Well, here we are. I promised I would put Chuck and Sarah together faster than the show did, and I very much appreciate all of the positive reviews of how it happened. Actually, I'm surprised nobody guessed this would be the point I did it. But then, maybe you were trying to not ruin it for anyone else, so thank you if that was your thinking.

Of course, the real work begins. We are fully AU now, although I'm sure you'll notice elements of "Chuck vs. the Angel de la Muerte" and "Chuck vs. the Honeymooners" in this chapter. And we also get to see how everyone has reacted to being on their own. Some will definitely handle it better than others.

I have a pretty good idea how I want this to end, but getting there still has quite a few elements up in the air that I'll be working on, so any suggestions you have are welcome. You'll see setups for a couple of items in this chapter, and previous chapters hinted at future elements as well.

NOTE: One f-bomb in the chapter. And it isn't exactly played for laughs this time. But I'm sure you'll get by.

As usual, the parts that come from the show are the property of NBC and Fake Empire Productions. It may take time to get the next chapter out because of some temporary work assignments I have picked up for just after the Fourth, so I hope you're patient. And I also hope you continue to review.

Enjoy!

Grand Hôtel – Stockholm, Sweden
May 4, 2016
8:00 PM CEST

The man walked down the hallway, heading towards the large suite. He opened the box on the cart he was wheeling. He took out a very sharp knife and used a stone inside the box to hone it to its sharpest perfection. He took it in his hand and knocked on the door. A man answered.

"Tack (Thank you)," Chuck told the room service attendant, taking the knife. "Maten är fantastisk (The food is fantastic)."

"Ha en underbar kväll, sir (Have a wonderful evening, sir)," the man replied.

"Och kom ihåg (And remember)…"

The attendant nodded. "Ingen av er är här (Neither of you are here)."

"Tack."

Chuck shut the door and handed the knife to Sarah, who used it to cut a few pieces of bread from the loaf that accompanied their dinner.

"OK, that will take some getting used to," Chuck said as he pointed out the window.

"What do you mean?" Sarah asked, sampling some of the bread and taking a sip of wine.

"It's eight at night and it looks like mid-afternoon outside. And this is only May 4th! What do people do around here when summer starts and they want to go to bed at ten and it's still bright sunlight out?"

Sarah laughed. "You just talked with the room steward in perfect Swedish and this surprises you?"

"But that's the Intersect doing that." He pointed at his head. "That foreign language stuff is all up here. I've never been out of the United States in my life. To me, afternoon sun at this hour is so cool! OK, Miss I've-Traveled-the-World-on-the-Taxpayer's-Dime?"

"I think we'd both agree the taxpayers got a decent return on their investment."

"You're right," Chuck conceded, gently stroking her cheek and giving her a kiss. "Nobody ever looked hotter kicking ass than you. I mean, you certainly saved my life enough times."

"You're welcome," she replied, kissing him back.

"So…how does it feel?"

"It feels…it feels so wonderful," Sarah said, as relaxed as Chuck had ever seen her. "Everything feels so much simpler now. There's no stress, there's no worry. This is how I wanted things to be."

She wrapped her arms around Chuck. "And you're the person I've always dreamed of being with."

Chuck gave her a smile, that same smile that always made her feel like all of her hard work and risk was worth it. "This feels just phenomenal to me, too. I mean, I still can't believe it happened. To be in a place like this. And with you, of all people. I mean, do you even get how amazing of a person you are? And a caring one. And…extremely beautiful. I..."

Sarah frowned. "What is it?"

"Sorry. It's…it's stupid…"

"No, tell me," Sarah replied, gripping him more tightly.

"I…just can't figure out what I did to deserve someone as perfect as you."

Her smile was as bright as it had ever been. She held his face gently in her hands. "You were Chuck Bartowski. And believe me, I'm lucky to have someone as incredible as you. You're the man that I love."

She pulled his face to her and gave him an ardent kiss, her fingers lightly running through the hair on the back of his head. Their kisses continued to get more and more fervent.

Mayfair, London – United Kingdom
May 5, 2016
11:00 PM BST

He walked down the darkened alley, his senses at full alert. He knew the three men were here somewhere. They were the ones who held the smoking gun, the ones who were selling explosives and armament to terrorist groups who had infiltrated the U.K. in the last seven years. Their group didn't care about their fellow citizens: their purpose in life was the almighty pound…and how much of it they could get.

