Chapter 32: The Fallout Part 1

California, Los Angeles, South Los Angeles, February 7th, 2008

"Ow!" Chuck hissed - that hurt. A lot. He shifted a little on the couch - it wasn't the most comfortable, but when it came to safe houses, like this one that the others had prepared, beggars couldn't be choosers.

"They're not broken, as far as I can tell without an X-ray," Sarah said.

An X-ray would have hurt much less than her poking and prodding his ribs. "Perhaps we should get an X-Ray. Just in case."

"Oh, we will," she told him. "It's needed for your cover story."

"Cover story?" He blinked.

"To explain your injury," she said. "You won't be able to hide it at work."

"Ah." That made sense. To imagine working with bruised or broken ribs… He shuddered, then winced at the pain that caused. "Uh, what is the cover story?"

"You slipped in the bath after taking your medication."

"Uh…" That made him look like a klutz. Or an idiot.

She shook her head, though she was smiling. "It's a simple and very plausible explanation."

"Very plausible?" He wasn't a klutz - and he had never injured himself like this.

"It happens to a lot of people," she replied. "And it won't draw attention like a more heroic cover story would."

"What about a sports accident?" That was less humiliating.

"That's harder to set up, and people might expect witnesses. An accident at home is private."

He sighed. It really made sense, but he still didn't like it. Before he could say anything else, though, he felt her hand on his cheek.

"Chuck. You were very lucky to only suffer bruised ribs today."

Uh-oh. He drew a hissing breath through suddenly clenched teeth and grimaced. "I'm sorry. But you and Casey were in Burbank, and Dubois broke into our apartment, and, well… things kind of went out of control afterwards."

"You and your father went after a drug lord, a mercenary, a cartel hitwoman, and an assassin."

The way she said it made it sound worse than it had been. "Uh… we couldn't let the mission fail."

"Why not?"

He blinked. "What?"

Sarah was staring at him with a serious expression. "Why didn't you abort the mission? You could have retreated after Dubois fled."

"Uh… we thought she might be waiting to ambush us in the confusion of the evacuation." He knew it was a weak argument and, seeing her frown, he sighed again. "I thought about aborting, but… It never really was an option before. At the graduation in Sunnydale, we knew we'd all die if we failed. And in Los Angeles, with Wolfram and Hart, we knew we had to beat them to save the city. And the world." Chuck shrugged. "The mission takes priority, or something?"

"There are missions like that, but this wasn't one of them. We could have restarted it. Picked another target."

That would have meant months wasted, though. But she was correct. "Sorry," he said in a low voice. "I didn't really think. I just…" He shrugged again as he trailed off. "I didn't think."

"You were focused on the mission," she said.

He nodded. "Yes." Like a real spy.

"Not all missions are important enough to take such risks."

"Yes." He knew that. He just hadn't thought of it.

"You were hurt, and your father was shot."

And both of them could've been killed. Several times. "Yes, I know. Believe me, every breath I take reminds me of it," he replied. He turned his head, pulling away from her hand, and looked at the door to the bathroom to emphasise his point. There, Dad was getting treated by Casey.

Sarah flinched and leaned back. "Good."

It wasn't. But Chuck couldn't stand getting his mistakes thrown into his face right now. Not when his side was hurting, and his father was bleeding.

His father, who had shot three people in cold blood. Three helpless people. Damn. Chuck hadn't expected that. He should have, of course - they had planned for it. But to see it happen. See Dad calmly execute them… It could've been the Intersect, of course. Chuck knew how few qualms he had when he was fighting under its influence - he had tried to throw Dubois down the elevator shaft, after all. And Dad's early-version of the Intersect might not fade as quickly as Chuck's if the danger was gone.

But he didn't really believe it. No matter how much he tried.

Dad had killed three people. Four, if you count Dubois suiciding before he could shoot her. And Chuck had helped him.

And he didn't know how he felt about that.

He still felt relief when Casey entered the bedroom and growled something about Dad being fine. "Thank God," he mumbled.

Casey snorted. "Yeah, you two were lucky as hell."

That didn't quite make sense, but this wasn't the time to try to improve Casey's speech.

"It was a calculated risk," Dad said, following Casey. He was moving a little gingerly, Chuck noticed, and he was pale, but otherwise, he looked OK.

