Chapter Sixteen … in which Sarah faces the harsh reality that she could lose everything and Casey and Ellie get to know one another better.
Warning: This chapter contains a scene that some might find disturbing. While we don't believe it crosses into the 'mature' category, it's not for children. Parental discretion is advised.
Disclaimer: We don't own Chuck…
Chapter 16: Thunderclap
As the San Franciscan sun poured through the front window of the safe house's living room, Sarah sat at the far end of the couch by Chuck's feet, her legs tucked beneath her body, sipping coffee. The house was quiet, other than the occasional rattle of pots and pans; Bryce was cooking everyone a makeshift breakfast as Zondra took her shower. Sarah savored the silence, as well as the company. This was the first time she and Chuck had had a moment to themselves since their drive from the Buy More to the NSA warehouse … before everything went to hell.
He smiled at her, his expression filled with adoration—and something decidedly more carnal. Sarah returned the favor. When he'd been lying on that rooftop, bleeding out, she'd thought she'd never get a chance to kiss him again, much less make love with him the way they had in those few stolen hours in her apartment. She loved this man so much and here he was—not only alive and well, but looking at her as if he'd like nothing more than to take her back to the bedroom and show her just how much he'd missed her, Bryce and Zondra's presence be damned. She wasn't sure how he planned to manage with his shoulder the way it was, but Chuck was innovative; he'd think of something. Desire radiated through her body as she stared back, white-hot … smoldering.
Before she could say or do anything about it, a thunderclap tore through the house as the back door was ripped from its frame. A swarm of men in black BDUs charged through, all carrying suppressed M4 carbines.
Sarah jumped to her feet, but it was no use. There were too many of them. When Bryce darted out of the kitchen, two men threw him to the ground and subdued him, pressing a rifle to the back of his head. Three more men stormed down the hall leading towards the bathroom. They smashed open the door, and Sarah could hear Zondra screaming. To her horror, the sound was suddenly silenced by the thwat, thwat, thwat of suppressed gunfire.
The same three men shortly emerged from the hallway … alone. A frisson of misery ran through Sarah. If Zondra was still alive, someone would have stayed behind to watch over her. It was standard operating procedure in a breach situation. Zondra was gone, and Sarah had never had the chance to tell her that she believed she was innocent—that she wished she hadn't been so quick to abandon their friendship. She'd made a snap judgment and lost one of the people who mattered most to her … but she'd always thought she'd have a chance to make it right. Now that opportunity had vanished.
Eerie silence pervaded the house as the men stood there with their guns trained on Bryce, Sarah, and Chuck. Then someone standing in the entranceway cleared their throat. Sarah's heart plummeted as she watched Director Langston Graham stroll in, hands clasped behind his back. He scanned the room, assessing the havoc his men had just reaped. A smug smile lined his face—until his eyes found Sarah's. The smile morphed into a scowl that chilled Sarah to her bones.
He stepped towards her, his eyes blazing. "You've been a very busy girl, Agent Walker."
The time for pretending was over. Zondra was dead; Bryce's life was in grave danger; and God knew what Graham had planned for Chuck. Her mind raced, trying to find a way out of this situation, but for once, she came up blank. Graham had had a hand in training her—he would anticipate her moves and countermoves and have plans in place to foil them. She was trapped … helpless.
She saw the recognition of her realization in Graham's eyes, a moment before satisfaction suffused his features. His smug expression pushed her over the edge. "Fuck you, you piece of shit," she snarled.
"Now, now." Graham patted her on the shoulder. "There's no need for any of that. It's not my fault you turned out to be a traitor to your country."
Sarah didn't respond to his jab. He would twist anything she said, using it as a weapon. She just stared back at him with death in her eyes.
"Before we continue with our little chat," Graham said, as cheerfully as if they were enjoying a nice meal rather than standing in the middle of what was likely to become a massacre, "I'd like to have a little more … privacy. Please say goodbye to Agent Larkin."
He nodded to the man looming over Bryce, who stood and fired twice into the back of his head. Bryce's body jerked, and his blood splattered everywhere, streaking Sarah's face. He jerked again, and then lay still.
In shock, Sarah looked down at the man who'd once been her lover, searching for any sign of movement. But there was none. Bryce lay crumpled on the floor, the pool of blood beneath his body spreading. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't deny the truth: He was dead.
"You son of a bitch!" She lunged at Graham, but had three men on her in seconds. They made short work of cuffing her hands behind her back and threw her down beside Chuck, who lay on the couch, eyes fixed on Bryce's body, frozen in fear. Tears streamed down his face, and his features showed all the helplessness Sarah felt. She was sure he'd realized what she had: This was it. This was the end.
Graham paced around them, hands still behind his back. "I admit, at first I was surprised you'd go against your orders the way you did. I thought we'd purged you of all your worthless emotions long ago. But I guess not. Oh, well. C'est la vie."Faster than Sarah had seen him move in years, he was by Chuck's side, grabbing Chuck's hair, yanking his head back. "Maybe this can be your final lesson. Your baptism, if you will. This is what happens—the price you pay for having emotional attachments."
Oh, God. "Please, sir. Let him go. Don't make Chuck pay the price for my mistakes. You can do anything you want with me … reassign me, torture me, kill me. I don't care. Just let him go." She heard the note of pleading in her voice, and didn't care. Her pride meant nothing to her if Chuck was dead.
