CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
This time, this place
Misused, mistakes
Too long, too late, who was I
To make you wait?
Just one chance, just one breath
Just in case there's just one left
"Cause you know, you know, you know
That I love you, I have loved you all along
And I miss you
Been far away for far too long
I keep dreaming you'll be
With me and you'll never go
Stop breathing if I don't see you anymore
"Far Away"
Nickelback
July 14, 2012
Oak Park, Illinois
"What is it, Dr. Woodcomb? What was so important that you left your brother at the hospital to come back here?" Bentley asked her, once the computer they had communicated to General Beckman on was dark again. Most of Ellie's office was relatively intact, the living room containing most of the damage and areas in need of repair.
"I need your clearance to get into a file," Ellie told her. "The Intersect file. Not the actual Intersect that I copied. The data file, the one we were compiling at the research facility at the hospital." Ellie had done the work, and the research, but once she had completed specific tasks, the information had been removed from her access. Her memory was extraordinarily broad, but if she hadn't been studying something specific, she didn't have complete recall.
"The one Beckman was going to use for the congressional hearing?" Bentley asked her.
"Yes," Ellie told her crisply. "There was something I didn't understand before. Something that didn't make sense. I think I figured out what it means now, but I have to see that file."
She had attracted John Casey and her mother's attention, as she had raised her voice. Bentley, neutral toned, proclaimed, "That's evidence for congress. What's left that you don't understand? I feel like you did your job, Doctor. You did what we asked, and more."
"It's about my brother," she said intently. Casey and Mary moved closer to her, alert to possible information when it came to Chuck. "Devon told me he's in a coma." Her green eyes were large and unblinking, while her voice shook slightly.
"Oh, no," Mary said heavily, her voice full of apprehension. Casey grunted deeply and softly. Bentley gave no outward sign that the news had affected her at all.
"No, Mom, listen," she said quickly, her face animated despite what sounded like a serious complication. "The last version of the Intersect, the one that was downloaded through the key, had a very slight variation from the others. I tried to compare different maps of the brain, to try and see what made it different."
"It was the emotional suppression aspect. The one prototyped in Captains Noble and Dunwoody. That was the modification the CIA made to the last version," Bentley told them with certainty.
"Right. And that makes sense now that we know what Chuck experienced. But there's something else. That's why I need the file, Director. Please. This is my brother. I know it doesn't matter to you, but he's fighting for his life right now because he saved me," she stressed, forcing herself to stay calm. "I have to see if what I think is true."
"Part of why I came here early this morning was to settle the score with Meriwether. The other part is because I owed your brother. He saved my life not that long ago. If you need the file for him, then I'll access it for you. But I stay while you do," she insisted. She crossed her arms in front of her, nodding to everyone in the room.
"Fine. It's something I think you would want to know anyway," Ellie told her, running to sit at the computer.
"You don't need Jeffster again, do you?" Casey asked, an exasperated accent on the band's name as he said it. "They have a gig tonight, as I was told," he growled impatiently.
"Send those two on their way, after you thank them for their service," she told Casey briskly. Any argument he would have offered died on his lips at her stern face that meant business only.
The files flashed on the computer screen, dozens of pictures and files in a split second. How Ellie found what she was looking for in the mishmash was astounding, although, Bentley reminded herself, Eleanor Woodcomb's brain was genetically different in much the same manner her brother's was. Still, it was amazing to watch. "There," Ellie said victoriously.
Bentley stayed silent, knowing Ellie would explain. "The medulla oblongata. There was only one portion of one file, but it's there." She turned to Bentley, and translated what she had just said. "That part of the brain, the brain stem, controls bodily functions like heartbeat, respiration, metabolism, things of that nature. Literally nothing to do with memory. But there is data here that indicates the last version had a subroutine that relates to that."
"There was nothing like that in the government's last version," Bentley claimed. "I am certain of that."
"But the version my brother downloaded wasn't the file from DARPA, not exactly. It was modified, after they assembled all three components of the key," Ellie told her.
Bentley contemplated that fact in silence. Taking a sharp, audible breath, she concluded, "There were additional files embedded in the key."