The NSA agent scoffed and shook his head. "Intersect or not, you had no business attacking Gonzàlez."

Dad half-shrugged, flinching a little. "It worked out."

"That remains to be seen," Sarah said. She turned, picked up the remote and unmuted the television running in the background.

Chuck sighed and closed his eyes for a moment when he saw the pictures of a burning building behind the newscaster.

"...and the fire department has stopped attempting to save the building and are now focusing on ensuring that the fire isn't spreading to neighbouring buildings. According to their speaker, the residents have been evacuated, although several of them are still not accounted for. However, many of them were at work when the fire started this afternoon."

"That wasn't our fault," Chuck pointed out. "We didn't suppress the alarm or hindered the fire department's response." At least it didn't look like civilians had died in the fire.

"Shhh," Casey hissed as the newscaster switched to a reporter on-site and a pretty woman appeared in front of the burning building.

"This is Jenny Kruger on location. As you can see, a crowd has gathered to watch as the firefighters have given up saving the building. The police are in the process of pushing the crowd back so the imminent collapse of the building won't claim more lives." She took a deep breath. "The police haven't released a statement yet, but there are reports that not only is the fire suspected of having been deliberately started, but that several bodies have been found and recovered that were not killed by the fire, but with guns."

"Thank you, Jenny," the newscaster said, nodding at her before turning to address the audience again. "A spokesman of the LAPD declined to comment, citing an ongoing investigation. However, it's not quite clear how they plan to investigate while the fire is still raging. In other news…"

Sarah muted the TV again.

"They found and recovered Gonzàlez and the others," Chuck said.

"Of course they did - they were left practically at the entrance," Casey said, scoffing again. "Let's hope the fire at least messed up the site so much, they can't reconstruct what happened."

"We used Dubois's gun on them. Once they find her body and the gun at the bottom of the shaft, it should be easy to draw the conclusion that she killed them, then fell to her death trying to escape," Dad said.

"Provided the fire leaves enough to be identified," Sarah pointed out. "If the entire building collapses, that might be difficult. And the records for the cameras will be destroyed by the fire as well."

"They'll still have her car," Chuck said. "And once Fankhauser wakes up, he'll report her missing."

He didn't like the slight pause before Casey replied: "That'll take a while. But the real question isn't what the LAPD will find, but what the CIA and the French will think."

Right. "And what will they think?"

"That depends on whether or not they talk to each other and compare notes," Casey said. "If we had been able to frame Lopez, this wouldn't be an issue."

"The French will claim Dubois had gone rogue - as their files already claim. But the CIA might not believe them," Sarah said.

"Classic cover story," Casey growled.

"So, if the CIA suspects that the French were after Chuck and using Gonzàlez as a middleman and fall guy…" Sarah trailed off.

Chuck winced. Had they just inadvertently created an international incident? "That would be bad."

"It'd help our cover-up by confusing the entire issue," Dad said. "With all the witnesses dead, there aren't any leads to us."

Casey grunted. "They'll look for the Blacks."

"And they'll find the backstory I created - leading to Mexico," Dad retorted. "The disguises will hold."

He sounded confident. Chuck wanted to believe him. But he couldn't help thinking that they were a little too optimistic.

"Like they fooled Dubois?" Casey asked.

Oh. Chuck shook his head. "She actually didn't see through our cover," he told the NSA agent. "If she had suspected us of being spies, she wouldn't have broken into our apartment like she did."

"Yes," Dad agreed. "She was surprised. I think that, with Fankhauser in a coma, she needed another investment banker, and probably planned to make Chuck do it since he was already acquainted with Gonzàlez."

Chuck blinked, then stared at the muted TV screen, where the apartment building collapsed in a cloud of smoke and ash.

Did that mean that his plan to find out what Dubois had been planning had, ultimately, started all of this? He had meant to avoid killing innocents!

California, Los Angeles, Echo Park, February 7th, 2008

Sarah glanced at Chuck as she took the last turn to enter their street. He hadn't said anything on the drive back to their home. "You're unusually quiet," she commented as she parked the car.

He looked startled. "I am? Really?" He grimaced. "I'm a little tired, I guess. And my ribs are hurting."

Both were true, but she knew him. "It's more than that, though," she said, cutting the engine.

"Uh…" He unbuckled but didn't make a move to leave the car.

