Chapter Fourteen … in which Chuck makes a sacrifice, Sarah clears the air, Zondra admits a truth, Casey gives his all, and Ellie and Devon are called upon to save the day.
This chapter ends the Marlin arc and season one. Wow! What a ride it's been. As you'll see, canon's been left in the dust and will more or less stay there. There's a lot more to come.
Disclaimer: We don't own Chuck…
Chapter 14: Convergence
Chuck sat in the back of an unmarked police car with his hands cuffed in his lap, his mind reeling. What a cluster fuck. How'd things get so screwed up, so fast? He'd gone from the total elation he'd felt after finding the receiver and purging it of all of its data, to being held captive by the CIA. It was enough to give him whiplash.
From reading Longshore's dossier, Chuck had known the guy was a total badass—but the way he'd gotten the drop on Casey had been a shock to the system. At first, Chuck thought that Longshore had killed the NSA agent. After getting a closer look at the gun, though, he'd recognized the tranq pistol for what it was. It didn't have a silencer, but the shot was almost inaudible—just the high-pitched swooshing sound that usually accompanied firing such a weapon. Either way, at least Casey'd be all right—except for his complete mortification at letting this happen on his watch. The ex-Marine didn't tolerate failure, especially his own. Not to mention, he'd have to face Sarah when everything was said and done. On second thought, maybe Casey would have been better off if it had been a real gun.
That brought Chuck's thoughts back to the beautiful and enigmatic Sarah Walker. How would she handle it if he ended up being bunkered, never to be seen again? Their relationship had progressed so quickly, to the point where he no longer thought of them as two separate entities. They were Chuck and Sarah … Sarah and Chuck … they were them. Together—made whole. Apart—incomplete. The insecurities that'd haunted him since Stanford had completely washed away when she declared her love for him. Just the thought of her gave his life color and weight; it now had definition. And to his delighted surprise, Chuck had come to realize that somehow, he'd given her the same gift. He'd been able to show Sarah that the same emotion that could break your heart into a million pieces could sometimes be the very one to heal it. If he was suddenly ripped from her life—the way it looked like he would be right now—it would destroy them both. Terror crept down Chuck's spine at the implications.
There was still a thread of hope. Longshore hadn't thought to remove Chuck's watch, so Sarah would most likely be tracking them. She'd been talking to Casey when Longshore had ambushed the NSA agent and must've heard what went down before Longshore crushed Casey's cell phone under his foot.
He had faith in Sarah's abilities, but things were looking pretty bleak at the moment. Dusk settled, and the streetlights came on. His kidnapper's car sped by them, bearing Chuck closer and closer to an unknown destination, and the strobe effect brought him out of his melancholic haze. He looked over at Longshore's silhouette as the agent lifted his phone to his ear.
"This is Longshore," he said, with a brevity that would've done Casey proud. "I have the package. ETA to the extraction point is five minutes. I'll call back once I'm on site. Prep the bird."
The bird? Despite the gravity of the situation, Chuck wanted to laugh. It was like he'd fallen sideways into a bad police drama. "So … this is it, huh?" he said, the first words he'd spoken since Longshore had cuffed him and shoved him into the back of the car. "Gonna get my own padded cell. Do I get a bed, or is my whole room kind of like a bed?"
"It's not as bad as it sounds. The underground complex where you'll be living has state-of-the-art security and amenities. You'll even be allowed outside to visit controlled locations."
God, the guy was like the world's most depressing tour guide. "State-of-the-art amenities?" Chuck said, employing his typical defense mechanism—humor. "Do I have an indoor racquetball court with a cyborg opponent? A salt cave with my own personal masseuse? 24/7 open bar? Exactly what are we talking about here?"
Longshore twisted his head to glare at Chuck. "This is not a joke. Things could be worse for you. Be grateful."
"Grateful that I'm gonna be stashed away in some underground version of a mausoleum? That I might never see my family again?" He flexed his hands, wishing he was Casey or Sarah and knew some magic method to extract himself from these damned cuffs. Then maybe he'd stand a chance of escape. "I … I can't leave without telling Ellie something—a reason for going. What should I say?"
"Nothing," Longshore said, his eyes on the road. "It's safer for them if you just … disappear."
Disappear? Was the guy crazy? So he was supposed to leave Ellie all alone, wondering for the rest of her life what had happened to him? They both already had that kind of baggage about their parents. Now he was supposed to add to her emotional load? Oh, hell no.
"Listen up, agent," Chuck said, his voice thick with venom. "I'm not about to do that to my sister. I don't care what you have to do to make it happen, but I need to call her and let her know what's going on."
Longshore ignored him, leaving Chuck seething. That clinched it. No more Mr. Nice-Captive. He needed to stall anyway, to give Sarah more time to find him. Even if Longshore ended up tranqing him too, Chuck knew his dead weight would still slow the agent down.
The car slowed, and Longshore flicked on his right turn signal. He pulled into a parking lot, and Chuck looked up at the building as a sense of déjà vu swept over him. He knew this place well. This was the extraction point where Sarah had brought Chuck after their first 'date' went to hell and she'd been forced into a standoff with Casey on its rooftop. It was equipped with a helipad—hence Longshore's reference to the 'bird.' If he managed to get Chuck onboard before Sarah arrived, it was all over. She was good—the best. But she couldn't stretch out her arms and fly.
The CIA agent parked the car, got out, and opened the back door. "Okay," he said. "Let's go."
Chuck slid to the opposite side of the car, as far away from the open door as possible. Visions of Gandhi flashed through his mind. He wouldn't try and fight Longshore—that would be the height of foolishness—but he could passively resist him. He just needed more time. Come on, Sarah. Where are you?
Leaning down, Longshore peered in at him, his brow creased with irritation. "I don't know what you think you're trying to accomplish here, Bartowski, but it won't work. I don't have time for this shit."
Wordless, Chuck just stared back at the agent, unblinking—unmoving.