It grated on the man, the fact that MI-6 had to spend so much more time dealing with terrorists in their homeland than overseas. But then, he had been around the world in the last eight months in just about every exotic locale imaginable, so he certainly had it better than a lot of his fellow agents, some of whom had lost their lives on their own home soil since ISIS upped the ante.

He had managed to put himself in position as a middleman; he had the direct connections to several groups both in the U.K. and overseas. And he quoted a reasonable price to these men to do their work for them. They took the bait. Now he just had to wait for them to bring out the goodies.

He saw the three slowly approach his location. One of them carried a large suitcase. He hoped that was the C-4 that he promised to deliver to a terrorist network operating an hour outside of Damascus. The man described his plan for making the transfer without giving them too many details. Being too helpful, after all, would have tipped them off.

"Good evening, Mr. Hartnell," the man said to the leader of three.

"Mr. Baker, Mr. Tennant, this is Mr. Thomas Jones," Mr. Hartnell said to the two men with him. "He's about to make our lives much easier."

"I aim to please," Jones replied.

"Show us your plans to get this to Damascus."

"Let's see the money."

Hartnell stared at Jones for a moment. He then took out his smartphone and opened up one of his banking applications. He set up a transfer.

"Enter the account number where you want the money to go," Hartnell told him, handing Jones the smartphone.

Jones took the phone and entered the account number. He waited until the app confirmed the transfer of money before handing it back to Hartnell.

"Very well," Jones replied as Hartnell handed the smartphone to Baker. Tennant moved forward with the suitcase and Jones took out a tablet computer.

"We'll ship it through a freight company in Brighton, who will mark it as humanitarian supplies," Jones said, showing a map of the docks in Brighton. "My contacts with the UN relief effort will then intercept the package and bring it to your customers in Syria."

Hartnell looked back at Baker, who gave him a raised eyebrow. Hartnell looked past Jones and nodded.

Three more men appeared in the alley, all of whom pointed their guns at Jones.

Hartnell took the smartphone back from Baker and showed Jones the picture of him on it.

"Mr. Barker," Hartnell said with a tiny smile. "Agent Cole Barker, MI-6. I must generate a lot of respect in British Intelligence if they sent you here to get me. It really is a shame you get around the world a lot. Plenty of opportunities for you to be on security cameras in so many places."

Hartnell reached forward to search Cole, taking his gun and pointing it at him. "I'm afraid your career as an agent is about to become a little less successful."

Cole stared the man in the face, his eyes never wavering. The man got ready to pull the trigger.

Two shots were fired, and two of the men behind Cole fell to the ground.

Cole lunged forward and grabbed Hartnell's wrist, spinning around and putting his hand over the gun. He used it to shoot the third man as Carina Miller jumped out from her hiding place. She sent a spinning kick at Baker and doubled-back her foot, knocking him to the ground. Tennant swung the case at her but missed as she did the splits and dropped to the ground. He tried to go after her but she flipped back into the air, nailing him with an elbow. She grabbed the case and slammed it into his face, taking him out.

Cole brought his elbow up into Hartnell's face, knocking him back. Hartnell sent a kick to connect with Cole's head, which dazed him. Hartnell tried to attack, but Cole sidestepped him, giving him a kick to the back of the head and sending him forward. Carina and Cole stood side-by-side as Hartnell turned back with an evil grin. He went for his gun.

Cole grabbed the gun behind Carina's back and fired, shooting Hartnell between the eyes.

Cole then turned to Carina and looked in approval at the tight blouse and micro-miniskirt she was wearing.

"If this was the show, would this be the point where we'd make a joke about you being dressed to kill?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Carina smiled. "I'm surprised you went for the gun behind my back. You made a lucky guess one was there. I figured you'd drop to the ground and grab the one on my thigh."

"I didn't want you to interpret anything as foreplay."

Carina grinned and wrapped her arms around Cole's neck, giving him a heated kiss, her tongue teasing his. "Mmmm, just think what you owe me right now for saving your very tight ass. Again."

Cole gave her a pouty look. "Don't I get credit for taking out Hartnell? He tried to kill both of us."

"Uh-uh. I got four and you got two."

Cole gave a little exhale and reached down. "You don't even have a gun on your thigh," he said in a smooth voice as he checked…very slowly.