"Chuck." She took a deep breath and put her hand on his tight. He was even tenser than she had expected. "What happened?"

"Uh… you know what happened. We messed up and were almost killed." He shifted in his seat. "I'm sorry."

He hadn't been like that after other missions where it had been close. "What's really eating you?"

He held her gaze for a moment, his expression growing more and more forced, before he closed his eyes and sighed, slumping in his seat. "Dad."

She blinked. What did he…? Ah. "You saw him kill three people in cold blood."

"Uh… yes."

And he didn't know how to handle 'Dad' being a murderer. She'd have to tread carefully here. "The plan included killing Gonzàlez from the start." He couldn't have been left alive if he was to be framed for Orion's hacking and money transfer.

"Yes." Chuck drew a hissing breath through clenched teeth, she noticed. "I know that!" He shook his head. "It's just…" He wet his lips. "It was…" He shook his head again.

"You didn't expect to see it happen. And you didn't expect your father to do it."

Once more, he slumped over. "No, I didn't. I know it's stupid, but… I thought Casey would do the deed, so to speak."

"Or it would happen in a firefight," she stated.

"Yes. It's different when they are trying to kill you." He nodded emphatically with a weak grin.

"Like Dubois."

"That was a suicide," he replied. "But, yes, if I had managed to throw her down the shaft before she ended up dangling from my gas mask's straps, it would've been… well, OK?"

"Not all the people I killed on missions were trying to kill me," she said, looking straight at him - the light from the house was just bright enough to let her see his face.

He stiffened for a moment before he nodded. "I know. That's my other problem."

It was? She felt as if her stomach dropped. Had he found that he couldn't handle her past? "Chuck…"

He shook his head. "I'm not sure if I can handle doing it, you know."

"The killing?" He hadn't had a problem so far. And he had seen her file, hadn't he? He knew what she had done - well, part of what she had done.

"I know spies have to kill people in the line of duty. And I want to be a real spy. But I'm not sure I can handle killing... helpless prisoners. I mean, I hoped the Intersect would take over, but it didn't."

She almost smiled widely, relief filling her. He didn't have a problem with her past. But she couldn't show that. Instead, she slowly nodded. "Chuck - no one's expecting you to execute people."

"But I want to be a real spy, not just… the guy with the Intersect! I want to be a full member of our team!" he blurted out.

Ah. "Chuck, you are a full member of the team." Actually, it was more his team than hers - or Casey's. Or would be, once they joined the Council. "Not every spy is an assassin. Or expected to execute prisoners."

"But you and Casey…" He trailed off, and she noticed he was biting his lower lip.

"Casey's a sniper. Killing people in cold blood is what he does," she replied. "I've killed people, but I wasn't sent out as an assassin." Not that the difference in some missions she had done would have been significant.

"Oh." He slowly nodded and started to smile. "I see."

She squeezed his thigh. "You're already a good spy, Chuck. And it's a good thing that you don't like killing people in cold blood. People who do are usually..."

"Like Casey?"

She nodded. But right when she was about to leave the car and enter their home, he sighed again. "But what about Dad?"

That was a good question. Sarah would love to know the answer. Just how far was Orion willing to go? And what kind of man was he? Or had become during his time in hiding? "I think you need to talk to him about this. Find out how he's handling the whole thing. He might have trouble with it, too." She doubted it, though.

"Oh. I didn't even think about that." He smiled at her. "Thank you. I almost…" He shook his head.

She nodded. "Let's go to bed now."

"Right."

California, Los Angeles, Echo Park, February 8th, 2008

Chuck felt better when he woke up. Not physically - his ribs hurt something fierce; worse than after Larry had tackled him during P.E. in seventh grade. But Sarah had told him he was a good spy. Even though he had trouble with assassinations.

Although… he knew Watchers sometimes had to execute people. Evil mages and other practitioners of magic. People who willingly worked with or for demons. Evil demons, of course. Morgan had told him about it - Slayers shouldn't kill humans if it could be helped. Or something like it. So, it fell to their Watchers to… do the deed.

Chuck closed his eyes. Damn, he couldn't even call a murder a murder in his thoughts! Was that pathetic, or not?

Casey would say yes, it was. While sneering at him. But Casey was Casey. Chuck wasn't Casey. And he didn't want to be Casey. Didn't want to be like Casey. The man wasn't happy, anyone could see that. And Casey would probably want to do any executions anyway.

