Sometimes in my bed at night

I curse the dark and I pray for the light

And sometimes

The light's no consolation

"Walking on a Thin Line"

Huey Lewis and the News

September 28, 2021

Carmichael Industries, Los Angeles, California

Chuck held Sarah's gaze as long as he could before he looked away, blowing out a heavy breath that seemed to take all of his fortitude with it. She watched the torment cross his face, his eyes narrowing and his brow furrowing. "That's what I'm afraid of," he said faintly, dropping his hands to his sides and turning away slightly.

"I know, Chuck, believe me, I do," she responded, reaching for his hand, keeping him close, sensing his urge to start pacing.

"Do you?" he lightly accused, gently extracting his hand, sitting heavily onto the soft brown leather chair positioned against the wall. Lifting his eyes towards her, he stressed, "Sarah, he's nine. Nine. So now for the rest of his life he doesn't have a choice? The whole rest of his life, anything he ever thought he wanted to do…or become. It's all gone. He can't choose for himself." He folded his hands, pressing them over his lips.

She sat beside him, leaving no space between them on the chair, sliding her hand onto his knee behind his elbow. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she said softly, "I know it seems like that but–"

He was quick to interrupt with a fierce retort. "Bryce decided I needed to be protected from the CIA, and got me expelled to do it. Then he sent me the damn email anyway. And no matter what I do, almost 20 years later, it's still dictating literally everything that I do," he lamented, flexing his fingers against his lips.

She swallowed hard, feeling the screw twist inside her at his words. He had come to terms with these issues in the past, but now perseverating on them again because he felt like history was somehow repeating itself. She reached up hesitantly, placing her hand on the back of his neck. "Bryce thought he didn't have a choice back then, but you always did," she said emphatically.

He turned his head sharply, befuddled, his eyes narrowed to thin slits. She continued. "Maybe not at first, in the very beginning. But it was destined to be with you anyway, regardless of what Bryce did or didn't do. When it was finally up to you, every time, every choice you made, you did the right thing. The thing that you had to do, because of the person that you are." She paused, her mouth twisting into a crooked smile. "Stephen was born like this, for better or worse. It's part of who he is."

She saw her words affect him, as he reached up and clutched at his chest. But the malcontent, the dissatisfaction with the situation still nagged. "It's not fair, Sarah. And when he's older, if he survives all of this," he added in a harsh, angry whisper, "he'll know that all of it was because of me."

She slid her hand forward, brushing his cheek with her thumb. She wasn't all that surprised by his feelings of culpability, but she knew it was only adding to his overall distress, and she wanted to remind him of a truth he seemed to be forgetting. "You remember how you felt when your father was so upset with you, after he removed the first Intersect, and found out you lied about downloading the 2.0?" She was treading on tenuous ground, bringing up his father when he was emotionally overwrought, but she needed to make the point here.

"All he ever wanted was Ellie and me to be safe, stay away from the things that he thought ruined his life," Chuck said bitterly.

"You had the right to decide, and so does your son. Chuck, before he died, your father told you he believed in you. In your choices. He accepted who you were and what you wanted for yourself. And despite the fact that Bryce chose at the beginning, you had decided by that point that was what you wanted. You had the power to do good, to help people, and you stepped up to that challenge and used your skills to do that. Stephen can do whatever he wants in his life. He's so smart, Chuck." She watched his face relax, the frost in his eyes thaw at her words. "That's our job as his parents. To make sure he becomes the best person he can be."

The smile came gradually, but it immediately warmed his face as his features relaxed. "You're right, Sarah. I'm sorry, I just…" He stretched out his hands, pulling on his knuckles, searching for the right words.

"He loves you, Chuck. The father you wish your dad could have been for you, the father I wish my father could have been for me–you're all that to him and more. The only thing I ever wanted for him, for all of them, is that." She made sure he was looking at her, locking his gaze and holding it as she continued. "There isn't anything better he could do with his life than grow up to be like you," she sighed, leaning over and kissing his cheek.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her as she leaned close, letting it calm his jangling nerves. Her words wound their way inside him, encircling his heart. He felt the power of her love projected like a beacon inside of him, a force unparalleled in his life.