"This," Ellie said, gesturing at her screen, "which may explain why Chuck is still unconscious." She was working again, scanning through files faster than Bentley could even focus on. "He may not have control over it, especially if he doesn't know about the functionality of it." She bowed her head over the keyboard, working hard again. "There," she said to herself, huffing to herself, confirming something she had only suspected from a brief glimpse before. She told Bentley. "There is also this," she said, and the screen flipped to another brain scan image that was entirely different. "This was also embedded in the key. And I have no idea what it is, or what it does, but it's in Chuck's version."
Unknown place, Unknown time
"I think I've got it now," Chuck said, slightly out of breath as he stopped dancing.
"You're a fast learner," Sarah said with a smile.
"One more time, ok? Start to finish?" he asked. He turned away from her, lifting the needle on the record player, and starting the music again. He spun quickly, reaching gently for her hand, then twirled her effortlessly before she glided back into his arms. They stepped in perfect synchronization, like there was an invisible mirror in between them. His awkwardness gone, he was at ease, to the point where he wasn't even thinking about his movements anymore.
"We've never really danced like this, have we? I mean for real," he said.
"We're dancing now, aren't we?" she teased, side stepping quickly as he lifted her over his left leg.
"You know what I mean," he said with a crooked smile.
"Do we need Tango Tuesdays? So you don't get rusty?" she laughed. "After tacos, of course,"
He was laughing so hard he almost lost his coordination. "Anything to keep it interesting, Mrs. Bartowski," he said when he finally caught his breath.
"That was something I was never worried about. As if any minute I ever spent with you could be boring," she said.
He smiled, brushing the loose strands of hair out of her eyes with a gentle hand. He walked back towards the record player, yelling over his shoulder, "Now we separate the men from the boys." She watched him take the record off the player, and replace it with another. He put the needle to the record, and Sarah heard the music. "I Heard It Through the Grapevine," a song she had heard him play on his record player before. He turned to look at her. "It's got a tango back beat, did you know that?"
He grabbed her, and they were tangoing again. He sang softly under his breath, as he moved her effortlessly around the floor. "I've heard this song tons of times. I would never have thought anyone could tango to it," she said, her breath huffing a bit, after three tangos in a row. "You never fail to amaze me, Mr. Bartowski," she added. He knew she was trying to keep the humorous tone, but something in her voice made him look at her, study her.
She smiled, then started laughing as he made a silly face, his eyes wide, his lips folded in. He had to stop dancing, holding her around the waist as she nearly folded in half, as she laughed so hard. "Hearing you laugh...that's always been music to me," he said gently.
She straightened herself, her eyes wide and beautiful as she gazed at him. "You taught me all about music, Chuck. I never listened to it before," she said softly, leaning against him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
He had gone from teasing to suddenly so serious, with just one sentence from her. "I love you, Sarah," he gushed.
"That's my favorite song," she said, resting her head against his chest.
He just pulled her close and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling him supporting her gently as she stretched to make up for their height difference. Never stopping to even take a breath, he gently shuffled her backwards, until she softly made contact with the wall.
"That's what she remembered, when she was dancing with you in Berlin," Stephen said, at Chuck's side, as he realized he was back in his apartment, watching himself dancing with his wife. This was yet another memory, something so perfect, he hadn't appreciated the beauty of this moment until he stood back and watched it happen again.
Chuck turned to look at his father, questions dancing in his eyes as he thought about this. "It took three times through, before Sarah was exerting herself," he heard his father say, no longer surprised, but now comforted by his presence here. He only half turned, regarding his father out of the corner of his eye. "You only danced with her in public like that once, after all that practice, son."
He turned, and found himself at the Russian Consulate in Berlin, watching himself dance with his wife. His suit was a perfect shade of navy, and it coordinated with her evening gown beautifully. Other couples on the dance floor stood back, clearing a path for them to twirl and glide across the floor. "She was trying to overhear what Deutch was saying," Chuck told his father, although by now, he knew he was here with his father for another reason.
Sarah asked him to get her closer, meaning to Deutch, but he had just acted, not thinking, because he was holding her in his arms again, and pulled her tight against him, so no more space was between them at all. "She was breathless after 30 seconds, Chuck. Didn't you hear that? She sounded winded. Because she could feel your breath on her face. She didn't remember teaching you to dance, but she remembered what it felt like to be in your arms."
His father's words affected him, as he remembered. "I had almost given up here, at this point," he told his father. "She didn't remember anything until after this-not until we were in the Wienerlicious. I thought, you know, dancing like that, would be the last time I would ever be that close to her. Morgan told me to kiss her, but I didn't. She was mission focused, Dad."
