How can we go forward

when we don't know which

way we're facing?

How can we go forward

when we don't know which

way to turn?

How can we go forward

into something we're not sure of?

"How?"

John Lennon

September 28, 2021

Burbank, California

Chuck was right behind Sarah as they descended the stairs. The scent of toasted bread and brewing coffee filled his nostrils as he bounced on the stairs on the way down. Assessing quickly, he took in the scene. Stephen in front of a bowl of cold cereal, both girls in front of what Chuck now knew as fairy toast—buttered white toast with rainbow sprinkles. Ally had moved her hand in a blur, but the evidence remained as Chewie, their yellow lab, sat beside her, chewing with a guilty look on his face. And, Chuck thought as he stifled a chuckle, dressed in Stephen's Batman costume from last night.

Sarah was quick to comment. "You know you are not supposed to feed the dog from the table, Missy," Sarah scolded as she moved quickly to grab her coffee cup on the counter she had left after going upstairs. "He could get sick. He's not supposed to eat people food."

"Mom, he eats light bulbs," Stephen said through bites of cereal.

"And my Barbies and the closet door," Abby piped in.

"And the wall in the basement," Ally said with a sheepish grin.

Shrugging as he acknowledged the veracity of their statements, Chuck looked at the dog, as he seemed to know they were talking about him, looking up through the holes in the mask with a gently wagging tail. "Why is the dog dressed like Batman?" Chuck asked. Chewie's tail flapped happily on the ground as Chuck approached, his soft brown eyes adoring even as the mask plastered his ears back against his head. "You know he hates that," he said, pulling the mask off his head, noting how covered in dog fur it now was. Chewie stood and promptly shook himself off.

"He was howling because Abby's screechy violin playing was hurting his ears," Stephen said accusingly.

"And Batman fixes that?" Chuck asked, untying the cape around the dog's neck, noting it had flopped in front of him and he was in danger of ripping it with his paws. He missed the faces exchanged between Stephen and Abby, tongues out.

"Batman fixes everything, Dad," Stephen said, semi-seriously.

Grinning, Chuck said, "That's not entirely wrong, Son, but…" The look Sarah gave him, slightly exasperated, cut off the end of the sentence. Chuck laughed, tousling Stephen's hair as he walked towards Sarah, reaching for the cup of coffee she was handing him.

"Why were you practicing violin at seven in the morning?" Sarah asked, tucking her hand against her hip, tilting her head slightly.

"How did we not hear that?" Chuck said quietly, just for her ears.

"Shower," Sarah whispered, color rising in her cheeks as she made eye contact with him. He pressed his lips together to hide the smile, and then winked.

"Because it's hard," Abby whined.

"That's what the teacher is for, Honey," Sarah told her. "She'll help you. It's probably the way you hold the bow. It's tricky when your hands are really small."

Chuck smiled in light surprise. Sarah had told him she had played the violin when she was young. She hated talking about her childhood more than any other topic, so he usually steered clear of it unless she brought it up. The kids knew as well, if only for the reason that sometimes she could offer advice, like this, to them.

From over the counter next to the sink, Sarah called in, "You know, your Dad was quoting from a Batman movie literally the second I met him."

"See? I told you," Abby said triumphantly, crossing her arms and nodding her head to her sister. "Dad used to be a dork too."

"Abigail Hope!" Sarah chastised her, motioning with her eyes at Chuck to not laugh, for encouraging her snappish attitude. "Not appropriate talk about anyone, definitely not your father. Speak respectfully, please."

"Nerd, Sweetheart," Chuck said softly, getting another exasperated sigh out of Sarah. His words covered up Stephen's muttering about middle names under his breath.

"Dad still is a nerd," Stephen said with a shrug. "Griffin's Dad said the nerds end up with the cool jobs." Chuck's mouth twitched slightly in appreciation of Stephen's words, though steadying his expression to neutral for fear of undermining Sarah's discipline with his childlike behavior any more than he already had.

