miami to Grand Cayman to check out some banking irregularities and also to do some first-hand snooping. The banks were all multi-nationals and above reproach but there were no guarantees of the honesty of the local management.

"I can't believe how inexpensive this is. When Chuck gets back on his feet, we're coming here for a honeymoon. Alone, Casey, so don't roll your eyes. I will get him back. I made a vow, Casey. In a church. I will get him back." There were tears of desperation in her eyes.

Casey wanted him back, too. Then he was going to hunt down the bastards that killed Gwen and hurt them, a lot, for a long time.

Without thinking, Casey set the device to 'constant' and put it in his coat pocket, flipped back his seat and tried to sleep. His back was killing him and his muscles screamed at the abuse of sitting in one position for so long.

The flight on Cayman Airways was only 456 miles long and the Boeing 737 would make the flight in a little more than 90 minutes.

The pilot announced that they were 30 minutes from Grand Cayman and went on and on about the weather, the opportunities for vacation fun and the 'Little Sisters' islands of Little Cayman and Cayman Brac, the latter visible on the starboard side.

The transponder beeped. And beeped. Casey at first thought it was the aircraft but felt the twitch of the unit as it beeped and beeped.

"Sarah, Chuck's here, either on Cayman Brac or Little Cayman. The unit just beeped several times. We've found him, Sarah. He's alive and we're going to get him back!"

His words jolted her from a restless dozing. "What? Are you sure, Casey? Don't fuck around about this."

"It beeped when the pilot mentioned Cayman Brac and Little Cayman. He's here, Sarah. Fulcrum must have him in a hive someplace on the two smaller islands. Call Graham when we get on the ground. Have him rally all available agents to us here. We're going to get him back." Casey finally felt useful and he placed the memories and image of Gwen Rivers in a box in the back of his mind stamped 'later'.

Grand Cayman Island
Georgetown Marriott
6:30pm

They conferenced with Beckman and Graham via Casey's laptop. The conference was brief but positive. Fifteen agents would be flying in to Grand Cayman by the next evening and all were to report to Sarah and Casey for assignment. Sarah had purchased maps of the two islands explaining that she was a schoolteacher in the US and her students would benefit from her vacation.

The shop proprietor was so taken with her and her devotion to her students that he included the local maps and even a photo survey map that included private rental units and dockage on both the Sisters. The fact that her 3 blouse buttons were undone and that she wasn't wearing a bra had absolutely nothing to due with his excellent customer service.

Casey had checked on air transportation to Cayman Brac and Little Cayman. They were just waiting on the agents' arrivals to begin the rescue operation.

Grand Cayman Island
Georgetown Marriott
September 16 5:30 am

The shrill ringing of her cell phone brought her to a reasonable state of awareness. Glancing at her travel alarm and noting the time she answered per protocols.

"Bartowski, secure."

"Shut up. Get note paper. Don't speak or I'll hang up. You have 15 seconds to secure writing implements and paper and then I will speak. Do not respond."

The voice was familiar, chillingly so. So aloof and professional. Cold and unemotional.

"Someone is slowly bleeding to death. He was injured preventing a rape and he saved my life. I owe him. He's on Little Cayman on the southeast tip in a seaside bungalow. Do not be too hard on him, Agent. He has no idea it's all a game. Hurry. He only has one bag of A+ remaining. He's only yours temporarily, Agent, so take good care of him for me. He was always mine, even before Larkin sent him the package."

The call ended with a click. She called Casey.

"Casey, secure."

"Casey, Chuck's dying! She called. Alice. I think it was her. He's on Little Cayman on the southeast tip in a bungalow. He's bleeding out and she's only got one bag of A+ left. She says she's leaving him and it's up to me. We need to get there now, Casey. I'm leaving in five. With or without you."

"See you in four."

They drove to the airport in a rental that Sarah cursed for only having a top end of 80mph. She was so flustered that she'd almost hit a lorry head-on because she forgot to drive on the left.

The found a plane to rent but the rental agent wouldn't let them take it until Casey had been properly checked out in the aircraft. Sarah almost pulled her gun but Casey calmed her with a glance.

"I flew Porters before you were out of diapers. Give me the Dash-1 and then the settings and freqs for Edward Boddin Airfield on Little Cayman. Also, do you know if there's a hospital on the island?"

