Chapter Fifteen … in which Sarah finds that she's not alone, Zondra finds a surprise, Chuck finds himself in a surreal situation, and Bryce finds the courage to finally bury the hatchet.
This chapter starts the Vault arc and our first foray into one hundred percent pure AU. We know it's been a long time coming and hope you're not disappointed.
Disclaimer: We don't own Chuck…
Chapter 15: Sarah vs the Vault
Sarah looked in her rearview mirror once again, making sure Zondra was still tight on her tail. They'd been traveling on the I-5 for a little over an hour now. Burbank was behind them, but the unknown still lay ahead.
Even though she was frazzled from the day's events, Sarah felt confident she could perform the remaining task she really didn't relish—calling Graham. Slowing down to just over the speed limit—something she rarely did—she moved into the right-hand lane and set her cruise control. This late at night, traffic was sparse and all she needed to do was keep the car in between the highway's dividing lines … which was good, because she was going to need to concentrate. Not only did she have to come across as completely believable to the head of the CIA, she also had to make sure she captured the conversation in its entirety on her recording app—making Graham implicate himself even more than he already had. Checking the rearview mirror one more time, she made the call.
"Agent Walker," Graham said, his voice crisp. "What's your status?"
She summoned up the old Sarah—the one for whom nothing was more important than seeing the job through. "It's done, sir. I'm on my way back right now. I ran into a few complications, but was still able to complete the mission."
Graham cleared his throat expectantly. "Yes?"
"Longshore was reluctant in giving up the asset, as I suspected." That much was true. "We were interrupted in our … negotiations … when Bartowski's handler—Agent Rizzo—showed up, surprising us both."
"I see. And just how did you handle that particular … complication?"
Showtime. Sarah gazed through the windshield, fixing her eyes on the distant taillights of the car in front of her, and braced herself to lie. "Unfortunately, there were some dynamics between Agent Rizzo and the asset that I was left in the dark about. Did you order Agent Rizzo to seduce the asset?"
"I gave no such order, although we did insist that they should spend more time together." Graham sounded irritated. "I take it you have a point to all this?"
"I do, sir. Agent Rizzo approached Agent Longshore with her gun drawn. He and I were already in a tense standoff about me taking possession of the asset. Startled by Agent Rizzo's sudden appearance, Agent Longshore trained his gun on her, preparing to fire. When the asset saw what was happening, he threw himself in the line of fire and was hit in the chest. Agent Rizzo took that opportunity to gun down Agent Longshore, emptying her entire clip in the process—an obvious act of passion."
It was a dry recitation, free of emotion—but Graham reacted to her last words, as she had known he would. When he spoke, Sarah could almost see the skeptical expression on his face, complete with raised eyebrows. "I'm sorry, agent. An act of passion?"
There were times during the past few years that Sarah would've loved nothing more than to throw Zondra under the bus. Hell, if Chuck was right, and Zondra was telling the truth about what happened with the bug in her boot, Sarah had thrown her erstwhile best friend under the bus, albeit unintentionally. How ironic that this time she was once again selling Z out—but this time, with the other agent's full permission and cooperation. "That's my point, sir. It looked like there was a lot more going on between Agent Rizzo and Mr. Bartowski than an asset/handler relationship. It was sloppy and foolish for her to empty her clip like that and it gave me—or anyone else who might've been there—the upper hand … but I didn't take it."
"Why not?" The skepticism in Graham's voice deepened. "That's not like you, Agent Walker."
"Sir, there was a chopper inbound for the asset's extraction and I could see that he was still breathing. Remember, you ordered me to make this look like a Fulcrum hit. They wouldn't have left the Intersect on a rooftop to bleed out. You also ordered that there should be no bodies." She drew a deep breath. "As I'm sure you're aware, Agent Rizzo and I have a troublesome history, to say the least, but I still needed her help to quickly get the asset off that rooftop and secured."
"And how did you convince her to help you?"
"That's why I was confused about the nature of their relationship. It wasn't all that hard to convince her. I simply told her I was there to stop Longshore from extracting Chuck—that he deserved to live a normal life." The words came more easily now; Sarah was simply telling the truth.
"She bought that story? Any field agent should know better than to form attachments."
You bastard. That was the line he'd fed Sarah for the entirety of her professional life … and it was a lie. Sure, getting attached made it harder to murder people in cold blood—but in Sarah's opinion, that was a good thing. Over the years that she'd been with the CIA—and before then, if she was totally honest with herself—her humanity had slipped away, draining from her drop by drop, so slowly she hadn't even seen it go. Whatever she'd noticed, she'd chalked up to the cost of doing business. She hadn't missed the softer side of herself … until she'd met Chuck, and realized just how much she'd sacrificed.
Then again, if all you cared about was the job—which she believed of Graham—then any field agent should know better than to form attachments. Without people to love, you were a far more efficient mindless killing machine.
Sarah shuddered, thinking of the cold, soulless way she'd lived for years, and forced herself to continue. "You had to be there to understand—to see it with your own eyes, sir. She was frantic—desperate. Bartowski was dying in front of her and I think at that point she'd have done anything to try and save his life. So together we got him downstairs and into her car." Again, nothing but the truth. "I told her to follow me—said I knew where we could get him help and we needed to get out of there before the extraction team arrived. We could already hear the inbound chopper. When she agreed, I drove them close to where I'd planned to dump the asset's body—a random house on the outskirts of town that I'd driven by when scouting my options. When we were getting Bartowski out of the car, I took her distraction as an opportunity to take Agent Rizzo out. The rest was SOP."