They sat that way, surrounded by emotion, for a long time. Chuck broke the silence. "We don't have the necessary resources to protect him on our own anymore. We're civilians. And we can't go back to that life, with three little kids to raise. The biggest mistake my parents made was trying to be spies and parents at the same time," he lamented.

"We do have help, Chuck. Just talk to Beckman, ok? Between her and Casey, we'll figure it out. I promise, Chuck. We'll figure it out," she insisted.

The sound of a finger rapping on the glass door of his office attracted Chuck's attention away from the moment. "Yo, Chuck, we're back," he heard Morgan call, the sound telegraphing louder, then quieter, indicating Morgan was continuing to walk away.

"Where did he get stung, anyway?" Chuck asked her, completely changing the subject now that Morgan had distracted them.

She winced involuntarily. "His face," she said, pointing to her right cheek.

"Ooh, ouch," Chuck said with a flinch. He stood, smoothing down his pants as he did so. "How did he break the lamp?"

She stood as well. "Full on diving tackle, Chuck. As Morgan would say, the thing of legends," she smirked.

"He tackled Vivian?" Chuck asked incredulously, his eyes wide and his eyebrows lifted.

"You know, like El Bucho assassin tackle," she said, knowing he would know what she meant. "I think he overreacted, just a tad. There was plenty of time to get out of the way. He actually irritated the hornet with those antics, at least that's how it seemed at the time," she added with a shrug.

"Yikes. Well, at least he didn't make an idiot of himself," Chuck said sarcastically.

"He swelled up like a balloon. She felt really bad," Sarah said, using her hands to demonstrate how far expanded his face appeared. "I should get back to translating, since I need to leave early." She opened his office door and he followed her out.

He turned the corner, walking into Carter's office. Morgan stood in front of Carter's desk, his arms crossed as he watched Carter sit. Chuck smiled at his friend, having not seen him since Saturday, a rarity. His smile turned to a horrified grimace at the sight of his head accountant. Carter Allen was 35 years old, what Chuck had heard both Alex and Sarah describe as tall, dark, and handsome. He was a few inches shorter than Chuck, with a frame overall similar to Chuck's, only slightly more muscular. His hair was jet black, his eyes so light blue they appeared pale lavender up close. He was quiet, introverted, intelligent, and perpetually anxious. And this morning, he looked like death warmed over.

His right eye was swollen shut, the entire right side of his face red and puffy. His lips gaped open slightly due to the misshapen nature of his face. A rough-edged round patch of pink calamine lotion flaked slightly at his cheekbone.

"Chuck, you're the boss. Will you please tell him to go home? He won't listen to me," Morgan told him, throwing up his hands in frustration.

"I'm fine, Chuck. Really," Carter said, his words mildly slurred coming through his enlarged lips.

"You can only see out of one eye, you can barely speak, and you just took 50 milligrams of Benadryl. Dude, you haven't missed a day of work in three years. Trust me, we'll be ok," Morgan almost shouted at him, as he was explaining to Chuck.

"Really, Carter, I admire your work ethic, but Morgan is right. Go home and get some rest, will you? You run the accounting department. You aren't the accounting department," Chuck told him.

"We're approaching month end, Chuck. There is too much to do–" Drool escaped out of the corner of his mouth, and he swiped it away self-consciously.

"That much Benadryl, you aren't firing on all cylinders. It's best to just bow out and rest, and start again tomorrow. It will still be here, I promise," Chuck coached.

Carter accepted defeat, putting his head down on top of his hands on his desktop. "I have the worst headache I've ever had in my life and I can't see," he moaned. There was a controlled chaos to Carter's desktop. By far, he had the most cluttered desk of anyone here. Cluttered, but not disorganized or sloppy. He had stacks of papers and files, all piled at angles to one another, on both sides of him, where he had room to rest on his outstretched elbows.

"Come on, Buddy, I'll drive you," Morgan said, motioning towards the door. "I'm only the office manager. I just drive people around, get lunch, you know, stuff like that. Everyone else does all the work around here," he laughed, winking at Chuck in good humor.

