summary: Exhausted from the events with her mother, the baby, and Ryker, Sarah takes a break and turns down Graham's next assignment. With her not there to intervene, Casey's Intersect plan is realized- Chuck is thrown into a bunker. When she learns the truth through a twist of fate, Sarah realizes all she missed out on in not taking that mission, and the gift she never got to know. Discovering the bunker has isolated Chuck and shut down the Intersect, she decides she only has one choice: to fix it. What she finds in him, and he in her, might just change both of their lives.
note: Hey, y'all, another one. Thanks for all the words and stuff. I'm an exceedingly busy human with v little time to even write these chapters and get to posting, so I appreciate the support. Please review!
disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, humming, train stations or baseballs.
He finds himself filled with strange nervous energy a couple mornings in to things.
There's no real reason for it, particularly. Their days have been fine- no flashes so far, but he's not too worried about their time running out just yet. While he knows he's banking more hopes on this new approach, handler, actually going outside soon technique, and more hope on Sarah, than he probably should, he's also oddly... confident, in it all. He doesn't know why, but knowing someone actually believes in him, that Sarah, particularly, believes in him, it makes him less afraid this won't work and he'll just end up stuck here forever. He oddly thinks Sarah won't allow that. The workload itself has been the same as usual, but he and Sarah have tried to figure out a system for it, and he thinks they both feel a certain ease with it by now. The amount of what he goes through in a day no longer drains him; his worry isn't about that.
And Sarah's been great company. They've gotten along well, smiling, laughing quite a bit about the very dry CIA mission reports they both have to read. It's oddly nerdy, dorky stuff to be joking about with a spy, but he enjoys it. Despite himself, he's maybe rambled a little, talking about his family, comic books, Star Wars and Trek, any time anything in a document reminds him of those things, but Sarah hasn't seemed to mind, listening and engaging whether he's talking about the positives of Enterprise or his sadness over missing that upcoming Iron Man movie. Or, of course, work, which has been its own struggles. When he's gotten too upset about not flashing, when he's been so sure there must be something in the Intersect on a particular subject and the damn thing just isn't working, Sarah's kept his spirits up. Kept him afloat, so to speak. It's made the lows feel far less low, and while there's been no highs yet, as in, no flashes, it's felt good. Nice. And he's certainly felt far less alone.
So his anxiety isn't about just working today, really.
No, he just finds himself nervously really trying to make the place look nice.
It's hard, for an incredibly bare, empty bunker. The mess somehow stands out even more than it would in a busier room. Things left sitting around or askew seem even more visible when there's nothing else to mask them. And Sarah's just so... professional. Put together, very... very pretty, he happens to have noticed. And he's very aware every time she's here that his place is a dump and his life is incredibly sad and really, he doesn't want her to think he's just an entire human disaster. And so he goes about his office that morning, cleaning things, moving things, shifting things to one place and then back again. He makes sure his quarters are neat, too, just in case, picking up the discarded hoodie from his floor, cleaning the leftover dishes. There's so little to do, but it keeps him busy until just before nine.
At which point there's a beep from his bunker entrance (he oddly misses a regular doorbell), and he hits the intercom access, letting them in. He heads up to the door, seeing the same as usual- an analyst, looking uninterested, dumping a huge stack of files just past the threshold. Behind the analyst, Chuck sees glimpses of people walking by, a whole life right out there.
"Delivery," the analyst says bluntly.
"Tha-"
Before he finishes his word, the analyst has stepped out again, hit another button, and gone.
Until last week, that was all Chuck had, most days. Just that contact. Sighing and shrugging, he moves to pick up the files from the floor and carries them into his office, setting them on the desk. He heads back over to his quarters then, picking up the coffee pot, freshly brewed and piping hot, and reaches for one of the neat white mugs upon his shelf. It's funny; before Sarah, he'd only ever used one coffee cup in this whole place. It's not like Casey has ever wanted a drink and a chat, he just grunts information and leaves muttering things. But now, Chuck has two in rotation- his and Sarah's.
And fuck, it's sad he's so excited about a damn mug, but hey, he lives in a bunker and he has a computer in his brain, so.
Shrugging, he pours it out and makes it as Sarah likes, then makes his own, carrying both mugs across to the office. Setting his own cup down, he puts Sarah's right at her side of the desk, ready and waiting for her alongside the notebook she always uses, and then he sits down at his desk, undoing the seal on the files and reaching for the first one.
Time to get to work.