Her boss gave a small chuckle—as if Sarah had told an amusing joke rather than confessed to letting a man die and killing her former partner. "I'm impressed, Agent Walker—completed your mission and managed to get some revenge in the process. We trained you well. I just hope you were careful. No one can ever know about this … not even your partner. If anyone ever found out, you'd be tried and convicted of murder. There'd be nothing I could do to protect you."
Great … give her an amoral mission designed to line his agency's pockets and fulfill his agenda while hanging her out to dry. "Don't worry, sir," Sarah said, drawing on all her training to keep her voice free of sarcasm. "Your orders were clear. I left no trace."
"Very well, agent. Get back to your assignment and get some rest. You've earned it. But tomorrow, I'll need you to get back on task. I sorry I don't have the luxury of giving you some well-deserved downtime."
"I understand, sir." She glanced in the rearview for a glimpse of Zondra's car. A second later, Z flashed her lights, almost as if she could sense Sarah's scrutiny … Z's way of teasing. Sarah'd missed her former partner's quirky sense of humor. "It won't be a problem."
"Very well, agent. Goodnight."
"Good—" Sarah began, but it was too late; mission accomplished, Graham had already hung up.
"You have a lovely evening too, sir," Sarah muttered. It was getting harder and harder for her to deal with the man. Hopefully she wouldn't have to be privy to his twisted worldview for much longer.
Clicking off the recording app, Sarah pulled off the highway at the next exit, checking her mirror to make sure Zondra followed. As with the last few times she'd spoken with Graham, she felt sick to her stomach. She had to get out of her car. Road rage was starting to take on a whole new meaning. The pit stop would also give her a chance to check on Chuck. He could be coming out of the anesthesia at any time.
At the top of the off-ramp, Sarah assessed the situation in both directions. It was brighter to her left, so she decided to go right and found what looked like an abandoned warehouse a half-mile down the road. She pulled in behind it and shut off the engine. Zondra followed suit and did the same.
The moon was almost full, and the night sky was cloudless. With the headlights out, a soft opal glow enveloped them. Crickets and cicadas chirped all around them, with the occasional bullfrog joining in the chorus. For a deserted parking lot behind an empty warehouse in the middle of nowhere, it was eerily magical.
Sarah took another deep breath to calm her nerves and stepped out of the car. Zondra was already leaning through the back door of her Jeep, checking on Chuck. As Sarah approached, Z looked up and a Cheshire Cat, shit-eating grin split her face.
"Needed a pee break, huh? You never could hold your water. I should start calling you Wee-Wee Walker."
"Oh, you're hilarious, Z," Sarah said, her voice dry. "No, I just needed a second to clear my head before I accidentally killed someone. Just got off the phone with Graham. Here." She held out her cell. "Just hit play … but do me a favor and keep it off of speaker. I don't think I can stomach hearing his voice again."
Zondra brought the phone up to her ear as Sarah walked over to the side of the Jeep. When she peered down to take in Chuck's face, she felt suffused with relief. Even in the low light, Sarah could see the rosy color was back in his cheeks and his closed eyes were moving rapidly in REM sleep. God, those long eyelashes of his. How was that even fair?
The best part was, even in his sleep and after all he'd recently been through, he still wore that slightly crooked smile that she loved so much. The smile he reserved just for her. She'd give anything to know what he was dreaming about right now. Lightly brushing a curl off of his forehead, she ran her hand down his stubbly jawline, rubbing his cheek with her thumb.
Soft as a cat, Zondra came up behind her, and Sarah pulled back her hand, turning to face her friend.
"Damn, Walker," Z said, keeping her voice pitched low so as to not disturb Chuck. The longer they could keep him asleep, the better. If they were really lucky, they'd get all the way back to San Fran before he came around. "That performance you just gave was absolutely brilliant. You had him eating that shit up—the rat bastard. We should be able to nail his ass to the wall with the recordings we have on him alone."
Remembering how Chuck had said Zondra was into all those nerdy movies he loved, Sarah dredged up her best pop-culture lingo—her version of extending an olive branch. "Patience, young Skywalker. All in good time. It's too soon and Graham's too powerful right now. It's the same with Beckman. We have plenty of dirt on her too. What we really need is an ally in the DNI, or even higher up if we can. When the hammer comes down, I want both of them standing flatfooted. No chance to retaliate. The risk of fallout's too great if it's not a finishing move."
By the light of the moon, Sarah saw Z's lips quirk. "Finishing move? You know that's nerd speak, right?"
Sarah gave her a shy smirk and a small shrug. "Yup."
"Wow, Chuck's really done a number on you." Zondra rubbed a hand over her mouth, suppressing laughter. "I like it."
"Thanks … and thanks for having my back tonight too. You really came through for me, Z."
"Don't mention it. So, Wee-Wee Walker … can we get back on the road now or do you still need"—she tilted her head toward a wooded area behind the parking lot—"a moment?"
