And now I'm calling, calling out your name

Even if I lose the game

I'm all in, I'm all in tonight

Yeah, I'm all in, I'm all in for life

"All In"

Lifehouse

September 27, 2021

Echo Park, Los Angeles, California

Chuck let the nostalgia surround him, as he always did, each time he stood outside in the courtyard at Echo Park, where he had lived with his sister and Devon, and then later Sarah, across from John Casey and Morgan in the apartment whose door at which he now waited. Morgan and Alex had done a lot of redecorating since taking the place over from Casey, but it was still a two bedroom apartment. Now that Alex was expecting another baby, Chuck thought they would probably need to move to a bigger place. Five people in a two bedroom apartment was a little too much.

Most of the plants were as he remembered-wisteria winding over the doorways, ornamental vegetation in and around the fountain. In so many ways, it was as it had been almost ten years ago when they had left to move to their house in Burbank. Seeing strangers in his sister's old apartment, as well as his old one, left him vaguely uneasy and feeling strange, any time he was here.

When Alex opened the door, he immediately heard the sounds of chaos buffeting out the door, though it was a warm, comforting sound. Four kids yelling and laughing, the television blaring, what sounded like the oven beeping, and someone's phone ringing all swirled around him as Alex smiled widely, her hand on the doorknob. "Welcome to the nut house, Chuck. You're just in time."

"Anything I can do…?" he asked slowly, stepping into the living room.

"Daddy!" two voices yelled, directing his attention toward the floor in front of the tv. He looked over the top of the sofa. Abby sat on the floor, cross-legged, a magazine in her lap. Ally and Max were seated side by side, a video game controller in each of their hands. Max's younger brother, four-year-old Matthew, was seated next to Abby, building something with a set of jumbo-sized legos.

"No, Chuck, I'm fine," Alex called as she headed back towards the kitchen.

"Hey, girls," Chuck called.

Alex rushed past him to grab her phone that was ringing on the counter. She clicked on the phone, moving into the kitchen at the same time, reaching for the oven knob. "Their homework is done, Chuck. They all did it together," she said, before she directed her attention back to the phone. "Yes, he is, and hello to you too, Sweetheart," she said sarcastically into the phone. "Chuck, this is Morgan. He said he's been trying to call you," she said, pulling the phone away from her face and tilting it toward him.

Reaching quickly into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, seeing the light that indicated three missed calls, all from Morgan. He looked at the side of the phone, realizing he had left it on vibrate when he had left the hospital. "I'll call him, Alex. I missed the calls," he told her apologetically.

One minute later he was on the phone with Morgan. "Hey, Morgan, sorry I...I didn't hear the phone ring while I was driving," he said into the phone.

"Hey, Buddy, no worries. How'd everything go with Ellie?" he asked.

"You...uh...you wouldn't believe it if I told you. It's a long story. I'll tell you about it tomorrow, is that ok?" Chuck said, the thought of rehashing it all now exhausting him.

"Sure. I'm still at the office," Morgan told him. Chuck looked down at his watch, seeing the time had crept past six. One hour longer than Morgan usually worked. "Long story short-Carter was freaking out. United Bank defaulted on the payment for last month. They said it was because they were hacked." He laughed. "Huh, I know, right?"

Carter was the accountant for Carmichael Industries. Chuck was not the least bit surprised that he was freaking out-there was barely anything he didn't freak out about. "He can deal with it tomorrow. Just go home. Both of you," he said firmly. "Where's Vivian?" he added, knowing as the Operations Manager, she was often there just as late.

"She had a date with Liam, I think. She was translating Russian almost all day, trying to help Skip. Definitely feeling Sarah's absence there, Dude. He's still here too. The task you had him working on...West Sacramento? He's having some trouble," Morgan said.

"What kind of trouble?" Chuck asked warily.

"Dude, he told me, but it was just a lot of computer gibberish I'm sure you would understand, but I certainly didn't. Satisfactory attribution per your evidence. Then something about a botnet, an evil maid, a partridge in a pear tree, blah blah. You know, Chuck?" Morgan said.

