You and I have seen what time does

Haven't we?

We both had time to grow

You know we've got more growing to do

Me and you, and the rest of them too

You can see the changes we've been going through

Such a pity, what a shame

Who can we blame?

You and me, me and you, and the rest of them too

"You and I"

The Monkees

May 17, 2036

Westside Medical Center, Los Angeles, California

"Mom, what was Aunt Ellie talking about? About…what Ally said? What happened?" Stephen grilled as they started moving down the hall. He was shoulder to shoulder with his mother, his head angled towards her as he awaited her answer.

Sarah stopped walking, sighed, and crossed her arms. "Before he fainted, your father was…not himself," Sarah said hesitantly, hearing the understatement in her own voice and trying to not flinch.

"Like what?" he asked intently, his internal check to hold back a growing sense of urgency.

"He walked differently. His voice was different. He was…angry…for no reason that I could understand," Sarah told him. Whispering, she added, "When I saw his face…it was like he looked right through me."

Everything his sister had brought up, everything she was fretting over, would have been perfectly aligned with what his mother had described…had he actually had any of the conditions Ally was worried about. For now the second time, his aunt had ruled out any neurological issue, serious or benign, that could have been the culprit. Instead, they knew for sure now it was the Intersect causing all of it. The Intersect was somehow mimicking a serious neurological condition. "Oh, God," Stephen murmured, startling himself that he'd spoken those words aloud.

"What?" Sarah asked him, worried as she watched him visibly rein in the concern and bury it in real time, before her eyes.

"Nothing," he mumbled. He saw no reason here to worry his mother more than she already was. He had volunteered to get to the bottom of what was really wrong with his father. Now, he had a general idea at least where he needed to start. It was dauntingly complicated and his need to do something about it was affecting his concentration.

His mother knew he was lying, that something was brewing inside his head. Her son's mind was much like his father's, keen and sharp, with an extraordinary intelligence for problem solving and critical thinking. He was deep in thought and distracted by his surroundings, and was trying with all his might to appear casual and nonchalant in front of his mother. Truth be told, Sarah was tired, and not just from one night's lack of sleep. She was older and so was Chuck. For once, she had to take a step back and let her son handle what he said he would handle. He was still her child, but she had to remind herself he was one of the most successful agents in the CIA at the current moment. Sarah's only job now was to take care of Chuck, the way Ellie had asked her to. Keep him calm, no matter what.

"Why don't you give your sisters a ride back to the house?" Sarah suggested. "They're both exhausted, and they came with me, so they don't have another way to get home. I'll wait for your dad to be discharged."

Stephen agreed and kissed his mother's cheek before departing to retrieve his sisters and his fiancee.

In the hallway, Sarah paused at Chuck's hospital room door. Ellie had already told him everything, she told herself. She knew how he would look when she went inside, more worried about her than he was about himself. She took a deep breath in preparation. It might be a challenge, but she was going to have to take charge to make sure Chuck was following his sister's advice.

Upon entering the room, Sarah jumped at the noise. "It's out, Mr. Bartowski!" the nurse in the room with him shouted.

Chuck was fully dressed, sitting up with his legs dangling over the side of the bed. A plump and petite nurse was standing in front of him, a dangling piece of disconnected IV in one hand and a piece of gauze pressed over the back of Chuck's left hand in the other. Chuck's head was turned away, and he was peeking at her hand through one eye, opening just a slit. Even from the door, Sarah could hear how heavily he was breathing.

"Is he being a baby?" Sarah called to the nurse. Her smile was forced, but the nurse smiled genuinely in reply just the same.

"Mrs. Bartowski?" the nurse asked.

"Yes," Sarah replied. "He hates needles," she replied softly, her lips twisted to the side.

"Is there anyone, anywhere, who likes needles?" Chuck quipped as he opened both eyes. "Like a needle enthusiasts group or something?"

"He's quite a charmer," the nurse teased sarcastically. "You're a lucky woman," she continued to joke as she disposed of the needle and the attached apparatus into the sharps container on the wall.