Longshore's voice dropped, turning low and gravelly. "I don't think you fully understand the scope of the situation. My orders—" he pulled out his real gun, pointing it at Chuck's head in some kind of bizarre punctuation—"are to try and get you secured safely, unless I feel the risk is too great. Then all bets are off. Trust me when I say this. You are rapidly becoming expendable in my eyes."
Chuck watched as Longshore flipped off the safety on his gun. The agent's finger twitched, tightening around the trigger. Not good. Maybe Chuck had overplayed his hand this time.
"Whoa ... whoa!" Stupidly, he held up his cuffed hands to shield his face—like that would do him any good against a bullet at close range. "Don't shoot. Jesus Christ. What the hell is wrong with you?"
He hadn't meant it as a rhetorical question, but the CIA agent didn't bother to answer. "Step out of the car and keep your trap shut," he said, reminding Chuck once again of Casey. The two of them would've made great taciturn buddies if they weren't on opposite sides of Operation Chuck 'Asset' Bartowski. "Remember," Longshore said, his gun still leveled in Chuck's direction, "silence is golden, but duct tape is silver."
Great—agent witticisms for the ages. Chuck would have to remember that one to share with Casey—if he ever saw the major again.
Slowly, he slid back towards the open door, still stalling for time. Losing the balance of his patience, Longshore reached in, grabbed Chuck by his hair, and yanked him out of the car, throwing him unceremoniously onto the asphalt. Now Chuck could add a little road rash to this glorious day. Yippee!
"Damn, man," Chuck said, staring up at the CIA agent. The guy loomed above him like some kind of armed colossus, backlit by a lone streetlight. "Lighten up, would you?"
In response, Longshore reached down, grabbed the chain that separated Chuck's hands, and pulled him to his feet. "Come on," he said, as if Chuck had a choice. "Let's go."
Reluctantly, Chuck followed. He tried to slow his pace, but whenever he did, the CIA agent yanked on the chain of his cuffs, making the metal of the bracelets bite into his wrist. He felt like a dog wearing a pinch collar. Resisting turned out to be pointless. Each arduous step up the nine flights of stairs felt like the gallows march. His life as he knew it was over.
When they finally made it to the top, Chuck could taste the salt from his sweat and tears. He couldn't hold it in any longer. He would miss everyone so much, but especially Sarah. All he could do now was pray for her to move on and find some kind of happiness. He knew it was unlikely, but he still hoped.
Once again, his captor pulled out a cell phone and dialed. "The package is ready for extraction," Longshore said with grim satisfaction. "Send in the chopper."
OoOoOoOoO
Sarah threw her phone into the passenger seat as her car skidded around the last turn. Her tires squealed and bumped, barely gripping the road, as she hit the straightaway towards her target. She would find Chuck, and she would save him. Anything else was unthinkable.
At least Zondra was en route. She'd have backup … or, at least she hoped she would. Sarah was still not completely assured as to where Zondra's loyalties lay. Then again, if the expression that Sarah'd seen in her friend's eyes when she was looking at Chuck were any clue, Zondra would be a force to reckon with. Chuck's lovable magnetism had struck again. Sarah knew firsthand the effects of such feelings.
She was still berating herself for allowing this to happen. Sarah should've been there, with him, instead of fighting that wildcat schwarma girl. If they ever got out of this mess, there was no way in hell she'd ever agree to be separated from Chuck again. If something happened to him because of this, she'd never forgive herself. It was as simple as that. Her life would be over.
One thing was for sure—no more sitting on the sidelines, hoping things magically panned out. She would ensure they did, going forward. She was the trained agent, but Chuck was her future. He was her … everything.
Her heart pumping as tears threatened to well up in her eyes, Sarah made the final turn into the parking lot. Fishtailing to a stop in front of a familiar set of stairs, she leapt from the car, not bothering to turn off the engine.
She took the steps two, sometimes three at a time, but her ascent still felt like an eternity. Every second was vital. On the final floor, Sarah drew her gun and, for the first time since she was a tiny child, prayed.
When she rounded the last corner, relief flooded her body. She wasn't too late. Chuck stood there next to Longshore—handcuffed and looking miserable, but in front of her and alive.
There wasn't time for subterfuge. Sarah had no choice but to tackle this situation head-on, and hope her backup came through. "Longshore!" she yelled, and the agent's head swiveled toward the sound.
His eyes widened in recognition—and in surprise, when he focused on her gun. "Is there a problem, Agent Walker?" His hand settled on his own gun, holstered at his waist.
Chuck's eyes widened too, but with a potent combination of relief and gratitude. "Sarah. Thank God you're here. Listen, I … I don't wanna go yet. I ca—"
The sound of Chuck's voice was beautiful, especially because Sarah had thought she might never hear it again. Still, there was no time for her to let him finish talking. "Listen to me carefully, Longshore," she said, cutting Chuck off and training her gun on the CIA agent. "Your life could depend on it. The Fulcrum mole's in custody. You're to release the asset to me … Graham's orders."
Longshore shook his head. "If there was a change in the operation, I would have been contacted. I have my own orders, Walker."
Honesty hadn't worked; Sarah tried to appeal to Longshore's humanity, if he had any. "You don't have to do this. Don't make me forcefully take him from you. You have a choice."
"You know I don't. His cover was blown; he's gone."
"No," Sarah protested. "I take full responsibility. Chuck's my asset. He's my guy."
It was as if she hadn't spoken. Longshore's eyes lit with an expression Sarah had seen many times over the years—the fervor of the true believer. Casey used to look like that … before Chuck came into their lives.
"Don't do this," she begged, but she might as well have been talking to herself. Longshore unclipped the strap that held his gun in his holster, ready to strike. "No!" she yelled, but it was too late—he'd made his choice.
Chuck spun towards Longshore in time to see him remove his gun and point it in Sarah's direction. The heroic idiot stepped in between the two of them with his cuffed hands held up, blocking them from shooting each other.