"Oh, that's not good," Chuck said slowly. "Who was on his team today?"

"Jergenson, Matthews, and Fred," Morgan enumerated.

One day off, he thought, shaking his head to himself. "Listen, Morgan. Tell Skip he needs to compile the evidence about the insider and send it to Beckman over the secure server. That's the most important thing right now, ok?"

"See, I knew you could figure it out," Morgan laughed with relief. "Tell my beautiful wife I'll be home in...30 minutes. Give or take. Probably take, considering L.A. traffic."

"Morgan, Casey is still in town, right?" Chuck asked him.

"Yeah, yeah, he's not headed back to D.C. for another week, last I heard," Morgan answered.

"Great. Listen, Buddy, Sarah already took Stephen home and she's waiting for me and the girls. I'll see you in the morning, ok?" Chuck said finally. He said goodbye, and clicked off the phone.

"Alex, Morgan will be home soon. Girls, let's go! Chicken pepperoni is waiting," he called.

"Ugh...Dad," Abby groaned. "Can't we stay here and have lasagna?"

Alex opened her mouth, Chuck knew, probably to offer them to stay, but Chuck interrupted. "No, we need to go home. And leave the Grimes' in peace. Thank you, Aunt Alex," Chuck said, eyeing both girls as they went to collect their things.

"Thanks, Aunt Alex," both Ally and Abby mimicked him, slightly out of sync.

She waved with a pink oven mitt on her hand and a giant smile on her face.

"Daddy, you didn't work today?" Ally asked, eyeing his casual attire, as they walked back out into the courtyard.

"No, I was with your brother all day. Didn't you notice he wasn't in school?" Chuck asked as they walked towards his car.

"First graders don't mix with the fourth graders, Daddy," Abby piped in, a sarcastic lilt to her voice. Chuck was waiting for the "duh" that she ended up keeping silent.

"Is Stephen ok?" Ally asked, a slight edge to her voice. She was his caring one, always worried about how everyone else was doing.

Reaching the car, Chuck unlocked it for them. "Yes, Honey, he's fine. Nothing to worry about, I promise." They were inside, buckling themselves into their booster seats, when he let his plastic smile slip.

September 27, 2021

Burbank, California

Sarah turned from her son's bedroom door, hearing the ruckus Chuck and the girls were making at the top of the stairs. She heard laughter, loud and silly, and the dog barking in response to the rowdy atmosphere. At the top of the stairs, Chuck stumbled over, dragging his back foot in an ogre impression. Abby had her hands around his neck, hanging over his back. Ally was upside down, tucked under Chuck's right arm. Both girls were screaming in laughter, hysterically giggling, all gums showing with mismatched gaps where baby teeth had yet to be replaced with adult teeth. Sarah saw the static electricity, making Ally's fine hair stand on end and stick to Chuck's pants.

"Hey, Mommy," Chuck said, breathlessly, as he noticed her standing there.

"I thought you were getting ready for bed," she said, struggling not to laugh, the girls' joy contagious.

"Dog fed, walked, pj's on, check," Chuck added, tipping Ally back onto her feet, her hair still standing up on her head in every direction. "Now it's teeth brushing time." He flashed a disarming smile, grabbing Abby's hands and guiding her down off his back. They scooted around him and into the bathroom.

He moved into his bedroom, flopping down on the bed. He had changed the second he got home, into his t-shirt and flannel pants. He tilted his head up, hearing the door creak as Sarah entered. She moved about the room silently, changing into her night clothes as he kept an admiring eye on her. Tonight, it was a purple satin nightgown, ending just at her knees, pale lilac lace trimming the top below thin spaghetti straps. She flopped down on her side of the bed, crawling towards him and propping herself up on her hands as they rested on his chest.

"Are you ok?" she asked softly, her blue eyes full of questions.

"Yeah, just a long day, you know," he said softly in return, guarded even as he gently ran his thumb over the back of her hand. Had it only been one day? He felt like this day had taken months, and it wasn't over yet. "I want to talk to Casey, you know, before I explain to Beckman. Just in case. Do you think I'm crazy?"