Sarah shot her the bird. "Sure, let's hit it. Just flash your lights if he wakes up and we'll pull over, okay? He still looks like he's sleeping hard. I'm hoping he makes it all the way there before he comes to. Waking up disoriented in the back of a car, speeding down the highway, will probably freak him out."
"After you," Zondra said, gesturing at the Porsche.
They piled back into their respective cars and pulled onto the road, heading for the highway. For the first time in hours, Sarah relaxed in her seat, one hand resting lightly on the wheel. Seeing Chuck looking more like himself had bolstered her spirits. He wasn't completely out of the woods yet, but she was starting to think he'd be all right. Now it was just a matter of keeping him that way.
Gunning the Porsche's motor as the car surged back onto I-5, she thought about her team—her family. Team Bartowski.
Casey was back in Burbank, keeping watch over Ellie, Devon, and Morgan. His about-face when it came to his duty had floored her. Now that she thought about it, though, she wasn't all that surprised. Casey was loyal to what he put his faith in—and who was more deserving of that faith than Chuck?
From Sarah's perspective, Zondra's allegiance was no longer in question. As problematic as it was, Z's love for Chuck made her as fierce a guardian as Sarah herself—someone else who'd do anything to keep him safe. And she had to admit, it was great having her best friend around again. They'd easily fallen back into their old routines and banter, and it just felt right.
Even Bryce had gone out of his way to cover for her and Chuck while she was gone. He'd never have put his neck on the line like that back in the day if it didn't further his personal goals or the mission. Maybe his near-death experience at the hands of Fulcrum had brought him around. Or maybe he was finally seeing things for the first time without the obscurity of spy-colored glasses.
But the more Sarah thought about all the drastic changes of heart each of them had undergone, the more she realized there was a simpler, yet more powerful reason that explained them all.
Her Chuck.
OoOoOoOoO
The streetlights from the San Francisco subdivision blurred by, creating a glare on Zondra's grimy windshield as she followed Sarah through a myriad of twists and turns to their final destination. By some miracle they'd made it all the way to the Golden City without Chuck waking. He'd mumbled a few times under his breath—causing her heart to skip a beat—but had quickly lapsed back into a slow, steady, breathing pattern. She felt thankful for that kindness.
The neighborhood they were approaching was called Visitacion Valley and was tucked back in the southeastern quadrant of the city. It was a family-oriented, working-class district on hilly streets with brightly-colored houses, piled right on top of one another in a domino effect. Its out-of-the-way location made it the perfect place for a safe house.
After they entered the city limits, every turn that they took made Zondra more apprehensive about their arrival. It'd been a long time since she'd seen Bryce Larkin in the flesh, and if you'd asked her just a few weeks ago, she might've told you she was excited to see him again after all these years. But that was before Bryce's spell had been lifted by a person who was worth their weight in gold. Now, Zondra just felt like their reunion would be extremely awkward—at least for her.
As they pulled up by the curb in front of the safe house, Zondra found a few things about the place that stood out. It was situated at the uppermost crest of the steepest hill in the neighborhood, giving it a perfect view of Hunters Point and the shipyard—and all points in between. They'd be able to see any threats coming from literally miles away. The main living quarters of the house seemed to be situated above a single-car garage and entryway. As a whole, the house was small and unobtrusive—which was good, because the last thing they wanted was to call attention to themselves. It wasn't up to Echo Park standards, but it would do.
The garage door lifted and there Bryce stood, his hands gesturing for her to pull in. He didn't have that cocksure grin that she remembered from their time at the Farm. Instead, a look of concern was stamped on his features. His eyes were wide as he scanned the street.
She backed her Jeep into the bay. Sarah'd parked the Porsche at the curb—which surprised Zondra, given that her car was her baby—and she jogged up to join them.
Bryce didn't greet either of them. Instead, he rushed over to the side of the Jeep, looking down at his friend through the window. Opening the back door, he rested his hand on Chuck's forehead and stood for a few moments in silence, bent over Chuck as if he were praying. When he looked up again, his deep blue eyes were clouded with emotion. He ran his fingers through his hair before he spoke.
"What the hell happened?"
"Let's get him inside first, then I'll bring you up to speed. There's a lot to go over." Sarah's tone was all business—colored by none of the tenderness that tinted it when she talked about Chuck or even the lightness that had crept into it when Zondra'd teased her behind the warehouse. If Zondra had harbored any lingering thoughts that her friend had feelings for Bryce, they evaporated in the face of Walker's businesslike attitude.
Bryce opened his mouth to argue, but he caught a glimpse of the determined look on Sarah's face and dropped the subject. "I bet there is. Where is he hurt?"
"Right shoulder," Sarah said, peeling back the jacket she'd draped over Chuck and dropping it onto the floorboard. "Be careful. Here, you get his feet."
As the three agents were gingerly lifting Chuck from the back seat of the car, doing their best to avoid his wounded shoulder, his eyes opened. He blinked twice, as if ridding himself of a haze only he could see. To Zondra's surprise, when his gaze finally focused, he didn't look panicked or distraught. He actually looked … amused?
"Hey guys," he said, giving them a weak grin.
"Chuck!" Sarah said, looking like she wanted to throw her arms around him—a technical impossibility, given that both her hands were engaged in trying to balance his weight without hurting him.