Chuck sighed. That was a petty thought. And wrong, too - or so he hoped.

He still didn't want to be like Casey.

"Morning."

Oh. He turned his head so he wasn't watching the ceiling any more and looked at Sarah. She was lying on her side, head propped up by one hand. And smiling at him. "Morning!" he said, as brightly as he managed.

"You seemed… a little down. Your ribs giving you trouble?"

"Uh… A little." He didn't want to lie. But he also didn't want to tell her that he still was trying to deal with yesterday's mission. "I just remembered that we never found out what Dubois and Besson were after."

"Ah." She nodded, in apparent understanding. "Yes, that is annoying." He couldn't tell if he had fooled her, but she wouldn't push the issue. "But it's something every spy has to deal with," she continued. "We rarely get the full picture."

"Isn't that kind of a paradox?" His neck was starting to strain. He wanted to lie on his side and face her, but his ribs wouldn't allow that. "I mean, you train spies to ferret as much intel as they can - and at the same time, you keep them in the dark as much as you can, right?"

She laughed at that. "It's one way to see it, I guess. But it's mostly a good policy - field agents are at risk of being captured on every mission, so everything they know is at significant risk of being discovered."

"Ah." He nodded. "That makes sense - in a warped way, mind you. Aren't the best spies those who want to find out every secret?"

"Only until they are caught. Then they turn into the worst spies," Sarah told him.

"Ah." Chuck wasn't sure how the Scoobies operated, but he didn't think that Willow was a fan of 'need to know'. Unless one accepted that she needed to know everything. Then again, Willow wasn't a spy - or easy to capture. "Isn't that what suicide pills are for?"

"Those are extreme cases," she replied.

If he had to choose between getting captured by demons or killing himself… He shook his head. "It's quite a morbid way to start a day."

"You started it," she retorted with a grin.

"Hey! You asked for it!" he told her, forcing himself to grin as well. It wasn't really funny - it was dead serious, literally - but he didn't like dwelling on the subject, so he went along with her attempt to lighten the mood. "So… I guess I should get ready to be ribbed?"

She tilted her head. "I think so. Unless you want to be late for work."

"You know, they'll start a rumour that we did something kinky in bed that went wrong," he told her.

Her grin didn't waver. "That's a good cover story and explains why we don't want to go into details."

He didn't have a comeback for that. Not so early in the morning.

California, Burbank, Buy More, February 8th, 2008

"Hey, Chuck! How're your ribs?"

"Hey, Chuck! Heard you had an accident. What happened?"

"Chuck! Should you be working?"

The Buy More rumour mill was working as efficiently as usual, Chuck noticed when he entered the store and was immediately accosted by various staff members barely managing to hide their curiosity behind mostly-faked concern. "I'm fine, guys," he told them, forcing himself to smile instead of glaring, "I just slipped in the kitchen and fell on a chair. It only hurts when I laugh."

"Oh, slipped? In the kitchen?" The tone and grin of Lester told Chuck just what the man was thinking. As did Jeff's wide grin.

And there was the source of all of this.

"Hi, Chuck!"

"Hi, Morgan." Chuck didn't bother to hide his annoyance and glanced at Jeff and Lester to make his point even more apparent.

They quickly found somewhere else to be. Morgan, though, leaned closer and lowered his voice. "So I heard you ran into some trouble. Are you alright?"

"Just bruised ribs," Chuck replied. "And everyone thinks I got the injury during sex." He glared at Morgan, who, unfortunately, remained unfazed.

"Oh, yeah," Morgan replied. "That's probably my fault."

"Really." Chuck raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I mean… People were asking about your malady when you didn't come to work, and we started speculating. You know, talking shit. So, I joked that you were worn out by Sarah." Morgan's smile turned more than a little forced. "And they, kind of, well… ran with it."

"Ran a marathon, it seems," Chuck said in a flat voice. His friend should have expected that.

"Well, you getting hurt kind of… fueled the fires?"

He was acting a little too apologetic for such a mistake. "And what did you do?"

"Well… I only mentioned that certain positions were dangerous - but that was related to Kirsten and my relationship. But they…"

"...ran with that as well." Well, he had expected that when he had first heard of the cover story. But to be proven right like this… Chuck would've liked to be wrong in this case. He sighed. "Speaking of her, what does she think happened?"