"I think we've moved far beyond that, Agent Walker, don't you? Like I told you before, Bartowski is too dangerous to be left alive. You may have grown soft—but I suffer from no such defect of character." He gave her a cold, cruel smile.
Sarah struggled viciously, but the men held her fast as Graham slipped a Bowie knife under Chuck's chin, holding it to his throat. Eyes wide in desperation, Chuck called out her name. He reached up, clawing and scratching to try and break free, but it was no use—Graham was too strong. With Sarah's name still on his lips, Chuck's scream turned to a gurgle. The blade sliced deep, gnawing its way into his larynx, choking off the sound.
Devastated, Sarah could only watch as Graham stepped back and Chuck's head swung forward—the life force leaving his body as his eyes bored into hers for the last time, then rolled to the back of his head.
Like Bryce and Zondra, he was gone.
A terrible coldness settled over Sarah, followed in short order by the wish for revenge. Even more than that, though, she craved mercy. She'd failed Chuck and now she was anxious to join him. Without him, there was no point in going on. She'd welcome her own death with open arms.
She twisted her head to look up at Graham, who stood, smiling, Chuck's blood dripping from his blade onto the floor. "Kill me, please."
"And get rid of such a beautiful weapon? I think not. No, Agent Walker. I will not be denied my most effective tool. You will be reprogrammed with the new Intersect and we will win this war." Once again, Graham nodded to one of his men. The agent swung his rifle around and plunged it stock-first into her face … and white light engulfed her as her eyes sprang open.
Sarah shot upright in her bed, pressing a palm flat against her heart as it threatened to beat its way out of her chest. Sweat poured down her face.
A dream. It'd all been a terrible dream.
OoOoOoOoO
Surfacing from a deep sleep, Chuck gasped, struggling for air. Panic flooded him. Someone was leaning over him, careful not to touch his injured shoulder, his face gripped in their hands as their lips pressed against his—
Their lips? Chuck was fairly sure that neither the government nor Fulcrum's would-be assailants initiated their assaults by kissing their victims into helpless compliance. Besides, he'd know that strawberry lip gloss anywhere.
He blinked twice, bringing his world into focus. Sarah was sitting on the edge of the couch, her lips on his. These weren't the passionate kisses they'd shared before—or even the 'cover' kisses they'd flaunted in public before their romantic relationship had blossomed into something more genuine. No, these were desperate kisses—kisses in search of affirmation.
When she saw he was awake, she pulled back momentarily to gauge his alertness, then leaned in again, peppering his face with more kisses. Her eagerness was wonderful—but also perplexing. They'd been through so much together. Just recently, for instance, Chuck had almost died … and Sarah hadn't acted like this. What the hell was wrong now?
Struggling up to his elbows, he dodged the next smattering of kisses in favor of getting a good look at Sarah's face. Her expression was pained. There was such loss in those beautiful blue eyes of hers. It sent a chill down his spine.
"Sarah," he said, his voice husky from sleep, "what's wrong? Not"—he narrowly avoided another onslaught of kisses—"that I don't love what you're doing, but are you okay?"
She couldn't look him in the eye, and his heart tumbled in fear. He gauged the sounds in the house—the shower was running, and someone was clinking dishes in the kitchen. All normal morning sounds, and everyone accounted for. Which left—
"Wait. Was it a dream or something? What's got you so spooked? Sarah … please talk to me." He took one of her hands in his, and was alarmed to feel that she was shaking.
Her voice trembled when she spoke. "I thought …" The words trailed into an unintelligible mumble. Her hand gripping his, she tried again. "And then I thought …" She shook her head viciously, as if trying to purge the images from her mind's eye.
Chuck had never seen her like this, her emotions spiraling so dangerously out of control. Unsure of what to say, he lifted his free hand to brush her cheek, his fingers winding their way into her hair, and waited.
Finally, she drew one deep breath, then another. After a long moment, she met his eyes and smiled. "Hi," she said, her voice soft.
"Hi," he said in return, drawing out the word. He smirked at her, thinking of all those manic kisses.
"I'm so sorry. You're right, I did have a dream. A terrible one. I dreamed—" Color burned high on Sarah's cheekbones, and she swallowed hard. "I dreamed Graham slit your throat. You died, Chuck, right in front of me. He killed you and shot Bryce in the head. His soldiers murdered Zondra. No one was left alive but me. I was … I was alone."
Her voice broke on that last word, and the devastation in her eyes was painful to see. Sarah had lived so much of her life alone; now she had him, and friends, and in Ellie, even a family. He knew losing all that was truly one of her worst nightmares … especially if she felt she'd failed to save any of them.
"It was just a dream, baby." He stroked her hair in an effort to offer comfort. "I'm here, and you're here, and everyone's okay."
She turned her head, hiding a kiss in his palm. "I know I should just let it go … but you really did almost die, Chuck. What's left after that? What would be the point in going on?"
"Trust me. I know. I feel the same way—one hundred percent. But, Sarah, look at me … I'm fine. You and Zondra and Devon made sure of it. We have our own team now—and an awesome one at that." It was the simple truth. "Let's fight for what we have … not for what we're afraid of losing. If we're resigned to that—they win. It's what they want us to do. To sit in despair, waiting for them to close in. We're better than that. You're the best agent in existence … I'm the Intersect. We have the advantage."
He could see the tension seeping out of Sarah's shoulders. A grin spread across her face as Bryce stepped into the room, wearing an apron with flowers all over it and a grin of his own.