"Why, though? Why keep reminding you about the mission? She needed a distraction, Charles. She could have pulled her face back, away from you, but she didn't. She wanted to feel you breathing on her cheek. It definitely made her feel something-but it did scare her again," he told Chuck.
Stephen turned and smiled at him, adding, "She adjusted your tie before you were dancing, didn't she? It used to irritate you, even before, when she did that. You got irritated then, like a gut reaction, not realizing why she'd done it. She used to do that before, when she wanted to connect to you somehow, but couldn't tell you how she felt. It's the perfect way to touch you without you thinking anything of it, other than thinking she thought you couldn't tie a tie. It was never that, though."
The scene blinked off again, and he was back in his apartment, at the end of the crazy Motown tango. Free styling as he called it, dancing in silly circles around her. He watched himself grab her from behind, squeeze her around the waist, as they laughed like children.
"She told you she wasn't funny, on your first date, Chuck. It was a safe way of saying she didn't know how to laugh. Her life never afforded much laughter, Chuck. The CIA saved her from a grifter's life. You saved her from what the CIA was turning her into. But listen, Chuck. She's laughing because you made her happy. Happier than she has ever been."
Chuck waited for his father to stop talking, listening to her laughing with him in the scene. Until he realized, what they had been dancing to, the music in the background, wasn't music anymore. He focused hard, separating what he heard from the rest of the noise. It was more beautiful than any piece of music he had ever heard. It was Sarah's voice. Laden with tears, he understood as it cut into his heart, but she was talking to him.
His entire face wet with tears, he turned to his father, who looked emotional enough to cry himself. He had never seen his father this close to tears. "Dad, Sarah's here, with me? In the hospital?"
Stephen nodded silently.
"Why can't I wake up?" he asked his father in a shrilly panic. "Something's wrong, isn't it?"
"No, son. Nothing is wrong," his father assured him. "They think you're in a coma. But you're not. Not really, anyway. Your body is healing from the damage the bullets did to you. Concentrate, son. Can you feel it?"
Chuck put his hand against his left shoulder, feeling an echo of pain, a memory of fiery hot pain that was now receding rapidly. He took a deep breath, amazed now that he could expand his ribs completely without wincing in pain, caused by the mere expansion of his lungs. He ran his hands over his body, feeling no pain at all. "I don't understand, Dad," he said in wonder.
"Yes, you do, son. You know exactly what it is," Stephen insisted.
He felt his heart pounding inside his chest, listening to the blood rushing behind his ear drums. Aloud, he said, "It's the Intersect, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is, Charles," Stephen told him, proud that he had figured it out.
"But how...what…" Chuck was thunderstruck, unable to form a full sentence.
"It was always in the design, Chuck. A way to wire the brain to focus energy on healing. Spying is dangerous, as you know. Once I knew how to achieve it in digital form, I never hesitated," Stephen told him.
"But it...it was...it was never in the Intersect," Chuck told him.
"Not in the first two versions you downloaded. The CIA had polluted my designs for their own purposes by that point. It was on the version from my laptop. It was known about, Charles-that was why Dr. Kowambe was recruited by the Ring. That was how Daniel Shaw was resurrected from the dead, so to speak. But you were never hurt badly enough to need it. And then you lost that version again," Stephen explained.
"But, Dad, the last Intersect was CIA made too. They modified it even more," Chuck told him.
"But it had something none of the others did," Stephen reminded him.
"The key," Chuck breathed, understanding it all in one instant. "You programmed that into the key."
"Yes, I did, at least my piece. After the key was disassembled, and the other two pieces were lost to nefarious factions, it was useless anyway. Until you collected them all again," Stephen told him quietly, pride evident in his tone.
Chuck felt confused, his mind racing almost faster than he could form words. "This is new information. How can I learn new information in a dream?"
"The Intersect works with your subconscious mind, Chuck. You knew that from before. It still does. This is all the Intersect. Chuck, that file, that extra program-it was the earliest version of the Governor. I designed my Governor, and your Governor, from that program that was lost when I gave the key away. You have a version of the Intersect that will never overload your neural energy."
"But, Dad, the watch-"
"You thought you needed it, son. But you didn't. You don't." Stephen smiled, reaching for his shoulder and squeezing. "Like you said, it doesn't come with a manual. But you always had the ability to control it, every aspect of it. You just had to believe that you did. It was a computer version of your brain connections, Charles."