Carina raised an eyebrow as she started to get worked up. "Keep searching. I'm sure you'll find something you like," she purred, kissing him hard.

Qalat, Afghanistan
April 30, 2016
9:00 PM AFT

The figure took a small towel from their satchel and wrapped their hand in it. They then punched out the small window to the basement of the hospital. They had to act fast: their smartphone showed only fifteen minutes until the time the drone strike would take place. The intelligence the person obtained showed that this building was used for storage of weapons but the U.S. Navy thought it was simply a warehouse. Three dozen patients and ten doctors and nurses were here. They had to be evacuated, and quickly.

They found the control box for the fire control system. They crossed the wires and activated the alarms. They had to send the correct code: the one that would prompt the staff to evacuate the patients rather than seal them in their rooms.

And it was a success. The doctors and nurses coordinated the efforts to get everybody out of the hospital. Many of the patients could walk out on their own, and the ones who couldn't were wheeled out on gurneys. The local police authority got the patients and staff a reasonable distance away from the hospital as they readied a gas detector to see what had been released into the hospital.

Before any of them got close, a drone took out the entire hospital.

Everyone stared in utter shock. They knew instantly that it wasn't anything in the hospital that exploded; it was a missile hitting the building. And they quickly concluded someone intentionally evacuated them to avoid being hit. But why someone did this was the big mystery.

They would eventually find out the hospital doubled as a storage facility for ISIS weaponry, and they were thankful someone warned them to get out.

And in the distance, a woman wearing a niqab that only showed her blue eyes smiled underneath.

Office of the Director of National Intelligence – Washington, D.C.
May 4, 2016
8:30 AM EDT

John Casey had to admit Miles was right about one thing. He was starting to regret not taking golf lessons.

He entered the offices of the Director of National Intelligence. His assistant, an Army lieutenant, snapped to attention and saluted him the second he walked into his office. It was a bit jarring the first few times the lieutenant did it and truthfully, Casey was getting tired of having to return the salute. That was his reward for spending the past six years working more like a secret agent as opposed to an actual military officer. Ironic, given he played an ex-Green Beret on TV.

He had been in D.C. all of six days, and he was already bored.

Beckman brought him to her office on a temporary basis. Casey was supposed to teach advanced-level espionage techniques to the newest students going through Langley. However, that would require students who were ready for his level of expertise, and they would need two more months before that occurred. Until then, his days would be spent analyzing reports coming in from the field and consulting with Beckman and her advisory team on matters of state. Beckman needed someone who had gotten their hands dirty in the field on her team. Casey could certainly qualify magna cum laude in that department.

As usual, Casey's intelligence was grossly underestimated. Or the bureaucrats on Beckman's team really needed to get their heads out of their collective asses.

He was able to put into layman's terms the political climate of the world right then and the need for more internal focus, especially given what happened in San Bernardino five months ago. He noticed a lack of proper communication between Homeland, the FBI, and the NSA. He provided suggestions on streamlining those channels so local law enforcement received data more efficiently. Closer online monitoring was also suggested. Beckman approved these quickly and implementation would begin within a few weeks. It would be laughable if it wasn't so dangerous how little her current advisors knew about the state of defense and espionage in the country and the world.

And that was as exciting as his life was at the moment. State the obvious, lather, rinse, repeat.

So far, Beckman had made no mention of this alleged new group Miles boasted about. He wasn't sure if he'd return to the field to deal with them; there was no sense letting him sit around waiting for his students to be ready for him. But he wasn't aware of any plans on how to deal with this new threat.

As he sat in his office going over the hourly flash traffic memos only two dozen people in all of the government were allowed to see, he had to chuckle quietly. He was starting to miss the action. He thought he could live without the show, live without being in the field. But he was quickly discovering it was much harder than he anticipated. He was missing the chance to serve, the chance to take down the enemy, the chance to protect his country.

And he especially missed his partners and friends. Even that lanky nerd.

Carina spent years teasing him relentlessly about that night in Prague. But really, he had nobody but himself to blame. His weakness for hot, trouble-making women was so obvious. Thankfully, she was as ruthless in the field as he was and never backed down. And like him, her intelligence was always underestimated to the peril of those who did. Slade was borderline insufferable with his wisecracking and complete lack of arrogance, to say nothing about those goddamn self-effacing one-liners of his. But as was proven when the two of them retook that al Qaeda-controlled village…not to mention the number of times Slade improvised the team's way out of danger…he was the best person to have on your six. And Sarah, despite the emotional upheavals she put the team through with Bryce and then with Chuck, was the best leader Casey had ever known. She knew how to get the best out of everybody, knew when to let them do their jobs, and knew when she had to step up to the plate. And she was a good friend to boot. It was little wonder why Chuck would fall for her.