She had another strong suspicion he was deflecting, or parsing somehow, avoiding something that was more than what he kept mentioning. Taking his lead, she addressed what he asked. "I understand why you're worried. But I believe with all my heart we can trust her. Talk to Casey first, if it makes you feel better," she told him. Delving deeper, believing she was narrowing in on the real trouble, she added, "Chuck, I know you feel like our normal life...is ruined, or disrupted or whatever. Please don't worry about that, ok?"

He turned his head to look at her, smiling though his eyes were infinitely sad. "I do think I cursed us, by telling you, more than once, that we will never really be normal."

She scoffed. "Chuck, don't confuse normal with happy. Andrea Tisdale is normal. She's so normal she makes me want to poke my eyes out with an ice pick sometimes."

Chuck raised his eyebrows, surprised, and waiting for the explanation.

"Don't get me wrong, she's my friend. Probably the closest normal friend I've ever made. Griffin and Stephen are like you and Morgan, you know that. But she can go on and on and on...about the neighbor's recycling blowing into her yard, or the dog chewing apart the backyard fence, or how her husband leaves wet towels on the bathroom floor, or how many times a week they have sex-"

"Wait, what?" he asked, lifting up slightly. "That's normal parent convo?"

Smirking, she answered, "They all think I'm strange because I just stay quiet when they start that stuff. Tammy told Andrea she thought we were swingers," Sarah told him.

"What?" he asked, aghast, lifting up again, jostling her slightly. "Did you tell Andrea we aren't?" he almost shouted.

She made a dismissive wave with her hand, tilting her head. "Really, Chuck?" Shaking her head and smirking again, she added, "She's just jealous because we always seem so happy. At least that's what Andrea told her." Sighing she concluded, "We're weird, Chuck. And it's ok. Trust me," she said.

"Tell me why we're so weird," he said slowly, a soft smile on his face as he closed his eyes.

"Because I don't have annoying habits of yours to share when they sit around and complain. Because I don't bad mouth you, about anything. Because I won't tell them how frequently we have sex. Because of how frequently we actually do have sex," she added with a laugh, grabbing at his waist and squeezing.

That started him laughing, and he reached his arm around her back and squeezed her to him. "I'll have you know, Mrs. Bartowski, that you are considered a hot mommy by more than just your husband."

"You're not so bad yourself, you know. You should see the way those hot mommies check you out when they think I'm not looking," she teased, speaking close to his ear. He shook his head in disbelief, rolling his eyes.

"You don't have anything to complain to your friends about me? Nothing?" he asked.

"Well," she said, rolling her own eyes dramatically. "You do always leave the car seat really far back when you drive my car."

He rolled his eyes again, his mouth open with some silly retort waiting, but she interrupted again. "I can picture how that convo would go. Andrea telling me that Jim let Griffin go to school with his Spiderman pj's on or whatever. And then I have to tell her about you having to use Russian paratroopers to get me the antidote to a rare poison," she added, teasing, but always underneath the depth of gratitude for the lengths her husband was willing to go for her, always. The smile relaxed slightly, and she said, "You know, Chuck, I just think because of everything that happened before-we just have a different perspective on life. I don't think Andrea loves her husband any less than I love you. But I do know she never tore apart an entire country to save his life. We just, you know, had our relationship tested by fire. We know those silly things she always talks about don't matter."

He kissed her forehead, snuggling her close against him. He felt her wrap her arms around his waist, resting her ear against his chest. His t-shirt was old, the cotton worn so thin it felt like it wasn't there. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her, always the same from the first time he had met her-flowery and sweet. "Sarah, there's something I have to tell you. Something my sister told me," he said, suddenly stern and serious.

"What, Chuck?" she asked, her heartbeat and respiration increasing at her immediate edginess.

"Stephen...he...uh…" He stopped, searching for the right words, while she waited, a fistful of his shirt in her hand. "Ellie discovered that he actually flashed earlier than what she told us he remembered."

"Before he was three? What could he have possibly flashed about younger than that? How old, Chuck?" she asked.