"Dad, you never wanted me to have it. Why all this? I don't-"
"I never wanted you to have it," he interrupted sharply, "because I didn't want what happened to us to happen to you. Be trapped in this world and never be able to get out. I guess I lost my faith a little bit too, son," Stephen admitted. "I forgot that you and your sister were better than that. You have the best of me, and the best of your mother inside you. My brains, her fearlessness, plus a deep compassion and understanding that developed as you grew and life changed you. That's what you want for your children, Charles. For them to be better in every way, take all that's good from both of you and make the world better. That's what your son will be-the best of you, the best of Sarah. It's beautiful to see, son."
Chuck watched him, silent tears streaming from his eyes again. He knew, in this moment, how much he wished his father could be there, to see his children.
"I let my fear guide me. You never did, son. Not in any way that ever mattered. You were right, you know, to stay and fight instead of turn and run. You had the courage that I lacked, son. Don't be afraid of the Intersect. It's only part of what makes you special, but it belongs to you. It always has. This is here-I am here, because it belongs to you, Charles."
"What do you mean?" he asked. Stephen just smiled. Chuck's eyes filled to overflowing with tears when it hit him, what all these dreams meant while he was recovering. "This is in the Intersect," he whispered to himself. "How did you...how did...I don't…" he stammered, losing his thoughts before the words could form.
"There were files, voice patterns, photographs, skill sets, even functions to override biological functions-like emotions, and tissue regeneration. I designed this. It's like you said, it didn't come with a manual. Now it does, sort of," Stephen said, almost shrugging his shoulders as he explained.
"Dad, how...I mean, I-" Chuck was still speechless, but needed to ask how this was possible.
"I was trying to help my friend, that was all, Charles. He never saw this, but it was meant as a way to break through the other personality, help him remember who he was. You're actually interacting with the prototype of the version of the Intersect I downloaded all those years ago. This was also in the key. It interacts with your Intersect, as well as your memories. That's what it was supposed to do, for Agent X," Stephen told him.
"I know you're not really here, Dad, it's just..." Chuck asked him, still struggling with his emotions.
"I am really here. This is the last bit of me, imprinted on your brain. It's just a computer program, but it's part of me too. The part that remains with you always, because I love you, son. I'm sure I never told you nearly enough. But I'm always here," he tapped his temple, "and here," he finished, tapping on his breastbone.
"I love you, too, Dad," he said, reaching for his father, holding him close, tears shaking him as he at last understood the gift he had been given. Like a distant hushing wind, he heard what he thought was music again, in the background, only to slowly come to the realization that it was Sarah's voice, the same that he'd heard before. He lifted his head, meeting his father's eyes, the silent understanding passing between them.
"She's talking to you, Chuck. Listen to what she's saying, because it took almost everything she had to find the strength to tell you what she's telling you right now," Stephen said seriously.
July 14, 2012
Chicago, Illinois
Sarah and Morgan waited. Devon had just left again, returning from the blood bank, to tell them Chuck was on his way to the Intensive Care Unit, in a coma. He had tried to explain it medically, talking about anesthesia side effects, giving them numerical statistics about how and when he could come out of it. Not certain how much more Sarah could take, Morgan had grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into a seat.
Devon had continued talking, using his medical expertise to talk around the misery that had descended upon them all. Morgan had tuned him out, watching Sarah as she seemed to be completely numb. She sat staring at the glass partition in front of her, leaving her head back against the wall. "He's going to be ok, Sarah," Morgan reiterated.
"What if he's not?" she asked blankly, never shifting her eyes away from the spot on the wall where her eyes were fixed.
"Sarah-" Morgan started.
"No, Morgan. What am I supposed to do, with a baby, completely by myself?" she asked, this time only partially inflecting her words.
The thought was like a punch in his gut, but he pushed forward, refusing to let her devolve into despair. "I thought if you knew anything by now, it's that you aren't by yourself. You still have Ellie, and Devon, and me and Alex, and Mary and even Casey. And your Mom, Sarah. You are not alone."
She turned to look at Morgan, fresh tears in her eyes at his sentiment. All because of Chuck, she thought. That entire group-that family she now had, was because of Chuck. Even her connection to her mother and her young sister was also because of her husband. She also had friends-Carina and Zondra, because of Chuck and the ways he had tried to make her life better, give her something that he knew she had never really had.