"Did someone happen to get the license plate number of the car that ran me over?" Chuck said, his eyes flicking between the three of them.
"Yeah, buddy," Bryce said, his voice devoid of any of its usual sarcasm. "We got it."
"Good, good … that's really good. I think I'm gonna rest my eyes for a bit, if that's okay." Without waiting for an answer, he passed out cold again—probably from the pain of being moved.
Once they got Chuck upstairs, they laid him on the couch and covered him with a few blankets. He looked so peaceful lying there. Zondra just wanted to snuggle up next to him and fall asleep too. It was a little after four in the morning, and she was beyond exhausted—both physically and emotionally.
Well, snuggling up next to Chuck wasn't an option, so Zondra did the next best thing—snoop. While Sarah filled Bryce in on everything that'd happened to them, she took a moment to get a feel for the place. The house was a small two-bedroom, one-bath with a built-in kitchenette. The living room was furnished with a couch, coffee table, loveseat, and recliner—all a matching blue and pretty basic, like they'd been purchased as a set from Rooms To Go. Across from the couch was a glass entertainment center with a large flat-screen TV. The far corner of the room held a computer station with two large monitors. Their gridded pattern of mini-windows showed the security feeds from every angle of the residence's exterior.
Zondra sat down in the recliner, stretching out her legs and propping her feet on the coffee table. In her peripheral vision, she saw Bryce staring at her. When she glanced over, though, he tried to play it off, shifting his attention back to Sarah as she was finishing up their harrowing tale. He hadn't been able to look her in the eye since they arrived—yep, awkward.
Bryce slumped back in his seat, staring into space. "I can't believe Chuck would jump in front of a bullet like that. I didn't think he had it in him."
"Maybe that's because you've always underestimated him," Zondra said, dropping her feet and swiveling to face him. She hadn't intended her first words to him in years to be undergirded with such vitriol, but they came out that way just the same. Maybe she still harbored some ill will towards Bryce for how he'd treated her—but that had been a long time ago, and if push came to shove, she'd bet her reaction was more grounded in her knowledge of Chuck and Bryce's tumultuous history.
Over their months together, Chuck had let slip a few times about what'd happened to him at Stanford—never complaining, just in passing. After conferring with Casey, she'd gotten the full story. Bryce had basically decided Chuck wasn't up to snuff and made a life-changing decision for him, ruining his life in the process. Now that Zondra had acknowledged her own feelings for Chuck, she felt overly protective.
She expected Bryce to brush her off or get defensive, but he did neither.
"Yeah, I have. I've made a lot of terrible choices in regards to Chuck … and other people as well." He finally looked Zondra in the eye, and she could swear she saw true compassion there, mixed with genuine guilt. Now she couldn't hold his gaze, so she looked out the window. Maybe she was reading too much into his pointed look. It didn't matter anyway. He was a day late and a dollar short.
Sarah cleared her throat. "Well, I'm beat. Z … you can take my room." She hooked a thumb over her shoulder, pointing down the narrow hallway. "I'll stay out here."
"No, that's okay, Sarah. Zondra can have my room for the duration," Bryce said, demonstrating more thoughtfulness in that single sentence than he had during all the years that Zondra had known him—especially because they'd spent most of those years not speaking. "I'll grab the cot out of the closet and move my things out here in the morning. You both deserve a good night's rest after the day you've had. Plus, when Chuck wakes up, I need to speak with him and try to explain things. It's been a long time coming."
Sarah sat there for a moment, deliberating. It was clear she wanted to stay with Chuck. So did Zondra, but in the end they both let Bryce have his way. If he needed to clear the air with Chuck—especially if they were all going to have to live together—then he should have the chance.
"All right, then," Sarah said, albeit reluctantly. "Come on, Z. I'll give you the nickel-tour and lend you some PJs."
Once Zondra got to her room, she changed into the borrowed PJs that Sarah had lent her—loose-fitting yoga pants and a pink tank top. When she saw the condition of the place, she had to shake her head. Some things never changed: Bryce was still a slob and had clothes lying everywhere. His bed was unmade—and God knew the last time he'd washed the sheets—but she was too tired to care about that right now. Tomorrow, there'd be plenty of time to worry about laundry and get Bryce to clean up his stuff.
As she was sliding under the covers, she saw a spiral notebook lying on the nightstand. Picking it up, she thumbed through it with her last gasp of energy, getting a feel for the man's brain. Yes, it was invasive, but she was a spy … or undead ex-spy, now that she thought about it.
From what she could discern from Bryce's sloppy handwriting, it looked as if he and Sarah were trying to figure out how to break into a bank. That should have come as a shock to the system, but in her world, it was just par for the course. Zondra was sure this had to do with some kind of mission they were on. She would ask about it in the morning.
Before turning out the light, she opened the nightstand's drawer to put away the notepad. Things like that shouldn't be left out for anyone to read—present company included. As she placed the notepad inside, she thought she saw the glossy edge of a photo. She leaned forward to get a better look and her hand flew to her mouth as her heart somersaulted. There, lying alone in the drawer, was a picture of her and Bryce. He had his arm around her, gazing into her eyes, as the two of them stood in front of a Christmas tree. The lights were low in the picture, but you could still clearly see Bryce's face. His expression was warm and inviting—completely awestruck—as if he'd just discovered a new element. It was alchemy.