"When he was 18 months old," he told her, hating how his voice seemed to shake despite a desperate effort to keep it neutral. Sarah stayed quiet, but he felt her breath in his ear begin to shudder. "When he called Vivian. He unlocked your phone and dialed it. He wasn't just playing with it like we thought."

"Oh my God," she gasped, pulling back slightly in her astonishment. The muscles in his arm around her were so tense it felt like he was flexing. He wouldn't look at her, his face tilted away. In the eight years since that incident had occurred, it had only come up a very few times. His reaction was always the same-he couldn't bear to talk about it, couldn't bear to hear her talk about it. She had always attributed it to grief, something she understood and shared.

"She assured me he doesn't remember interacting with you, or Vivian. And she also assured me whatever she did to hypnotize him didn't bring out any other memories he might have suppressed," he said, the words muffled against her hair.

"That's...that's incredible," she said in awe. This was a lengthier discussion than they had ever had about that day. Something in his voice was oddly familiar. She could almost place from where in the past he had sounded like that. Worrying about Casey...somewhere...

The quiet reverie was disrupted by loud screeching, and the thumping of tiny bare feet running on the floor. The screaming crescendoed as they moved down the hall. Both girls came bursting into their room through the open door, howling and laughing, diving on top of Chuck as he lay still. He umph-ed as the weight of both six-year-olds pressed down on his stomach. The only discernible words were "Daddy" and "Stephen." They were soon followed by their brother, who was chasing them, his Batman mask from last Halloween stretched over the top of his head, a yellow cape tied around his neck.

Before Chuck could catch his breath, Stephen dove on top of them all, creating one giant wriggling mass on top of their bed. He could hear Sarah shouting about watching not to bang heads, even as Stephen launched over everyone and dove on top of Sarah. Stephen was growling like a dog, Abby somewhere even in her laughter telling him bats didn't growl and that he was a dork. Chuck was laughing, tickling both girls as they squirmed and squealed. What focused his attention was Sarah laughing-deep, hysterical laughter that was so intense it was making her eyes water. She was trying to tell them to calm down, but was laughing so hard she couldn't form a coherent word. She hugged her son against her, the radiance on her face beautiful in the moment, laughing tears streaming out of the corners of her eyes.

Somehow the yellow cape ended up over both Chuck's and Sarah's face. Chuck pulled it down, hearing the light crackle of static electricity as it peeled away from their hair. Once the children started to quiet, the minty scent of toothpaste close to his face from freshly brushed teeth, he looked beside him, catching Sarah's eyes, certain in that instant she was remembering the same thing he was.

Or that our kids will be like little superheroes with little capes…

He was still proving all of those words to her, just as he'd promised, never realizing how prophetic he had been, in more than one way. What he had wanted for his children was for them to feel safe and loved. Fretting aside, he knew right here what he had set out to do all those years ago, he had done. He was here for them always, and they knew that. Helpless to change the past, he had done only what was within his power. Change the future, so the past stayed in the past and never returned. He had wanted to give Sarah what she had never had, what she had always wanted from life but somehow had never found until she had met him. Moments like this with his own parents had been so rare, from so far into his young years he could no longer recall them, and he knew it was even less so for her. Her laughter was a panacea for the twisting worry that had found its way inside him after the events of the past weekend and today.

He closed his eyes, savoring the moment, appreciating what he had in the exact moment he understood how happy and blessed he truly was. As crushed as he had been learning about his young son's predicament, there was no denying now that his son was a happy nine-year-old, despite Chuck's fears that his childhood had been somehow cut short by the Intersect. Sighing, wishing he could stay in this moment forever but knowing pure joy like that was all too brief, he began to stand up. "Bed time," he called, lifting both girls, one in each arm. They scurried out and he rose to follow. "You too, Batman. Let's go," he said, motioning with his arm for his son to follow.

"I'll be in to kiss you goodnight," Sarah called, rolling up onto her elbow as they departed. Alone in their room, she flopped back down, hugging herself, Chuck's words to her before the children had invaded, now dancing in her mind. She was blessed a thousand times over, for moments like those, even on days like today had been. Her sides ached pleasantly from laughing too hard, the best feeling she had ever experienced, and even though she was 40 years old, she couldn't remember the feeling ever happening before she knew Chuck. She listened for his footsteps, knowing he was headed downstairs to put the dog in his bed for the night. She went first to her son, then both of her daughters, kissing each one on the forehead. Running and screaming before bed had made falling fast asleep relatively easy, she thought with a smile.