"Buddy, you are the glue that holds Carmichael Industries together, and you know it," Chuck said with a smile.

"You never hired a replacement for Alex when she decided to stay home with the kids. I'm the office manager and your assistant all in one short but talented package," Morgan laughed again.

"Didn't that hiring task fall to you?" Chuck reminded him with one raised eyebrow.

"So it did, so it did. I'll get right on it," Morgan said, as he steered Carter clear of walking into his office door. "Right after I save the day again."

Morgan kept a hand on Carter's back, keeping him from banging into the furniture, as they walked out. Chuck was close behind. Vivian opened her office door, stepping out in their path and stopping them. "Oh, good heavens, that looks horrible. Are you alright?" she asked, seeing the state of his face.

Chuck saw him blushing, the uninjured side of his face the same color as the stung side. "No, no, I'm fine," he said, sounding bleary and drunk.

"Benadryl," Morgan told her under his breath at her concerned look.

"That was very sweet of you, Carter, honestly. I'm sorry you were stung in the process," she said with a lopsided smile.

"I hope I didn't hurt you. I may have…uh…overreacted. I just knew how dangerous it was if it stung you," he added quietly, forcing the words out with visible effort, desperate to not lose coherency at that moment.

She smiled, warmly, her green eyes sparkling like springtime at his words. Carter was too nervous, shifting his eyes to the floor, missing the way she was looking at him. "I hope you feel better," she said, then stepped aside. Sarah was still in Vivian's office, but she could see Carter through the open door. Chuck saw her grimace as she surveyed the damage the hornet had done to his face. He pointed silently, indicating the man was on his way out.

Chuck was back in his office, checking his email, when he heard Vivian knock on his office door. "I just wanted you to know we sent all the information to cryptanalysis. The fully deciphered document was over a page long. Seventeen full sentences, and over 1000 individual nouns. Justin said it's going to take some time."

"Thank you for that. I know how busy you are, without doing extra work," he said with a smile.

"I don't mind, seriously. Sarah is so busy with your children, anything I can do to help, I don't mind. Really," she said with a smile. She watched him, clicking the top of his pen, though he wasn't writing anything, didn't have paper in front of him, and was only checking emails. A telltale nervous habit of Chuck's, she noted. "Is everything all right, Charles?" she asked speculatively. "Is this about your son?" she asked innocently.

"Sort of, I guess you could say," he said, mumbling, running his hand over his mouth. He stood, walking around his desk, and eventually standing beside her before he said any more. "This may seem sort of out of nowhere. But this came up yesterday, and it's been on my mind, and I just wanted to ask you, you know, a few things."

"What, Charles?" she asked, scanning his face for a clue as to what he meant. He was tense, uncomfortable, in a way she had rarely seen.

"Did Sarah ever ask you, you know, about…about…what happened when you got to my house…after she…" Chuck couldn't finish, but she wasn't expecting him to, knowing how difficult even starting to discuss this must have been for him.

Shocked, she studied him, wondering why this had come up, as he'd preluded his discussion. "Sarah and I never really discussed any of that, Charles, and certainly haven't for a very long time. That was so long ago."

In a nervous rush of words, he said, "Stephen has some memories of that. In a roundabout way related to all of the other stuff, what you saw, and…"

She gasped softly. "Charles, he was just a baby," she said in wonder, shaking her head. "How is that possible?"

"Trauma, I guess, from what my sister said." He set his face grimly before he continued. "You are the only one who saw the whole thing–the only one who was there. I thought that if she wanted to know, you know, she would ask you."

The way he phrased it left her uneasy, giving her the impression she was almost conspiring about her friend behind her back with her friend's husband. Cautiously, she started, "Sarah and I are friends, Charles. She's probably the closest friend I have, as ironic as all that is. But she never really talked about it, even back then," she said, seeing how tense he was, almost twitching, like he couldn't stand still. "Why does that matter? You're not keeping it a secret from her, are you?"

"No, no. Not like that," he almost mumbled. "But she doesn't know what he saw. No one really does but you."