"I need to be able to talk to him again, Morgan," she said, the pitch of her voice showing her growing desperation. "There's so much I need to tell him."
Remembering when he had heard that before, Morgan turned to her, his face alive with animation as he answered. "Go talk to him, Sarah. Whatever it is that you want to say, whatever it is that you've kept all bottled up-just tell him. There isn't anything you can tell him that he doesn't already know, Sarah. But you know Chuck. He talks. And talks. You act. You do. You've seen him act, when he had to. Acting was always harder for him, but he did it. All you have to do is talk. He'll hear you, I know he will."
Morgan reached out his hand, grabbed hers and pulled her to her feet. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder briefly, then let her go. He saw her hand shaking as she reached for the door handle. "I'll be right out here, ok?" Morgan told her. She didn't miss how he averted his eyes, not able to look in the door at the frightening sight.
She let the door shut, her back to the interior of the room. There was a nurse in the room with him, standing at his bedside with a clipboard tucked against her waist, writing something furiously. Sarah took a deep breath and turned around. Letting the rest of her breath out was painful as she absorbed what she saw. The entire respiratory apparatus behind his bed was engaged, an oxygen mask strapped in place over his mouth. The vents and tubes tangled as they stretched across his chest. She could see half of his chest exposed, the other half covered with bloody bandages that reached from his breastbone to the side of his left arm, wrapped around his shoulder. He had IVs in both arms, one with a bag of fluid, the other with antibiotics. Taped to his side, a tube slowly streamed inside with dripping blood that was draining out of his chest cavity. A monitor stood at his bedside, gently beeping along with the beating of his heart and his breaths in and out.
Her eyes skimmed to his face, his dark hair curled down over his forehead, matted and messy, and creating a stark contrast to his skin, now almost as white as the sheet under his head. His cheeks looked hollow, his eyes seemed bruised with dark bluish smudges under his eyes. The vein on his forehead that always puffed out when he was straining, or in pain, was apparent as she looked.
"You must be Sarah," the nurse said, startling her out of her silent observation.
When Sarah spun around at the sound of her name, she saw Devon, quietly shutting the door behind him. She looked quickly at the woman, then at Devon and his gentle smile, full of compassion and caring. She placed a hand against the base of her throat, trying to calm the heart that pounded underneath it. "I'm his wife," Sarah said, with a strange, disconnected feeling, like her voice had come from somewhere far away and not from inside her head. "How did you know my name?" she asked.
The nurse looked up, a sad smile on her cherubically round, kind face. Devon nodded in some silent communication with the nurse, and the woman shut her clipboard, smiled briefly at Sarah, and excused herself out of the room.
Once Devon was alone with Sarah in Chuck's room, he told her softly, "They had a very hard time putting him under before the surgery. He woke up a little bit after they brought him into Trauma One. He was very worried about you."
Sarah gasped, raising her hand to her mouth as she crumpled, the thought of him struggling, in so much pain, concerned more for her, was unbearably agonizing. Sarah only nodded, pressing her hand hard against her mouth, no sound able to escape past her lips. "He's not just sleeping. He's in a coma," Sarah managed to say, not much louder than a whisper.
Devon stepped forward, pulling on the stethoscope that was draped across his shoulders around the back of his neck. He scanned Chuck's monitor, studying the readout quickly with his trained eye. He repeated the same sequence multiple times, then said, "He knows you're here. The second you spoke out loud his heart and respiration rate edged down a bit closer to the normal range."
Amazed, speechless, Sarah's gaze rested on Devon. He saw the uncertainty mixed with hope at the same time. "It's not crazy. I see it all the time. Pull up a chair. Talk to him. He'll hear you," he said, smiling in sympathy, unable to hide all of his concern for his brother-in-law. "You know he was worried about you, Sarah. Hearing you, maybe he'll know for sure you're alright. He always cared more about you than he did himself. All of us. That's Chuck. But you know that," he said gently, resting his hand on her shoulder. "I'll leave you alone with him. I'll be right outside if you need anything."
"Thank you," Sarah said softly, a genuine smile cracking through the mask of misery contorting her features.