"Yes, I suppose I am," Sarah said in reply. The wistful sigh was missed by the nurse, who was too engrossed in her job to detect the subtle nuance.

Chuck smiled at his wife, his lips crooked, his teeth hidden behind his pursed lips. The sadness in his eyes was unmistakable, and Sarah's eyes stung as she struggled to maintain her calm composure. Inside, all she wanted to do was fling herself into his arms and never let go of him. He needed her strength now, she told herself. She walked to the bed and sat beside him as the nurse left the room.

"Your sister gave you the green light, so are you ready to go?" Sarah asked. She sounded exhausted, like each word was an effort to say. Part of that palpable fatigue was the staged smile she maintained while she felt like crying.

Chuck grabbed her hand as it rested on the bed beside his leg. Looking at the floor, he started, "Sarah…"

"Ellie told us," Sarah said quickly, before he said anything else. She knew. She didn't want to hear it again.

"Us?" he asked warily, turning his head to look at her.

"Stephen and I," she explained. He nodded dully, shifting his eyes back to the floor.

"I don't know what happened. How anything ended up…downloaded in my head like that," he explained. He was bewildered, and frightened, but struggling to keep his face neutral.

"Stephen's on it, Chuck. If he can figure out what and when and how…Ellie might be able to remove—"

Chuck interrupted her rather stridently. "All of that was destroyed. Burned out…after it was traced back to her in Chicago," Chuck reminded her.

"You were almost killed, Chuck," Sarah defended. "It was for the best. For everyone. Especially since…" Her voice faded, the words lost as all of that suddenly came back.

"My father's program protected me," he mumbled, finishing her sentence. "But it left me vulnerable just the same."

"Ellie thinks it had to have happened in 2021. After Cole brought Hannah to L.A.," Sarah mentioned, wondering if Ellie had gone into detail with him.

"I was almost never alone…that entire time, Sarah. Everyone knew how worried about you I was. I don't even think I was alone in a room unless I was sleeping," he explained.

"Stephen knew more than he told me," Sarah confided. "I don't know if it was flash related or not. He keeps classified stuff to himself…even when he forgets that I was a spy for a very long time."

Chuck nodded, the motion quick, like he was trying to convince himself. She squeezed his leg as she rested her hand there, offering what comfort she could. "Ellie said…I…scared you," he said hesitantly. "What did I do?"

"Chuck, you can't worry about that. Please," she implored, her words spilling out a little too quickly. "You're at risk for—"

"I know," he sighed, not wanting to hear the words again.

She leaned closer, wrapping her arms around him, holding his head against her shoulder with her hand placed gently against his cheek. "It's going to be ok. Stephen will figure it out, Chuck. Have faith in your son. I do," she swore to him.

"It's an Intersect implant. What if it's like the one you and—" Chuck started to say, his voice shaking as his worst fears were there in his words.

"Your sister will figure out a way to remove it," Sarah reassured him, forcing an optimism into her voice she didn't necessarily feel. In truth, ever since she had seen the thready red lines on Ellie's scan, the defective Intersect was all she could think about. Both she and Morgan had uploaded defective software, the original purpose of which had been to destroy Chuck. It was ironic, Sarah thought, that it could still be here, haunting them, 25 years later.

Sarah heard him swallow, a soft, squeaky gulp. Ellie had destroyed everything associated with all her previous research, mostly to protect the information from ever being disseminated. The number of people who knew about Chuck, and then his son, was small.

She could feel her mind start to knead the problem. She had to force herself to stop. She needed to do what she asked her husband to do. She had to have faith in her son. He was their best shot now.

May 17, 2036

Castle 2.0, Los Angeles, California

Stephen and Cozette had just dropped Ally and Abby at home when Bentley texted on the encrypted line, calling both agents to Castle immediately.