And it was even less wonder why Sarah would fall for him.

Even Casey had to concede Chuck was unlike any asset they ever had to guard. It was never about him: he didn't care he was the most important intelligence asset in the government and had to be protected as such. He wanted to know the people watching him, to help them, to make their lives better. He didn't even give a second thought to saving his sister when Riordan Payne poisoned the three of them; her life was more important than his. Chuck didn't even want to take the antidote when he realized Sarah and he would die as well. It was then Casey realized this was no ordinary asset. And Chuck continued to prove himself, getting the customers and employees out of the Buy More on Black Friday, saving Sarah from Sasha Banacheck, stopping Fulcrum when he discovered his ex-girlfriend worked for them, and even helping him reunite with Ilsa.

Casey figured the two were off together somewhere, finally happy. And likely getting horizontal, which grossed him out to no end.

He quickly went back to the memos before he'd be forced to get some brain bleach. He scrolled to the report that was quickly becoming his favorite: the story of someone making their way through the Middle East fighting ISIS…and quite successfully. Whoever this person was, they were brilliant in matters of reconnaissance and sabotage of locations of armament. They even arranged a few instances where they were managed to have the church, school, or hospital evacuated where ISIS was hiding its weapons so British missiles and American drones could be used to destroy them. This person's efforts were increasing the efficiency of the West's military response and lowering the odds of civilians being hurt.

Whoever this person was, Casey wanted to buy them a drink and give them a cigar.

Soho, London – United Kingdom
May 6, 2016
7:00 AM BST

Carina slipped out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. She still had her eyes only half-open, as she discovered the hard way having your own private jet didn't eliminate the jet lag. Neither did taking on armed thugs or screwing someone silly.

She opened the door still half-asleep when she felt a presence at the sink. She smiled and wrapped her arms around them, one hand drifting low.

"Good morning," she purred.

"Uh, good morning?" a voice most decidedly not Cole's answered.

Carina's eyes shot open and found herself face-to-face with a very handsome Middle Eastern man with a swimmer's body trimming his beard.

"Sorry!" she blurted out. "I thought you were Cole." She then took a moment. "Wait, why are you here?"

"Cole and I share the flat," the man replied. "It makes sense because neither of us are here that much and you know how expensive flat rates are in London."

Carina was a bit flustered. Not just from the shock but by how hot this guy looked wearing only a pair of purple briefs. "I'm…sorry about…that," she said nervously, pointing at his groin. "I…thought you were Cole. But hey, if it's any consolation, your girlfriend is one lucky gal."

"More like my boyfriend is one lucky guy."

"Aww, don't do that," Carina pouted. "I had such a good threesome fantasy brewing in my mind right now."

"Sorry to disappoint you," the man replied with a smile.

"Jesus, mate. Why didn't you tell me you were back in town?" Cole said behind Carina with a good-natured grin.

"My fault. I got in late last night and you two were…busy, so I didn't want to disturb you."

Cole turned to Carina. "Carina, this is Amir Nejem, my flat-mate and one of MI-6's best spies in the Middle East."

"Um…a pleasure?" Amir replied cautiously, shaking Carina's hand. "Cole told me he was seeing a hot Hollywood actress, but I didn't expect it to be you. Cole, why are you telling her…"

"You won't believe this. She works as an agent for the Americans. So do her co-stars. Jimmy Slade, John Casey, Sarah Walker, the whole lot. Can you believe that?"

Amir stood in wide-eyed surprise. "OK, I admit I did not see that coming. I know Cole was in New York not long ago, but he didn't give me any specifics. But all of you are spies? That is amazing."

"I'll bet the show doesn't play too well in a lot of parts of the Middle East," Carina replied.

Amir shrugged. "It's entertainment. Most people see the characters doing good. Heroes are heroes wherever you find them."

"Taking a break from work?" Cole asked him.