The girl decided to trust him with the Porter Pilatus. He knew the right lingo and something told her he was more competent than their regular pilot was. He looked and talked ex-military.

"No hospital, not a doctor. Cayman Brac has a small dispensary but no resident physician. If there's a medical emergency there is a trained nurse on duty at the dispensary."

"Please call her and ensure she has at least 4 units of A+. Our friend is staying along on Little Cayman and has been injured. We got a call from his…girlfriend."

It is 146km to Little Cayman and Sarah cried quietly the entire flight. Casey said nothing but kept looking at the time and the weather. There were thunderheads building and sudden storms were common in this part of the Caribbean. He didn't care. He'd get them to the airfield with time to spare even if he had to burn up the engine to do it.

Thirty minutes later Casey lined up on the grass and gravel field and extended full flaps. They'd flown through a squall and he hadn't lost a minute's time correcting his course after exiting the storm. He brought the plane down in an angel's kiss landing and taxied to the terminal. Terminal was a charitable description. It was a cinder block building about 20 feet square with a fire engine parked beside it in a lean-to affair. It looked more like a gasoline filling station from the 50s.

"Go ahead into the terminal and arrange ground transportation. See if the attendant knows where the bungalow is. It might save us some time. And find out where the dispensary is located in relation to the airport on Cayman Brac. We need all the time-savers we can muster, Sarah."

She was running into the building before the prop quit turning. Casey got out and ran the tie-downs and followed her into the building.

Five minutes later they were driving the attendant's personal vehicle, an old VW bus that had been around the world a few times, through the settlement of Blossom Village, population 170. There were several smaller groups of houses but Blossom Village was the 'capital city' of the island and the only acknowledged 'village' on the island.

The macadam road ran the entire way around the perimeter of the island. There were numerous feeder roads heading toward farmsteads in the interior but for the most part they'd left civilization behind when they left Blossom.

Sarah was pushing the old bus as hard as she could. They hadn't passed any buildings or cottages in the past mile and she could see the tip of the island ahead. Just as they were almost at the southeastern most part of the island, the land folded back and revealed a bungalow about 50 yards off the roadway. A jeep with rental tags was parked near the bungalow.

She stopped the bus almost at the stairway to the bungalow and started to get out when Casey grabbed her arm. "Think, Walker, think. A rental jeep parked far enough away not to be heard approaching and now us barging in like the cavalry. I know you're afraid for him but you won't do him any good if you're dead! Now, I'll go around the back and look for another entrance and you… Damn it, Sarah!"

She sprinted up the stairs, gun drawn and walked in through the French door that obviously had been forced open sometime earlier. She cleared the living room and kitchen and then headed down the hall to the bedroom following a scent she knew from the past - death. There were three dead bodies, all shot in the head and elsewhere. The bed had a dried pool of blood and a woman's torn clothing was strewn around the room. She noticed one of the men still had his pants down around his ankles and he was missing…ah, there it was. Good shot, Chuck.

She heard Casey call her with a rare urgency in his voice. She ran to the sound of his voice and entered the smaller bedroom. Her husband was lying on a hospital bed, unconscious. The room smelled of the coppery tang of fresh and dried blood. The blood bag the caller had mentioned was half full but the dressing on his left leg was saturated with fresh blood.

"There are restraints on the bed and he has bruises on his ankles and wrists. I don't think he was here voluntarily but he's not restrained now. Apparently 'Alice' figured he was too far gone to be much of a flight risk."

"No, she told me he saved her from rape and murder. There are 3 bodies in the other bedroom. Shot in the groin, body and head. He shot one guy's …he had his pants around his ankles and Chuck shot his…member off. It's on the floor. Be careful you don't step on it." She spoke in a monotone, never taking her eyes off her husband. He was alive and there was still hope.

Casey went and checked out the other room. Man, he really did shoot off the guy's…thing. He checked under the bed and in the closet and armoire but they were clean. Someone had wanted no breadcrumbs for them to follow.

He called Beckman when he saw the three ID's lying beside the bodies. All were CIA. Chuck must not know whom to trust. Beckman would know if a sanction had been issued.

"Beckman, secure."