The secret underground base Chuck had purchased from the U.S. government in 2011 and then sold back in 2012 was now Stephen Carmichael's secret base. The site had been mothballed for quite a few years, but Bentley had repurposed it once Stephen C. Bartowski had become a full-fledged agent. Cozette was now his partner, and a third member of their team was an agent named Victor Delson. He was NSA, a former Green Beret, about five years older than Stephen. Delson had been Stephen's partner since he had started spying at 21 years of age.

Delson was already there and waiting when Stephen and Cozette started descending the stairs. "What's up, Del?" Stephen called as he skipped down the stairs more than one at a time.

You're the only person I know who can get away with calling me a nickname for my last name. Something Del had said to him on more than one occasion. The subtle back and forth between the team members was familiar, friendly, and comfortable. Delson was a professional through and through, though not without sympathy for the fact that Stephen and Cozette were lovers as well as partners.

"Bad guys causing problems," Delson grumbled.

It was inopportune timing, Stephen thought. Most missions usually were. They were basically on call 24 hours a day, anytime something urgent arose. His anxiety was elevated now because he needed to talk to Bentley about his personal issue which may or may not be in the scope of the next few days' work.

"You two roll out of bed or what?" Delson quipped as he scanned them up and down.

"We don't sleep with our boots on, Del," Cozette snickered back at him.

Stephen appreciated her lightheartedness, but he needed to tell their partner what had happened. "We were at the hospital early this morning. With my father," he stressed.

"Everything ok?" Delson asked with genuine concern.

Stephen and Cozette exchanged glances. "No," Stephen said briskly as he pursed his lips. He appreciated his partner's concern, but going any further into detail wasn't helpful, and in effect could create an emotional issue when they needed to focus on their mission. "But we have a mission. It's nothing that can't wait until this is over." Delson took him at his word.

Stephen and Cozette had just taken their seats when the monitor came alive. "Good day, Team Intersect," Bentley stated. Though the CIA director was due to retire before the end of the year, her appearance betrayed none of that. Her mocha skin was smooth, her dark hair free flowing, and her rich brown eyes clear. She wore her usual black suit with a white satin blouse underneath. She cut to the chase immediately, as always. "If I say Nefertiti's mummy, what happens, Bartowski?"

Due to the nature of Stephen's Intersect and the unique way in which it functioned, this was how Bentley approached every mission. Stephen knew when his parents had been spies, more often than not, their missions started after Chuck had flashed on something. Either that or whatever mission they were working on was somehow clarified after his father had flashed. Contrarily, Bentley presented a theory, a fact, some tidbit of information, and then waited. The computer inside Stephen's head was collecting intelligence in every waking moment of his life, rather than waiting for the U.S. government to update anything.

Bentley's trigger worked. Stephen flashed when she finished speaking. It had been a while since Stephen had seen his father flash, but he did know his own flashes were less debilitating, much more seamless as the information shifted from long term storage to short term memory. Cozette could tell when it happened, but often others, including Del, sometimes missed it.

"Confirmed in 2023 by a team led by Zahi Hawass, after one of the female mummies in tomb KV 12 was subjected to DNA testing and analysis. On display in the British Museum, on loan from the National Egyptian Museum of Civilization, when it was stolen in 2032," Stephen said quickly. "I was in Brisbane for the 32 Olympics when that happened. It was all over the news," he added, almost mumbling to himself.

"Exactly, Agent Bartowski. It's been missing for over four years. One of the strangest cases Interpol has left on its docket that remains unsolved," Bentley said.

"How did this end up here, and not with Interpol?" Delson asked.

Bentley sighed and actually rolled her eyes. "Interpol contacted MI6…that's what they seem to do best. MI6 contacted us because they have a lead and it led them to something we are already very familiar with, Team."

"Temhota," Stephen said quickly, pronouncing the Russian word perfectly (temnota.) It was a defeated growl all the same. It meant darkness when translated to English. In the two years Stephen had been an agent, more of their missions had dealt with Temhota than anything else. It was an organization, a loose affiliation of weapons dealers, mercenary criminals and criminal hackers, the head of which was named Danil Stepanov. The first time Stephen had flashed on government intelligence, when he was nine, it had concerned a ransomware attack against the Sacramento Water Department that eventually, after much investigation, was traced back to this group. His father's cybersecurity firm had been defending the U.S. against Temhota consistently for 15 years.