"A quick one. Just paying Trevor a visit then I have to go right back. There is a lot of chatter about someone sabotaging ISIS strongholds and making it easy for the Brits and the Americans to take them out with minimal civilian collateral damage. Nobody can catch her."

"A woman?" Carina asked with piqued interest.

Amir nodded. "She's getting quite famous, but with the way these terrorist organizations are organized, information goes predominantly one way: from the top down. The leadership has had trouble communicating with the individual cells. They call this woman Alrriah Alllazurdia."

"And translated means?" Cole asked.

"The Azure Wind."

Carina nodded at that. "She's good at disappearing when the job's done. And I'm guessing Azure refers to someone with blue eyes. If they can't identify her, she must be wearing a niqab that covers everything but her eyes. Otherwise why would they say azure if she wore a full burka?"

"All of that is correct," Amir agreed. "Which means finding her is as important to us as it is to the enemy. We need to know how she operates, and I think we would agree keeping her alive would be a good thing."

"Does HQ have any other data on her?" Cole asked.

Amir nodded. "Perhaps you can bring Miss Miller with you. She might see something we don't, or she can call in her friends to help."

Carina nodded. "I can give John Casey a call in D.C. But I think Sarah is off somewhere with Chuck. And I'm not really sure where Jimmy is right now."

"Still, no harm in you seeing what we have so far," Cole said. "Let's get ready."

Carina turned to Amir. "Would you mind if we…"

Amir shook his head and smiled. "Not the first time." He went to his bedroom while Carina pulled Cole into the bathroom.

Grand Hôtel – Stockholm, Sweden
May 7, 2016
9:30 PM CEST

Much to the relief of their room steward, Chuck and Sarah had finally managed to exit their suite and join the rest of the hotel guests in the majestic restaurant for dinner and dancing. The large room had tables set up in a half-circle around a dance floor with a band at the open end and an ornate chandelier hanging directly over the center of the dance floor.

Chuck sat next to Sarah at a table for two dressed in a navy blue suit with a striped tie they found at a shop in London, where they had spent a few hours before their flight to Stockholm. He hoped Sarah couldn't see his goofy smile any time he looked at her wearing that shimmering silver dress and her hair up with pins, as if she was daring him to plant kisses all along her neck. Luckily, the credit cards Carina and Jimmy set up for them worked to perfection. The biggest problem they had in London was avoiding all of the cameras the city had, but Sarah had practiced this as part of her spy training, so she was fairly certain nobody from the government had spotted them.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" Chuck asked her as they sampled their desserts.

"Only a few dozen times," Sarah retorted with a grin.

"What? Can't I tell the woman I love how beautiful she is?"

"Of course. I just hear that all the time from the fans and the tabloids. The difference is for some reason they think looks are all I have."

"Well, I know from personal experience that's not true. Not even close. And don't even think of selling yourself short in that department ever again."

"I'm a lot smarter than the tabloids give me credit for, sure," Sarah replied with a shrug. "But I had some pretty smart people working on my team for all those years. I mean, John Casey worked for over two decades in the military, and I was constantly amazed by his knowledge. Jimmy has a 160 IQ. That's quite a few points into genius territory. And Carina…even I have to admit there are not many who are better at thinking on their feet than her."

The two watched as many couples began to move to the dance floor. "Do you miss them?" Chuck asked quietly.

Sarah stared out at the floor for a moment before nodding in agreement. "Yes, I do. I don't regret doing this, but they were such a big part of my life."

"We'll see them again, Sarah," Chuck assured her. "What they did for me…what they did for you…you don't forget people like that. We should all be so lucky to…"

He didn't finish as he glanced across the restaurant and spotted a man with shoulder-length hair and a mustache. He flashed, seeing pictures of the Russian countryside, weapons, and an image of this man slitting someone's throat.

"Uh, Sarah?"

"What is it?" she asked nervously, knowing he had just flashed.

"That guy over there is Kolya Panarin," Chuck replied in hushed tones. "Freelance hitman. He's worked with a number of crime syndicates and even did some wetwork for the Syrian government a few years back."

Sarah studied him. "And he must have an assignment tonight," she said. "I've seen assassins wear outfits like that before. They're useful in concealing different types of weapons. But who is his target?"

Sarah continued to look at Panarin as Chuck scanned the crowd to see if there was anyone of importance in the room. He saw a fortysomething woman dancing with whom he assumed to be her husband. He had another flash.