"Casey, secure. Ma'am, we have him. He's in a bad way. Probable GSW and someone left him with a blood bag hanging and one already used up. There are 3 dead CIA agents here. Popped Bartowski-style. Our kidnapper called Sarah and told her to come get him since he saved her life."

The rest of the conversation revolved around extracting them to a secure location. Beckman promised to call Casey back in thirty minutes or less with info on the men he'd ID'd and with a new extraction schedule. She was going to go outside the NSA/CIA for assistance on this one.

Sarah held Chuck's hand against her cheek while putting pressure on the wound and let the tears come. Her agency, the CIA, had sent an extraction team and they'd gone rogue and tried to rape his captor and she figured that Chuck reacted badly and killed them but had been injured in the fight.

While on one hand she thanked her adversary for trying to save his life, she cursed her for endangering it in the first place. This Alice would be the number 1 target on a lot of lists very shortly. She owed Casey and Sarah for Gwen, the two NSA agents and for Chuck's current condition. She could do little else other than watch him breath and the bag slowly replace lost blood.

Casey noted the laptop on the coffee table in front of the couch and the pads and folders. He opened the top folder and saw 8X10 photographs of the two NSA agents, Gwen Rivers and Sarah Bartowski immediately after they'd been shot. Now he knew why Chuck would believe any story offered by 'Alice' or Rebecca Pearsall or whoever she really was. He thought his wife was dead. The picture certainly conveyed that idea.

"Here. This is what he had as reading material. Also some daily reports like he got at the Castle. There's a laptop here we have to take with us."

Sarah gasped as she saw the pictures and then almost stopped breathing when she saw her photo, lying on the porch of the bungalow in a pool of blood. The snipers must have taken them as proof of their mission just as the Air Commando traitor had said.

"Casey, he thought we were all dead. My God, he must have felt totally alone and crushed. The woman's cruelty seems to know no limits and she says he's her's? I'll kill her, Casey, I swear to God, I'm going to kill her."

Casey's phone trilled and it was Beckman. They were to return immediately to the airfield at Blossom Village and they'd be met by a contingent of US Marines from Gitmo who would have a complete medical team on board. They would fly to an aircraft carrier west of Cuba and transfer there. Future travel arrangements would be made as Chuck's condition stabilized. Three NSA agents would fly in with the Osprey and take over the on-site investigation.

"What about the dead CIA pukes?"

"Director Graham lists them as missing so they're probably Fulcrum recruits. Bartowski was probably set up to believe they were actually raping this traitor. I wonder if they knew how violent his response would be?"

"Well, this Alice bitch certainly knew from her experiences in Serbia. Any progress on learning her identity?"

"None. We'll have the Little Cayman bungalow swept and see if we can get some DNA match-ups. In the meantime, you are authorized to use any means necessary to protect him, John, from any source of harm."

"Well, let's get him home. We'll get him on his feet and back with his family. Security will be beefed up, of course, maybe relocation to a secure community and Witsec. We'll see. Good job, Major. Pass it along to Sarah with my best wishes."

"Sarah, come on, bring the blood bag and walk along with me. Be careful not to crimp the tubing. We're meeting a contingent of Marines at the airfield and they'll have medics on board. We're headed to an aircraft carrier and then on to DC when he's able. It's going to be all right, Sarah. We got him and we're taking him home."

Sarah couldn't speak, just looked at Chuck's face and held the bag of precious blood up so it could drip unrestricted into his arm. She'd seen how the mattress had been saturated with blood when Casey had picked him up and carried him out of the bedroom.

The twenty-minute drive to the airfield seemed to take two hours. She knew the Osprey from Gitmo was coming with help but she was scared to death that he'd bleed out before help could come. "John, I'm A positive. If the bag runs out, we'll run a direct transfusion. I don't know how to do it. Do you?"

"Yeah, but it won't be necessary. The Osprey has a full trauma package on board and I'm certain a doctor also. They're not that far away. Won't be more than 2 hours. He can hang on that long, Sarah. He's a lot tougher than he looks plus he's got you in his corner. Just keep the faith."

"Do you think he's drugged? He doesn't seem responsive at all?"

Casey knew that the amount of blood on the bed and in the other room meant that he was running low and that the brain shut itself down in self-protection. That was why his hands were so cold. "We have no way of knowing if he's drugged. They'll run tests on the carrier. Beckman says 3 NSA agents are on the Osprey and they'll be looking for anything that might give us a clue to Alice's true identity."