Desperate, Sarah tried to sidestep Chuck to get a bead on the other CIA agent. Before she could get a shot off, a scream came from the stairs. Zondra barreled onto the scene, her Beretta drawn and aimed at Longshore.
The moment morphed into a slow-motion version of a Grade B horror film. Startled by Zondra's sudden appearance, Longshore swung his gun at the newest threat. Chuck, being … Chuck, moved without thought.
"Zondra!" he screamed. "Watch out!"
Sarah could only watch, helpless, as Chuck dove through the air just as Longshore squeezed the trigger. The result was instant. The bullet hit Chuck with such force that he was driven back a few feet from where he would've landed if gravity had had its way.
Frozen in a moment of shock, Sarah's world collapsed. Forgetting Longshore altogether, she ran to Chuck.
The staccato recoil of Zondra's gun was the only sound Sarah registered as Zondra emptied her entire clip into Longshore, yelling at the top of her lungs. She left a bloody mess in her wake, but Sarah paid no attention to what remained of Chuck's captor—the agent who'd shot the man she loved. Dimly, she was aware Zondra was making sure Longshore was down for the count—that he wasn't going to get up and shoot Chuck again—but none of that mattered. All she cared about was getting to Chuck, even though she was terrified of what she'd find.
When Sarah reached Chuck's side, he was lying face down in a pool of his own blood. No, no, no, no. The syllable pounded in Sarah's head, louder than the frantic beat of her heart. She rolled Chuck over, afraid to look. He lay still, his face blanched, and for a terrible moment she was sure he was dead. Then his voice came, still beautiful, but laced with pain.
"Ow, ow, ow. Damn, that hurts," he said, sounding dazed. "Wait a minute. Oh, my God, Sarah. I was shot!"
"I know, Chuck. Just lie still. We'll get you help." Sarah did her best to project an aura of calm, but inside, she was dissolving into pure panic. The white shirt under Chuck's jacket was wicking red down his entire right side. He was losing blood fast. By a miracle, Sarah hadn't lost him … but if she didn't do something soon, she still might.
"How bad is it?" He struggled to see the damage for himself … and then passed out cold, either from shock or the sight of his own blood. Sarah prayed it was the latter. They needed to move him, and in a hurry.
"Sarah?" It was Zondra's voice, smaller and more timid than Sarah had ever heard it. "Is he …"
The anguish and desperation in Zondra's voice rivaled Sarah's own. "No. He's alive, but we need to get him help as quickly as possible if we want to keep him that way. Help me get his jacket off. I need to see exactly where he was hit so we can apply pressure. He's losing a lot of blood."
They wrestled his jacket off and Sarah ripped open his shirt. The wound was right between his pectoral muscle and shoulder. Thank God, it didn't look like the bullet had hit any major organs—but bullets tended to fragment and bounce around when they entered the body. Well, she couldn't think about that right now. She needed to concentrate on stemming his blood loss and worry about everything else once they got him help.
Sarah took out one of her knives and cut off a sleeve from Chuck's jacket. She glanced over at Zondra, looking for help. None was forthcoming. The other agent stared into the middle distance, tears running down her normally stoic face. Sarah could relate, but right now she needed Zondra to snap out of it.
"Z, give me a hand here," she said, her voice sharp. "Hold him up."
The fog cleared from Zondra's eyes and she lifted Chuck up enough for Sarah to wrap the sleeve under his arm and over his shoulder. She tied the sleeve in a knot, as tight as she could make it. Without anything else on hand to use, Sarah slipped her gun through the knot and twisted it, tightening the makeshift tourniquet even more. She knew it must hurt like hell, but Chuck didn't make a sound. Not good.
When they had the tourniquet secured, Zondra finally spoke. "Why would he do it, Sarah? The guy I just took down—he had me dead to rights. I know I shouldn't have just barreled up here without a plan. I'd be dead right now if it wasn't for Chuck."
Sarah didn't disagree, but now wasn't the time for a rhetorical debate. "You can thank him later," she said, inspecting her handiwork to be sure it would hold. "Right now, we need to get him off this roof. There's a chopper inbound." In fact, she was pretty sure she could hear it in the distance. "They can't find us up here when they land. We need to move him … now."
"I noticed an elevator on the floor right below us," Zondra said, making a visible effort to control herself.
That would have to be good enough. "Come on. Grab his feet."
Sarah snatched up what was left of Chuck's jacket and together, the two of them managed to haul Chuck to the floor right below and call for the elevator. The whop-whop-whop echo of the approaching helicopter was clear now, getting closer by the second. Their time was up. Once the pilot landed and called in the gruesome sight of Longshore's body—plus the trail of blood left by Chuck's wound—Sarah knew that Beckman would let loose the hounds. Graham had told her to do whatever she needed to do to take Chuck out, including killing Longshore if the situation required it, but he would've never wanted her to leave such a mess. If Chuck lived, the situation had possibilities—but right now, they were in a world of trouble.
Once they got to the ground floor, choices needed to be made. Zondra's Jeep was parked right behind Sarah's Porsche. The doors of both vehicles were wide open, abandoned when their owners had leaped out to get to Chuck.
Zondra chimed in, settling the matter. "Put him in my back seat so we can lay him flat. We can't take him to the hospital. There'll be a BOLO out on him shortly. What'll we do?"
During their descent in the elevator, Sarah had run through all of their options. She'd only come up with one decent scenario. It was risky as hell, but it might mean the difference between life and death for Chuck. "We need to get to Devon right now," she said. "He's our best chance. We need to get Chuck back to Echo Park. I just hope Devon's there. I'll call Casey en route so he's ready for our arrival. Stay on my ass and don't let anyone stop you."
Zondra nodded, and they maneuvered Chuck into the back seat of the Jeep. Zondra elevated his feet as Sarah draped her jacket over his to help keep him warm. Shock was still an issue and he was becoming ghostly pale, but when Sarah checked his shirt, it looked like the blood loss had slowed. Their tourniquet was holding—but would it be enough?