She'd remembered the night this picture had been taken. It had been at the Farm, during their training. She'd never gotten a copy of the photo, and didn't know Bryce had, either. But apparently he had and he'd kept it with him all this time.
Taking a closer look at the photograph, she realized something that made her even more lightheaded. The picture was ragged around the edges and had faded slightly. It was well-worn. It wasn't a photo that lay abandoned in a drawer, discarded and forgotten.
No, this showed all the signs of deep memory. Of longing.
Zondra dropped the photo back in the drawer like it was on fire. She couldn't deal with this right now. There was so much going on … and now this?
She shut the drawer and killed the light, falling back onto her pillow with a huff. It was too much to take in. All this time, when she'd thought Bryce had discarded her without a second thought, he'd been missing her—staring at her picture?
It shouldn't have made a difference, but somehow it did. Just when she thought she'd kicked the habit … she was knocked on her ass again.
Her body wouldn't be getting the rest it needed tonight. Her mind would make sure of it.
OoOoOoOoO
There wasn't a doubt in Chuck's mind. Someone had come along while he was sleeping and used his head as a chisel. Every muscle in his body was throbbing. What in the hell had happened?
He willed his eyes to open, and after a reluctant moment, they complied. Light flooded his field of vision, momentarily blinding him. When he could see again, though, he was sure he was hallucinating. What other explanation could there be for the fact that Bryce Larkin was sitting next to him, an unfamiliar expression of concern creasing his forehead?
Yep, definitely hallucinating. Chuck closed his eyes again, hoping that would help. When he blinked them open, the haze cleared further, bringing everything into focus.
So much for hallucinating. It was Bryce, all right. He was sitting on a cot, right next to the—couch?—where Chuck was lying. The concerned look deepened as Bryce leaned forward, peering down at Chuck with his elbows on his knees.
Great. He'd woken up in a strange place, an unspeakable pain creasing his right shoulder, with his arch-nemesis as his nursemaid. Chuck tried to question this unfortunate state of affairs, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.
Seeing his distress, Bryce rested a comforting hand on Chuck's forearm—another first. Maybe the guy had had a personality transplant.
"It's okay, Chuck," he said, his voice soft. "Try and stay calm. You're safe and Sarah's safe too. I promise. She's asleep in one of the bedrooms right now, I'm sure wishing she were out here. I had to talk her out of staying and she must've not wanted to make a scene—although for a second I thought she still might."
"Sarah's safe?" Chuck managed, his voice hoarse.
"I swear. As are you—no thanks to your pathetic sense of self-preservation." His lips quirked, taking away the sting. "You have quite the pair of guardians. I asked them both if I could watch over you while they slept. I wanted a moment alone so we could talk. You know … to try and explain things. Plus, they're both pretty beat. Been driving your sorry ass down the highway all night. Welcome to San Francisco, my friend."
"Uh … thanks," Chuck said reflexively. He scanned the room, assessing his surroundings. The drapes were pulled, but in the cracks between them, he could see the hint of sunrise. He focused on the line of light that crept through the curtains, feeling his head clear. "Wait. Did you just say 'both'? As in … Zondra's here too? The last thing I remember—"
"Yeah, buddy." Was it Chuck's imagination, or did Bryce's gaze slide away from his at the mention of Zondra's name? "She's just fine, thanks to you. Sleeping in the other room."
Sarah was okay … Zondra was okay … but— He came up on his elbows, a major tactical error. Sucking in his breath, he fell back onto the pillow. "What about Ellie?"
"Everyone's fine, Chuck. Relax." For once, Bryce actually sounded soothing. "Casey's providing overwatch for your family. We'll find a way to establish secure coms with him ASAP. It'll be the first order of business. Just take a deep breath."
It was hard to take a deep breath when he felt like he was repeatedly being stabbed in the shoulder, but Chuck tried his best. "Sorry … sorry. I guess I'm still a little shaken up after what happened. Everything was so surreal. One moment I was staring up at Sarah's face, sure I'd never get to see her, or anyone else again, and the next moment … well … here we are. What in the hell happened?"
Bryce's mouth flattened into a thin line. "You got shot, buddy."
"I know that." Chuck rolled his eyes. "After that."
"There is too much," Bryce said, in Inigo Montoya's ridiculous accent. "Let me sum up."
"Did you—did you just quote The Princess Bride? Now I know I'm losing it." The Bryce Chuck had known would sooner have worn a ball gown to a field assignment than sit through that particular Rob Reiner flick. "Did I wake up in an alternative universe where you're a nerd?"
"Shut up, Bartowski. There was a girl once—she made me watch—oh, never mind." Chuck could've sworn Bryce was blushing. "Here's the sitch. You dove in front of Zondra and took the bullet meant for her. Longshore shot you, Zondra shot him, she and Sarah got you off the roof and to your sister's apartment. Devon operated on you and saved your life, Beckman wanted you killed but Casey lied to her, Sarah told Graham she'd killed Zondra and let you die. Casey swore to protect you and yours forever and ever like the good soldier he is, everyone loaded you back into the Jeep, and here you are. Capisce?"
"Give me a moment." His brain ticked through the scenarios Bryce had outlined, trying to make sense of them. "Devon operated on me—where?"