"Uh… I don't know. I told her you had an accident, and then told her a few tales from high school to show it wasn't really implausible," Morgan said. "Like the time Larry broke your ribs in that tackle. Or the time you got the soccer ball to the face. Or when you fell down the stairs in the panic after the cop shot at Buffy."

"Right." Chuck could've done without the reminder just how dangerous his high school life had been. Or how unlucky he had been. "And did she believe it?"

"Well, it's the truth." Morgan shrugged. "But I don't know what she suspects. We kind of… avoid the topic, usually, when we're together."

Was that a good sign, or a bad sign? Was Bane trying to avoid bringing in spy business into their relationship, or was she being subtle and luring Morgan into a false sense of trust? Or something else?

And what would Dad do if he thought that Bane suspected the truth? Chuck pressed his lips together. They already knew that Bane was sent here as much to spy on them as to support them. But had the woman changed? Or was she just putting up an act?

"Chuck? Are you alright?"

Morgan was staring at him, concern written over his face. Chuck slowly nodded. "I'll heal." He looked around. Casey was refilling shelves and glaring at a customer trying to ask for assistance. He didn't want to talk about this where Casey could overhear. The agent was too prone to solve all problems with violence.

"Ah." Morgan followed his glance. "Gotcha." In a lower voice, he added: "Well, at least Caridad and Vi are busy tracking down some demon cabal. Otherwise, they'd tease you. Probably."

Chuck simply nodded. He had already too much to worry about to get involved in demon hunting.

California, Los Angeles, Echo Park, February 8th, 2008

He had checked if her car was in the driveway before going over to Ellie and Devon's apartment. He knew her schedule, but sometimes, she was called to work if there was an emergency. Or someone got sick, and she had to fill in at the hospital. But she was at home, Devon wasn't, and Sarah was busy at The Castle. It was the perfect time to talk to Ellie.

"Hi, Sis!" Chuck greeted her with a smile and a wave and barely winced when that resulted in some pain in his side.

"Hi, Chuck!" Ellie smiled at him, but then added: "What's that I hear about an accident in the kitchen?"

"Ah…" He cleared his throat, then grimaced. Bruised ribs were really a pain in the… well, ribs. "It's a cover story."

"Like your claim of being sick?" She put the plate she had taken out of the dishwasher down and turned to fully face him, head slightly cocked.

"Well… yes. Only," he added when he saw her beginning to frown, "I did hurt my ribs. Just bruises."

Her frown became more pronounced at hearing that, and she looked at his side. "Let me see that."

"It's been checked," he said, but she was already walking towards him. Sighing, he pulled his shirt up.

She prodded and poked his side, ignoring his groans, grunts and hisses, for a while before she finally withdrew and nodded. "Bruises."

"I told you that." He wasn't pouting. Not really. But he was reminded of their childhood - Ellie had never been shy of using a lot of stinging disinfectants to treat his scrapes, no matter how much it hurt. Something about learning a lesson.

"You told me you were fine before even though you weren't."

"That was in school!" he protested. "Ten years ago!"

She ignored that. "How did it happen?"

"Well… I was in a fight." He shrugged. "I got kicked."

"Chuck…" And her lips opened a little, showing her teeth.

"Ellie, I didn't come over to tell you a blow-by-blow account of how I fought a spy," he told her. "I came over to talk to you about Dad."

"Ah." She straightened, took a step back and leaned against the counter with her arms crossed.

"He got shot - just a flesh wound," Chuck added when he saw her eyes widening. "He'll be OK. perfectly fine."

"Ah." And the concern vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"But, you know, he might be able to come back in from the cold, soon-ish," he went on.

"And you got hurt arranging this?"

He grimaced, then nodded. Of course, she'd connect the dots.

"And he sent you to sound me out."

"Yes? It's not as if he can visit us in person until things have been settled." They still had to link the money sent to Ellie to Gonzàlez, after all, to fool the CIA.

"But he can get shot on secret missions." She shook her head. "With you."

"All so he can return to us," Chuck pointed out.

"Over a decade late."

"That wasn't his fault," Chuck said. "Not entirely, at least." He held up his hand when Ellie opened her mouth. "Look, he has made mistakes - and big ones. But he had reasons for it - he wanted to protect us."