They were back in bed soon after tuckings-in and goodnight kisses. "Stephen has karate after school tomorrow, and archery on Wednesday. Andrea's taking him tomorrow because the girls have violin lessons. I have to drive on Wednesday," she mumbled sleepily against his ear and she curled up to him.

"Are you sweet talking me with the carpool duty roster, Sweetie?" he said with a smile and a wink.

"Since when do I need to sweet talk you?" she snickered, leaning over and kissing his mouth softly.

"Well, who are we to disappoint Andrea, right?" he teased her, pulling her closer, rolling her on top of him.

What started as playfulness, by far the most common approach to initiating intimacy since they had children, changed into something more, something Sarah hadn't quite expected. There was an unspoken urgency about him, some wounded spot in his soul suddenly becoming apparent. Chuck was always passionate, but she sensed his need to lose himself in her, a poultice for some bleeding, invisible scar. Was it as he had mentioned over and over, his upset over finding out the truth about their son and mourning his supposed loss of innocence? Or was it more? Had Stephen inadvertently unearthed something Chuck had thought buried for good?…a vague memory flickered on the edge of her thoughts, but disappeared like it rushed down a waterfall into nothing...

The sensations in the moment always wiped her mind clean, leaving nothing but the feeling of being close to him, connected to him, immersed in a place where there was no space or time. The knowledge of his internal pain troubled her as she tried to catch her breath, searching for some clue on his face. Beside him, she touched his face gently, watching the crease on his forehead relax, relieved if even for a moment he had found some peace. He clung to her longer than normal, so much so that she had to extract herself from his arms to reach down for her nightgown, a necessity for never knowing when a tiny face could appear at the side of the bed in the middle of the night. No more words spoken, he pulled her against him, his arm around her waist and his knees tucked up against the backs of hers. His grip on her loosened and she relaxed, the weight of his arm pleasantly draped across her body.

He listened to the sound of her breathing, the calm cadence gradually slowing as she unwound and drifted off to sleep. Later, as she lay against him, sound asleep, he felt the fatigue of the day grinding at him, but sleep was still elusive. Despite his best effort to distract himself, the troubling thoughts that had hounded him all day chased their way down into his dreams, eventually becoming a nightmare.

March 15, 2014

Carmichael Industries, Los Angeles, California

"Chuck," Skip said as he burst into Chuck's office without knocking. The only sound in the room was the tick-tacking tap of Chuck's fingers on the keyboard. Surrounding him were four different computer screens, all displaying different vantage points in the process as they worked today. Awaiting the counterattack to the offensive they had launched today, in an effort to thwart a serious threat to air traffic control at LAX, had left them running dark-no in or outgoing communication. It was an added layer of security. Engrossed in his coding as well as his monitoring of the other teams at work as well, he barely acknowledged it.

"What is it?" he asked slowly, not looking up. Skip's bushy hair was pulled back into a ponytail, adding to his professional appearance. Not looking, Chuck missed the anxious worry that creased his otherwise friendly and genial face.

"Your brother-in-law is at reception. He said they've been trying to reach you and they couldn't get a hold of anyone. He said it's urgent," Skip said in clipped tones.

Snapping out of his mental fugue, Chuck looked up quickly. He scanned the open link he had to Sarah at their house, where she had been communicating on the one secure line he left open, as she had been working from home in search of evidence. He quickly scanned the time at the bottom of the screen, and compared it to the time at her last text in. Almost 55 minutes had passed. He had been distracted, engrossed in his own work and hadn't even noticed. His thoughts went instantly to his son, emergencies taking on a new level of fear when one had a child. He jumped to his feet, rushing out, calling back to him, "What is it?"

Skip had never seen Devon look the way he had on the security camera. No specifics were given, but Skip had surmised it was serious enough to interrupt Chuck, something he would never do otherwise. "I don't know. Something's wrong."