"On Casey's kitchen table, apparently. Does it matter? He'd make a damned good field surgeon. Questions?"
"Not right now." Chuck was sure a thousand queries would occur to him, but he'd prefer to ask Sarah or Zondra—after all, they'd been there. "Thanks for filling me in."
Bryce made an impatient gesture. "Of course. Well, if you don't have more questions, how are you feeling? Is there anything I can do for you? Can I get you something? Just name it."
"Actually," Chuck said, "can you help me sit up a bit? Kinda feel like a turtle on its back here. And a glass of water would be great. My mouth—it's like I just won the saltine cracker challenge."
"Sure, man. You got it." Bryce leapt to his feet and was back in minutes with the water and a handful of pills. Setting them both down on the coffee table that he'd pushed out of the way to make room for the cot, he grabbed his pillow from the makeshift bed and held out his hand. "Come on, buddy. Let's get you upright. We need to get some water and meds in you."
"Meds?" Chuck said suspiciously, eyeing the pills.
"Just some high-dose ibuprofen for now. They're anti-inflammatory and should help with the pain. We'll get you something better when the stores open, and maybe a sling for that arm too."
Chuck and Bryce locked arms in a forearm handshake as Bryce pulled slowly, stuffing his extra pillow behind Chuck's back and head. It hurt like hell, but Chuck didn't see that he had a choice if he wanted to do anything but lie flat on his back.
Once he was settled again and the waves of pain subsided, Bryce handed him the glass of water and four Advil and sat back down on the cot. "You gave us all one hell of a scare. Especially Sarah. Man, the look on her face—that woman's a goner, Chuck. I'm really happy for you two."
Chuck could only stare back as he remembered Bryce kissing Sarah in his own room. It still hurt thinking about it. He popped the Advil in his mouth and swigged water, doing his best to hide his feelings. No need to dredge that mess up all over again.
His thoughts must've been evident on his face anyhow, because Bryce's eyes clouded and he dropped his head. "I didn't know, Chuck—at Thanksgiving. I swear. How could I? But I'll admit, it was still a dick move. Hell, I shouldn't have even been there in the first place."
If Chuck had been more capable of movement, he would've squirmed. "It's okay, Bryce. We weren't anything to each other at the time. Just a handler and her asset."
"That's bullshit and you know it." Bryce's tone didn't brook contradiction.
After a moment, Chuck surrendered and gave a curt nod. His old friend still knew him well—and at this point, what difference did it make?
"Listen, Chuck," Bryce said, leaning forward again. "I've been wanting to talk with you for years now. I have so much I need to tell you—and apologize for."
There was a time when Chuck would have given almost anything to hear his former roommate say those words. Now, though, his head was spinning and he had bigger concerns—like where, exactly, he was and how he and Sarah were going to survive ... not to mention when he might see his sister again. "Bryce," he began, "we really don't have to—"
"No, Chuck. You deserve to know. You deserve to know about everything that happened between you and me at Stanford … and why." Bryce folded his arms across his chest, steeling his spine like a man who'd girded himself to do an unpleasant task and was determined to see it through, no matter the consequences.
Well, it wasn't like Chuck could escape. He was a captive audience—and this was a story he'd been waiting a long time to hear. "I'll admit, I'd like to know why my best friend stabbed me in the back," he said, adjusting his weight against the pillows in an effort to get more comfortable.
"I guess I should start at the beginning then." The words came tumbling out of Bryce's mouth like he'd rehearsed them—or like a cascade of water, jammed up behind a dam. "I'd already been recruited by the CIA before we met. I'd even been assigned a handler. And I thought I was hot shit, too. Big man on campus. I had all the ladies I could handle and I was learning how to be a real-life badass. Figured myself to be the next James Bond. A spy's life with adrenaline-fueled excitement." He gave Chuck a small, sad smile. "But then I met you … and you changed everything for me. Just being around you had me thinking about the morality of a thing, and not just its possibilities."
Great—he'd been Bryce's personal Jiminy Cricket. A whole lot of good it had done either of them. Taking another sip of water from the bottle Bryce had thoughtfully put within reach of his left hand, Chuck waited for his former friend to continue.
"I know I didn't show it back then," Bryce said, drumming his fingers on his knee, "but you … you were like a mentor to me—the guy I wanted to grow up to be like. Sure, I knew a lot of folks and was popular and all that, but you made a real difference in the people's lives you touched."
"Yeah, me and Tiny Tim," Chuck muttered. Bryce ignored him.
"Then came Professor Fleming's class. That test on subliminal imagery—the one I said you stole the answers to—I knew it was a really a covert test for public consumption. I was warned by my handler. It was their way of gauging the mental capacity of the brain. They were looking for candidates for something they called the Omaha Project."
Hearing the name, Chuck flashed harder and longer than he could ever remember. It was even worse than when he'd flashed on Sarah's file—like icepicks were being driven into his skull from all sides. But when he came to, instead of pain, he had a sense of clarity.
"Oh, my God, Bryce. Omaha Project—that was the brainchild for the Intersect." He rubbed his forehead with his left hand, dispelling the lingering sense of the headache. "Who the hell is this Orion character? They're listed as the designer/creator for most of this stuff. Have you ever heard the name?"