Four days into their new routine, she's surprised to find she's feeling comfortable. Content. Even a little happy. Sure, her shoulder still hurts, she's still all but living in a bunker and protecting an asset who's actually doing just that, but she's in a groove, here. She feels good, with her job, her life, her choices. And it's been a long time since she's felt that. A long, long time.
Their first couple of days were an adjustment, working out how they'd get through a full day of intel studying without Sarah simply sitting there, and also literally where she'd sit, when they'd break for lunch, logistical things like that. But also just the personal things you come up against when spending a lot of time with a virtual stranger.
Chuck had kept humming and then stopping himself, eventually admitting with an adorable blush that he didn't know if she was finding it annoying. She wasn't.
But now they've got a system, a routine. And they're getting to know each other, like with the humming; she's learned Chuck loves music. He used to make a ton of mixes when he had the resources, and he had a record player, back at his sister's place. He'd told Sarah with a wistful smile that sometimes on free weekends he'd venture into tiny vinyl stores off the beaten path, try and find an obscure old recording, odd soft jazz record, an underappreciated indie EP.
She's learning her asset is nerdy in so many ways, with fascinations and obsessions about many things, movies, TV shows... Regular, civilian things he can't indulge in in quite the same way anymore.
More than anything, though, he particularly misses comic books, and nobody at the CIA has tried to get him any.
And so, as Sarah states her name and title to his lock, and the door slides open familiarly, now, she has every issue of Justice League that he's missed tucked in a bundle under her arm. She doesn't really know what it is, but he'd mentioned it a few times, and it hadn't taken her long to find some place with enough back copies for her to get them all. In some ways, such an act could be seen as just her being a handler, trying to keep her asset happy. In Chuck's case that's even literally, since she thinks keeping his spirits up might help him flash.
But Sarah knows that that sort of crafting, manipulation- that's not why she got these comics. Really, she just wants him to have these, something, anything of the home he used to have, the life she hopes she can get him back to, some day.
Because the more she gets to know him, the more she likes him, and the more she's aware he is an incredibly sweet, real guy, who has just been screwed over by actions and people outside his control. He doesn't deserve to be here, in a bunker, at all.
"Hey, Chuck," she calls out, heading to his office without waiting for him, since he'd told her to do that after the first day of her hanging by the entrance.
"Hey!" he calls back, just as she pushes open the door, and she looks up to see him sitting at his desk, a cup of coffee by his side. A matching (still plain) coffee mug sits on the other side of the space- her side. She'd asked resources for another chair for herself, since even that was limited to one in Chuck's place, but a whole other desk seemed unnecessary. "Morning," he greets, upbeat, grinning warmly at her, and she smiles back instinctively as she heads his way.
"Good morning. They really don't waste time, huh?" She gestures to the fresh pile of folders by his arm, already delivered at 9:01am. He shrugs a little, since they really can't help that.
"Whatcha got there?" he asks, looking at the stack still under her arm, and she beams as she reaches to it with her good arm.
Handing the bundle out to him, she sees as his eyes drop to it.
"I got you a gift."
"What the...?" He trails off, standing, taking the stack of comics from her and reading the title. Suddenly alert, brimming, she thinks, he flips through the pile, looks at the numbers and dates. "These are- this is every issue I missed." He sounds a little breathless, and she wonders if she made a mistake.
"I know," she begins, suddenly feeling a little awkward. She really just... bought these for him. Not really knowing what they are. Maybe he didn't really want these and was just making conversation, maybe something's wrong in some way. "I just looked around at places, did the math, got them for you. I thought you should have something for yourself here besides a couple of DVDs, I-"
Before she can say anything else he's rushed around the desk, headed right toward her and scooped her up in a brief, tight hug.
"Thank you." He jumps back, looking down at her, still holding the comic books in one hand. "Sorry, sorry, about the hug, but... thank you."
Feeling her cheeks flush, she nods, dropping her gaze briefly if only to re-compose herself.
"It's okay," she says, answering both parts of his statement, but he just shakes his head again.
"Seriously, Sarah. I know they're just- superhero comic books, but..." He trails off, looking so very emotional all of a sudden. "Thank you for listening."
And it's then that she realizes that, in all his time here, it's been so long since someone simply heard him. Since someone spoke to him, sure, but even followed up, paid attention to what he had to say. She's sure if he'd even requested a certain kind of food for his kitchen, he'd have been ignored. But he hadn't even asked for these, he'd just mentioned them in passing, and she'd suddenly thought to just get them for him anyway. Just because.
Rather than hugging him again, in return, which is strangely enough her first instinct, she nods, musters up a smile for him.
"Of course."