Taking the stairs instead of the elevator, jumping three or four at a time with his exceptionally long legs, Chuck tried to keep his mind from spiraling out of control with worry. He was catastrophizing-then chastising himself for doing so. Chuck's heart was hammering into this throat by the time he made his way into the reception vestibule. His blood ran cold as he got close enough to Devon to see his face. He was pale, shaking, anxious in a way Chuck couldn't remember ever seeing him. His eyes were pink and bloodshot, his cheeks streaked with what looked like dried tears. "Oh my God, Devon, what is it?" he asked with fear, rushing up to him where he stood.

"It's Sarah," was all Devon could say, his voice catching as he did so.

Dumbstruck for only a second, Chuck turned and ran, not bothering to wait for more explanation. He heard Devon running behind him, matching his steps and speed. "Devon, what happened?" Chuck yelled, panting as he ran through the doors and out into the street.

"I don't have all the details. Ellie called me from the hospital so hysterical I could barely make out what she was saying," he panted in return, as the two raced through the parking lot towards Chuck's car. "She's in the trauma unit at Westside," Devon added.

Chuck screeched to a halt, spinning wildly back in Devon's direction. "Trauma unit?" he shouted, the terrified look in his eyes bringing Devon up short.

Fresh tears appearing in his eyes, and his voice shaking, he told Chuck, "Chuck-Sarah's bleeding out. We have to hurry."

"Oh God," he moaned, feeling the strength drain out of his legs. He didn't completely understand all the reasoning, or the cause, but he knew how bad it was. His sister had told him horror stories when she had been an intern.

"I'd better drive, Bro," Devon said, taking the keys out of Chuck's hand, nearly prying his fingers open to pull them away. He ran around to the driver's side, all the while watching as Chuck's composure dissolved in front of his eyes. "Get in, Chuck." Chuck pulled the door, falling rather than sitting into the passenger seat, nearly banging his head on the door as he did so.

"Devon, Sarah's going to die, isn't she?" Chuck said slowly, his focus on reality beginning to unravel, feeling like he was outside his body watching himself in the car.

"Chuck…" Devon started, but couldn't finish. Inside, he knew the odds weren't very good. He had had patients in the hospital already for something else with Sarah's condition, who had still succumbed. Sarah had been home alone.

"Damn it, Devon, just answer me!" Chuck screamed, banging his hand against the armrest on the car door.

"I can't answer that, Chuck. It's more survivable than the Norseman. But not by much," he added in defeat. He gripped the steering wheel harder, not wanting his shaking hands to betray the fact that inside, based on what his wife had been able to tell him on the phone, he was almost certain Sarah would already be dead by the time he could get Chuck to Westside.

"What about Stephen? Where is he?" Chuck shrieked, frantically worried, random thoughts assaulting his mind from every direction.

"Vivian called Bolognia, Chuck. She's at your house with him and she told Vivian she'll stay there as long as she needs to. Mike is coming to help her once he gets out of work," Devon explained.

"Vivian?" Chuck asked in disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't form any words.

"She found Sarah, Chuck. She's the one who called 911," Devon explained again.

His thoughts like a handful of tumbling dice, Chuck couldn't focus on any one thing long enough to discern what had actually transpired. Regardless, it was superfluous information. He was only able to hold one thought in his mind-he needed to see his wife.

March 15, 2014

Westside Medical Center, Los Angeles, California

Devon pulled up to the doors of the emergency room. Chuck was out of the car door before the vehicle even came to a complete stop, and off running without another word to his brother-in-law. After an interminable wait as he passed through the metal detector at the entrance, Devon was right behind him. Chuck turned quickly, seeing Devon point to the proper direction. At the end of a long hallway, Chuck could see his sister, dressed in her lab coat, pacing back and forth in front of a set of heavy steel doors. Though he closed the distance in no time at all, even from the beginning distance at so far away, he could see his sister's face was a mask of despair, flushed and wet from crying.

"Chuck!" Ellie screamed the moment she saw him. She grabbed both of his forearms hard to hold him still in front of her.