"I hate to interrupt such a poignant moment," he said, "but do you want your eggs over-easy, or—"
Sarah turned to face him. "Just cook 'em like you always do. Burnt and crispy. We'll deal with the fallout."
"Coming right up." He ducked back into the kitchen, leaving Chuck and Sarah staring at one another.
It was ridiculous to be jealous of the fact that Sarah knew how Bryce cooked breakfast. They'd been together for a while, of course, and they'd been partners for years. Still, the feeling was undeniably there, and Chuck had to fight to push it away. "Now that I think about it, I am kinda hungry," he said, forcing a smile. "I'm just not sure how to go about it yet. Hurts like hell to move."
Sarah's eyes narrowed, as if she could sense what he was feeling, but she let it go. "I'm sure breakfast in bed can be arranged—or in couch, as it were."
"Sounds great. Thanks."
She squeezed his hand. "At some point we'll need to figure out how to move you into one of the beds. If I'd been thinking more clearly last night, you'd be there right now."
He raised an eyebrow. "One of the beds? Anyone's in particular?"
"You know what I mean, you big goof." She leaned in closer to whisper into his ear. "And I've even thought of a way to get you squeaky clean once you're there."
There was a gleam in Sarah's eye as she stood and sashayed into the kitchen, putting a little extra sway in her hips and throwing a knowing smile over her shoulder. She was an evil, evil woman.
As Chuck lay there, pondering all the possibilities of receiving a sponge bath from his girlfriend, Sarah helped Bryce finish making their breakfast.
OoOoOoOoO
Zondra wiped the foggy mirror clear with her towel and got a good look at herself. She looked as haggard as she felt. After overhearing Bryce and Chuck's conversation last night, she hadn't been able to sleep at all.
Chuck thought of her as family. He'd said he loved her—enough that he'd step in front of a bullet for her, laying down his life in the process. That revelation left her dumbstruck. It made her feel cherished and filled her with a warmth she hadn't felt since she was a little girl … at least before she'd lost her parents in that horrible fire.
The knowledge that Chuck loved her that much also scared the hell out of her, if she was being honest with herself.
Zondra was sure she didn't deserve that kind of love from such a wonderful man. Especially since she'd wasted so much time keeping him at arm's length because of stupid CIA rules and a silly schoolgirl crush she'd had since the Farm. She'd liked Chuck from the first time she'd laid eyes on him, but the view was always tainted with the thought that she could never fully give herself to him. She'd been a coward, and she was so tired of living her life that way. Alone. Always alone—even when she was with Bryce.
The more she thought about the picture she'd found of the two them together at the Farm, the madder she got. It looked like she wasn't the only coward in the bunch. To think that this whole time, Bryce'd been pining away, just like her—and for what? So he could share a bed with Walker—to help himself forget about the connection they'd once found with each other? Any kind of relationship with Bryce was now a dead-end road, fraught with too many complications to even consider.
While Zondra dried her hair and applied her makeup, she became even more determined to be patient with regards to Chuck. Whatever he needed, she'd make sure he had—even if that turned out to be Sarah. She owed him her life. She'd give him her heart. For now, it would be good enough to keep him safe. The only role Bryce would play in her decisions going forward would be based off his intentions towards his old roommate. She'd watch him closely. She'd protect Chuck from Bryce and anyone else that might cause him pain.
Turning out the bathroom light and making her way to the living room, Zondra breathed in the smell of bacon and freshly brewed coffee. Sure enough, there was a full breakfast spread waiting in the kitchen. Sarah, Bryce and Chuck were parked around the coffee table, already eating. After fixing her plate and pouring herself a cup of joe, she walked over to the couch and gave Chuck a questioning look. His mouth full, he just smiled and moved his feet enough to give her room to sit.
Sarah was in the recliner beside the couch, leaning forward over her plate. She paused with her fork halfway to her mouth when Zondra sat down, a single eyebrow raised. Bryce was sitting on the loveseat with a stack of files beside him. His gaze flicked toward Zondra and Chuck, then away, focusing on the papers in his lap. His obvious discomfort troubled her, but she pushed the feeling away. She hadn't done anything wrong, and if the four of them were going to live here together, she and Bryce needed to get used to coexisting in the same space—which meant getting beyond whatever awkwardness lingered between them. Beyond that, it wasn't as if Bryce had brought up the photo in his nightstand or the curious way he kept looking at her—as if there was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn't figure out how to go about it. She wasn't responsible for his emotional hang-ups. If he had something to share with her, he could damn well man up and open his mouth.
"How are you feeling, Chuck?" Zondra said, giving him the once-over. His color had vastly improved, and although he was eating gingerly with his left hand, his appetite seemed solid—a very good sign. "You had us all worried last night, but you're looking a lot better."
Chuck swallowed a mouthful of bacon and grinned at her. "Well, I was unconscious, wasn't I? I sure hope I look better than that. Truthfully, I'm not sure if I'm feeling better or just getting used to feeling like shit."
His smile softened the blow, but all three agents flinched. Zondra realized they all cared about him deeply, even Bryce—which was stellar when it came to Chuck's protection, but also made Chuck their Achilles heel.
Looking deep into his eyes, she could tell he was still in a lot of pain but was fighting hard to hide it from everyone … and failing miserably. Over the years Zondra had gotten used to dealing with what she couldn't help but think of as 'battle damage.' Chuck … not so much.