He smiles again, a little sheepishly this time, then clutches the comics to his chest.
"I'll just, uh, go put this in my room, then we can get started."
With that, he rushes off to the living quarters half of his bunker space, and she lets out the breath she'd been holding. She hadn't expected that simply giving him some comic books would go that way, that's for sure. She'd hoped he'd be happy, sure, but she hadn't anticipated he would be so... moved. By her.
Sitting down at her section of the desk, she takes a large gulp of her coffee, still hot and made just how she likes it, and reaches for the notebook and pen Chuck has set out for her. Noting today's day and date, the fourth day of her assigned twenty-one to get Chuck to flash again, she's ready when he comes back through, sending her another nose-crinkling grin before he sits in his chair, reaches for the files.
The system they've figured out is pretty simple: first, they split the pile in two. Then, they go through and section out the intel, into people, locations, information, and a miscellaneous fourth pile. The analysts on base simply shove it all together, Sarah learned on their first day, making Chuck read about an arms dealer then a dodgy sushi restaurant then an assassin and then a beach in Baja, scrambling his brain unnecessarily even without any computer involvement. And so, her first suggestion was to have them both work on sorting them into groups. Once they streamline that, Chuck begins with the files profiling people, often the most detailed reports, while Sarah goes through and circles the pieces of intel on everything else that she thinks Chuck is most likely to flash on: specific information, dates, photos, not just conjecture an analyst has thrown in there. When Chuck reads the files, if he hasn't flashed, he simply notes the pieces of information he thinks the CIA or NSA could most likely benefit from.
He might not be an agent, but supercomputer or not Sarah knows he has a brilliant brain. He sees things she doesn't, others don't. Connections, locations, weaknesses. Just yesterday he'd realized a terrorist could be taken down solely through the love of his pet cat. She knows why the agencies are keeping him here even without him flashing, but she's desperate for him to start doing that again, more than anything. Because if- when- he does, she can hopefully make her case to her bosses, to the NSA, that the best move is to have the Intersect out in the field, protected, but able to operate actively, chasing down leads, defusing bombs, opening locked doors. And not down here. Not alone.
As every other day so far has gone, Chuck doesn't flash on the profiles, and so Sarah hands him the pile of information, chatter. Once more, he reads it all without flashing, and she tries not to feel downtrodden as, with lunch approaching, they switch to the location files.
"Just do one or two and we can break for lunch, okay?" she asks, and he nods absently, looking a little tired from the reading. It is pretty dry stuff. "Hey, maybe you can read one some Justice League at lunch."
He chuckles at that, eyes so warm again, and looks down at the file in his hands.
But then something happens. His jaw falls slack, his eyelids flutter, he goes a little cross-eyed. And he drops the file.
"Washington Union Station floor plans were accessed two months ago by three rogue spies looking for blindspots. A computer-driven bomb hidden in a backpack under a bench in the main hall is scheduled to go off at 17:30, today. Thousands of people will die and DC's transportation route and correlating infrastructure will be crippled."
As he blinks at the end of the monotone, fast statement, he seems to snap out of it, looking up at her, wide-eyed, but she can only gape at him.
She'd had it explained to her, she knew how it worked, but to see it in action...
"You flashed," she breathes as the realization hits, and Chuck slumps back in the chair, nodding and looking incredibly drained. She can't imagine it's fun, having a computer in your head that makes you know and spout such deadly information at high speed, pressing on your brain. The headaches alone must suck.
But he did it. It worked. As she made him laugh and think about his comic books, he flashed. Only four days in.
Rushing to stand, she tugs her cell phone out of her pocket, quickly dialling Graham's number. He picks up quickly, and she gulps down a breath.
"I need authorization to take Chuck to Union Station. He flashed, there's a bomb." She sees in her peripheral vision as Chuck jolts at that, like it's all just hit again, but she makes herself focus on Graham.
"We can send a team-"
"Chuck knows the exact location and specifications of the bomb. He can defuse it because of the Intersect." Graham still pauses, and she resists the urge to growl a little. "This was the deal. Trust me. Trust Chuck."
"The NSA are gonna be pissed..." He trails off, but she knows she's got him.
"Screw the NSA," she says with a grin, and Graham laughs a little.
"You have authorization. But he stays with you at all times."
What does he think she is, an idiot? Chuck isn't leaving her sight. For a billion reasons. With a grin, she hangs up the phone, and turns back to her asset.
"We might need to skip lunch," she says, and with a breathless, stunned laugh, Chuck nods.