She didn't quite understand all of it, but enough to know he was worried that this new situation could potentially dredge it up again. Her mind started spinning, as she searched for the right way to broach the topic. "You know, Charles, you and she had very different experiences when it came to that incident. She didn't remember anything, and she woke up seven days later. Her issues back then all involved the…the loss. How that affected her. She never saw what that did to you, how hard that time was for you, when you thought she might not survive. Telling her and her seeing it first hand like we all did are two different things. And how sick she was afterward, how long it took her to get back on her feet." Even with her best effort to stay evenhanded, those memories darkened her mood, reminding her again of the ordeal. Sighing, she asked him, "But if she wants to know what happened to him, shouldn't she? She's his mother," Vivian argued.

He offered no explanation, covering his face with his hand. Vivian didn't understand, but she knew something was wrong. Something was still there, eight years later, some unresolved issue that was still eating away at him, that he wasn't sharing with Sarah. "It was hard for her, Vivian, just dealing with what she did," he said quietly.

"I know. I was there. But it was a hundred times worse for you, Charles. I saw that too. And it still is affecting you, I can see that. You need to talk to her. You can't wait anymore." She crossed her arms over her chest, the resolute expression on her face meant to nudge him. "Maybe it was a good thing that this came up now," she said, reaching to touch his arm gently.

"There's too much else going on right now, with Stephen and everything you saw. I can't go into it, but, it's a lot right now," he said, still leery about Casey's suspicions of Liam and her inadvertent association to it. She watched him visibly pull himself together, at the same time signaling the end of the conversation. With a wan smile as he added, "Let's get back to work, before we start any rumors about what's going on in here."

She smiled, appeasing him in the moment, accepting his dismissal. With a sardonic smile, she looked back over her shoulder at him and said, "Trust me, Charles, no one would ever believe for a second anything was going on with you and anyone else but your wife."

He watched her go, unable to stop his mind from scrolling backwards into the haunted past.

March 15, 2014

Westside Medical Center, Los Angeles, California

"Charles," Vivian said gently as she slowly approached him, alone in a chair in the waiting room outside where Sarah was in recovery.

The sound of his name shook him out of his disconsolate reverie. He looked up, then quickly averted his eyes when he saw her. She was dressed professionally--a knee length black skirt and a light green blouse. Both sleeves and the front of her blouse were splattered with blood. He swallowed down the wave of nausea that rose inside him at the thought that it was Sarah's blood splashed all over her. The agony in his eyes skewered her, and she sat beside him, tentatively resting her hand against his arm.

"Is there any word?" she asked, whispering, and even still feeling like her voice was too loud, too jarring in the hushed silence.

"They did everything they could. It's up to her now," he said.

She squeezed his bicep, an attempt at comforting. "She's one of the strongest women I have ever met, Charles. Have some faith," she said softly.

"They removed…" He started, but couldn't finish. The doctor had spouted off some technical term, fetal byproduct, or something close to that. A euphemism for all that was left of the child she had been carrying. "Six units of plasma, and four units of blood. They just don't know if it was enough." He turned his head to look at her, gratitude shining behind the tears in his hazel eyes. "Ellie told me you donated blood when you got here."

"I'm the universal donor. I remembered that from before, Charles," she said.

"Tell me what happened, Vivian," he asked sullenly.

"I think your son dialed my number by accident. Sarah must have dropped the phone when she collapsed," Vivian said.

His eyes enormous and radiating pain, he asked her quickly, "Oh my God, Vivian, was he…"

She blinked hard several times, holding the tears back. She knew he wanted answers, but the full graphic nature of the truth and what she had witnessed was not what he needed, as desperate and frightened as he was. "She was lying in a pool of blood in your living room. She had to have put him back inside his playard, probably the last thing she did before she lost consciousness. But he used his toys and built a sort of stairway and climbed out. He was right beside her. I waited there with him until Morgan's mother arrived, which wasn't long at all. She took him upstairs to give him a bath, Chuck." His eyes darted to the blood stains on her sleeves, seeing how when her arms were closed that pattern had been created--she had been holding his son in her arms on her hip. He even saw tiny handprints on her forearm. The contents of his stomach threatened to rise, burning the back of his throat as the sickness exploded inside.