Like after a gunshot at the beginning of a race, all three jumped up at the same time, chairs screeching against the floor. "Lunches and homework in your backpack? Dog fed and walked?" he called, seeing that Sarah had pointed to the clock on the microwave as the catalyst for the motion.

They breezed by him to deposit dishes in the sink. He got yeses, bye Dads, and love yous abounding as they circled the table, each child kissing him, Sarah, and the dog on their way out the door. He heard the door slam at the same time he heard the hiss of the bus's hydraulic brakes as it coasted to a stop in front of their house. He stood at the sink with his coffee, sipping at the warm liquid as the steam wafted against his face. Leaning down to address the dog, Chuck said, "Ah, now isn't that nice, Chewie? Peace and quiet." Chuck scratched the dog behind his ears. "No screechy violins, no superhero costumes."

"I think the next time Abby is mouthy like that she needs to lose something, Chuck," Sarah informed him.

"I agree," he said, sipping his coffee gingerly.

"You were laughing," she castigated him.

"It was funny," he countered. "She didn't use foul language–she called me a dork, which is apparently the new vernacular for the same thing she hears you call me. Like, all the time." They were side by side, facing one another.

She blew out a sharp breath, smirking despite herself, still unable to resist his charm after all these years. "Because you are, Sweetie," she smiled, leaning over and pecking his cheek, not wanting to disturb her lipstick as it was setting. "I prefer nerd. But you're my nerd, never forget that."

Careful not to muss her lipstick, he circled his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, kissing her neck gently. "I'm meeting Casey straight from here. Depending on how long it takes, you could beat me in. But I will be there soon."

His phone started ringing and he released her, fumbling in his jacket pocket for his phone. It was Morgan. Chuck checked the time—not even eight yet. He sighed and answered it, turning away from the tinkling sounds of glass and silverware touching as she washed the dishes.

"What's up, Buddy?" Chuck asked.

"I'm on my way in. Carter just called," he explained, as if it was the only explanation needed.

"Morgan, I can deal with that when I get in—"

"No, Chuck, it's not that. Apparently there's a hornets' nest in the building ventilation system. The exterminator called as a courtesy. But he was freaking out," Morgan explained in a rush of words.

"Of course he's freaking out," Chuck replied.

He felt Sarah watching him, looking up, seeing her mouth the word "Carter?" He nodded, still listening to Morgan. "Wait, is he there already?" Chuck asked as it occurred to him.

"Seems like it," Morgan said. "I'll talk to him again about work life balance. But he would actually need a life to balance the work part."

Chuck sighed heavily into the phone. "Just keep an eye on him. I'm coming in later, but Sarah will be in regular time," he said, then rushed Morgan off the phone so he could grab his keys.

Sarah was drying her hands at the sink. "What now?" she asked.

"Just living the dream," Chuck sighed in frustration, turned halfway away from her.

He looked up with the anticipation of a quick goodbye, but her face stopped him dead. Such a sweet, beautiful smile and eyes that sparkled like diamonds. "Yes, we are," she said emphatically, looking in his eyes. "Don't ever forget it, either."

His heart melted, the brightness she brought to everyday life not lost on him in the moment, even when he was flustered. "I love you," he said, kissing his index finger and touching it to her cheek softly. "See you soon," he smiled as he turned to leave, warmed by the smile on her face that never faded even as he shut the door.

September 28, 2021

Los Angeles, California

Chuck sat in his car, waiting in the empty underground parking garage he had always used to contact General Beckman once they no longer worked for the CIA. It was secure, easily accessed, and always deserted, attached to an empty building the DNI owned but no longer used. He looked up as he caught the shadows shifting as Casey pulled up alongside him in his Crown Victoria. Chuck opened his car door and stepped out, anticipating as Casey did the same.

Casey spent half his time here in L.A., the other in D.C., as he worked as the head of the NSA. He had let his hair go gray, something Chuck still hadn't gotten completely used to, seeing him less frequently now. Seeing him in his general's uniform was even stranger. He at least this time was dressed in a simple jacket and button down shirt with no tie.