"It might be her," Chuck said, pointing in the direction of the woman. "That's Olga Sokolov. She's negotiating some trade deals between former Soviet Bloc nations and the European Union."

"And if she's successful, there are a lot of mob-controlled Russian businesses that would not like it," Sarah concluded.

Panarin got up and took the hand of his date, leading her to the dance floor. Sarah began to get up as well.

"Sarah, what are you doing?" Chuck asked with considerable worry. "This was the very thing we're trying to get away from."

"We can't let an innocent woman be killed," she replied.

Chuck exhaled slowly. She had a point. He got up. "How will he do it?"

"In a situation like this, I'd dance with my partner until I got close then inject her with something poisonous. Make it small and innocuous so the crowd only thinks I bumped into her by accident."

Chuck scanned the crowd as Sarah noticed Panarin play with one of the rings on his fingers. Chuck flashed, and the Intersect's entire database on ballroom dancing came up.

He grabbed Sarah. "Get ready to intercept him."

Chuck began to dance with Sarah, pirouetting around the floor with her in a waltz that would make Arthur Murray applaud. Sarah stared in surprise at Chuck. The Intersect may have taught him how to dance, but being on the floor with him was such an amazing delight.

Pity they had someone's life to save.

Panarin and his date made their way closer to Sokolov. Chuck and Sarah moved on the floor from the other direction, their skills in the waltz impressing the crowd.

"Spin me out, Chuck," Sarah whispered.

Chuck spun her, hanging on to her one hand. Sarah turned and crashed into Panarin's right side. She grabbed his wrist to prevent herself from falling and pressed it hard into his thigh. The hidden needle on the underside of his finger went into his thigh.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Sarah exclaimed. "I'm such a klutz."

Chuck immediately pulled her back to him and Sokolov and her husband left the dance floor. Chuck and Sarah walked in the other direction, keeping an eye on them and on Panarin. He took a few steps and then grabbed his left arm. He staggered back to his table and collapsed, the poison making it look like he just had a heart attack. The maître d' ran to retrieve an automated external defibrillator, but it was no use. The crowd looked on in shock, completely unaware Panarin's date had disappeared.

Chuck and Sarah exited the restaurant and went down the hallway to the elevator. They knew it was in their best interests to pack quickly and leave. They took the elevator to their floor.

The doors opened to reveal Panarin's date and a couple of men with guns.

"I thought you looked familiar, Miss Walker," the woman said. "I'd like to think it was coincidence my partner was the victim of an unfortunate accident, but I don't."

She pulled out her own gun. "Let's find out who you two really are," she threatened, aiming the gun between Sarah's eyes.

Chuck flashed as instructions on kung-fu, ju-jitsu, boxing, and street combat flooded his mind. He quickly chopped at the woman's hand, forcing her to drop her gun. He then sent a spinning kick at one of the guards as Sarah attacked the other guard, twisting his wrist and spinning around, landing an elbow to his face. She slammed his wrist on her knee, forcing him to drop her gun. She kicked backwards to knock the woman down as Chuck leaped and landed a vertical kick on the first guard, knocking him out. The second guard tried to come at them but Sarah jumped, and Chuck grabbed her shoulders, swinging her around to land a heel to the side of the head of the man, knocking him out. She landed and threw a savage right cross at the woman, knocking her out.

They looked at the three people on the ground. "OK, I promise. This is the last time we do this," Sarah said.

"Agreed," Chuck replied.

They both stood there for a moment. "Retirement is going to be much harder than I thought, isn't it," Sarah said with a tinge of frustration.

Chuck nodded. "We'll work on it," he promised.

Edgewater Beach – Chicago, IL
May 12, 2016
2:00 AM CDT

'Time heals all wounds' was a well-known aphorism. But after two weeks, that wasn't true. The pain got worse every single day. And this night felt like it was already next month.

Jimmy sat on the rocks looking out at Lake Michigan, taking another swig from the bottle of Jack Daniels he brought with him. Nobody ever came to this part of the shore; he couldn't even have been seen by anyone living in the buildings behind him on Sheridan Road. And it wasn't likely the police would hassle him. That's why he chose this location. He didn't want anyone to know where he was.

It was over. Everything he had worked so hard for over the last three years was gone. Just like that. He finally had something in his life to be proud of. He was part of a team; he finally had close friends. And with one decision, Beckman took it all away.