He stifled another groan of pain, feeling his arms ache to hold his son, wondering how deeply he had been scarred at such a young age seeing something as horrific. "It was an accident, then? If he hadn't played with her phone, Sarah would have died in the house," he said, no inflection in the words, speaking like he was in a trance.

She nodded, not using words to confirm. "The paramedics said ten more minutes and it would have been too late. She crashed twice in the ambulance before they got to the hospital."

The irony wasn't lost on him. They had lived in perilously on a daily basis for over five years, doing dangerous work for the U.S. government and then for his independent security firm. And yet it had been this--this freakish, rare condition that had nearly, and still very well possibly could, be the thing that took her away from him.

"How did you know? That she needed help?" he asked.

"All I could hear was the baby crying, and the dead air on the phone, and it wasn't hanging up. I wasn't sure, but I figured it was safer to just call even if it was a false alarm, rather than wait if something was wrong," she said.

"Vivian, you saved her life," Chuck said quietly.

"Stephen saved her, even if it was an accident," she said, worrying and not saying that it remained to be seen if she actually had, or if it was for naught, other than Chuck being given the opportunity to say goodbye, as tragic as it sounded in her head as she thought it. "I talked to her. I told her she needed to hold on, for you. I knew she could do that, you know."

Her comments shook him, reminding him so strangely of the past of which she spoke. He never thought of her that way, the broken, lost Vivian, fighting the darkness in her soul. Now she was only his friend, someone who worked with him, someone he now considered part of his family. Sarah's friend, who had intervened and potentially saved her life.

"Is Morgan's mother still with him?" she asked.

He nodded, the energy to continue speaking too much at the moment. Devon and Ellie had been working here. Morgan and Alex had been with Chuck in the lockdown, but slowly the word had spread. Chuck had remained oblivious in his anguish. Eventually Emma had arrived, frantic for her daughter's well-being. Chuck's mother Mary had volunteered to stay with Molly, the girl too young to understand the peril facing her older sister. He was fortunate to know how closely knit they were, all members of his family, blood relations or not.

"Anything, anything at all, please, Charles, let us know. We're all here. Whatever you need. Let us help you if we can," she said, touching his back. He looked precariously close to breaking down, and she feared her words, as kind as they were, might be contributing. She stayed with him, until the doctor emerged and told him he could finally see her, for a few minutes, before they moved her to the ICU.

September 28, 2021

Carmichael Industries, Los Angeles, California

"What was that all about?" Sarah asked Vivian as she walked back into her office.

"He's quite upset, Sarah. What exactly did your sister-in-law find out about your son, anyway?" Vivian asked her.

Sarah fretted in silence for a few moments, wondering what it was she could say, considering what Chuck had brought up earlier. "It's a long story, Vivian. You don't know all of the details, and it's better that you don't," she told her.

"When Chuck went after my mother in Romania. The reason why she pretended to be dead for 25 years. I didn't ask questions back then. My parents explained it was better not to. But it's the same thing, isn't it? The way you reacted, I just…" She saw Sarah's face, shaded slightly pale, as she bit her lip.

"It's still better to not ask, Viv," Sarah said, crossing her arms. "But you aren't wrong. I can't really say anymore than that. I hope you understand."

"My parents know what it is, don't they?" Vivian asked.

"I'm sure they do, Viv. They know it's better to not talk about it," Sarah explained.

"Is there anything I can do? At all?" Vivian asked.

Sarah smiled, bumping her shoulder into Vivian in a friendly exchange as the two women stood side by side. "You're very kind, and caring. But no, unfortunately, this time, there isn't anything anybody can do. Except, maybe, you know, just keeping things together here. It takes some of the pressure off him, when you do that."

"That I can do, Sarah," Vivian replied. She paused, then started speaking again. "Sarah, this may seem an odd question, sort of out of the blue. But can I ask you? How long did you know Chuck before you knew he was the one for you?" she asked.