"Hello, General," Chuck said with a smile. "Thank you for coming."

"I'm assuming this is about your son?" Casey asked, not one for small talk. "What did Ellie find, Chuck?"

"Exactly what it looked like. Stephen has an Intersect," Chuck told him, listening to the words as if hearing them for the first time. Knowing it and saying it out loud were two very different things.

"How is that possible?" Casey asked.

Before Casey was even finished speaking, Chuck blurted, "He was born with it. He has the same genetic mutation my sister and I have, the one we apparently got from my father. You were right about that," Chuck sighed.

"That doesn't explain how the intel was downloaded, Chuck. It doesn't work without intel. That's the point of the Intersect, is it not?" he asked gruffly.

Chuck folded his arms uncomfortably in front of himself, shifting his eyes to the ground. "That's why I asked you to come here, Casey. His Intersect doesn't need information to be downloaded. He is the conduit for the information. His brain does all the work that the cube my father designed used to do. It was a side effect of the method Ellie used to remove the Intersect from Sarah."

The noise Casey made was new, Chuck thought crazily in the moment. Sort of like his usual grunt, but higher pitched, and much more drawn out, to the point that he sounded winded before he was quiet. His blue eyes were fixed, the whites of his eyes showing all around the irises in his eyes as he contemplated that information. After a very long stretch of pregnant silence, Casey finally said very quietly, "At least this locale makes sense now."

Casey's reaction only fueled his anxiety. "Casey, I don't know what to do. Who to trust. I just found out my nine year old son is potentially the most coveted weapon on the face of the Earth. I haven't slept in three days," Chuck added testily, beginning to fidget as he stood still.

"I get it, Chuck, but you're jumping the gun here. No one knows. No one even knows about you," Casey reminded him.

"Beckman does. And Jane Bentley knows about me," Chuck reminded him.

"Bentley knows, but she also knows how heavily redacted all those files were, how much trouble Beckman went through before she stepped down to keep that info out of the spotlight. She knows if the info gets out it implicates her–it beehoves her to keep your secret," Casey explained.

"What about Beckman?" he asked, his mouth pressed into a tight line.

Casey shook his head, huffing loudly inside his mouth. "I've known Beckman for almost 20 years. This wasn't always true, but it is now. She won't let anything happen to your son. And neither will I. You have my word on that, Chuck," Casey swore, a dedicated passion underlying the softer tone.

Chuck nodded, not trusting his voice and not wanting to get overly emotional in front of Casey. After several seconds of silence he added, "But then you have someone like Bentley. She saved us all, I know, but do you really believe if she knew what Stephen can do, what he is capable of doing, that she wouldn't just go after him anyway?"

Grumbling, Casey said, "Under the right circumstances, maybe, I could see your point. But she doesn't know. No one does. When we were protecting you all those years ago, part of that protection was keeping the secret. That's why it was so important that your family and friends never knew the truth. Once the information is known, there is no protection from it. Keeping it contained and controlled protected you. And it will protect him." Casey blinked several times, looking away for a moment. After a beat, he asked, "How well do you know Vivian's boyfriend?"

"Who? Liam?" Chuck asked, his face scrunched with confusion. "I mean, she's been dating him for a while..I…" Chuck stopped talking, his facial muscles going slack as he realized why Casey asked. "Oh…god…Casey…"

"He was the only one there who I'm not 100 percent certain you can trust. The rest was your family and Vivian's parents and Beckman," Casey reminded him.

"How…how…how would he know what he saw?," Chuck asked nervously.

"He probably wouldn't. But he knew something was up, the way everybody reacted at that party. How much do you really know about him?" Casey grilled.

"He runs the company where we contract the shredding machines we use at CI. That's how she met him," Chuck mumbled, his eyes darting back and forth as his mind started turning.

"Did she ever run a background check, anything like that? Did you?" Casey asked, rapid fire.