After she gets the specifics of the bomb from him, they scramble to leave, Sarah calling security to make sure they know he's leaving and Chuck grabbing a coat for the November air outside. She's just glad he even has a coat; clearly someone at least let him pack before he was dragged across the country. Once that's done, and she has security clearance, she nods to him, and off they go.
And so, getting out of the bunker is simple enough.
Until it isn't.
When they leave Chuck's section, walk out the sliding door, she sees the wideness of his eyes, the disbelief and confusion as he takes in the hallway space he probably only saw once, going in. He's only been in the bunker for two months, but so much of it has been alone, and all just in those quarters of his, no trips out. Sarah's not surprised that even being in a new corridor is an adjustment for him now.
Since the flash had indicated the bomb's specific time, and when she'd pressed a little he'd been positive it would only go off then, she knows they have a little time. Just a little. But enough that she lets them walk a little slower as they move through the maze of boring hallways, every door numbered except his own. And then they climb the stairs, making their way above ground, slowly, steadily, and Chuck still looks so lost, so confused and disbelieving.
Eventually, they make it to the security exit at ground level. It's still dark, no windows, still shielded, but it's more bustling up here, agents coming and going beyond the barrier they must pass. It's a simple entrance for such a guarded place, just a few metal detectors. Beyond them, already prepped to go, a group of agents await them, in suits, earpieces in, clearly responding to Chuck's flash and the threat. There's only a handful of people overall, but when Sarah looks at her asset, she knows he's already losing it a little.
Going out into the busy, bustling capital city, and a packed train station even before peak time, will be worse than this. And so she nods at the agents.
"Give us a minute," she instructs across the barrier, and sure enough they nod, even stepping back a little. She turns back to Chuck, seeing him watching her. "Okay, talk to me, Chuck."
He gulps, looking around, skin a little clammy-looking.
"I haven't been outside of my place here for two months. I haven't seen anyone apart from you and Casey and an analyst or two. And this is a lot of pressure, a, a bomb, the station, saving all those people, when I- I haven't even been outside for months. I... I know you fought for this and you're the only reason we're here, but- but I don't know if I can do this, Sarah, I-"
Stepping closer, she sees the real worry on his face, the fear, and her heart breaks just a little for him.
She should've seen this coming. She can't believe she missed all the signs, or ignored the ones she did see. But she hadn't thought this far ahead- they're only four days into this thing. She honestly didn't expect Chuck to flash so quickly. They should've had a trial run, should've just left this place for a walk a few days ago rather than planning it for the end of their week. Tomorrow. She shouldn't have left it until a real, high-stakes moment to do this, to make him leave here for the first time.
She knows it was only two months, but two months of isolation, underground, with only yourself, is a huge adjustment.
She should've asked how he was. She should've spotted his wistfulness about the past, his hints at nobody listening to him, his pale skin and flat curls, as being more than just simply isolation. She should've checked how he felt about the Intersect, being this major intelligence resource, the only one left for the CIA, NSA, and the safety of the country. But honestly, now she really thinks on it, she realizes that he'd just been so comfortable with her, it had slipped her mind that he might not be comfortable elsewhere. That he might be struggling. He's felt so in control of things, the work, so smart and full of intuition, she didn't consider that he'd feel such pressure too.
But while they have some time, now, they don't have time for him to not leave today. She hadn't been lying to Graham- Chuck had flashed on this complex bomb and he knows exactly how to defuse it, safely. He can stop it, for sure. A bomb squad might not know how to. All those effects Chuck had mentioned, infrastructure, deaths, they can so easily happen if Chuck doesn't do this.
So she steps forward, slips her hand into his to give him something to anchor himself to.
"Do you trust me?" she asks, voice low because she knows despite their distance there are still other agents here, and this is a personal conversation. Just the two of them.
Chuck nods, immediately.
"Of course." He doesn't hesitate.
Taking a deep breath, she eyes him, steadily. As surely as he's looking at her.
"I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. I'm not gonna leave your side. I will be there with you the whole way to the station, the whole time we're there, and the whole time you're defusing the bomb. And I know you can handle this, Chuck, I know you've got this. Anyone else saddled with a computer in their head and being stuck in a bunker would crack right open, but not you." She watches as he blinks, processing it, and she nods again. "I've seen your analysis, with the information we've been looking at, I know how smart you are, how fast your brain works even without the computer in it. And I know you know that flash, still, all that information, you know exactly what to do."
"I've only defused one bomb before- and that was with a porn virus and a fuck-ton of luck."