"We'll make a run to pick you up some more supplies, Chuck," Sarah said. "I'd like to get a sling for that arm, some antibiotics just in case, and maybe some topical anesthetic for your shoulder. We've got some heavy-duty pain meds in our kits, but we didn't want to give you anything stronger than Advil until you'd eaten and the anesthesia was out of your system. I can grab some hydrocodone in a bit if you need it."
He shifted his weight, trying to find a place to set his empty plate down. Both Sarah and Zondra moved to take it; Zondra yielded first, settling back into her seat. Chuck glanced between them, his expression quizzical. "Sounds like a plan, but first things first. Bryce, can we establish communications with Casey like we talked about? I need to let Ellie and Devon know I'm okay. I know they'll be worried sick."
"Don't worry, Chuck. I've got this," Sarah said, her fingers flying over her phone's keyboard. She frowned down at it, typed some more, paused again, and finally finished. A moment later, her cell buzzed in response, and she put it back down on the arm of the recliner. "All set. Casey and I established a secure line of communication a while back. I just gave him our sitrep. He'll let Ellie know as soon as it's safe."
Chuck gave her a grateful smile. "Thanks, Sarah."
"Don't thank me yet. He'll need to be careful with Beckman still looking for you. The old hag'll order Casey to question your family first thing." Sarah poked her eggs with her fork, regarding them with distaste. Zondra didn't blame her. The eggs were scrambled … at least, Zondra thought so. Mostly, they were scorched. How the hell did you burn scrambled eggs? Was it Walker who was this bad of a cook, or Bryce? God knew he'd never made her breakfast, back in the day.
Had he been making breakfast for Walker while the two of them were in San Francisco—and before that, when they were together? Zondra didn't want to feel jealous—she knew their relationship had been one of convenience—but she couldn't help but feel a frisson of envy all the same. God, this situation was so awkward.
Sarah and Bryce were both staring at her, their gazes narrowed, and she realized the sense of disquiet she felt must show on her face—or in her body language, which both of the other agents were adept at reading. She searched for another way to channel her irritation, and found it—after all, it wasn't as if she had far to reach. "So, the whole time you were here in San Fran, you were in contact with Casey?"
"I—" Sarah began, stabbing her fork into her eggs, but Chuck cut her off.
"Does that really matter, Z? Don't we have other things to worry about right now—like the fact that Graham thinks you and I've been murdered by Sarah, while Beckman searches high and low for us to make sure we're dead? And that's not even taking into account what Fulcrum's up to. Last we heard, they were closing in on me. What are we gonna do?"
The panic in his voice tore at Zondra's heart. She wanted to reassure him, but it wasn't her place—not with Walker here too. Besides, what could she really say?
To her surprise, Bryce leaned forward, placing a reassuring hand on Chuck's knee. "Calm down, buddy. You're safe here and we'll all make sure you stay that way."
"I'll second that," Zondra said, sliding her plate onto the coffee table. "But I'm tired of playing guessing games. It's too dangerous—too much is at stake. I need to know everything about the mission that you and Walker are on—the reason you've been ordered to go dark. What's Graham having you two do? What kind of exposure to Fulcrum are we under here?"
Sarah settled back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. "You're right, Z. You both need to know everything, and the sooner, the better so no one's left in the dark should something happen. We're looking into a suspected Fulcrum cell and to keep everything looking kosher with Graham, we'll need to keep up appearances and continue on, business as usual. Bryce, give Chuck and Zondra our latest notes and briefings to bring them up to speed."
Bryce didn't argue. Instead, he handed her and Chuck one of the folders stacked next to him and then spent the next hour going over the contents in detail. Chuck flashed on almost everyone mentioned in the briefing, which alarmed Zondra. Who knew how these flashes affected his brain? How much could he take, on top of being shot and undergoing so much emotional stress?
Zondra drew a deep breath. No point in borrowing trouble—and besides, she wasn't going to infantilize Chuck the way Beckman and Graham had. He was a valuable part of their team, and right now, the knowledge that the Intersect provided him was a key way he could contribute. "So these rogue FBI agents—"
"Reeves and Channing. They're Fulcrum." Chuck tapped his temple. "Really bad people … surprise, surprise. It's not like Fulcrum employs folks who dress up like the Easter bunny or volunteer at nursing homes in their spare time."
"Right … Reeves and Channing." Crossing her legs at the ankle, Zondra stretched to relieve some of the tension in her back, then took a gulp of her coffee. At least that wasn't burnt. "Just to make sure I understand—you think they're receiving their intel and/or orders from Fulcrum through a safe deposit box at the Pine Street branch of the First Republic Bank here in town, and you've been tasked by Graham to basically 'rob a bank' and make a copy of what's found inside. Is that it?"
Sarah got to her feet, setting her mug and plate down on the coffee table. "In a nutshell, yes. But remember, we're fighting a two-front war here and there are other players to consider."
"I'm not following," Zondra said. "Sorry, lack of sleep. Elaborate, please."
Walker started to pace, the way she'd always done when she was working out a complicated situation. "Well, first there's Monica Whittaker. She's a former Air Force intelligence officer that Reeves had us follow when we first arrived—said she was suspected of trying to steal thousands of classified documents to sell to potential buyers. We now think she's just a patsy—a way for Fulcrum to get information on Nathan Page. They've been having some kind of torrid affair with one another."
"'Torrid affair'?" Zondra couldn't help but chuckle. "What, have you been reading romance novels when you're not out saving the world, Walker?"