"Where is she?" he demanded, his voice shrill in his panic.

"Surgery," Ellie said, choking back a sob. Chuck's face projected only shock and confusion. Holding her brother's arms so tightly he could feel the hair on his arms pulling, she locked eyes with him. "Chuck, Sarah lost the baby," she added tearfully.

Somehow in the chaos, he had known inside that had to be the case. But that didn't stop the world from shaking under his feet, or the strength from fleeing his body as he sagged into the chair next to the doors. He covered his face with both hands, groaning as he wept. It felt as if a giant black hole had opened up inside him and was slowly swallowing pieces of him.

He could hear Devon and Ellie talking, knew they were talking about his wife, but the words seemed disjointed, hard to understand. "It's definitely DIC," Ellie said in a rush to Devon. "They exhausted West Side's FFP supply and everything that County sent over as well. It took almost 6 units before her INR even approached normal range. They gave her two units of packed cells before surgery. She's cleaning out the blood bank."

"What happened to my wife?" Chuck growled from behind his hands, too frazzled in his current state to listen to more medical jargon that he didn't understand.

In a slow and deliberately calm voice, Ellie spoke to her brother. "Second trimester miscarriages can sometimes cause amniotic fluid to embolize in the mother's bloodstream. They think that's what happened to Sarah. She went into shock and then disseminated intravascular coagulation occurred. It's rare, but it can happen in situations like that. All the clotting factors in her blood were consumed. It's like having hemophilia, when that happens. She just started bleeding from the pregnancy loss, then hemorrhaging. They think she may have lost over a third of her blood volume before the ambulance came."

The entire time Ellie was talking, he was rubbing his hands over his face. He knew from his own brush with death two years before that losing 40 percent was inescapably fatal. He took two shuddering breaths. "Ellie, is she going to survive?"

"It's too soon to tell," she said, her voice suddenly small.

Gasping for breath like he was suffocating, Chuck continued, "Have you ever seen someone in as bad a shape as she is now survive this?"

"It's a pretty rare condition, Bro," Devon added quietly.

"Ellie!" Chuck shouted again, not wanting pacification.

"No, Chuck, I haven't," she admitted. After the deep guttural cry that escaped from inside his chest, she blurted, "But I also thought there was no way she was going to survive that radiation poisoning, but she did. She's a fighter, Chuck."

The black hole that had opened up inside him grew, widened, until he felt it would just consume everything. Secretly wishing for it to happen. Anything-except having to face losing his wife.

September 27, 2021

Burbank, California

Coming awake with a start, Chuck felt the pain follow him back to consciousness from his dream, crushingly tight like an anvil on his chest. His eyes and cheeks were wet, he felt as he reached to his face, understanding he had been crying in his dream. He hadn't dreamed of that in a very long time, he thought, though in the past sometimes he had dreamed similarly for multiple days, even weeks, on end. His sleepless state had been easier to explain back then, equating it with having a young toddler who woke at crazy hours sometimes.

He reached beside him, feeling the warmth of Sarah's body on the sheet. He could feel her soft breathing against his neck as her head rested next to him on his pillow. Peaceful in sleep, every bit as beautiful as she was awake with all her makeup on, he just watched her, letting the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed calm him. The impending sense of loss, still echoing in his mind, residual emotions from the nightmare, lodged like a knife blade inside his heart. Not wanting to wake her, but unable to resist the urge to touch her, relieved that nightmare was no longer a reality, just a memory that he wished he could forget, he ran his hand across her cheek, brushing her hair back off her face.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw him in the dark. She was half asleep, probably so much that she wouldn't remember being awake like this when morning arrived, but still, she could see how upset he was. Reflexively, she curled herself up against him, entwining her leg between his and placing her head down against his chest. Her tight grip on him was a comfort, and he sighed, the bad feelings slowly fading, fatigue eventually vanquishing his troubles.

As he began to drift out of focus, he heard an echo, in his father's voice, not certain if it was a remnant from the dream or part of the Intersect, slowly fading with his consciousness:

How long are you going to continue grieving for something you never lost?