"True," she relents, thinking back to his file. All she knows about him, the casual reveals in conversation about his hobbies, the Buy More. "But you've coded video games. You've fixed computers, you've sorted wires and mechanisms. You know incredibly complex machinery inside out. Chuck, this bomb, the method you flashed on? You've got this."
And then his eyes soften, widen a little, and she just hopes he can see the sheer faith she has in him.
"Okay," he breathes out, something in him believing her, and she can't help but smile.
"Don't freak out."
And something in that makes him smile, too, squeezing her hand, and then he nods.
"Okay. Let's do this."
With a nod to the other agents, she lets go of Chuck's hand and they move toward the barrier. And true to her word, she stays by her asset the whole time, as they leave the base behind, and step out into the real world.
Well, shit. What a day.
He'd almost forgotten what a flash felt like. What that rush of information surging through his brain was like, the stinging sensation like a headache, brainfreeze and sneeze all at once, the bizarre way it overtakes him, makes him spout data and specifics like it's from a script. Today really was the first time it's happened in so long.
But it happened. Because of Sarah, he knows.
She'd brought him Justice League. A ton of Justice League, in fact. Copy after copy. And he'd never expected to be so moved by just a comic book, but he couldn't believe that she'd heard him mention it once or twice, and just... found them for him. From an off-hand mention. Gotten every issue that he'd missed, even. And something had stirred in him at just being heard by someone, for the first time in so long, that he'd hugged her. And immediately pulled back, of course, but he couldn't help but just burst momentarily with that feeling.
When she'd casually mentioned he could spend his lunch break reading one, he'd laughed, looked down at the file he'd already read once, and there it was, clear as day this time. Floor plans leading to people leading to a bomb, a time, a location, the devastation planned meticulously in his mind. The Intersect working its magic in that way, connecting the dots over and over.
He hadn't quite expected that him flashing would immediately lead to him leaving the bunker, though. Looking back, he probably should've seen that coming, but he hadn't. And the moment they'd stepped out into the base that he'd seen only once before, in a messy daze of confusion and sorrow at leaving his whole family behind at the drop of a hat- the moment he'd re-entered it and been surrounded by people and noise and the unknown for the first time in two solid months... he'd started to panic. Which was new, and utterly terrifying.
Just the prospect of being surrounded by so much out of his control, so much hustle and bustle, moving, chaotic people, all these agents and people relying on him, let alone the weight of having to defuse an actual bomb on his shoulders... He'd spiralled. And Sarah had seen it. In fact, she'd taken him aside, literally held his hand, which he would be embarrassed about but she'd been such an anchor to him in that moment he'd clung to her. And she'd said some incredibly nice things, reassured him, and most importantly, promised to be with him the whole time. It was that that had let him agree. The reassurance that she'd be there, that anchor throughout, if he needed her.
And sure enough, she was.
Yeah, it'd been terrifying. Union Station had been packed, busy with commuters as the bomb's creators had surely intended. When they'd stepped into it all, Chuck had stumbled in the doorway at just the noise, the clamor, the sheer life in the place. And again, for just a second, he'd panicked. He'd worried. But when he'd spied the backpack across the room, exactly like it was in his mind, just sitting there by the bench where anyone could knock it, move it, set it off- having the knowledge of what it could do, while everyone around him was utterly clueless... He'd forced himself to focus. No matter what his panicked thoughts had been, no matter the pressure and the danger and absolutely everything that threatened to engulf him, he knew he had to stop it.
His palms had been sweating as he walked slowly toward it, and he's sure Sarah's hand, once again in his, could feel that. But then they'd gotten closer, and he'd seen the wire protruding from the backpack's side pocket, the color and label stamped upon it making something familiar rise in his mind, and he'd flashed again.
And just like that, a cool calm like he's never known had taken him over. His hands had moved at lightning speed, his mind knowing exactly what to do, he'd felt his lips miming instructions from his brain as he went, no filter. Through it all, he'd felt Sarah's hand, steady on his shoulder. And he did it. He defused the bomb- another bomb, the second in his life.
So the Intersect is working again, in just four days with Sarah. It's almost overwhelming, enough that, as he walks with Sarah the incredibly short distance from his office to his front door that evening, he feels a sudden sleepiness wash over him. After the train station, they'd come back here and he'd written up his report, Sarah advising him on things to include. Printed, signed and sealed, it's now in a file in her hand, to go wherever she goes, when she's not here. He honestly doesn't know.
But right now, he really is tired, and in need of a good nap.
"You did good today, Chuck," she murmurs, and he snaps out of his thoughts, nods at her as they slow by the door. "I know it was a lot, and you're probably a little or a lot overwhelmed right now, but you were incredible, with everything today."