Before she headed for her car, Sarah removed Chuck's watch and stomped it under her boot heel. He was supposed to disappear without a trace, according to Graham's orders, and if he survived, that's exactly what he'd do.
She got into her car and put it in gear, trying to control her panic. Sarah's promise to herself—to not be separated from Chuck—was already taunting her. Minutes later, here she was, depending on someone she used to suspect of being a traitor to keep Chuck safe. Only the look in Zondra's eyes stifled her reluctance.
Zondra had stared down at Chuck's motionless body with an expression of pure adoration and devotion. The guy had literally taken a bullet for her. He'd thrown himself in the line of fire to save her life without a second thought.
Yep, Zondra was now completely hooked. Line and sinker. Any way you looked at it, Sarah was so screwed. Damn it.
Well … as long as Chuck survived, Sarah could deal with the fallout later. She backed out of her parking spot. Zondra left her just enough room to take the lead, and, tires squealing, the Porsche swerved into traffic.
The moment Zondra's headlights appeared in her rearview, Sarah grabbed her phone from the passenger's seat and made the call.
"Walker," Casey said immediately. "I'm so sorr…"
Sarah had never heard the NSA agent apologize before, but right now she couldn't care less. "Save it, Casey. Where are you?"
"Inbound on your location." Casey was all business. "ETA … three minutes."
"Well, turn around. Chuck's been shot. We're headed for Echo Park—no time to explain. Cut the surveillance and prep the med kit."
There was a brief silence. Then Casey said, his voice laden with self-recrimination, "Copy that. I'm on it."
The line went dead and she finally allowed the black well of emotion to engulf her.
OoOoOoOoO
He saved me. That heroic, lovable, self-deprecating, adorable nerd saved me. Those two sentences played on repeat in Zondra's head as she pursued Walker's car.
Her heart was no longer in a tug of war battle with her brain. Both were now solely fixed on the man in her back seat, fighting for his life. She'd been so foolish these past few months. Always fighting her feelings because of the asset/handler protocol and her lingering thoughts of Bryce—someone who would've never put her life above his own, the way Chuck just had. Hell, Bryce never even acknowledged her completely, when push came to shove. What a colossal waste of time.
Then there was her job with the CIA—the same organization that had just tried to imprison an innocent man who'd gone above and beyond the call of duty for his country. He'd never asked for any of this, yet he'd always risen to the occasion, and that's how they wanted to repay him? Well, screw that.
Zondra had spent so much time trying to find her way back into the CIA's good graces after the whole C.A.T. squad debacle, and for what? So she could be party to the betrayal of a wonderful man? That's not what she'd signed up for.
Well, the bloom was certainly off of the rose now. Beckman's words—when Zondra had begged for the time that was promised them—had left a mark. That callous bitch's flippant attitude was still etched in her mind. You know the game, Agent Rizzo. The order has gone out. Chuck is coming in.
This was no game. It was a man's life. Not just any man, but someone who was beyond special to her. For the first time since Zondra had joined the CIA, she felt completely disillusioned by the whole gig. If it wasn't for the man barely clinging to life in her back seat of her car, she'd turn in her gun and badge and walk away.
As Zondra's and Sarah's cars blew through a red light, she stole a glance over her shoulder to check on Chuck. The sight left Zondra chilled. His face was ashen and his hand had fallen off his chest and dropped to the floorboard between the front and back seats, leaving his palm showing—coated with blood.
She reached back and grabbed hold of Chuck's wrist, her other hand tight on the wheel, and felt a slow and steady pulse. Lacing her fingers through his, she spoke to the ether—grief dripping from her every word.
"Damn it, Chuck. Don't you dare even think about leaving me … got it? I need you to fight right now. I've got so much I need to tell you, but not like this. I've been so stupid—so caught up in my own head. Never again, Chuck. Do you hear me?"
Of course, there was no response—but at least he was still alive. Carefully, she laid Chuck's hand back on his chest and wiped away the lone tear that'd escaped down her cheek.
Her blurred vision wasn't just the byproduct of the tears she was fighting back. Walker was driving like a woman possessed. It was all Zondra could do to keep her Jeep from lifting off the road. She had an inkling of what was driving Walker on, but decided she'd cross that bridge once Chuck was out of the woods.
Oh, yes. She had a few questions for Walker, all right. What was she even doing here, for starters? This was the second time she'd showed up out of nowhere—and right when Chuck's life depended on it, too. That couldn't be a coincidence. What was going on between her and Chuck? Sarah had sworn there was nothing between them, and Chuck had too. But this wasn't the way a CIA agent drove when their former asset had been shot. This was how a woman careened down the road when her lover's life was in danger. Zondra would have been willing to bet that both Walker and Chuck had lied to her about the nature of their relationship—unless, of course, it was one-sided.
Well, Zondra could certainly understand why Walker would fall for Chuck. After all, she certainly had. If she hadn't been willing to admit it to herself before—or if she'd been in any way on the fence—having the guy take a bullet for her was the clincher.
So what exactly existed between Walker and her former asset? And if—when—Chuck healed, was there any way he'd turn to Zondra? A guy didn't let himself get shot for just anyone, did he? Then again, if that guy was Chuck Bartowski, maybe he did …
Zondra shoved all of those questions down as they rounded the last turn, heading for Echo Park. As they pulled up by the front gate to the courtyard, Casey stood sentinel, waiting. When he saw their cars approaching he started to pace, ready to pounce. Before she could even get her car into park, he'd already scooped Chuck out of the backseat with such efficiency, it was hard not to be impressed. It was also impossible not to notice the pained look plastered all over the NSA agent's face. At least they were all on the same page concerning Chuck's well-being.
Casey spun on his heels with Chuck in his arms and was off. Sarah led the way and was already through the gates. Zondra assumed she was sprinting ahead to check and see if Devon was home. Both his and Ellie's cars were parked out front, so that was a good sign. Please, she thought desperately. Please be there. Ellie was a talented neurologist, but a cardiothoracic surgeon was what they really needed right now.