"My guess is no," Chuck said sarcastically. "I also am not in the habit of running background checks on everyone who comes to my house for dinner, either."

"Maybe you should be," Casey said, tilting his head and an eyebrow.

The expressions on Chuck's face changed almost faster than Casey could discern. Fear, anger, then what only could be described as frustrated hopelessness. "That's what normal people do, right? Hi Jim, yeah, your son wants to play video games at my house with my son. Care to hand over your fingerprints and a DNA sample?" The harsh scowl on his face didn't fade as he finished speaking.

"Chuck–" Casey started warily.

"When does this end?" Chuck shouted, flailing his arms in anger.

"It doesn't," Casey said with finality, a slight tinge of sadness in his otherwise neutral voice. "You pulled as far out as I think you ever really could. But you were deep in for a relatively long and illustriously known time. There are always ghosts. Some of them are harmless. But they can always come back to haunt you."

"Like it did to my parents," Chuck said gloomily.

"Not like your parents," Casey snapped. "You would never walk away from those kids, or your wife, no matter what, Bartowski. I know that and so do you."

He stayed quiet, letting Casey's words dampen his anger. "So I just tell Beckman, and leave it in her hands, is that what you're saying?"

"Yes, but also don't worry. You have friends in high places. You may not be spies any more, but I run the damn NSA. I have your back," he said firmly.

"Thank you," Chuck said sincerely.

"I'll run that clown Liam through the database and see what I can find," Casey said after another pause.

"You don't like him, Casey?" Chuck asked curiously, wondering why. Chuck could count on one hand the times the two men had interacted since he and Vivian had started dating.

"Pretty boy with a fancy car. Dumber than dirt when you talk to him," Casey grumbled.

"Geez, don't hold back, tell me how you really feel," Chuck teased.

"Vivian is wasting her time with him," Casey said, crossing his arms stiffly.

Chuck's mouth hung open slightly, unable to conceal his amazement . "This is starting to get weird, Casey," Chuck laughed. "Since when are you–"

"I spent five years of my life stuck in between you and Walker. That stuttering accountant of yours is so desperately in love with Vivian he practically trips over himself every time he's near her. He's neurotic as hell, but he's a decent guy, Bartowski. She could do worse," Casey grunted.

"You really have been hanging around with me too much, General," he said, stressing Casey's title in humor. "Sarah said literally the same thing, more than once. But then Liam asked her out. That was over six months ago."

Shaking himself like he was coming out of a trance, Casey growled to himself. "What the hell am I saying? Damn it, Bartowski, I don't even know I'm doing it anymore! Enough of this drabble. Just go tell Beckman. And stop worrying, ok?" Casey insisted.

Chuck gave him a mock salute, turning to get back in his car. Casey called to him, making him turn around. "How long has the kid been flashing, and no one knew?" he asked.

The ever present misery simmering below his facade showed itself briefly as he sighed. "Since he was a baby," Chuck answered, defeated.

"How did your sister figure that out?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Chuck's mouth twisted up on the side, but he shook his head, as if trying to clear a bad image. "You…uh…remember how right after I downloaded the 2.0, and it only worked if Sarah was in danger?" Casey shrugged, waiting. "Apparently, we have that in common, at least back then anyway."

Chuck turned away, not waiting for a reply, not wanting to talk about it anymore. Casey stood outside his car, amazed at what he had just learned, as the thoughts connected in his head. He had been out of town back then, only functioning out of Burbank exclusively until after his daughter and Morgan had gotten married. His transition to Washington had begun in January of 2014. Morgan had been the one to call him, at almost two in the morning local time, to tell him what had happened to Sarah. He'd flown out the next day.

He knew the story, what they had all talked about in hushed whispers while Chuck sat in anxious vigil at Sarah's bedside while she was in a coma after the traumatic incident. The baby had been the one to dial the phone, the dead silence and crying on the line cueing in Vivian that she needed to call 911. She had been the closest, and actually arrived at Chuck's house right before the ambulance.