"Good. When he's back on his feet, you and I are going hunting. We owe it to a lot of people."

"Agreed. Now, raise his feet. Didn't they teach you basic first aid in CIA training?"

Edward Boddin Airfield
Little Cayman
11:30am local time

The drone of the Osprey was a welcome sound to both agents since the blood pack had run it's course fifteen minutes earlier and Sarah was having a fit because they couldn't run a direct transfusion since they lacked another needle. Casey knew she could swear since she'd pitched the F-bomb on occasion, usually when her husband did something spectacularly stupid but he was treated to permutations and combinations in seven languages and she was just getting her second wind.

The rear clamshell doors swung open and a squad of Marines in combat gear ran out and established a perimeter around the Osprey and the VW bus. Two medics ran over with a stretcher and moved Chuck into the Osprey followed by Sarah. Casey briefed the 3 NSA agents and then followed her into the waiting aircraft. They were airborne within two minutes.

The entire pick-up process had taken less than 5 minutes.

The Osprey discharged its passengers 55 minutes later onto the deck of the helicopter carrier USS Guadalcanal.

USS Guadalcanal
September 18 4am

Sarah Walker Bartowski sat slumped beside the bed, her head on Chuck's shoulder. The surgeons had done their work well the previous day and now he was in a 'recovery mode' although it was in the bed he would occupy for the duration of his stay. Combat ships did not have waiting rooms or ICU or recovery rooms. That luxury was a civilian one. She had fallen asleep wondering if they'd ever have 'normal' like she'd discussed with her therapist.

Had she been awake she would have seen that he was also awake, staring at the mop of blonde hair draped across his arm and shoulder. This was a dream, he knew it. He was really asleep in a hospital bed at some unknown location waiting to wake up and face another day without her, reviewing intelligence briefs and listening to Graham and Beckman drone on about the fight against Fulcrum.

He closed his eyes and slept, not wishing to wake up – ever – and keep the dream alive, keep Sarah alive.

USS Guadalcanal
September 18 9am

Two hospital corpsmen came in and got Chuck up and out of bed. He was on his way to the Navy's version of physical therapy. They handed him a pair of crutches and helped him adjust them for his height and then showed him the 'promenade deck' and told him they'd be shadowing him but he was expected to make it to the stern of the ship for his 'reward'.

Chuck looked at the two men like they were aliens. "The stern of the ship? That's which way? And a reward? Like what, an amputation? Keel hauling? Jesus, guys, this is a little sudden."

They knew that he was a hush-hush patient brought in by Osprey and guarded by a squad of Marines, a scary Major and a hot blonde with a wedding ring on. How did this poor excuse for a man ever get that?

"Chuck! Good to see you up and around. When you get done with your crutching around, the General would appreciate a few minutes of your valuable time."

"Casey! Y-You're dead! You're all dead. I saw the pictures. I was told it was the C…"

"Chuck, need to know. Gwen's dead. They just blew up the jeep and slammed me into a tree. They're all dead, by the way. Your wife saw to that."

Chuck was so shocked at Casey's sudden appearance and the confirmation of the little doctor's death that he missed the reference to Sarah. "Casey, I'm so sorry about Gwen. She would have made a great addition to the team. I know how you feel. It hurts all the time but I heard time makes it easier."

Casey was certain he had the two ship's corpsmen's attention so he pushed on, ignoring the momentary feelings for the dead Gwen.

"Man, I can't believe you shot that guy's pecker off! I almost stepped on it. And the other two? Headshots are so messy. Remind me to show you an easier way. Now, move along, Agent, the General has some questions. I'll see you in 40 minutes. And Chuck? Play nice with the swabbies. They don't know what you're capable of." He grinned and left, satisfied he'd at least partially restored his confidence. Those 2 squids would be a lot more respectful now.

The two corpsmen walked about 20 feet behind Chuck as he learned to navigate among all the obstacles on the deck. No closer. They knew from their dealings with SEALS that black ops people were…unpredictable.

The catwalk was made of steel grating and he could see the ocean below him. He spent time deftly maneuvering around drain holes and other openings in the decking and before he knew it, he was looking at the wake of the ship, his two shadows a respectful distance behind.