By the time Zondra reached the fountain, Casey's door was wide open and Walker had already gone through the front door of the Bartowski/Woodcomb residence. Through the window Zondra could see Sarah standing in front of Devon and Ellie, who were sitting on the couch. She was gesturing wildly, her arms flailing about with more animation than Zondra had ever seen. A moment later the two doctors leapt to their feet, dashed out the door, ran across the courtyard, and ducked into Casey's apartment, closing the door behind them.
Sarah stumbled out of Chuck's apartment and collapsed on the edge of the fountain, elbows on her knees and face in her hands. Her entire posture telegraphed misery. If Zondra hadn't been sure before, she knew now. This wasn't a woman who was just doing her duty. This was a woman in love. Shit!
Time for some damn answers.
"So, Walker," Zondra said, "just what the hell is going on? Why are you here?"
"I know you have a lot of questions, Z, but I don't want to leave Chuck alone right now," Sarah said, lifting her head. There were dark smudges under her eyes. "Not that he's alone, per se, but—I want to be in there with him … just in case. Before I go, though—there's something you need to hear."
Blinking back tears of her own, Sarah took out her phone. Glancing up at Zondra, she pulled up a recording and hit play.
Zondra felt nauseated as she listened to Graham order Walker to kill Chuck—making sure it looked like a Fulcrum hit—so he could better line the CIA's coffers. Rage coursed through her veins. First Beckman and now Graham. Everyone she'd been working for either wanted to use Chuck for their own ends or destroy him completely.
Maybe this was a messed-up thing to think about right now—certainly it proved that beneath her CIA training beat the heart of a true nerd—but the situation with Graham and Beckman reminded Zondra of the Star Wars novel Betrayal. She'd meant to recommend this one to Chuck, actually—she'd thought he'd like it. God, what if she never got the chance?
In Betrayal, Luke Skywalker had warned, 'There are times when the end justifies the means. But when you build an argument based on a whole series of such times, you may find that you've constructed an entire philosophy of evil.' Wasn't that exactly what Beckman and Graham were doing? They both preached incessantly about how the greater good could justify horrendously evil acts. There was no line they wouldn't cross under that guise. In the end, they were no better than Fulcrum and they needed to be stopped.
When the recording ended, Sarah slipped the phone into her pocket and dropped her face back into her hands. Zondra wanted more than anything to see how Chuck was doing, but there was one more thing she needed to get straight first.
"You love him, don't you?" she asked Sarah.
Slowly, Sarah nodded. "Since the day I met him ... And I can see that you love him too."
What was the point in denying it? "Never claimed I was smart," she said, eyes flicking toward the door to Casey's apartment. "Come on, blondie. Let get in there and make sure he's still around for us to fight over."
OoOoOoOoO
Casey sat beside his kitchen table with a needle from a field blood transfusion kit stuck in his arm. He was O negative—the universal blood donor—and knew time was of the essence. He'd already prepped the kit before Walker and Rizzo arrived. If Bartowski needed blood, it was gonna be his. He owed it to the kid and didn't care if they took every last drop he had.
Remembering their earlier conversation about Casey being part of Chuck's family was eating him alive. He'd failed his newly-minted brother when Longshore had gotten the drop on him and he wondered if Chuck would ever forgive him. He knew he didn't deserve it.
Casey had spent a fair amount of time studying the classics; you never knew what you might learn. Right now, Aristotle's words were ringing true in his head: Shame is an ornament of the young; a disgrace of the old. Throughout his time in the Marines and then later with the NSA, Casey'd seen his fair share of gunshot wounds, but right now he was having a hard time even looking at Bartowski laid out on his table as his sister's boyfriend—fiancé?—operated on him with Ellie acting as Devon's surgical nurse.
While they were prepping the kid, Walker had filled him in on everything that'd happened. He hated to admit it, but it stung a bit to find out Rizzo had killed Longshore before Casey had a chance to stretch the bastard's neck. At least he could find comfort in the fact that Longshore would soon be worm food—may the son of a bitch rot in hell.
It was a testimony to Walker's character that she didn't look at him in disgust when she brought him up to speed. She'd never have let Chuck be taken like that on her watch. But Casey could also tell she was barely holding it together. Rizzo too. They were both looking at the kid like he was sand slipping through their fingers.
Sarah's reaction was to be expected, but the look on Rizzo's face had left Casey gobsmacked. When the hell had she fallen for the kid? Bartowski'd struck again.
Out of Casey's peripheral vision, he saw Ellie bend down to measure the collecting bag of the transfusion kit. He chanced a glance her way, and saw a sad smile light her face.
"That's enough, John," she said. "Thank you so much."
"Are you sure?" He flexed his fingers. "I still feel fine."
"That's sweet of you, but no. I think we have all we need." Removing the needle, she taped a cotton ball at the crook of his elbow, covering the puncture mark. "Bend your arm and hold it up, okay?"
"Thanks, Ellie," Casey muttered, doing as he was told. God. What was it with these damned Bartowski siblings? Here she was, thanking someone who'd completely failed her brother and allowed him to be captured. Did she not understand that this was all his fault? What exactly had Walker told them? This situation was way worse than any torture Casey could've imagined.
"Got it!" Devon said with a surgeon's gruesome jubilation, interrupting Casey's thoughts. "Hey John … come over here and take a look at this. Tell me what you think."
Ellie handed him a surgical mask. He hooked it over his ears, walked around the table, and got his first good look at Chuck's face. The kid looked bad—pale, limp, and covered in blood. Seeing him like that made Casey want to shoot something.
When he made it around to where Devon was standing, Casey could see the surgeon holding a slug with his forceps. "Does that look whole to you?" Devon said.
Finally, something he could do. He knew bullets. If this one had sheared off, he'd be able to tell. He peered at it, squinting to be sure. It was a 9mm—standard issue—and it hadn't fragmented. "Yeah, you're good," he said, his voice gruff.