When she was alone in the room, Sarah reached down for his hand, held it gently in hers without disturbing the needle taped to the back of his. His palm felt sweaty, almost clammy. How Chuck's hands had always been when he was nervous, she thought, five years of memories bombarding her brain all at once. She lifted his hand to her mouth, holding his fingers against her lips, watching as her tears ran down over his wrist and dripped onto the sheet beside him.
"I'm here, Chuck," she said. "I'm hoping Devon was right, and you can hear me. I was hoping to tell you this earlier, but, you know, just like every other time I really needed to tell you something, we got interrupted. But I'll tell you now, because it's been building up forever. And you deserve to hear me say it."
She reached across with her other hand, stroked the hair off of his forehead, feeling that he felt slightly feverish, although the doctor had told them before that was normal, after the severe trauma his body had endured. She let herself go, entwining her fingers into his hair, grazing his scalp in the full indulgence of the caress. The crease in his forehead relaxed slightly as she massaged his head with her fingertips. It was almost physically painful to pull her hand away.
"You said something to me a long time ago, you know. We were sitting on the fountain in the courtyard at Echo Park. You were trying to let me go, because you were afraid my feelings for you were compromising my safety. I didn't know that was what you were doing, until I saw you looking at me in your sister's apartment when you thought I wasn't looking. You said you'd never know anything about me, even if we were together. The things you listed. I guess I could have answered all those questions when you said that, but I don't think I knew all the answers, at least not then. But I do now. So I can tell you now, even if it's a few years late." She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly in short bursts of air. "My name is Sarah Walker, my real name. Whoever I was before doesn't exist anymore-she stopped existing the minute you knew who Sarah Walker was. You saw what no one else ever had, and when you did that, you set me free, to be the person that you loved, the person I was on the inside. I grew up in a million different places, but I never had a home until I met you. And, my first love, my only love, ever, was you." The emotion, pure and simple as she told him what she had always known, swelled like a rising tide, until she felt she was almost drowning.
The limp hand encased in her own was insufficient in the moment, as she wished she could hold him in her arms, her whole body aching from the cold space in between them. She breathed out, and continued. "You know, when I first met you, you always talked about how you thought you weren't courageous or brave. We even laughed about it, sometimes. But then I got to know you. You'd been alone, really alone, since you were 16 years old. With just your sister and no one else. I felt like you could maybe understand me, because I was alone too, only worse, because all I had was myself."
The words rose to the surface, like an anchor had been suddenly lifted, bringing tears with them, knowing she should have told him this so long ago. "You were never afraid of the things that were frightening to me. You'd been so hurt by life, and you still reached out and loved, with all your heart and everything you were. You were never once afraid to love your family or your friends. To the point where there wasn't even a difference between the two. You made me part of your family, from the very beginning. You were never afraid to do the things that were hard-just love, all the time, put other people in front of yourself, always, in everything you ever did. Even putting your life at risk for them, willing to sacrifice your life for them if necessary."
She ran her cheek across his knuckles that she clutched in her hand, resting her temple on his hand, facing the wall, struggling to not break down completely, as more words floated through on the waves of emotions. "You told me once you thought I could do anything, I think because I risked my life every day for my job, or because I lived that life-defying death, living that life expertly. But I was afraid of everything. Everything. Letting people get too close to me. Letting people get close enough to hurt me. Afraid of loving something that I could lose. I lived the way I did before I met you, what you thought was fearless, but I wasn't really ever afraid of dying-I was afraid of living." She turned her head back, her gaze resting on his face, pale but peaceful now. "Until I met you. And you changed all that, forever," she said confidently, a smile finding its way to her lips despite her sadness.
Glowing with admiration, she gushed, "You just got better, stronger, until you literally weren't afraid of anything. You amazed me, always." Tenderly, she continued, "I would watch you sleeping at night and think, my God, this extraordinary man, the only thing he really fears in this life is losing me. I made that much of a difference to you. You made me stronger. You helped me to not be afraid, to be as strong as you are."
She bowed her head over his hand again, her equanimity gone as she broke down, heaving broken sobs that made her chest ache. She tried several times to speak again before the words would come out. "When I lost my memory, I never forgot that I loved you. I tried to tell myself I didn't. I wasn't honest with you, even when I could see your broken heart in your eyes while I was standing in front of you. What I should have said then, what I should have told you was that I forgot how to not be afraid." A guttural cry, like it had come from a wounded animal, burst forth from deep inside her, and she cried again. But she kept talking in one, long, breathless rush, "And then I left, I ran away from that fear, and I hurt you so badly because of that. And I didn't tell you we were having a baby. And I drove a wedge between you and your sister."