Two warm arms snaked around his shoulders from behind him and Sarah said softly, "I love you, Chuck. I'm not dead. I am alive. Please don't freak out, sweetheart, it's really me and you're not having a hallucination. You're on the Guadalcanal and when you're stronger we're going home." She eased around to his front and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him softly, gently, with all the love she felt for him put into it. She didn't care who saw it.

She ended the kiss and stepped back, her hands on his heart. He was speechless.

"I'm not dead. Those pictures were taken right after we were shot. I just got nicked and a huge headache and stitches. I'm sorry you were hurt again. We thought it would be safe in the middle of Florida and a military reservation. But we're both here and now we have to get back to work. Let's go talk to the General and then we have a thousand questions for you, husband. About Alice or whoever she is."

He just grinned and half-turned to his shadows. "Take off, guys. I'm in better hands than ever."

"Chuck, you're stuttering, it's gone! That's incredible." She was shocked since it had been so bad just a few days ago.

He frowned. "You don't know, do you, Sarah? The CIA put something in my head that gave me horrible headaches and made me stutter when they operated on me. Whoever snatched me had it removed. See the stitches? It was a bomb, Sarah! The fucking CIA put a bomb in my head to kill me if someday I was useless or if captured."

"Who told you the CIA put it in and how do you know it was a bomb? Surely you don't believe Alice, do you? She called me in Grand Cayman and told me to 'come and get him' because you were dying but she owed you for stopping the rape. She was Fulcrum! So were the three CIA agents."

"Sarah, let's get the debriefing over with then I want to spend time just looking at you, OK? I thought I'd never see you again and I can't get the image of you lying in a pool of blood out of my mind. OK?"

"That's sweet. Yeah, let's go. Take it slow. She'll wait. And take your time explaining things to her and if you get tired, say so. You were at death's door on that island. I was never so scared in my life as when that bitch called and said you were bleeding out but she owed you and I 'could come and get you'."

"I can't believe she is Fulcrum. I can't understand why I couldn't flash on her in the intersect." He was getting damned tired of all the drama. He wanted to get back to Burbank and fight over the remote and order take-out and drink beer and sleep in on Sunday mornings and just be normal again.

The video conference was in a secure part of CIC and in a secured office. Both Graham and Beckman were in attendance but Beckman clearly ran the show now.

"Chuck, it's good to see you alive again. We haven't spoken since before your operation. How are you doing?" She leaned forward in anticipation of a Bartowski special. Instead she saw a frowning Bartowski.

"General, I talked with you and Director Graham the other morning and the day before that. The connection sucked and the images took forever to download so we went to audio only. Don't you remember? Or did I imagine that, too?"

"The laptop computer found in the bungalow where you were held contained a voice recognition program as well as files of voice recordings of Arthur and I. Someone was manipulating you and using us to do it. I couldn't believe the things I said and I apologize if I offended you. It wasn't us, Chuck. Fulcrum was running a very sophisticated op against you. You were probably drugged to the gills and subjected to some very sophisticated manipulation. We'll have more information when the NSA agents on-site complete their investigation."

"For right now, though, we need to know what you remember from the time you were extracted until now. Take you time and be thorough."

"Well, I woke up strapped to a hospital bed in what I thought was a hospital room but later found was just a room in the bungalow. Agent Piersall, Rebecca Piersall, told me I'd been restrained because I was convulsing. I had been catheterized so I assumed I'd been there a while. I was released for the restraints but kept on an IV because of a gunshot wound to the thigh."

"Chuck, it was no gunshot wound. It was deliberately done with a scalpel by a surgeon. They cut a plug of flesh and muscle out of you, Chuck. The Navy surgeon confirmed it. It was to make you think you'd been shot and 'saved' by this 'Alice'. By the way, Sarah has discovered that Agent Piersall is dead. She was taller and was African American. 'Alice' took her place. Sarah can tell you more after the briefing. She was ruthless in tracking you down, Chuck."

"Well, I think I slept a day or two, maybe more. There were always IV's in me until one day she came in and told me it was time to get to work. That's when we had the videoconference that converted to audio only. That's also when I saw the pictures of the dead team." He stopped talking and looked down at his hands that were trembling in his lap. He hated being so damned emotional, especially in front of Beckman and Casey.