"Thanks, John." Devon turned to Ellie, who was standing next to him, her face nearly as pale as her brother's. "Okay, babe. I could use a bit of suction so I can double check for any bleeders. Then we can stitch him up."
Ellie's lower lip trembled, but she nodded and complied. How the hell must she feel, watching her boyfriend operate on her brother on her neighbor's kitchen table? Casey had to hand it to her—she was a trouper. No complaints, no whining, just jumping in and doing what needed to be done. Still, she should never have been in this position. If Casey had done his job properly, Ellie would be sitting on the couch eating popcorn and watching flicks … not suctioning blood away from Chuck's goddamn gunshot wound.
Walker was hovering next to the table, looking devastated. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her hands streaked with Chuck's blood. She hadn't said a word since she and Zondra had come into the apartment, not wanting to distract Devon from his work. Now, though, she couldn't hold it in any longer.
"Is he gonna be okay, Devon?" she said. Casey could tell she was struggling to keep her voice steady.
The surgeon nodded as Ellie put a needle in his hand. "We'll still need to keep an eye out for infection and he'll not have the use of his right arm for about a month or so, but yeah. I think he'll be fine. He's really lucky. The bullet didn't even break any bones and no organs were hit. That's pretty rare."
At this, all three women broke down in tears. Well, shit. Casey needed to get out of there before he lost his damn mind.
"Thank you so much Awes… I mean Devon," Walker managed, wiping her eyes.
Ellie grinned at Walker through her tears. "It's okay, Sarah. You can say it. I think this time the name fits. He was awesome."
"Thanks, babe," Devon said, putting the final suture in Chuck's wound and setting the needle down on his makeshift operating tray.
As Devon took his mask off and Ellie began clearing away the detritus from the operation, Casey's phone rang. He looked down to see who it was, then held up his hand to the room and placed his index finger to his lips for silence.
"Casey, secure but in public," he said.
"Report, Major," Beckman barked. "Where's the asset?"
Casey had had plenty of time to think through what he was going to say—a combination of truth and lies. The words flowed easily off his tongue, fueled by relief that the kid was going to make it.
"Agent Longshore tranqed me in an ambush at the Buy More after we recovered the receiver. After I came to, I tracked the asset's watch to what I presume was the designated extraction point. When I arrived, the scene was gruesome, to put it kindly. Agent Longshore's body was riddled with bullets and what looked to be a second target's blood—either the perp's or the asset's." His eyes fell on Chuck's body again, and anger flooded him. He almost wished that asshole Longshore wasn't dead, so he could have the pleasure of killing him again … slowly. "I suggest we deploy one of our teams to the site so we can ascertain the DNA and know for sure. I'm currently sweeping the area. Tracking Bartowski's watch is pointless, since I found it leading away from the building. My gut's telling me this was a professional hit—possibly Fulcrum."
Silence. Then Beckman said, "Have you been in touch with Agent Rizzo? Maybe she has more information."
Casey looked over at Zondra, who was standing a step behind Walker. She'd pulled a napkin from somewhere and was dabbing at her eyes. Casey gave her a pointed look and she slowly shook her head.
"No, ma'am," he said, lying to a superior and not minding one bit. "Agent Rizzo's been M.I.A. since the ambush. If she was tracking the asset as well, it's possible she ended up as collateral damage. Again—we need to know whose blood is on that helipad."
"Very well, Major," Beckman said briskly. "I'll send in a team. In the meantime, I want you to continue combing the area. That building didn't have any surveillance. It's why we chose that location in the first place. But someone had to have seen something. Talk with Bartowski's friends and family, too. We can't trust anyone at this point. And Casey …"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"If you do manage to locate the asset, take him out." Her voice was steel. "He's far too dangerous to us now. Are we clear?"
"Crystal," Casey told her. Indeed, so many things were becoming clear—including Beckman and Graham's level of malevolence.
Some people became NSA, CIA, or even FBI agents because they craved power and cheap thrills. Casey'd never been one of them. He'd joined the Marines and then the NSA because he was a patriot who believed fervently in upholding the Constitution's tenets. Now he was once again being asked to engage in the murder of an innocent man. Well, the hell with that. His boss didn't understand the first thing about honor and Casey didn't have the time or crayons to explain it to her. She was a disgrace to the uniform.
True to form, Beckman hung up without saying goodbye. Good riddance. Casey couldn't wait to help bring the bitch down once and for all.
OoOoOoOoO
When Casey got off the phone, Sarah knew it was time to leave. Chuck was in grave danger hiding out here in Echo Park—and Casey's taciturn face had still spoken volumes. She was sure of it: He'd just gotten the same order from Beckman that she'd gotten from Graham.
It was also time to clear the air and say what needed to be said. This was her team. Her family. Her future. There was no telling when Sarah'd have another chance.
"Ellie," she said, watching Chuck's sister drop bloodied cloths into Casey's kitchen trash can, "it's time to tell Devon the truth."
Behind her, Casey made an uneasy sound. "Walker, do you really think—"
She rounded on him. "Yes, Casey, I do. I'm tired of all the lies. Devon just saved Chuck's life. No questions asked, he just spent an hour patching up Chuck's gunshot wound on your kitchen table. I think he deserves to know why Chuck got shot, don't you? Not to mention the mess Devon's now in the middle of, just because he's a good guy who was in the right place at the wrong time—sound familiar?"
Casey gave a noncommittal grunt, which Sarah took for agreement. Either way, it didn't matter—she'd made up her mind.
Before she could say anything, though, Ellie spoke up. "I would very much like to know why my brother got shot, and I'm sure Devon would too. As for the rest of it—Devon knows about the Intersect. He knows you're all … agents. I told him right away. I know you said not to, but I'd trust Devon with my life—and, obviously, with Chuck's. Not to mention, I don't keep secrets from the people I love."