Sarah shot her a dirty look. "If you'd heard the recordings we have, you wouldn't have to ask. Anyhow, Page may be key in helping us—in helping you, Chuck. He works for Donald Kerr, the Principal Deputy Director of National Intelligence. That's in the offices of the DNI—the same office Beckman and Graham report to. If we can turn him into an ally, it might be just what we're been waiting for."
"That's a big 'if,'" Zondra said. "What makes you think we can appeal to Page, or if we can even trust him?"
"It is a big if." Stacking his folders into a neat pile, Bryce turned to face her. "But he's a vulnerability. And right now, we need all of those we can get."
"Finally," Sarah said, stalking to the window and peering outside, "there's Troy Mason. He's a computer scientist who met with Page while he was here in town visiting Whittaker. He works with the NSA on projects involving quantum cryptography and is supposedly the best in his field when it comes to encryption."
At the word 'encryption,' Chuck perked up, like a bird dog going on point. He didn't say anything, though, and Sarah let the curtains fall back into place before she continued.
"We also think he might be the target for something Fulcrum's calling Project Janus. We heard about Janus through monitoring Reeves' and Channing's communications. Chatter's also been picked up regarding Fulcrum's desire to gain access to secure NSA facilities. Our analysts think that Project Janus is Fulcrum's plan to go after the raw data in these facilities, most likely with the intention of creating an Intersect of their own. Any data held at one of those facilities or being transported to and from them would require our best encryption."
"Janus?" Chuck said, and Sarah came to a halt in front of him. "Isn't he the two-faced god of gateways, or something?"
"Very good, Chuck. I had to look that one up myself." Walker ran her hand through his hair with a casual affection that sent a pang through Zondra's stomach. The tenderness in that simple gesture—and the peace that suffused Chuck's features when Walker touched him—made Zondra realize how deep the connection between the two of them ran. How could she compete with that? More to the point, why would she want to? Sarah made him happy, which should make Zondra happy. She just wished it didn't hurt so damn much.
She glanced away, which didn't help. Her eyes fell on Bryce, who wasn't looking at Chuck and Sarah. Instead he was looking at her, regret and longing clear in his eyes.
Frustration surged inside her. She wanted to throw her coffee cup through the window. Or at his head. Really, either would do.
"Hey," Chuck said, and both Zondra and Bryce started guiltily. He pointed at himself with his good hand. "Come to me with all your obscure informational needs. Nerd, remember?"
"How could we forget?" Bryce's voice was gruff. His gaze slid away from Zondra, and he busied himself with restacking the files—which were already perfectly organized.
Zondra didn't blame him. If she had files to stack, she'd be messing with them too. Instead, she turned back to the business at hand. "So what are the holdups with the bank job?"
"We have a man on the inside," Bryce said, looking just as pleased as she was to be leaving dicey emotional territory behind. "A real tech wiz. You'd love him, Chuck. His name's Jackson Sanders and he's the Signals Intelligence Analyst for the FBI's field office here in town. He's been working with us almost from the very beginning."
Sarah sat back down in the recliner, hands folded in her lap. "Graham's already signed off on him and he's really good at what he does."
"But as good as he is," Bryce continued, "he's not been able to circumvent the bank vault's security. It's state-of-the-art from what Jackson's told me, and probably why Fulcrum chose this bank in the first place." Bryce shook his head in frustration. "If we can't get past the security, our only other option is a high-noon-style robbery during daytime hours when the electronic locks aren't engaged. Obviously, the danger to the public leaves that option off the table."
That eager bird-dog look was back on Chuck's face. "When can I meet him? Jackson, I mean. Maybe we can put our heads together and figure something out."
Did the man have no sense of self-preservation at all? "No, Chuck," Zondra said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "I don't think that's a smart move. I'm not crazy about the idea of anyone else knowing you're alive, much less sitting here exposed in a San Francisco safe house. The fewer people that get to see you, the better."
"That's not how we're gonna win this thing, Z. We can't just tuck me away and hope for the best." There was steel in Chuck's voice, and for a moment she got a glimpse of the guy who hadn't hesitated to put himself in the path of a bullet to save her life. "I may be on the run, but I still have skills I can contribute. If Bryce and Sarah trust this guy, then I will too. Plus without the Intersect on the playing field, we may be giving away the one edge we have to come out on top."
"Jackson's safe, Z." Sarah leaned forward, emphasizing her point. "I'd bet my life on it."
Zondra matched her stare for stare. "Sure. But would you bet Chuck's?"
For once, Walker didn't have a snarky comeback. Her mouth snapped shut and she just sat there, her eyes fixed on Chuck's face. Zondra waited one beat, two—they all did—but Walker didn't say a word.
"That's what I thought," Zondra said, and there was an edge to her words.
Color flooded Sarah's face, and she pushed to her feet again. Before things could escalate, though, Bryce stepped in once again—which wasn't like him, or at least the guy he'd been back in the day. Back then, he'd been the first to take a tense situation to the next level.
"All right. Let's all just take a breath and put a pin in this for the moment," he said, standing up. "Sarah … how about you and I go get those supplies and let this simmer for a while?"
Sarah looked back and forth between Zondra and Chuck a few times, but then she nodded and grabbed her keys. As she made her way towards the door, Bryce walked over and placed his hand on Zondra's shoulder. The touch was casual—but also achingly familiar.
All he said, though, was, "Keep an eye on the surveillance and let us know if you see anything suspicious. We'll only be a few blocks away."