He laughs a little mirthlessly, but nods.
"Thanks. And, uh, thank you, for today. Just, just being there, and everything."
She grins a little, and he wonders quite how just a smile can look like the sun.
"Always," she says softly, and his heart skips a little beat at the surety in her tone. He kinda believes that, from her. That she really would do that always, if she could.
But even now, he's so aware that things aren't going to change overnight. No matter what he did today, what Sarah has managed to reawaken within the Intersect in his brain, he's still here, and she's still leaving. He's bidding her farewell, and off she's about to go, back out into the real world. While he remains the asset in the bunker. He swallows, sobering.
"We'll probably have to deal with Major Casey and the NSA tomorrow, huh?"
"Yes," she admits, nodding, but not looking the slightest bit perturbed by that. "But that's for tomorrow. Today you can rest easy, because you saved thousands of lives, and you can read a comic book, and..."
"...heat up a crappy microwave meal," he concludes, and she giggles, swatting his arm. He grins just at the fact that he made her laugh.
But then she seems to sober, tilting her head.
"How are you?" she asks, and he blinks, looking confused. "I should've asked you before, I know, and I'm sorry I didn't even think to. But how are you?"
Oh.
He rocks back on his heels, breathes out low as he tries to figure out how to answer. How is he? What a question.
"I'm... I'm okay." he says, slowly as the words come to him. He meant what he said, earlier: he does trust Sarah. And maybe he shouldn't, in this world of deception and spies and lies, but it's like something within him just knows he can trust her. That he can be truthful, here. And so he nods. "I feel a little calmer now I'm back here. But- but I felt better, outside, after a little while. When I had the bomb to focus on, the Intersect kinda took over, but I also... I knew I couldn't be in my head when all those lives were at stake." She nods, but he swallows, sighs. "Honestly, I'm just tired. Today was exhausting, but also... Like, it took so little time with you for the Intersect to work again, it's... it's kinda upsetting how long I've been down here with it not working and nobody ever thought to like, just... do what you did. Talk to me."
She chews on her lip, huffing a bit, looking oddly bitter.
"I know. And trust me, I'm not gonna let this be the end of that. This is a failure by everyone, except for you."
He nods, shrugs.
"Sure. But I don't know, generally I just... I miss my family. I miss LA. I miss seeing them every day, god, I miss my sister. It's not- y'know, in a way I'm comfortable here, now, even in a really messed up way," he shrugs. "And- and being back there would probably totally stress me out with how today went, but... It's more just an ache, now. Just kinda a constant thing I feel."
Before him, she breathes in sharply, brow furrowing a little, and he suddenly wishes he could read her. Know what that kind of look means. But she just leans in a little bit, gaze firm.
"Anything you need, Chuck, you can talk to me. Anything you wanna say, anything... Just let me know."
Wow. Maybe that's what that look means. Surety. A promise. That she won't judge, or push back- that if he needs help, or if he wants to talk, he can tell her. No strings.
He nods, dipping his head a little, and she smiles at him with eyes that are incredibly, incredibly warm, suddenly. A tightness swells in his chest, new and unknown.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she promises, and he feels himself grin a little.
"G'night, Sarah."
And then in spite of himself, he reaches out and finds her hand, squeezing it briefly, tight. She squeezes right back in return, and he lets himself anchor to that touch again, just as he did all day.
And then she lets go, and steps back, and leaves. He can still feel her touch as the door slides shut behind her.
She looks down at her hand once the door has closed with a click of the lock, raising an eyebrow at the soft tingling she can still feel on her skin, from Chuck's touch.
Today has been a ride. Emotionally draining, dramatic, physically exhausting, death-defying, every descriptor she can think of for what they both just went through. But it boils down to one thing: she knows now, with every fiber of her being, that the best thing for this whole operation is not a bunker, not at all.
Despite Chuck's current anxieties, his almost clinging to her at times, his panicked breaths and faltering just as they walked into that incredibly busy, bustling station today, all of which she's sure can fade with time and she'll ensure he's supported through, the facts are simple. She's witnessed them so easily. Chuck excels with encouragement and company, and with something to do besides read files and sit around alone all day. Just her being there, with him, has helped him, in four quick days. And today he'd saved thousands of lives. In an incredibly impressive, sleek, if somewhat-programmed way.