August 27, 2019

Paris, France

Hannah stood alone, the steady rain pounding down on her head, dripping from the ends of her hair and streaming down her face, helping to disguise the tears that continuously fell from her eyes. Everyone had moved away, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the sea of black umbrellas at the edge of the cemetery. Her children were with their grandparents, just barely visible on the edge of the grass where the black vehicles were parked in a line. Her feet felt rooted to the ground, like she was unable to move, the finality of the moment too much as she regarded the casket that held her husband's body.

She reached her hand down, placing it against the cold metal, feeling like her strength was draining away, through her hand, out into the raindrops that splashed down off the casket onto the ground. She had held it all in these past five days, showing a strength she never knew she had, for her young children. Now just herself, she broke down, crying, feeling in the moment that she wished the ground would swallow her whole, rather than have to walk away from here without him. But she had children-children who were grieving themselves, children she was now solely responsible for. She stuffed down the misery, and lifted her eyes, seeing everyone was in the vehicles already, waiting for her.

She pulled her hand away, vowing to remember the feel of his hand in hers instead of the cold steel of this casket. It was when she turned that she saw him, a tall man in a dark suit, with dark hair and a scruffy beard. He was definitely watching her, and she felt her heart start to pound as she saw him begin to move towards her. He was just as soaked without an umbrella, his hair wet and plastered to the top of his head.

"Hannah Robert?" he asked, his accent proper British, but pronouncing her surname in flawless French.

"Ye-yes," she stammered, tilting her head in confusion, at the same time glancing at her family in the distance.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said, a soft gentleness on his face.

"How-how…" she stammered, then stopped, not sure what she was asking.

"This is a very complicated story. And I know your family is waiting. Tell them I worked with your husband if they ask," he said, moving to stand beside her, so that his back was towards the line of cars. "It wasn't an accident-the crash that killed him. He was driven off the road."

"What?" she asked, flabbergasted, feeling winded like she had run a long distance.

"The DGSE were involved, and they doctored the report the Gendarmerie made at the scene. You and your children are in danger, Hannah," he said direly.

She just stared at him, digging her heels into the ground to keep her legs from knocking together as she shook. "Who are you? How do you know my name? Why should I believe you?" she managed to say.

"I work for MI6. I'm off mission right now, reaching out to you like this. But I have information that the DGSE doesn't. Meet me at this location in 24 hours," he said, slipping a folded piece of paper into her hand that dangled at her side. "I promise I will explain myself better there."

She took the paper, slipped it into her pocket, afraid if she opened it in full view it would only provoke questioning. Her mind reeling, she asked slowly, "Why should I trust you?"

"Because you don't have any other choice," he said with finality. "But if you need reassurance-there's this. The gray car. At your in-laws' home, at the funeral parlor, outside your home. Every day since his death, correct?"

She almost stumbled backward, instantly feeling like her internal organs had turned to sludge. Nauseous to the point of almost vomiting, she clutched at her throat, swallowing hard as the moisture evaporated from her mouth. As she swayed uncomfortably on her feet, he reached out a hand and held her elbow hard, holding her up, all his strength channeled into the one hand. "Oh...oh...god…"

"It will be alright, Hannah, but you have to follow my instructions. Don't panic. Just come tomorrow," he said firmly.

"Who are you?" she asked, numbness spreading from the inside out, her head feeling as light as a balloon.

With a twisted grimace, close to a smile, but far more serious, he said, "Barker. Cole Barker."

September 27, 2021

Santa Barbara, California

Jumping up from the table, Hannah said quickly, "Gretchen, can they stay here for a bit? I can order a pizza for everyone. I need to go somewhere right now. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"What?" Gretchen nearly screeched. "You just drop that bomb, and take off? This is crazy and it's scaring the hell out of me. Can't you explain anything to me?"

"I can't, Gretch. You not knowing keeps you safe. Just stay in here and don't answer the door for anyone. If you see anything suspicious, call the police. Can you do that?" she asked, moving towards the door.

"Where are you going, Hannah?" Gretchen asked, frantically worried.

"To get some answers," she said tightly, and shut the door.