Bryce's eyes narrowed. "Funny you should say that. It was someone code-named Orion that gave me the order to get you off Professor Fleming's radar. I never met them in person, but they had all my activation codes. Everything checked out. Their security clearances were as high as I'd ever seen. You were in real danger, according to the intel they shared with me. Something about your subliminal imagery test scores being off the charts. No one else had even come close. They were adamant that you'd surely be recruited into the CIA—not as an agent, or even an analyst, but as an expendable lab rat."
That damn test again. It was the bane of Chuck's existence. "Why would my test scores be so unusual? Is there something wrong with my brain?"
"I think it's quite the contrary," Bryce said. "Either way, I had to act fast. I'd already intercepted Fleming's message to you, requesting a meeting, and went in your place. When I arrived, I pleaded with Fleming to ditch your results, but he wouldn't budge—said it was his duty to report the test's findings. He said your results made you the ideal candidate for the Omaha Project and told me you were in, no matter what."
Chuck had already seen most of this on Fleming's recording that they'd retrieved from Stanford, but hearing the complete story from Bryce's perspective put it in a whole new light. There Chuck had been, going to class, dating Jill, psyched to graduate with honors—and totally oblivious to the fact that all this drama had been playing out behind his back. He felt like an idiot all over again.
"So," he said slowly, "you rescued me from the Omaha Project out of a desire to safeguard my well-being? I'm confused. After everything that's transpired, something's not quite adding up."
Bryce cracked his knuckles, a nervous habit Chuck had never seen him indulge in before—not that they'd spent all that much time together over the past few years. "The fact that your high retention rate of subliminal information was the key to their project—a military project, mind you—meant that they'd stop at nothing to have you. Your friends and family—no one would've been left off the table, leveraging their lives against you 'til you complied. I was afraid that would've destroyed you in the end. You were too good a person to be forced into that kind of life."
"I see. So you lied about me, betrayed me, ruined my chance for a decent future … because of how awesome I am?"
"It was the worst moment of my life, Chuck. You gotta believe me." There was a desperate edge to Bryce's expression. "When I look back now, I wish I could've thought of something—anything—else I could do, but at the time I didn't think I had any other choice. I knew if I accused you of cheating on the test, it would invalidate the scores, sparing you from recruitment. After some rather aggressive persuasion, I finally got Fleming to agree and go along with the plan."
Chuck wanted to draw a deep breath to steady himself, but he was sure it would hurt too much. "Bryce. We were best friends. Why didn't you just come to me—let me know what was going on?"
"Technically, it would have been illegal for me to tell you anything—even that I was an agent in training. I've tried over the years to tell myself that what I did to you was for other, more noble reasons, but in the end, I was simply … wrong."
The last word fell into the room like the impact from an asteroid. Bryce had done a lot of things during the brief time Chuck had known him—boast, score girls without trying, manipulate, destroy Chuck's future. One thing he'd never done, though, as far as Chuck could remember, was admit mistakes. Chuck stared at him.
"You want the truth?" The agent's voice broke. "I was an idiot and a sanctimonious asshole that didn't deserve the honor of having you call me friend. That's the only real reason I have. I'm so sorry, Chuck."
Bryce's brows furrowed. Then the mask he usually presented to the world—cool and indifferent—cracked in half as tears poured down his face. His old friend couldn't hold Chuck's gaze and dropped his head in shame, his shoulders slumped as sobs wracked his body.
Chuck had never seen Bryce even close to crying before; it was beyond unsettling. No matter what the guy had done to him, this was more than Chuck could take. He reached out and squeezed Bryce's knee. After a long moment, Bryce raised his head, a question in his eyes.
What was Chuck supposed to say? He felt psychologically and physically devastated—hollowed out. This conversation had been a long time coming, though, and Bryce was wrecked. Chuck had had no idea that the guy had been walking around carrying all of this baggage—that what he'd done to Chuck had torn him up this way. Certainly, Bryce had never given any clue. Was this how he lived his life, keeping secrets from the people he cared about the most, hiding anything that might reveal a fault line in his perfect façade—anything that might make him face the consequences of what he'd done to the people he loved?
Chuck thought it probably was. Looking at Bryce's tear-streaked face, he felt a flash of pity for the guy who'd once been closer to him than anyone in the world except his sister. "I appreciate you telling me all this," he said, trying to sound gentle. "I really do. It clears up a whole lot. I'm saddened you felt the need to take on all of those burdens on your own, but I guess I understand. I do have one question, though."
"Sure. Anything." Bryce scrubbed a hand across his eyes, pulling himself together.
"Well," Chuck said, hating to point out the obvious, "if you were so concerned about keeping me out of this life—a spy's life—why send me the Intersect?"
His eyes tearing up again, Bryce took a deep, controlling breath. "Fulcrum was closing in on the Intersect. It was, and still is, their end game. I was deep cover in their organization and agreed to be the one to steal it for them so I could keep it out of their hands. When everything went to hell in that NSA facility and I was on the run, I knew I couldn't trust anyone in the spy game."
"What else is new?" Chuck said. God, what a way to live.