Once he became an agent and privy to more classified information, and information classified at a higher clearance level than his parents had, Stephen had learned Temhota's transgressions extended far beyond cyberterrorism.

"What the hell do they need with a mummy?" Delson barked.

"The mummy, I bet nothing specifically. But they are mercenaries," Cozette interjected.

"Exactly," Bentley confirmed. "Based on the intel from MI6, there is proof that Temhota was paid to steal the mummy from the exhibit in 2032."

"I have a feeling it's the after-that-part that we need to worry about," Stephen said.

"The CIA jumped on this because the CIA has always believed it highly probable that Izzat Hanafi, one of the most infamous crime lords in Egyptian history, is still alive. He was reported killed in 2006, but proof of that has been disputed ever since. If he were alive today, he would be 73 years old," Bentley explained, as her face was replaced by documents and information that flashed onto the screen.

"They think Hanafi paid Temhota to steal the mummy?" Cozette asked.

"MI6 believed so, but their trail went cold. We've been enlisted to continue the chase. I know it seems convoluted, for various reasons, but we believe if we can find the mummy, we find Hanafi. You leave for Cairo in the morning," Bentley ordered.

She was about to click off the link when Stephen raised his hand. "Director, may I have a word in private?" he asked.

Without speaking, she nodded to dismiss Delson and Cozette. They shuffled out of the room, leaving Stephen alone with Bentley on the monitor.

"Director, I have a personal matter I wanted to discuss. Specifically having to do with my father," Stephen said. Jane Bentley was one of only two people still working for the U.S. government who knew Charles Irving Bartowski was still a functioning Intersect. Retired Major General Diane Beckman had gone to extraordinary efforts to ensure that information remained classified at the highest level, and worked to suppress it at every opportunity. All about protecting him and his family.

"Go ahead," she said briskly.

"I'll make a long story short. We don't know how or when it happened, but my father has an additional Intersect upload in his head that my aunt just discovered. It's affecting his memory and his…personality. Causing headaches and fainting spells," Stephen explained.

Bentley was as stoic a person as anyone he knew, but he saw her eyes become small, a tightly guarded reaction. She was surprised…and worried. Not good, he thought. "Go on," she said, a tight intensity in her tone he had never heard before.

"I need permission to go through the DNI database, study anything pertaining to the Intersect project, including the mission against the Sentries in 2021. My aunt believes it most likely happened during that mission. We need to find out exactly what happened if she has any hope of removing it," Stephen expressed.

She sighed, actually shifting her eyes down to her desk. When she looked up, her jaw was clenched. "I can't officially authorize a mission like that…considering you are the only Intersect, Bartowski. Anything less would put your father's…status…in great jeopardy." She sighed again. "Unofficially, do what you need to do. But know, you have no back up. If you're caught, not only will the CIA disavow it, but you're putting your father's status under potentially unnecessary scrutiny."

"My mother is terrified. She's trying not to show it, but I know she is. Something is wrong with my father. I'll do whatever I have to in order to help him. His status isn't as important as his life, not to us, anyway," Stephen told her. "It won't interfere with the Cairo mission, ma'am," he added quickly.

She nodded once, the grim line of her mouth relaxing the slightest bit before she broke the connection.

Stephen hated multi-tasking, but he could do it. He had to do it now; he had no other choice. It was a long flight to Cairo from Los Angeles. He should sleep on the plane, but instead he knew he would do some computer work. Stephen had degrees in both criminology and computer engineering from Stanford. He didn't have anywhere near the expertise of his father when it came to hacking, but he had enough faith in his skills that he could hack into the CIA mainframe without getting caught. He had to start there.