He climbed back into his car, unable to shake the image. He really is a chip off the old block, Casey thought with a sardonic smile. Eh, there were worse things, actually a lot of worse things, he could be, than just like his father.

September 28, 2021

Carmichael Industries, Los Angeles, California

Once Chuck was on the correct floor and through the office door, the first thing he heard was a discussion in Russian. Vivian's office was closest to the door, and it was apparent both she and Sarah were speaking. Everyone else was at their respective desk, head down and working. He knocked on the door with his knuckle, seeing both women standing on the same side of the desk, as Vivian typed away at the keyboard.

" Privet," Chuck said, interrupting them in very badly accented Russian.

Vivian stopped what she was doing and smiled. "Not bad, Charles," she said. She hated to call him Chuck, a strictly American nickname.

"I have a fantastic tutor," he said with a wink at his wife. "Uh, is Morgan around?" he added. The sentence wasn't completely out when Chuck's eyes scanned Vivian's office, noting a broken lamp perched on the chair against the wall. He frowned, opening his mouth to speak, but Vivian spoke first.

"He's driving Carter to CVS for some calamine lotion and an ice pack," she said neutrally.

Sarah saw the confusion, pointing to the broken lamp. "There was a hornet in here. He got stung, uh, diving in between Vivian and the hornet."

"I'm allergic, Charles, I'm not sure you knew that. Apparently in the States I'm supposed to wear some kind of bracelet that says that?" she pondered.

"Oh, oh, yeah. In case your incapacitated and can't answer medical questions," he muttered, focusing more on trying to set the scene for the broken lamp than what she was saying.

Looking up, realizing how Sarah had phrased the comment, he asked, "He knew that though, didn't he?"

Sarah nodded, shifting her eyes in some quiet commiseration with Chuck that she obviously didn't want Vivian to notice. "Of course he did. That epi pen is accounted for in the medical supplies. It's kind of expensive," Sarah reminded him. Vivian opened the top drawer of her desk, pulled it out to show him, then put it back. She had one here, one in her car, one in her purse, and one at home.

"That's problem number one. What else is on the docket, ladies?" he asked.

"Skip sent the data packet to Beckman last night. She's still in L.A. after your son's party, and I surmised from his semi-frantic state that she's on her way here," Vivian informed him.

"She is?" he asked, surprised, but then rethinking and realizing she was coming to get an update in person.

Vivian nodded, asking in a quieter tone, "Speaking of Stephen, how did that all go yesterday?" She shifted her gaze between both of his parents. At their tense silence, she said, almost to herself, "I guess she was planning on talking to you today anyway, it seems."

Changing the subject, Sarah said, "Chuck, this data that we're translating? The part that isn't computer code makes no sense. The words are Russian, but they don't translate. It reads like gibberish."

"I thought I was doing something wrong, to be honest," Vivian confessed. "Sarah speaks almost twice as many languages as I do and she's more fluent in almost all of them."

"Is it in some kind of code?" Chuck asked, walking around to see the screen that both women were looking at.

"Code repeats, at least in some fashion. Maybe in a complex way, but this…this…" Sarah gestured, then huffed out a breath. Pointing to a line of script that wasn't even remotely intelligible to him, written in Cyrillic script. "This says 'hot hands in total under score.' Then 'milk, house, tin, robot, grandmother.' I could go on, but it's gibberish, Chuck. Why would this be here, pulled from that off-site server?"

He was listening to her on the edge of his consciousness, but she saw how focused he was on the screen. She could almost hear his mind working. His hazel eyes scanned over the script she and Vivian had translated, almost an entire page of words. The crease between his eyebrows deepened, and still he stood silent. "Not gibberish, Sarah," he said slowly.

"Did you flash?" she asked inquisitively, softly, for only his ears.