And amongst all of that, she feels like something has... happened, today. She doesn't know in what way, or really what at all, but something has occurred. She felt it when Chuck hugged her this morning as she handed him those comic books, and she feels it stronger now, as her hand still feels the ghost of his touch. They have an intriguing, different connection- she knows he's relying on her a lot, right now, for what he views she's given him, a different future, the Intersect working again. But she's surprised to find she's oddly relying on him, too.
To give her hope, she thinks.
But while she'd like to linger on all of this, process it to death, she can't. Because Chuck was right, they'll have to deal with the NSA tomorrow, which will be hell in itself.
Now, though? She's got to deal with the CIA. Now she's got to deal with Graham, lay out her terms, her plans for how they move forward now that Chuck is flashing, now that she's his handler. All within four days.
It doesn't take long for her to once more get from the base to the DNI, both in D.C. as they are, and since Graham is expecting her she's let right in even though he's taking a phone call. When she walks in, he's sitting behind his desk, as ever, situated at the far end of his wide office with its floor-to-ceiling window, so that everyone who meets with him has to walk a long way with him simply watching.
Since she's used to it by now, it doesn't intimidate her; she merely strides toward the end when he acknowledges her arrival with a glance, and she sits opposite him.
"Yes, General, yes, I understand. Well... I'll be having words, certainly. I'm glad you see that, too. We'll meet tomorrow. Goodnight."
He sends Sarah a look, half sarcastic.
"I have you to thank for that," he says, with almost an eye roll, and she shrugs, sniffs. "Congratulations."
She blinks.
"I think it's Chuck who deserves the congratulations." He looks at her confusedly, and she holds back a scoff. "He flashed, defused the bomb, knew its schematics exactly thanks to the Intersect."
"True," Graham admits, tilting his head a little. "But I meant congratulations on succeeding, with him, with this project of yours. It only took four days, but your techniques got Chuck to flash. You got him back in action."
She tries not to smile just a little smugly at the reminder of quite how quickly she achieved everything.
"Well, that's what you were hoping for, I'm sure," she says, flat. He'd left her on the security access deliberately, she knows that, but she has to wonder if he'd have done anything if she hadn't stumbled across Chuck's room that day out of sheer curiosity. If she hadn't just been so intrigued, the man would still be stuck down there, not flashing, isolated and alone... She clears her throat, not dwelling on ifs. "As we agreed, I'm now his handler?"
"His CIA handler, yes. I haven't forgotten that you turned this down, Sarah," he reminds her pointedly, but thankfully continues. "I chose you for this then for a reason, and you've just proved it with what you've managed with Chuck."
Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, she nods.
"I wanted to discuss what happens now. With the NSA, too, but... moving forward."
Graham hums, picks up an old baseball that sits on his desk sometimes, turns it round and round in his hands, looking thoughtful.
"Tell me something, Sarah. Off the record. Why Chuck? Why fight this much, for Chuck?"
It's funny how someone who's met or studied Chuck could even ask that, she muses. Simply all of him, everything about him, makes her want to fight. Even in a few days, he's shaken her up, given her her drive for this job back, given her inspiration and ideas and purpose. Yes, the spy life had beaten her down a while before she came here, with the baby, Ryker, Bryce, all of those subsequent missions and then her injury, but she never wanted to truly fight all of it until Chuck. Until she met someone genuinely real, honest, sweet and open. All of him has given her this new drive, need to just help. His kindness, his openness, his friendship. His smile. Absolutely all of him.
But she can't quite admit that to Graham, of course.
"Honestly?" she checks, and he nods.
"It won't leave this room."
Gathering her thoughts, she speaks, weighing things carefully because she knows who she's speaking to and what too real an admission from her could make him question, but truthful all the same.
"I think he's a nice guy. Not a fake 'nice guy', but... he's genuine. Kind, thoughtful. He's a little nerdy, he has his quirks, sure, but... Bryce could've sent that email to anyone he knew, any agent, any other friend. He chose Chuck. He didn't choose some arrogant guy, some conceited person he knew who'd try and take advantage of it, or even someone already trained in a certain mindset- if he had, things would be a lot different, I think. Bryce chose, I'd guess, the best person he could think of." Graham hums on that, apparently truly not judging her opinion. "But I think that kindness is also where his weaknesses lie- not in himself, but I think it's why there have been these problems, here."
Her boss frowns, leans forward, sets the baseball down to focus.
"How so?"
She sighs.
"He was manipulated, by Agent Jones and probably Casey, too. He's so open about how much he cares, about his friends and family, and they played on that. He agreed to be brought here with the condition that he could call his sister just once every two weeks. He told me he tried to stay in LA, he told Jones and Casey that the government need him, and he was right." She pauses, lets Graham sit with that a little. Chuck's defiance. "But when they leveraged his family into it, he caved, and I can't blame him. But what that led to, here, his isolation- preying on his kindness led to the Intersect shutting down. He's a people person, he thrives on communication, connection. That's why my being there did anything at all, even in four days. He just had someone to talk to."