Her voice took on a sharp edge, overflowing with pain, as she told him, "Everything burned to the ground, and there I was, sifting through the ashes with useless hope that it wasn't all completely destroyed. It never occurred to me that there was anything to find. But I did find it, because it wasn't gone. It was indestructible. No matter what, no matter what life takes away from you or smashes to pieces in front of your eyes, there is something left, something remaining when everything else is gone. You taught me that, but I had to remember that again."
The love that she spoke of, the transformational force that was racing through her veins like a drug, surged inside her like a lightning bolt as she looked at him. "I didn't completely understand until all my memories came back, but you never gave up on us. You lived the vows you made to me every single day, and I know how hard it was, when I wasn't there." She swallowed hard, her next words coming from the darkest place inside her, oozing up like lava through a crack in the earth. "The way you were, what you told me happened, with the Intersect-I think you thought I wouldn't understand. But what I'm not sure you knew-the way you were, that was exactly how I used to be, before I met you. Dead on the inside. That was the only way to survive, living that life. But that isn't any way to live."
Her heart finally openly, having told him the truth, the words flowed more easily. "When I was little, I used to dream about having a normal life. You know, parents, and a home, and all those regular things that everyone else took for granted. But it was always something that I could never have-I learned that when I was very young. I asked Casey once, if he had ever wished for that. He told me that we made a choice. That was his answer. He made that choice, we found out afterward. I couldn't tell him then, that long ago, that the choice was never really mine. But if I had, maybe he would have understood why I was the way I was, why I fell for you so hard.
"You didn't see me change, because the moment I met you, it had already started. And once I surrendered to you, stopped fighting what I felt for you, it was like magic. Things I wanted, the dreams I never knew were inside me until you made them come true. I was completely alone in the world five years ago, and now I have a family, and friends. People who love me, me, not someone I was pretending to be because it was my job. Your love gave me the courage to show them who I was, to start building those relationships. You knew that was inside me, everything that was inside me." She reached for him, caressing his cheek with the back of her fingers, feeling the light scruff tickle her skin, wishing she could see his eyes, missing the emotion that always reflected back at her.
Time seemed to stand still, and she just cried, the tears coming from a place that felt endless. "Now it's right here in our hands. The future, and that life. Our son. Our children," she stressed, knowing what she wanted now, everything they had ever talked about. "All I can do is promise you I will never forget what you promised me, that I'll never stop fighting alongside you, for us. Everything that you dreamed, that we dreamed together, we can still have. We can make them come true together. I promise you, I will never do another thing to hurt you for the rest of my life."
She set his hand down next to his body, then reached up for his face again. She felt the hard plastic of the mask as she touched the exposed skin on his cheek. The sickly antiseptic smell of the hospital disinfectant and the bleached sheets filled her lungs. She leaned forward, brushing her lips across his cheek, kissing him softly on his forehead, the tears dripping from her chin and onto his face. She felt the warmth of his body against her, terrific pain wracking her body as she was overcome by the desire for his arms around her. The gentle beeping of the monitor that had become part of the background noise in the room changed, now louder and faster, drawing her attention.
"Sarah," she heard, soft and raspy, looking out the corner of her eye to see his breath fogging the mask covering his mouth and nose.
She gasped, pulling her head up quickly. "Chuck?"
His eyes opened, just slits, guarding against the garish overhead light. He couldn't turn his head, but she could see his irises in the corners of his eyes, as he searched for her there. She met his gaze, holding her breath as she did so. Tears streamed from the corner of his eye, running in a rivulet down his temple and collecting at his hairline.
"All...right?" he breathed, and Sarah heard the monitor beep faster still, the exertion and emotion adding increased stress to his system.
"I'm fine. Everyone is fine. You saved us," she said, weeping as she saw the relief iron out the angry crease in his forehead.
"Heard...you," he breathed again, more fresh tears spilling over, as he closed his eyes briefly.
Her thumb was cool against his face, as she wiped his tears away. "Ssh," she whispered, afraid again as his heart rate seemed to spike. "You're going to be ok. You just have to rest, and heal. Everything is finally all right."