"By abandoning us on a Hellmouth."

"He didn't know that!" Chuck shook his head. "Look, he is really sorry."

"So sorry, he's sending you to apologise for him?" she said with a snort.

"Well, he can't really show up here, what with the CIA hunting him," Chuck repeated himself.

"But he can meet with you and go on missions. Spy missions."

"Uh…" That was a good point, actually. "I can arrange a secret meeting, I think," he said. "I'll need to run that past the others."

"You do that. I want to talk to him in person." She dismissed him with a nod that reminded him strongly of the general's.

"I'm back," Sarah announced as she closed the door behind her. "Everything's alright at The Castle. How did your talk with Ellie go?" she asked, though as soon as she saw him on the couch in the living room, staring at a paused video game on the TV screen, she had her answer. "She's not happy."

"No, she isn't," he confirmed, shaking his head with a sigh. "And she wants to personally meet him. Soon. So… Can that be arranged without endangering our mission? Or missions?"

"It shouldn't be a problem," she replied as she sat down next to him. Arranging a secret meeting in a city like Los Angeles? With their resources? Child's play.

"Thought so. The meeting will be a problem, though."

She inclined her head in agreement. A problem for which Orion was responsible, in her opinion. "Is there anything we can do about that?" She hoped he wouldn't say yes - nothing good come of getting involved in that family row.

"Well…" He shook his head. "I don't think so. She was pretty clear that she wanted to talk to Dad. Probably more like yell at him."

Sarah nodded. That would have to be taken into account when picking the site for the meeting. "What about your talk with him?"

"Uh…" He smiled in a rather forced and very unconvincing way at her.

It was her turn to sigh. Chuck couldn't let that problem fester. "You have to talk this out."

"But… before or after Ellie rips into him?"

"Before," she told him. If Chuck couldn't live with his father being a killer, then waiting for Ellie to forgive Orion would become somewhat moot.

He gritted his teeth - she could tell. "Yes, yes. I'll try to meet up with him soon."

"Please do," she replied with a nod. Chuck had a chance to work this out - unlike herself - and he deserved it.

And Sarah really needed to know if they had another crook in the family that couldn't be trusted.

She blinked. When had she started to think of the Bartowskis as family?

An hour later, when she was laying in their bed, on her back and looking at the ceiling, she still hadn't found an answer. It had happened before she had realised it. Not that that mattered much, anyway. What mattered was that it had happened.

She thought of Chuck's family as family. As her in-laws. And wasn't that a little unsettling? In-laws meant marriage, and until Ellie's wedding preparations had started to involve her, Sarah hadn't seriously contemplated marriage very often. Not since she had realised what her father did for a living, and what that meant for her life.

She sighed. She hadn't really minded, back then. Sarah had been too young, too stupid and trusting, to realise that Dad's life wasn't all thrilling cons with fat payouts. And by the time she had realised in what kind of dead-end life she had been steered, it had been too late. If the director hadn't been there…

She closed her eyes and suppressed the pang of pain she felt. He was dead. Killed in the line of duty. And she was about to leave the Agency he had led - after all he had done for her. Of course, it hadn't been altruism that had made him make his offer. She liked to think that the director had wanted to help her, but she wasn't naive - if he had merely cared about her, he could have sent her to a good foster family and probation officer. But he had seen her talent, her potential, and had recruited her. Turned her into a good spy personally loyal to him.

It had taken her some time to realise that. For all he had done for her, given her life meaning, as cliche as it sounded, he had also used her. Ruthlessly, at times, no matter whether or not he trusted her to come through.

More than a little like her father, in that way.

And Chuck's father struck a number of the same chords. She couldn't yet tell if he was cut from the same cloth as her own father and the director, or if he was truly just caught in circumstances beyond his control, trapped by honest mistakes.

She hoped that once she found the answer to this question, it wouldn't hurt Chuck.

California, Los Angeles, Hollywood, February 9th, 2008

Having a clandestine meeting in Hollywood of all places still seemed a little weird to Chuck, even though the sheer number of tourists on the streets was an excellent way to hide in a crowd. It was just that with all the paparazzi around, and the security cameras, it felt as if privacy was in rather short supply in the area.