Sarah saw his trembling hands and snaked a hand into his under the table where no one but Casey could see it.

"I ran dailies for them for a day, maybe two, then I had a seizure or something and I woke up back in the hospital bed to hear her screaming and I ran to her room with a gun she'd apparently left for me. There were 3 attackers. I killed them. She'd been assaulted by one and mauled by another. The third guy was waiting his turn, holding her down."

He looked at his wife and sadly smiled. "I'm sorry. I couldn't let them do to her what was done to you if I could have stopped it and I did.

Sarah couldn't have loved her husband more than she did at that moment. She just squeezed his hand and nodded, never taking her eyes off the screen but she knew he understood.

"But I screwed up and the third guy nailed me with a side kick right in the middle of the surgical dressing on my thigh. I don't know if he aimed at it or it was just dumb luck but I went down and shot him as I fell. The I went over to the guy crawling across the floor and I shot him and then I shot the guy screaming on the floor holding his…crotch."

"There was no light, just what came in through the French doors and I couldn't see much due to night blindness from the muzzle flashes. I checked the bodies and popped each one more time in the head like I was told and pulled their ID's. They were all CIA. I figured you guys sent an extraction team in to get Agent Piersall and me but they went rogue or something. Anyway, I don't remember much after that except fleeting images I'm not sure are real until I woke up this morning and saw Sarah, or dreamed I saw her, I don't know which."

"That's about it." He looked down at his still-trembling hands and sighed. Sarah knew that sigh. He was reconciling something to himself, making judgments and building the walls again.

General Beckman knew immediately what he was thinking and was determined to squash it in the bud. Not nip it, squash it.

"Mr. Bartowski, there was never an extraction team deployed to 'remove' you. We are more than satisfied with the progress you've made and will make under the tutelage of your current team. Those men were Fulcrum, pure and simple. And it was probably a ploy to bring you into the fold by making you suspect the very agencies that are entrusted with your safety. Can you understand that?"

"Sure, General, whatever you say. I have no reason to doubt anything you or Director Graham might say, do I?"

There was a full minute of silence then Arthur Graham spoke for the first time. "Mr. – Chuck, no one at the CIA authorized anything to imperil your safety or the well being of your team. If we wanted to 'sequester' you, we would but it would be your wife and her partner who'd bring you in to a secure facility. And by that I don't mean a hole in the ground but rather a community in a remote area that was established for agents and their families as a place to 'hide out' or recover. What good would be served by sticking you in the ground?"

"Security of the intersect data, Director, you know that. You also know that I fully expect that to happen some day, just like it did to my Dad, so why maintain the pretense?"

The General just sighed and the Director looked ready to stroke out. "Damn it, Bartowski, what will it take to make you realize that your wife would kill anyone who tried it and Major Casey would back her up? You are the most aggravating human being I've ever met. Just what the hell do you want?"

"I want normal, you pompous son of a bitch. I want to have what the Constitution guarantees. I want life, liberty and be able to pursue happiness not for the greater good but for my family and me. YOU have normal. SHE has normal. I want what you have. Is that so hard to believe or understand?"

Beckman took charge again. Quietly she broke the tension. "No, Chuck, it's not too much to ask. Here's what I propose. After a brief convalescence in a remote and secure location accompanied by your wife, you and your team will join a WitSec community and you'll continue your training and keep your team together. Your sister can communicate with you through a third party here at NSA but eventually you'll be able to reintegrate yourself and your family back into 'normal' society. I can't give you a time frame but I can give you the word of the Director of the NSA and her successors."

Sarah leaned over and whispered, "Normal is all I want, Chuck, you and me and normal. Take the deal and let's get out of this place and spend some quality time together. Quiet quality time."

He looked over at Casey and saw him nod. He sighed, not in resignation but in accomplishment. From the very outset, even before he fell in love with his wife, all he ever wanted was to be free to pursue life as it developed. And now he had it.

"Deal. With one reservation."

Sarah squeezed his hand until he thought his fingers would go numb. He could hear her breathing deepen in preparation for some outrageous response on his part.

"I want Agency status. I don't want to be just a damned asset. I want to be trained. I won't have anyone risking their lives again because I can't cut it. No more dead NSA agents, no more dead Gwen Rivers. And I want free rein on pursuing this Alice bitch. I won't live wondering if she's lurking somewhere just around the corner. That's what I want."