"Love...you," he whispered, the strongest two words yet, as if he had used all his remaining strength to say them. "Always."
"I know," she whispered, resting her hand against the side of his face. She felt her other hand, resting beside him on the bed, squeezed in his, the plastic tube from his IV pinching her skin as he held it. "I love you, Chuck. I always have," she whispered.
He relaxed then, closed his eyes, the struggle to stay conscious too much in the face of the pain and fatigue. She bent forward, kissing his forehead again, his hand still clutching hers. The tears that streamed from her eyes onto his skin were tears of relief and joy, hope overflowing after six months of misery that were at last at an end.
XXX
July 14, 2012
Washington, D.C.
Heller stood in Beckman's office, just inside the closed door, as Beckman stood at her desk, leaning over the computer. "It should be clear now, Diane. You were right. Blocked from the source, you and Bentley."
"No way to trace it to him, though," she mumbled, as her eyes scanned the security camera feed that was now visible on her computer.
"General, you have enough to put him away for the rest of his life. You really need to add tampering with federal communications to the charges?" he asked her, slightly frustrated.
"No. It would just be nice to let him know he didn't get a single thing by us, just to wipe that smug look off his face. But I'll settle for grabbing him before he runs," she said, only half paying attention to the conversation as she continued to scan multiple scenes, trying to pinpoint his location. "He may not know we know everything, yet, but he knows we know enough."
"I rearranged his schedule this morning. He would have been on the fourth floor when he got word about what transpired at the Woodcomb home," Heller told her.
"No abrupt exits from anywhere, though, correct?' she confirmed with him.
"He is still in the room," Heller told her, having checked with his men immediately before entering. "We're not waiting to do this in front of the Joint Chiefs. Follow him out of that meeting. We're your back up. Don't worry, Diane."
"Oh, I'm not. I have my own back up, just in case," she told him. He rolled his eyes, knowing who she was talking about.
She walked out of her office and into the hallway, the air of her authority surrounding her like a force field. People in the hallway seemed to sense her coming, and moved aside. The lights in the corridor were garishly bright, accentuating her headache from almost a full 24 hours of no sleep and nonstop stress. She rounded the corner to the elevator, actually moving someone aside with a firm hand on a shoulder.
When she exited the elevator on the fourth floor, she saw him, at the edge of her vision, moving quickly through the doors towards the next section of the corridor. She continued moving forward, knowing that Heller was closing in from the other direction, that it was only a matter of time before he had nowhere left to run.
"Where do you think you're going, General?" she said sharply, projecting her voice.
"I don't have time for this, Beckman," he said dismissively, moving to go past her.
"This is the only thing you have time for any more, General. You thought you could get away with it, since you'd been getting away with it for 35 years. And you may have, you know, if you hadn't been in such a rush to make sure Daniel Shaw was no longer of sound mind. I might never have realized the mastermind behind all of that was you. I was there, in Thailand. And I have proof that you were there too," she accused, tucking her folded hands against her hips.
Beckman watched the stiff expression on his face slowly shift as it began to occur to him that he may not have a quick way out of this. "You think just because you saw me at a Black Site that it proves anything?" he shot back at her.
"You actually think I would have come after you without all the proof I needed?" she said, her eyes narrowed to thin slits as the vehemence burst forth.
"You have nothing," he told her, sounding more confident than he felt.
"Oh, but she does, General," he heard, spinning to see the Deputy Secretary behind him, with a large contingent of armed officers flanking him on both sides. "This is a little bit of Stephen Bartowski coming back from the dead to bite you in the ass, courtesy of those he left behind."
Beckman stood perfectly still, watching his face slowly twist as his predicament became unavoidable. "Don't think you can run," Beckman told him, power projecting from deep inside her. "There is nowhere on the face of the earth you could run where Frost, or Mary Bartowski I should say, couldn't find you. She knows what you did to her, and Corrine and Hartley, and her husband. That you sanctioned his murder. Thailand seems frightening until you picture her coming after you, doesn't it?" He half turned, knowing at least ten guns were fixed on him, but plowing into Beckman at the last minute and blowing through the door to the stairwell, making a last ditch effort to run.
Only to be met immediately with a gun held evenly with his face. "I wouldn't, General," Roan Montgomery said to him. "How lucky for me, I'm the last person who will be able to call you that. Remember that, in my voice, forever."