The benches offering places to sit and rest, or eat your lunch, were too exposed for his taste. Two spies sitting down on the same bench, apparent strangers, to exchange information, might be a staple of spy movies, but this wouldn't be a quick meeting or handover. And Chuck really didn't want to risk anyone with a parabolic mic overhearing them. He hadn't heard of paparazzi using them, but while publishing such records might be illegal, who could say if the yellow press wasn't using such means to track and investigate celebrities?

So, they had to meet in a private space. Without anyone else being able to listen in.

Which was why Chuck was currently posing as a taxi driver picking up a client. Once he found… There! Dad's disguise was god, Chuck had to admit - he wouldn't have recognised him if he hadn't known to look for that particular hat. Dad looked like just another tourist with no taste.

As soon as they were rolling, Chuck spoke up. "Hi, Dad."

"Hi, Chuck."

"How's your wound?" A safe topic to start.

"Healing fine, as far as I can tell."

Oh. "Do you have a doctor's skillset in your Intersect?" And if so, why didn't Chuck had one?

"Oh, no! But I have had to deal with the odd wound from time to time, without having access to a doctor," Dad told him, a little too nonchalantly. Having to treat your own wounds? Sew yourself up? Chuck shuddered at the thought.

"So…" Dad said after they reached the next highway. "Did you talk to Ellie?"

"Yes." Chuck nodded. "She wants to talk to you in person, so we'll have to arrange something. Preferably something sound-proof with room to pace."

That made his dad wince. "That bad?"

"She's not happy about some of your choices, and she will want to vent properly," Chuck explained. And trying to drive while listening to that conversation - or taking part in it - seemed to be asking for an accident.

"I deserve that, I guess." Dad sighed.

His father had a wry, sad grin on his face, Chuck checked with a glance in the rear mirror. They were on the highway, but Chuck still had to focus on the traffic. Not being able to see his father's face apart from quick glances like this kind of made meeting in person pointless, Chuck realised. Not quite like talking on the phone, but not much better. Until they hit a traffic jam, at least.

"So, you wanted to talk," Dad said after a few seconds spent in silence.

"Uh, yes." Chuck took a deep breath. This was it. No more stalling. Time to talk.

"About?"

"Uh… killing," Chuck said.

"Oh."

Oh? What did he mean with 'oh'. "I mean, I've killed myself - I've killed as well, I mean, not that I killed myself. Mostly demons, which are different, but people as well." When the Intersect had kicked in. "But…" How to say this? He had planned this speech, but he seemed to have forgotten his preparations!

"You're upset about me killing Gonzàlez and the others."

"Yes." Chuck glanced at him again, briefly. His father looked serious, not shocked.

"I'd say that it was necessary, and they were killers."

He gritted his teeth. "We're killers, too, Dad."

"Do you work for a drug cartel? Or have you killed your fellow agents?" his father retorted.

"No." Unless Fulcrum's agents counted.

"I didn't like doing it, Chuck. But it was necessary."

"'Necessary'?" Dad sounded like Casey.

"Killing Gonzàlez and Lopez was the plan from the start. Besson and Dubois… well, she tried to kill us, and Besson defended Gonzàlez."

"Yes, it was the plan, but…" Chuck bit down on his lip. His reasoning sounded stupid, but he couldn't help it.

"You don't like that it was me doing the killing."

"Yes!" Chuck spat.

"I would be a hypocrite if I expected others to kill for me, but wouldn't do it myself."

He didn't have an answer to that that wouldn't make him look like a hypocrite. But he had another question - the main question. "And how far are you willing to go?" How many was he willing to kill?

"As far as necessary to keep you and Ellie safe."

Damn.

He glanced over his shoulder. Dad was watching him with a serious and sad expression.

"How far would you go to keep Ellie safe?"

That was an unfair question - Chuck wasn't the one whose mistake had endangered Ellie by linking her with the CIA's most wanted. On the other hand, Chuck had endangered her by becoming the Intersect, though that hadn't been his choice.

"Would you rather leave her forever than kill a murderer so you could be staying with her?"

That was a really unfair question. "And what if you don't know if they're a murderer?"

"If they were trying to kill you or me, that'd be enough for me to make a call."

That was rubbing it on. Somewhat. Chuck sighed. "I don't like it," he spat.

"I know. And that's a good thing."