"But the scientists still think he could benefit being outside, so it's not just a case of company."
She nods, realizing she's come to her pitch already.
"I agree. Even with Chuck's flash and his instructions, I couldn't have defused that bomb today. I don't even think an expert could have managed it. Only he could, because only he still knows exactly what the Intersect knows. For the computer to work in his head, and actually accomplish things, Chuck needs to be in the field, not stuck in a bunker."
Graham tilts his head, and she straightens her back a little before his clear rebuttal.
"We spent a lot of money bringing the Intersect here, establishing his security here, in D.C., in this bunker. Setting up a field operation so soon is unheard of- I mean, the expense-"
"He's the country's most significant intelligence asset. If he's not worth paying for I don't know what is." she says, blunt, and Graham blinks a little. Sighing at his still not giving in, she shifts in her seat, brings up the thing that's been bugging her for days now. "You know how long I've been in this job, you know how good I am. I know, there's a lot not being said about this whole thing. A lot of red tape, a lot of redacted sections of every file. Everyone keeps claiming that the Intersect working in Chuck is a miracle, but the science, to implant the computer into somebody's brain, already existed."
The Director frowns, eyes narrowing once more, a little threateningly this time. But Sarah doesn't take it back, doesn't undo it. And after a beat, Graham relents.
"The project is classified, Agent Walker, you know that."
She holds back a snort at that, the same schtick as always.
"And the scientists are still bullshitting us, and the guy who has the computer in his head to begin with." She leans in, glares a little. "I think the science was already developed, from way before the Intersect Project became the post-9/11 CIA-NSA resource it is now. Somebody probably knew a bunker wouldn't work. Someone, at some point, could've seen this coming, and Chuck could've been in action from Day 1. All that precious money spent setting up the bunker could've been saved. Instead, thanks to all the secrecy, he was brought in. And that blocked the Intersect, and now we're having to fix it."
"I can tell you're working an angle here," Graham says, ignoring her theory, which all but confirms it. "So I'll just ask: what's your proposal?"
Swallowing, she keeps calm.
"Let Chuck go home." She pauses at that, lets it sink in. "Set up an operation in Los Angeles. Let him be with his family again, his friends, give him a support system even if they don't know that's what they are to him. And send me and Casey there, as his handlers. We can work out a cover, a way to be there almost constantly to protect him, but let him be... out of here."
Though she can sense he sees her logic, Graham still frowns a little.
"Letting our top intelligence asset into the field, in Burbank of all places, and back into normal life? That's incredibly dangerous. We have resources, here, high security. You and Casey can't monitor him 24/7, the kid has to sleep some time. He's constantly surveilled in the base, he's safe."
"Yeah, and he's sad and cut off and stifled." Graham raises an eyebrow at that, and she leans in. "Four days. Imagine what I could do with a full operation."
With that, he leans back in his chair, picks up the baseball once more.
"It'll take time to convince the NSA. They'll want in, big time, especially since it seems to them like the CIA took over here."
Because they did, she muses. Or, she did. For Chuck.
She nods, knowing she's done all she can today, with Graham.
"It'll take some time to readjust Chuck to civilian life, anyway. He coped, today, but the amount of people and the pressure, being outside, it was stressful. Tomorrow I plan on taking him out of the compound just for a walk, reacclimatising him, gradually." Graham nods, but a look at the day calendar on his desk sparks a thought. "I did notice, though, that it's Thanksgiving in a couple weeks... I wonder how much better Chuck would flash if he made it home for the holiday, or how bad it could be if he just missed it..."
Before her, Graham's eyes narrow in clear suspicion; he knows what she's suggesting. But he nods regardless, the move a dismissal, and she stands.
"I'll call you after the initial meeting with the NSA tomorrow morning. If a briefing ends up involving Chuck, I'll let you know, you can warn him about Beckman."
Stifling a laugh at the idea of the diminutive general somehow scaring Chuck (even while she's heard how scary the woman can be, Chuck is just... so tall), Sarah manages to keep her face straight, nodding instead to her boss.
"Goodnight, director," she says, heading down the long long office to the door, not even looking back as she leaves.
Because she thinks she might just be winning this battle. And it's all for Chuck.
note: Oh look at that, there's a flash. Now we're heating up. Please review!