"Don't worry," Zondra said, shrugging out from under his hand. "I'll keep him safe."
Bryce gave her a sad half-smile. "Of that, I have no doubt."
He followed Sarah out. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Zondra and Chuck alone.
OoOoOoOoO
Casey finally pulled his Suburban into the parking lot at Westside Medical. He'd spent the past half hour checking his rearview mirror, making sporadic lane changes and turns to make sure he'd get there unnoticed. The last thing he wanted was to be followed. So far, so good, but he wouldn't put it past Beckman to have him watched just as closely as the Bartowski clan. She didn't trust anyone, which made her highly paranoid and especially dangerous.
After receiving Walker's update about their safe arrival and Chuck's improving condition, Casey had breathed a sigh of relief. He'd been on pins and needles for the past twenty-four hours and hadn't slept or eaten much. It still plagued him that Bartowski had been taken under his watch. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the kid lying in the back of Rizzo's Jeep, his shirt soaked with blood. If Chuck had died because that bastard Longshore'd gotten the drop on him, Casey would have been haunted by that image for the rest of his life.
The good news came as a temporary reprieve. Now that he knew Chuck was all right, he could move on to the next step—passing along the news to Bartowski's sister, for whom Casey was now responsible. Devon was still at home, but Ellie'd left early for a shift at the hospital. The timing was perfect—it gave Casey the opportunity to talk with her alone, minus the watchful eyes of Echo Park's surveillance, which would be under hyper-scrutiny from now on. There was no doubt in the NSA agent's mind that Burbank and all of the surrounding areas would soon be crawling with additional minions who were under Beckman's thumb. The Intersect was a game changer and Beckman would stop at nothing to either have Chuck back under her control or bury him where he stood. There'd be no in between.
Making his way through the hospital's atrium, Casey checked the departmental map on the wall. There it was, right between the Nelson Ward and Nuclear Medicine—the Neurosciences Unit. That'd be where he'd find Ellie and he was a little apprehensive about doing so.
Casey made no bones about it, at least to himself: On some level, Ellie Bartowski scared the shit out of him. She told it like it was and held nothing back. Exhibit A—her little display at Thanksgiving when she'd caught Bryce kissing Sarah in Chuck's room. Not only was she a brilliant neurologist who had charm and grace, but her wit was as sharp as Chuck's without the impediment of Bartowski's damned lady-feelings. In so many ways, she was the perfect woman … if only he was fifteen years younger.
The moment the thought entered his head, he wanted to punch himself in the face. What the hell was the matter with him? This wasn't the time to be daydreaming about Bartowski's sister, even on a hypothetical level. Maybe seeing Walker and Bartowski together—and the damned googly eyes that Rizzo'd been making at Chuck—had done something to Casey's brain. He didn't need to be thinking about theoretical romantic prospects—no matter how ridiculous they were—when he'd done such a crappy job of protecting Chuck. Besides, history showed he was much better at bashing skulls than hearts and flowers. There was no room in his life for Hallmark movie distractions. He needed to keep his head in the game, particularly now.
Following the image of the map he'd committed to memory, he focused on what was important—finding Ellie and passing on Sarah's message. As he rounded the last corner and glanced down the hallway, there Ellie stood in her white lab coat and scrubs, speaking with a colleague. She must've sensed his presence, because she looked up, straight at him. Her emerald-green gaze skewered him, and it was all he could do not to shift his weight like some damned recruit who'd been caught out.
Handing a clipboard to the other doctor, Ellie marched over to stand right in front of Casey, hands on her hips. "John, don't you dare come in here to deliver me more bad news. I won't have it."
Casey shuddered to think what she would've done if he did have something awful to convey. They were in a hospital, after all—her hospital—with a multitude of sharp objects close at hand. "It's nothing bad," he said, lowering his voice to be sure they wouldn't be overheard, "but I do have news. Is there someplace private where we could talk?"
She didn't look any less skeptical—but she did remove her hands from her hips, which Casey took as a good sign. "Sure. My office is right down the hall, and we're coming up on my break."
He shook his head. "Not your office. Somewhere that's high security—not accessible to the general public."
Maybe some women would've been excited about being inducted into an underground world of spies and government conspiracies. Ellie, on the other hand, just looked disgusted—and exhausted. "More secrets and intrigue. I guess it's always going to be like that from now on, huh?"
"I'm afraid so," Casey said with genuine regret. He'd never felt this way before about an assignment, but if he could've done so safely, he would've walked right out of the Bartowskis' lives and left them alone. Unfortunately, right now he was the only safeguard Ellie and Devon had. They needed him, and he just hoped he'd be up to the task. The only thing worse than explaining to Ellie why Chuck had died on his watch would be telling Chuck and Sarah how he'd let Beckman get hold of Ellie and the kick-ass field surgeon who'd saved Chuck's life.
Ellie stood for a moment, deep in thought. Then she squared her shoulders, resigned. "I have just the place. Follow me."
Through twists, turns, and many door scans, Casey found himself in a small room that seemed to hum—like everything was vibrating. "Where are we?" he said, spinning to look around.
A small smile curved Ellie's lips. "Right beside us are five MRI machines. The RF shielding for any MRI room prevents radio frequencies from entering into the MRI scanner and distorting the image. This room is perfect for ensuring we're not overheard."