Graham and Beckman leaned over and discussed it sotto voce but it was obvious that the argument had nothing to do with him but which agency would get the prize bull.

"Done. Now, get yourself healthy and we'll see you in DC. You'll get what you want. It's a reasonable request, one that should be expedited."

Bear Island
Strait of Juan de Fuca
November 2 11pm

Chuck pulled the love seat over closer to the fire. The weather was abysmal, always damp and almost always raining. Considering he was a sunny California boy one would figure he was miserable but he wasn't. He was happy.

He threw two more logs on the fire and opened another beer. Sarah was in Washington for a hush-hush briefing and he'd spent most of the day walking around the many paths of the 37-acre island. He and his security detail were the only inhabitants. The island sat on the Vancouver side of the Strait but still within the disputed boundary area and was a sort of no-man's land with both sides claiming it but neither occupying it although the intelligence communities of both nations were well aware that the NSA maintained a presence. No one wanted a repeat of the Pig War.

Splitting his time between rehab and just getting back into the groove of the intersect, he'd had a fairly decent month. His wife was still treating him like he was made of glass and he couldn't help but notice that getting back to 'normal' wasn't happening for her.

Her sleep was restless and although she never discussed any dreams, he knew she had them. He did, too. Dreams of her being shot, of killing those three men, but never had he awakened her from her exhausted sleep. He'd just pulled her a little closer and would enjoy the warmth of her body and the knowledge that better times were ahead. They were working and living together and life was pretty good, all things considered. But he knew he was being selfish. His life was better. Hers wasn't. She still didn't have the 'normal' she so craved.

He dozed off lying on the love seat lulled by the flickering flames and pulsating warmth of the fire when his phone rang.

"Bartowski, secure."

"Bartowski, secure. Chuck, it's me. I'm sorry. This isn't working out the way I thought it would. I'm not cut out to be a wife and a spy. I have to choose and I'm sorry, Chuck, but I won't be coming back. The Agency lawyers will present you with annulment papers and I'll go back to being what I'm good at and you…you can do anything you want, Chuck. The world's yours for the taking."

"Sarah, you can't mean that. Please, we can work this out, please, don't do this to us."

"Good bye, Chuck. I'm sorry."

He fell off the love seat. Just a dream, but Jesus, what a dream. He'd had several in the past month, almost always the same. She was leaving him for the damned agency and her precious career. Is that why she was so unsatisfied and unhappy?

They'd promised to talk out their problems and try to eliminate the communications barriers that existed and continued to exist in their marriage. The both knew that there were still elephants in the room and they'd promised each other to bring them out of the dark and into the light and discuss them. Neither had any illusions about eliminating all their problems but by talking about them honestly they could at least understand the other's view point.

His phone rang again and he almost didn't answer it.

"Bartowski, secure."

"Bartowski, secure. Hi, baby, I'll be home tomorrow afternoon. I'm finally done with all this damned reclassification crap and I'm so looking forward to getting back home to you and just being normal for a while."

"Um, Sarah, can I ask you a question? You don't have to answer it but just think about it, OK? We can talk about it when you get back here."

"Sounds serious, Chuck. Is anything wrong? Are you having dizzy spells again? Headaches? What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Nothing physical. I just need to know…are you happy, Sarah?"

"Not at this very moment, no, I'm not happy. I've been away from you for 4 nights and 5 days and I'm miserable. I don't like this reclassification crap. I told you. All these psych evals are just so much bullshit. But no, at this very moment in time, Chuck, I'm not happy, I'm horny and I miss you, sweetie. Ask me when come through the door and drag you to our bed. Then ask me if I'm happy."

"Then I'll ask you after you get home. See ya tomorrow afternoon. Maybe they'll let you fly the seaplane. Just wear that pale blue top and no bra…they'll let you do anything you want." It was a running joke between them. She'd once gotten dressed in a hurry for a teleconference with Graham and well…he seemed distracted. Chuck told her why later and she couldn't look Graham in the eye for a couple of weeks.

A/N: one maybe two chapters remaining. Interest seems to be flagging and I can close this sucker out anytime and just leave the participles dangling.

APR