Bryce flicked a quizzical glance his way, but barreled onward. "As far as I knew from what Orion'd told me, you were the only person in existence that could handle the Intersect in its entirety. I had already taken the steps on my PDA to send it to you if things went pear-shaped, but only as a failsafe. I know I could have just destroyed the computer, and sometimes I wish that I had. But that wouldn't have destroyed Fulcrum's ambitions, and the Intersect is still our best weapon against them."
"So you chose the mission over me." Chuck kept his voice even. "You chose defeating Fulcrum over keeping my life intact."
Grimly, as if accepting a life sentence, Bryce nodded. "When I was lying there bleeding out with Casey looming over me, I made the rash decision to implement the failsafe. I know I painted a target on your back when I did, and I truly hope someday you'll forgive me."
With his good hand, Chuck reached out once again and patted Bryce's arm. "Out of all the crazy things that've happened to me, I can honestly say I'm most thankful that you sent me that email."
Bryce's eyes sprang wide. "Thankful? Did you hit your head after you were shot? I just told you—I chose the mission over your life. If I hadn't, you'd be free right now—not stuck in a CIA safe house with your right side in shreds. Why aren't you furious with me?"
"Without that email," Chuck said, giving him a small smile, "I would've never met Sarah … or Casey even … and now Zondra. They're part of my family now and I love them all."
It took a second, but then the echo of Chuck's smile dawned on Bryce's face. It was a genuine grin, without any of his usual artifice or forced charm. "Well, it was my pleasure. If there's any more danger and intrigue you'd like me to throw your way, I'm your man."
"No thanks." Chuck shrugged the shoulder he could move. "I think I'm good."
"I'll bet." The smile faded, replaced by an expression Chuck couldn't quite read—amazement, maybe, tinged with a note of dismay. "I still can't believe you jumped in front of a bullet. What in the hell were you thinking?"
Chuck opened his mouth, with no solid idea of what he was about to say. What came out surprised him—but it also felt right … like coming home to a place he never thought he'd see again. "That Zondra's one of my best friends, Bryce. Just like you."
OoOoOoOoO
Pressed against the bathroom door in the darkness of the narrow hallway, Zondra pinched her upper arm to make sure she wasn't dreaming. She'd gotten up to get a glass of water, heard Bryce and Chuck talking, and stalled, to give them privacy. She'd expected Bryce to read Chuck the riot act for jumping in front of that bullet—and maybe for him to give Chuck a few more details about the terrible decision-making process that had led him to saddle Chuck with the Intersect. Instead, what she'd heard had stunned her.
Bryce had admitted he was wrong. He'd begged for Chuck's forgiveness. He'd cried, for God's sake.
It could be a trick, some kind of manipulative gambit—but Zondra didn't think so. He'd sounded sincere, riddled with regret. Then again, deception was his stock in trade.
He'd confessed how massively he'd screwed up. He'd kept a photo of himself and Zondra in his bedside table—a photo he'd obviously looked at multiple times. He'd quoted The Princess Bride, for Christ's sake … a movie they'd watched together.
None of this resonated with the Bryce Larkin she'd gotten to know at the Farm—or the one who'd betrayed his best friend twice over. Which begged the question—who the hell was he?
She flattened herself against the door, listening for all she was worth. Maybe Bryce had changed, and maybe he hadn't. But one thing was for sure—Zondra wasn't going to fall for his games, the way she had last time. This time she would be on guard. Chuck had been hurt enough; it wasn't going to happen again, not if she could help it.
Chuck's voice drifted down the hallway, answering the question of why he'd taken a bullet for her: Zondra's one of my best friends, Bryce. Just like you.
She couldn't hear Bryce's reply, but her muscles tensed, imagining what he was thinking. Chuck was a good person, built to forgive. It was that openness, that willingness to stay vulnerable, that made him so incredible—but it also meant that the people who loved him needed to stay vigilant.
Maybe Bryce was worthy of that forgiveness, and maybe he wasn't. Zondra would reserve judgment—and she would watch.
The glass of water forgotten, she faded into the shadows of the hallway, leaving the echoes of their voices behind.
A/N: This chapter is intended to paint the scene and set up everything going forward for a good while to come. During the six-month period between Seasons One and Two—Season 1.5?—we've decided to keep the same structure as we have in the previous chapters. We'll treat each arc as if it was an episode on the show, starting with 'Sarah vs the Vault.' Each arc will have between three to four chapters, spanning between two to three episodes. We're still up in the air about the number of episodes. Anything could happen! Since it's a six-month time period, we felt it'd be more fluid to tell the story in a dynamic way, leading us into Chuck vs the First Date with a lot more backstory. Also, since Team Bartowski has a whole new makeup, the only thing that'll be recognizable about First Date will be the bad guys. Should be a lot of fun to write.
A/N #2: You guys have really been coming through with your PMs, reviews, and suggestions. Please keep them coming! We can't express enough how much they've bolstered our spirits. As you might have noticed, our turnaround time between updates has shortened quite a bit, although we have to admit, not having to ride the rails of canon and being able to play in our own sandbox helps too. But in the end, we're performers, as are all the writers here. The audience's feedback is key.
A/N #3: A final thought. With the holidays in just a few days and family and friends showing up at the house, we won't be able to update the next chapter until after Christmas at the earliest. So, from our family to yours, may you find the true spirit of the season and may it fill your heart with love and joy.
As always, thanks for reading.