Since leaving Los Angeles, he moved in a complete haze, as if he had just lost a loved one. That wasn't that far from the truth; Sarah, Carina, and Casey were the only people who ever gave a rat's ass about him. Sarah was right: he was trying to spy his way into an early grave. Until he joined her team, he did have a death wish. But once they put him on the show and Sarah got him to trust himself and the team, things had changed for the better. He had done a complete 180, even if he still made too many disparaging remarks about himself. The fans really liked him, always came out in droves when he made public appearances, and the work he did as an agent was thousands of times as effective as when he was a lone spy.

But after Beckman broke up the team and cancelled the show two weeks ago, it felt like he just plummeted off of a cliff.

Without a new assignment, he didn't know where to go. He went back to his hometown and tried to put on his best poker face regarding the show, since it would still be ten weeks before the show was officially cancelled. But his heart just wasn't in it. He couldn't handle smiling at these people and signing autographs knowing the big bombshell that would be dropped on them in mid-July. There wasn't even any logic for cancelling the show from the fans' standpoint. The show was as popular as ever. Beckman thought she could say Sarah was having 'personal issues' and that caused the show to end? It was ludicrous. He thought things couldn't get any worse.

And then they did.

They aired the season finale a few days ago, and to say the fans were shocked was putting it mildly. The water cooler question going around the country was if Lance McCall really was killed in that elevator shaft. The demand for interviews went through the roof. Every local Chicago TV station wanted to interview them on their morning programs. The Cubs wanted him to sing the 7th-inning stretch, and NASCAR even asked him to give the command to race at the event in Charlotte on Memorial Day Weekend. Eventually, he stopped answering his phone, too depressed to even think of doing anything but sitting on those rocks and staring out at the lake. He then went to take another drink from the bottle.

It was empty.

He looked at the bottle in absolute horror. He finished the entire bottle and didn't even notice it. He whipped the bottle away, sending it crashing on the rocks. He collapsed onto the rocks and began to cry. After all of his trials in life, after all of the abuse, the heartbreak, it had finally happened. The one thing he struggled his entire life to avoid.

He had turned into his father.

He remembered in his youth with horrid clarity how his father was once he turned to the bottle. The man stopped caring, stopped parenting, stopped the responsibilities that came with raising a family. He didn't even care he caused the death of his wife and daughter; it didn't even register with him. And the very path Jimmy worked hard not to go down was staring him in the face.

He slowly sat up. He refused to make the same mistake his father did. He wouldn't take the chance of hurting another innocent like his father did.

He reached behind him and pulled out his gun. He checked the magazine to make sure it was loaded and reinserted it. He pulled back on the slide and released the safety. He placed the gun under his chin.

Right next to him, his smartphone began to beep. His finger started to squeeze the trigger. The smartphone continued to beep. Jimmy's hand began to shake.

He pulled the gun away from his chin and looked at his smartphone. On his smartphone was a code and coordinates. The code was 7700. It was a code every spy knew: the code of a fellow agent in severe distress, sent when the DNI would not acknowledge their presence. Sending out the code meant they needed emergency assistance.

Jimmy's hand continued to shake. He put the gun back under his chin. The smartphone continued to beep.

"FUCK!" he screamed. He threw it into the lake.

Unknown Location
May 11, 2016
12:00 AM

The group of five sat around a semi-circular table in the darkness; the light from the computer screens in front of them the only things illuminating the room.

"With Fulcrum gone, we need a new strategy," the man on the far left said.

"Our plans can still go through," the man just to the right of center replied. "Fulcrum's work may not have been a complete waste."

"What do you mean?" said the woman sitting in the center.

"There is little doubt now this Charles Bartowski has intimate knowledge of the Intersect. Fulcrum ascertained that when they held his father. I believe Fulcrum's theory about Bartowski handing an Intersect upload is correct."

"That is some wild speculation," the man at the far right said.

"But what if it was Bartowski who defeated our agents in that CIA facility? What if it wasn't Walker's team? Even if I'm wrong, he is still worth capturing."

"We must find him," the woman in the center said.

"Let us try a new approach," the woman just left of center said. "Instead of wasting our time finding him, make him come to us."

"How?"

"He has an entire family and many friends still in Los Angeles. Let us apply the pressure on them and force him out of whatever hiding place he has found."

The woman in the center nodded. "Agreed."