That was a barbed comment, and Sarah took a moment to absorb it. She deserved whatever Ellie had to throw at her; she'd promised to keep Chuck safe, and she'd failed, even if indirectly. If it wasn't for Devon, he might've died tonight, and there would have been nothing Sarah could've done about it.
"I—" she began, but Zondra cut her off.
"I know you've got a hero complex, Walker, but you're not taking responsibility for this one. Ellie, Devon—Chuck got shot because he was trying to save my life. He dove in front of a bullet that was meant for me. I guess Walker here's not the only one determined to be a hero."
"Chuck did what?" Devon turned from the sink, where he was scrubbing his hands clean. "My dude took a bullet for you? That's a little … intense. Who was trying to shoot you?"
"Ah, well." Casey sounded extraordinarily uncomfortable. "An undercover agent that Beckman sent. He never would've gotten to Chuck if he hadn't managed to take me out first. I'm still not sure how he got the drop on me. He had a tranq pistol, but that's no excuse. I'm trained to assess and eliminate threats that're bigger than he could ever hope to be. Anyway, he knocked me out and when I woke up, Chuck was gone. Ellie, Devon, I owe you a huge apology. It was my job to keep Chuck safe and I failed him. If he'd died, it would've been my fault."
Ellie glossed right over this, zeroing in on the point as usual. Hands on hips, she looked between Sarah, Casey, and Zondra. "This undercover agent—where is he now?"
"That depends on whether you believe in an afterlife." Zondra shrugged. "I shot him. Several times, actually. He's not a threat anymore."
"Whoa." Devon sank into one of Casey's kitchen chairs. He looked slightly less put-together than usual; his hair was tousled and there was still a streak of Chuck's blood on his face. "So Chuck's out of trouble?"
"I wouldn't say that. Kind of the opposite, actually." If Ellie had been furious with Sarah before, this would be a thousand times worse—but it didn't matter. Sarah was tired of playing games. Everyone standing in this room deserved to know the truth, despite the price she might personally have to pay. "The agent that shot Chuck—he was there to extract him. To bunker him, like you and I talked about, Ellie. Even though we found the threat to Chuck's cover and eliminated her—and we even found the receiver, so Fulcrum didn't have any intel on Chuck—they were going to bunker him anyhow. They sent this agent in … and then Graham did something I never would have imagined. I knew he always put the job first, that he was ambitious, but this … He called me and gave me orders to kill Chuck." She could barely get the words out. When she saw the horrified looks on Ellie and Devon's faces, her throat closed even further. "I was able to track Chuck to a helipad where the agent was holding him. Zondra followed for backup, and—well, you know what happened after that."
Ellie's cheeks flushed bright red. "What the hell is wrong with these people? After all my brother's done for them, how can they possibly treat him this way? They don't care about him at all, do they?"
"No," Casey said. "They don't. That was the director of the NSA on the phone. She just ordered me to kill Chuck, too."
"You've got to be kidding me." Devon shot to his feet. "This is the United States of America. You can't just … kill people. There are laws. Courts. Trials. Doesn't Chuck have the right to any of that?"
"No," Zondra said. "They don't think of him as an American citizen with rights. They consider him government property. Like … a top-secret computer file. If information is too problematic, what do you do? You hide it—or, if worse comes to worse, you delete it."
"This is unbelievable." Ellie paced the length of Casey's living room. "What are we going to do?"
"We still have to run," Sarah said. "But not the way you and I talked about before. This changes things. The amount of blood on that rooftop—it's enough for me to be able to tell Graham that Chuck's dead, and have him believe it. Then I can take him back to San Francisco. Bryce and I already have a safe house there, and we've been ordered to go dark. There won't be any other agents coming in or out. We can hide him in plain sight. It's perfect."
Zondra had been leaning against Casey's refrigerator. Hearing this, she straightened up and gave Sarah a cryptic smile. "Too bad Chuck's not the only one who's dead in that scenario. Aside from Longshore, I mean."
"What are you talking about?" But Sarah was all-too-sure she knew.
"Casey just told Beckman I'm M.I.A., so she already thinks I'm in the wind. It would be easy to say that I interrupted you when you were trying to take Chuck from Longshore. You tricked me into helping you get Chuck off the roof, and then you drove the two of us out into the desert somewhere, let Chuck bleed out, shot me, and hid the bodies. Voila, I'm officially dead. You've fulfilled Graham's orders, and you've got another agent helping you protect Chuck. Like you said, it's perfect."
For the love of God. "You want to come with us to San Francisco?"
Zondra's jaw set. "What are my other choices? Let Graham reassign me to some hellhole, attached to another morally ambiguous mission? No thanks. I'm done being their lapdog. Plus—I owe Chuck my life."
On so many levels, Sarah hated the idea—but she had to admit, it was smart. This way, even if she and Bryce got sent out on a mission, Zondra would be there to protect Chuck. Grudgingly, she lifted one shoulder and let it fall. "Fair enough. That could work. Graham did tell me he didn't want there to be any bodies, so it's not like he's going to ask me for proof. And you could be our ace in the hole, if we need one."
Zondra nodded, and for the first time since Sarah had found that bug in her friend's boot all those years ago, she felt as if the two of them were on the same page. "Element of surprise," Zondra said, baring her teeth in the world's scariest grin. "They'll never see me coming."
Devon leaned back, tilting his chair onto two legs. "Ellie told me about the two of you—and you, Casey—but hearing you talk like this … man, it's crazy."
"Says the guy who just performed emergency life-saving surgery on my kitchen table," Casey said dryly. "It's not a bad plan, Walker. One question, though. Is Bartowski stable enough to be moved?"
"If we do it carefully, I think so." Devon let his chair thud back onto the floor. "He'd need to lie flat, with his feet elevated. We'll also need to cover him to keep him toasty. You've got a couple hours before he wakes up, so I'd take advantage of that. Man, I wish I could go with you. I hate the idea of him waking up in the back of a car without a doctor there."