His eyes widened. She was right—the room was perfect. He couldn't have done a better job himself. But how she'd come up with this solution on such short notice—now that was impressive. "What the—" he said, at a loss for words.
"What can I say? My dad was an engineer. Maybe it's in the blood or something." She shrugged, dismissing his reaction. "Now what's the news?"
Casey's instincts had been accurate—he was right to be intimidated by Ellie. Smart, savvy, and strategic … the woman was a force to be reckoned with. He was just glad they were on the same side. Fighting the urge to salute under the weight of her clear-eyed stare, he fumbled for his phone.
"You probably want to read this yourself. It's from Sarah to you. She sent it to me for security reasons, but the message is yours." He handed the phone to her, and waited as she read the words he'd already memorized.
Dear Ellie,
I wanted you to know that we've all arrived safely and Chuck's looking and feeling much better. We both send our love and sincere apology for not being there with you. I'll try and find a better means of communication as soon as possible, but for now, I can think of no better emissary for our first message to one another. Stay the course and trust in John. I do … and so does Chuck.
Your sister,
Sarah
P.S. Try not to worry. I still remember the promise I made to you.
Ellie wiped her eyes and handed the phone back. "Chuck and Sarah trust you—which means I will too. But this is going to be hard on me, John. My family's on the lam because our own government wants them dead."
As difficult as the past few weeks had been—and as much as it'd tried Casey's faith in the people he'd dedicated himself to serving—he couldn't bring himself to believe that the entire United States government was corrupt. If that was the case, then his whole career—his whole life—had been a lie. This mission had changed him in ways he'd never expected … but he still believed in his country, even if what he'd placed his faith in was an idea that he'd have to fight to uphold.
"It's not our government, Ellie," he said, shoving his phone into his pocket. "It's just two power-hungry pricks that've lost their way. I'm ashamed to've worked for them, but take Beckman and Graham out of the mix, and who knows—maybe we can actually make a difference. The point is to get that thing out of your brother's head. On that day—when we can come clean about who he is and what he's done—no one will look at him other than as a patriot and a hero. That's how I see him and so should you—not that I would ever presume to tell you what to do."
Now it was Ellie's turn to be speechless. She looked into Casey's eyes for a long moment, and he had the unmistakable sense that she was looking through him. Finally she said, "I'll have to take your word for it. So, where are they?"
"I have no idea. We never discuss location. Keeps any damage compartmentalized. Plausible deniability, and all that."
Frustration loomed in Ellie's eyes. "What now, then? What's our next move? I hate being helpless. Feels like we can't do anything from here."
"We can do something," Casey said, "but it's risky."
She stood up straight. "My little brother is risking his life. If it'll help him, I'll do whatever I can, and I know Devon would too. What do you have in mind?"
"Well," Casey said, weighing his words, "you and Devon are now persons of interest. Your life will be closely monitored for the foreseeable future. Sorry, Ellie, but it's the truth. Their surveillance just expanded to concentrate on both of you."
"Closely monitored." Her hands were back on her hips. "What exactly does that mean?"
"Your phones, cars, and places of work will be bugged, most likely by me. I'll let you know where and when I place them and periodically sweep for bugs I didn't plant so we'll have no surprises—but you'll both need to watch what you say—even to each other. We'll need to meet here at a set time every week for updates."
He examined her face for signs of indignation—but there were none. All he saw in her eyes was a fierce determination to keep Chuck safe. "I don't like it, but it's what I expected. As long as Devon and I don't say anything untoward, we should be all right. What's the risky part?"
Drawing a deep breath, Casey outlined what he had in mind. "I need you and Devon to play along—help me leave a false trail that suggests Chuck would definitely make contact with one of you, at some point … that he'll still be in the area if he's not already dead. It'll justify my continued presence here in Burbank and keep Beckman's sights set on you and Devon, not Chuck."
"We can do that." A faint line appeared between Ellie's brows—what Casey's father, long ago, had called the 'I want' line. His mother had also had that particular wrinkle … and she'd been every bit as goal-oriented as Ellie. She'd had the same knack of getting what she wanted, even when no one else thought it was possible … and the longer Casey knew Ellie, the more certain he was that she fell into the same category. "Just tell me what you need us to do. But are you sure focusing on us will be enough to keep the bad guys away from Chuck?"
"For a while, at least, yes. And when it doesn't anymore, we'll figure out another strategy." He stuffed his hands into his pockets, hating the fact that the best approach was to use Ellie and Devon as sleight-of-hand bait. Chuck would detest the idea … but Chuck wasn't here. He'd charged Casey with protecting his family, and Casey would fulfill the brief. All the same, his responsibilities still extended to Chuck as well. Keeping all three of them safe would require a delicate balancing act. Lucky for him, Ellie was definitely up to the challenge.
"Make no mistake, this is dangerous," he told her. "Still, neither of you are national assets—just links to one. Better that you should be under a microscope than to have Beckman get any ideas about launching a manhunt outside of Burbank for your brother. I promised Chuck I'd keep you and Devon safe, and I will—but I also have to protect Chuck. I've thought it all through, and this is the best option. I swear to protect all of you with everything I have."
To his shock, Ellie's eyes filled with tears again. Then she flung herself at Casey, wrapping her arms around him with such force, he could barely breathe. "Thank you," she said, burying her face in his chest. "Thank you for caring about Chuck, and for looking out for us. Thank you for risking your job and your life. None of us will forget it."