May 17, 2036

Burbank, California

"Sarah, I'm fine, really," Chuck huffed, hating how his wife was doting on him. She had walked him to the sofa, found a pillow to put behind his back, and was now looking for the remote.

She knew he didn't need to be taken care of like a child or an invalid, but it was the outward manifestation of her worry and concern for him. "I called Morgan and told him you're out of work until further notice," Sarah told him, bracing herself for his disapproval.

Under normal circumstances, he would have protested. But as much as he loved his work, it was stressful more often than not. Collectively, they had enough to worry about now without adding the risk of him having a stroke. "You did say I was overdue for some vacation time, Honey," Chuck said, beckoning with an open hand for her to sit beside him.

She took his hand in hers, positioning herself close to him and pulling his arm around her shoulder like a shall. He hugged her against his chest, kissing the top of her head.

"Chuck, how often do you think you flash? You know, an average," she added, as she tucked herself up against him. She felt him stiffen, his muscles going taught.

"You're thinking about the defective Intersect again," he murmured.

"I'm just trying to make sense of it. If Ellie is right, and you've had that for 15 years, there has to be a reason why it only started to exert itself recently. It took 40 flashes for me to start to forget Alex. How often did you flash, just fighting cyber crime?" she asked.

"I mean, they were informational flashes only. Ellie figured out a long time ago the skills flashes caused more damage to you and Morgan," he reminded her. "I don't know…" He closed his eyes as he did his mental calculations. "Every three months maybe? An estimate…I guess, give or take."

"So 60 times?" Sarah asked, surprised by the number, something she had never really thought about in such terms before. She took a deep breath, slightly changing the directory of the questioning. "Are there any things, you know, instances, that stand out in your mind…times when you might have lost time and not realized it before just recently? Anything that you just shrugged off at the time…that could have been a problem, now that we know?"

"Pfft," he sputtered, blowing out a breath in defeat. "I'm sure there are. But like you said, it never occurred to me to be worried about any of it. Minor stuff that may have just been getting older or being overworked or overstressed. Were there times that Morgan asked me what I had for lunch or when was the last time I went to the dentist and I couldn't remember? Sure. But who knows if that is related or not or just normal? I don't know, really. But it wasn't significant enough until just recently that it came to my attention."

"Sixty times, though…you'd think if that was the problem, something more significant would have happened," she mentioned. "Although, your brain is different from everyone else's, with the exception of your son and sort of your sister. Maybe it would have taken more flashes before that defective Intersect affected you."

HIs muscles were still rigid and he was tense. You're making this worse, she admonished herself. "I'm sorry, Chuck. This isn't helping," she murmured.

"I'm just afraid…about what could possibly happen. If I start to forget more…or I do something that scares you again," he lamented. He closed his eyes, trying and failing to banish the images of what his best friend and his wife had been like when their memories had been damaged by the Intersect. It was unimaginable to think after all this time, that he could wake up tomorrow and not remember his life. Sarah had lost five years. Could he really lose 25 years?

Sarah was just as nervous about the same outcome. More so because she had seen him, changed and almost like a stranger in their bedroom in the middle of the night. "Let's try and relax. Only, you shouldn't watch anything on tv that could trigger a flash. We could just watch a movie," she suggested.

"A movie?" he said gently. "You can't think of a better way to pass the time? A better way to relax?" he said, his voice husky against her ear. "The girls aren't due back until after dinner."

He was changing the subject, but it was welcome. They needed to put aside all the stress, things that they couldn't do anything about. She giggled, relaxing against his chest. "I'm supposed to keep an eye on your blood pressure, mister," she replied, smiling against his ear. "Although I suppose…if I do all the work…your blood pressure should be just fine," she hummed suggestively.

"Oh, it should, should it?" he whispered back just as suggestively, brushing his lips against her temple.

"You promised me 60 years," she said, still teasing, but the deeper emotion thickened her voice. "I'm holding you to that, you know."

"Yes, ma'am," he said softly and slowly, right before he kissed her.