It was a terrifying thought, Sarah agreed—but not nearly as terrifying as what would happen if Beckman's goons showed up on Casey's doorstep, looking for the asset. "That's it, then. We'll put Chuck back in the Jeep. Zondra can follow me in my car. Soon as I get on the road, I'll call Graham to let him know the job's done, tell him Zondra got in the way and I had to take her out. We'll get Chuck up to San Francisco, take care of him until he's fully healed, and get him back in the game. Casey, what about you? What're your plans?"
The NSA agent cleared his throat. "Simple … keep my promise."
He looked abashed—an expression Sarah couldn't recall ever seeing on his face. "Meaning?" she prodded.
"Earlier today, I promised Chuck that if you and he had to run, I'd look after Ellie, Devon, and even that hairy lawn troll Morgan. Well, I broke a promise to him the second I let myself get tranqed and I'm not about to break another one." He gestured at Ellie and Devon. "I'll make sure you guys are safe if it kills me. I'll even resign my commission if I have to."
Of all the surprising things that had happened that day, this was in the top two. Sarah had never imagined that Casey would prioritize protecting the family of the guy he regularly referred to as "moron" over his status as an NSA agent. Not for the first time, she reflected on Chuck's miraculous ability to bring out the best in people. "Okay, then," she said, trying not to let her shock show in her voice. "Let's get moving."
"You're leaving now?" Ellie's eyes went to her brother, who was lying motionless on the table.
Sarah softened her voice, despite the urgency she felt. If she was the one who was forced to stay behind while someone drove a grievously-wounded Chuck hours and hours away, she'd be devastated … even if she knew it was the right thing to do. "We have to," she told Ellie. "I'm sorry."
Dipping her head in acknowledgment, Ellie walked over and pressed a kiss to Chuck's forehead. "Be safe," Sarah heard her whisper. "I'm so sorry this is happening to you, little brother."
She stepped back, heading for the stack of napkins on the kitchen counter, as Devon and Casey moved in to lift Chuck from the table. Seizing her opportunity, Sarah slipped Devon the ring that she'd found in Chuck's jacket pocket. His eyes widened, but he took it and shoved it into his pocket. "Thanks," he mouthed.
There wasn't time for Sarah to say what she wanted—that somehow she'd try and make things all right before the wedding. That she hoped Chuck would be there to walk his sister down the aisle. Instead she just gave him a weak smile and moved aside.
As gingerly as if Chuck were made of fine crystal, Devon and Casey carried him out to the Jeep. Zondra followed to open the doors for them, leaving Sarah and Ellie alone together.
They stared at each other for an uncomfortable moment. The guilt was overwhelming. Sarah gave Chuck's sister a tentative nod—not knowing what else to say—and turned to leave. Before she got out the door, Ellie grabbed her by the wrist.
"Sarah … before you go … I—I'd like to apologize."
Sarah couldn't have been more surprised if Ellie had snuck into the back of the Jeep, making her way to San Francisco as their secret cargo. "Apologize? What in the world for? I'm the one—"
Chuck's sister held up a hand. "Please, Sarah. Hear me out."
Silently, Sarah nodded again.
"The last time we talked I was angry—frightened—still am." Ellie spared a glance for the kitchen table, still spotted with Chuck's blood. "But the more I thought about that conversation, the more I realized how totally unfair I was being to you. I was blaming you for everything—for bringing all of this down on my little brother when you showed up in our lives. Tonight, it occurred to me that it could've been someone like that Longshore asshole that Beckman and Graham sent, instead of you. I can see now that if that'd happened, I would've already lost him … and probably without any knowledge of how … or why."
The same thought had occurred to Sarah multiple times—usually in the middle of the night, when she woke up in a sweat with her heart pounding. She stared at Ellie, who was still talking.
"When Devon was operating on Chuck, I could see the look in your eyes—the fear that was matched only by my own. That's who I want in my little brother's life. That's who he deserves. Someone that puts his well-being and happiness above their own. You're that person, Sarah. His guardian angel. The protector of his heart." Ellie swallowed hard, her eyes bright. "One day, when this is all behind us, I hope you can view me as part of your family. I've always wanted a little sister."
The dam broke as Sarah launched herself into Ellie's arms, hugging her as if her life depended on it. The two women held on for dear life, swaying back and forth. She loved this woman so much.
"Please take care of him," Ellie said fiercely. "We almost lost him today. I know you still think it's your fault, but trust me, it wasn't. It was his own damn fault, for being the amazing person that he is. But—I can't lose him, Sarah. I can't. Promise me."
For Ellie to lose Chuck, that would mean Sarah had lost him too. That was unacceptable. Unendurable. Keeping him alive was a promise Sarah would die to keep.
She clung desperately to Ellie, holding Chuck's sister as close as possible. "You won't lose him," she said, matching Ellie's fierceness with her own. "I promise."
Letting go, they shared a smile and walked, arm in arm, out to where Zondra and Sarah's cars were parked. After checking on Chuck one last time, Sarah slid into her seat and turned the key. She twisted her head to look at Casey, Devon, and Ellie, standing together with identical woebegone expressions on their faces. Ellie lifted a hand in goodbye, and Sarah waved back. Then she set her shoulders, drew a deep breath, and drove away.
Zondra followed closely as they took as many backroads as they could to make it to the highway. Here they were—an unlikely team, united by a common goal: To keep Chuck safe and take down the bastards who meant him harm.
As the miles stretched out before them, Sarah had just one thought.
Things would never be the same again.
A/N: It's so nice to be back in the swing of things. Emily's healing well and we've both been bolstered by your suggestions and reviews. Please keep them coming. As most of the writers here can attest, they're a big part of what keeps us going.
A/N #2: As michaelfmx pointed out, we'll also be covering the time between Seasons One and Two. That's what we'll be concentrating on for the next five or six chapters. For all of those that have wanted a purely AU experience, this is our chance to give you just that. We hope you won't be disappointed.
As always, thanks for reading.