He shook his head, almost irritated, slightly distracted by the distraction. "There are four sentences in what you translated, although they don't make sense. The rest are just strings of nouns." Taking a deep breath, he looked up at Sarah, his eyes alive with thought. "The code that my father used to communicate with my sister was sort of like that. Every letter stood for a different letter translated through a numerical matrix. But there were nonsense words mixed in that they knew how to sift through. Colors, adjectives, things like that."

"So it is in code?" Vivian asked.

"Can you go back over the whole script, and pull out the sentences only, no matter how wacky they seem? I can have the cryptanalysis guys take a look at it, see if they can figure something out," he said crisply. "Problem number two," he said to Sarah, smiling slightly. "And it isn't even ten o'clock yet."

"Wait til Beckman gets here, Chuck," Sarah said with a sigh, patting his shoulder softly.

"Don't remind me," he grumbled. He tilted his head, motioning for her to follow him into his office.

"I'll be right back, Viv," Sarah called with a smile.

Sarah rushed up to walk beside him, tilting her head towards him for privacy. He leaned into her as he walked. "Casey told me to tell Beckman, and basically stop freaking out," he said softly. "But he brought up something I hadn't thought of before. Liam was there, Sarah. He saw Stephen flash, and the way we all just, you know, lost it."

"You think he's a threat? Or that he could be?" Sarah asked incredulously.

"I don't know. Casey's checking up on him. I just didn't want to say anything in front of her, if you know what I mean," Chuck said, leaning to her ear to say it. They moved into his office and he closed them inside.

With deadly earnestness on his face, he increased the volume of his speaking voice. "Sarah, Beckman is on her way. Once I tell her, there's no turning back. We're committed to this, no matter what. Casey thinks we can keep the secret and protect him. I want to believe him, but I'm…I'm worried, Sarah."

"What other option do we have?" she asked him, holding his wrist and feeling the tension in his whole body, taut like piano wire and nearly vibrating with intensity.

He reached up, running his hand over his face, pulling the skin down around his jaw and kneading. "We could run," he told her, his voice flat but his eyes reflecting the desperation in the words.

Her eyes flew wide, her eyebrows lifting up high on her forehead. "What?" she stammered.

"We've done it before," he said urgently.

"We tried and failed, Chuck, more than once," she said, raising her voice.

"Two times we failed because Casey came after us, and once because I wouldn't go with you," he said tightly through clenched teeth.

She took a step back from him, understanding how deadly serious he was, how truthfully he was considering this as an option. She felt her ears ringing, like she was going deaf, and her mouth was dry as her lips trembled. "No," she said firmly, shaking her head side to side so forcefully her hair fluttered back and forth as she did so.

"Sarah?" he asked, misunderstanding what he was seeing on her face.

"No, Chuck," she said vehemently, her voice trembling as her eyes filmed over with tears. "We can't run. In Switzerland, don't you remember what Arnaldo said? We can't run forever. That's not a life, Chuck."

"What if it's the only way we can keep him safe?" he hissed, grabbing her arm and pulling her closer, even in his ferver cognizant to not grasp her tightly enough to hurt her in any way.

She relaxed in his grasp, blinking as the tears streamed down her cheeks. "It's not just us anymore. I would do literally anything so that they don't have to grow up the way I did. They deserve to be little. To… have a childhood and be happy. We can't just turn their lives upside down…take everything they know away from them. After everything you and I went through when we were young, can't you understand that?"

It felt like a fist straight to his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs, seeing the anguished pain on her face his words had caused. He pulled her against him roughly, squeezing her in his arms. "I'm sorry, Baby," he said against her hair as he felt her lean into the embrace, afraid for a moment she was so angry that she would fight his touch. She was right, but at the same time, he knew he would literally do anything to protect them, no matter what it cost. Time seemed to stand still, but eventually he spoke again. "My father left us because they were after him, and we were safer without him. If the government had been after me back then, what would he have done?"

She pulled away, looking up at his face. Her face was set like stone, an intensity burning behind her eyes. Slowly, forcing the steel into her voice, she told him, "What we will have to do, Chuck. Protect him, by whatever means necessary. Until he's old enough to protect himself."