Her breathing hitched, and Casey felt his shirt grow wet with her tears. He wanted desperately to detach himself, but she clung to him with surprising strength, and he didn't have the heart. Thank God Walker and Rizzo couldn't see him now—big, bad John Casey, helpless in the face of the most intense onslaught of lady-feelings the world had ever seen. They'd never let him live it down.
Awkwardly, he patted Ellie's back. "It's okay, Ellie. It'll be all right."
She didn't say anything, just hung onto him like a barnacle and kept crying. What did people do in these situations? He had no clue, and just kept patting. If only she had some kind of 'disengage' button, like most weapons he'd handled. Armed combat was far easier than dealing with other people's emotions—even when the person in question seemed to be crying out of a sense of gratitude. Why would someone do that? Couldn't she just say 'thank you' and move on?
And what did it mean that he wanted her to feel better—that her good opinion and peace of mind mattered to him? That he felt that way about both Bartowski siblings, and Walker and Rizzo too? His inner circle was getting way too big for comfort. Usually it was John Casey, party of one.
Ellie finally released her death grip and smiled up at him. Her eyes were still glossy, but she wasn't crying anymore. "I'm so glad Sarah sent you as her emissary," she said, squeezing his hand before stepping away. "You're a good man, John. Thank you."
"My pleasure, Ellie. Same day and time, next week? I'll meet you here."
"Sure." She tugged her scrubs back into order and ran the pads of her fingers beneath her eyes, wiping away her smudged eyeliner. "In the meantime, see you 'round the courtyard, neighbor."
He let her leave first, then followed her out of the small, humming room a minute or two later. Phase One of his plan was complete. Now, to report in to Beckman.
On the drive back to Echo Park, he dialed Beckman's number. She answered at once, sounding simultaneously annoyed to hear from him and as if she'd been expecting his call.
"Report, Major," she said.
Well, hello to you too, you unscrupulous, scheming, murderous bitch. "I talked with Ellie Bartowski. She says she has no idea where Chuck might be. I asked several times and in a variety of ways, but she maintained her ignorance."
Beckman made the aggravated sound that meant she was dissatisfied with her subordinates' approach. "I might imagine that she wouldn't be overly motivated to disclose her brother's whereabouts to John Casey, Buy More lackey. Perhaps you need to employ some more … aggressive … leverage."
"With all due respect, I think blowing my cover at this juncture would be an error, General. And there's no way for me to explain an intense interest in the asset's whereabouts without revealing that I'm anything other than a glorified stockboy." He kept his voice expressionless, even as his hands clenched the wheel. "Still, I don't think she's telling the truth. Something seems … off about her story. I think she knows more than she's letting on."
"I'm sure she does." Beckman managed to imbue those four syllables with the unmistakable sense that she believed Casey to be an idiot. "Any bright ideas for getting her to confess?"
"I think we need to expand surveillance on Ellie as well as Devon Woodcomb. They'll slip up, and then we'll have the clue we need to locate and put down the asset."
There was a tense silence as Beckman considered his suggestion. He waited her out, half his attention on the road and half on what he'd do if she vetoed the idea. At last she said, "The asset has outlived his usefulness, Major. He's turning out to be more trouble than he's worth. We are clear on that, correct?"
"As we discussed the other day, General, we are absolutely clear. I believe this is the most direct path toward that goal."
She was quiet for another long moment. "Acceptable, Major—for now. We'll expand the surveillance and see if his sister or Woodcomb talks. Maybe Bartowski's dead, and maybe he's not. If he isn't, every second we don't know where he is is a second he could be in Fulcrum's hands. If your approach doesn't yield results in short order, we'll take another route that will require more … direct … involvement on your part."
"Understood," he said, and she disconnected—as usual—without saying goodbye.
He drove the rest of the way home with his mind whirring a thousand miles an hour. He'd bought them some time—but how much? He'd need to come up with a backup plan, and soon.
Thinking about how he'd communicate this to Walker, he parked the Suburban and made his way into the courtyard. God, he needed a beer and to decompress for a little while. Maybe watch a show on the History Channel or something. Either way, he saw some quality time with his TV coming up—and maybe a couple of those disgusting Hot Pockets, if he had any. Then he'd figure out what to do next.
He was doing a mental inventory of his freezer when someone stepped out of the shadows by the alleyway. His hand had already dropped to the weapon concealed at his waist when he registered the figure's familiar shape—but there was no way. It couldn't be.
Casey stopped and stared, his brain grinding to a halt. His mouth opened, but no words came out.
"Hi, John," the figure said.
He found his voice—hoarse with surprise, but functional. All that came to mind was her name, but that was enough.
"Ilsa?"
A/N: We'd like to apologize to anyone that felt the first scene in this chapter was repugnant. We agree, but also felt the need to shine a light on what was going on in Sarah's psyche after almost losing Chuck the way she did. We felt she'd be traumatized after everything that'd happened and her fear of losing everyone she cared for would manifest itself in her subconscious. Many of the characters on the show have abandonment issues, but Sarah in particular is having a hard time adjusting to being in a loving relationship—especially when faced with the possibility of losing it. In the end, we thought her nightmare would only harden her resolve to keep Chuck safe and have her make more cautious decisions moving forward. The Ice Queen is melting. Trust us, it was just as hard to write as it probably was to read.
A/N #2: We've stepped out of our comfort zone while writing all this AU stuff—but we're really enjoying it. Your opinions and ideas go a long way. Please leave your reviews and let us know what you think.
As always, thanks for reading.