Sarah laughed hard, in one syllable, absorbing the question. "The truth? About five minutes, give or take."

Vivian's draw dropped open at the admission. "I didn't know love at first sight was real," Vivan said with a laugh.

"Neither did I, and yet, there I was…" Sarah said, smirking, pursing her lips to the side. "He fixed my phone, and then this little girl came into the store because her Dad messed up recording her ballet recital. Chuck was so sweet to her, genuinely kind. Like nothing I had ever seen in my life before. And every time after that, he just kept reinforcing that thought. I didn't really know it then, but I know now that's when it happened."

Vivian could see it on her face, the softness in her eyes, that she was remembering the moment and feeling that way again. Realizing she was staring, she looked away quickly, but not before catching Sarah's attention. "Why do you ask?" Sarah prodded.

"I don't know, really, it's just…" She actually flushed, the color on her cheeks rising.

"Liam?" Sarah asked, tilting her head as she questioned. "Are you in love with him?" Sarah asked.

"That's just it, Sarah. I don't know," Vivian admitted. "He's sweet, and he's certainly attractive. But I'm 36 years old, Sarah. I wasted a lot of my life confused and not knowing how to go forward. I don't have a lot of time left, if I want to have a family, you know, have children. I wasn't sure that was always what I wanted, but more and more, I'm beginning to feel like it is. He wants to progress things, get more serious with me. I know it. I just…oh, I don't know. I've never been in a relationship before, not like that. I spent most of my life alone."

"I know what you mean, Viv, really, I do, more than you could possibly know. But I also know if you want those things, really want them, then it should be with someone you know you love. Don't settle for something that isn't right because you think you're running out of time," Sarah advised.

"I feel like what I really want isn't achievable. That it doesn't exist. That I have too high hopes, too high standards," she confessed.

"Loving someone isn't a high standard, Viv," Sarah told her.

"I think about the way Chuck looks at you, Sarah. You've been married for ten years, you have three little kids and you run a business together. And he looks at you like…like…you're the only woman on the face of the earth. That nothing is real until you know, nothing exists until you see it. I want someone to look at me that way. But I don't think it's possible. It's just a dream," she sighed.

Sarah sighed, a knowing half-smile on her face. She chose her words carefully, trying to offer sound advice without being too forceful. "Don't give up. Sometimes, the thing you're looking for is so close to you that you can't see it. But know this. If you aren't sure, then it isn't really love. Even if you believe you've never been in love before. If he was the one, you'd know."

Vivian was deep in thought, looking up at Sarah with questioning eyes, when she heard the receptionist announce that General Beckman had arrived and was on her way in. Sarah and Vivian exchanged a look, saying nothing.

September 28, 2021

Alameda Park, Santa Barbara, California

The breeze rustled Hannah's hair as she sat on the bench in the playground. In the late afternoon, the usual silence was now punctuated with children's voices, laughing and playing. Nervously, she checked her watch again, noting that Cole was late, five minutes beyond when he had told her he would arrive. Did she remember the correct time? The correct place? She was second guessing herself, worrying, almost desperate to know more and terrified of what it meant if he didn't show. She rationalized with herself, bargaining, telling herself she would wait a full ten minutes before she gave up.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she heard, impossibly close to her ear, though she saw nothing. Involuntarily jumping as he'd startled her, she forced herself to not turn her head quickly, knowing it would attract undue attention, just what he had always warned against. She needed to appear casual, like he was just another stranger in the park and not someone she knew. In her peripheral vision, she saw him come around from behind and sit on the end of the same bench she occupied. "I'd forgotten how bad the traffic in California actually is."

"It's not so bad, once you get used to it. Nothing is worse than L.A.," she said softly, not looking up at him.

"You look better than the last time I saw you," he said, a bizarre and unexpected tenderness in his voice that seemed out of place.

"The last time I saw you, I was running for my life with two young children a week after my husband was killed," she told him, less venom in her voice than he anticipated as he absorbed the words.

"You're not angry with me this time," he said, half of his mouth turning up in a smile.

"I wasn't really angry before, just confused and scared. I'm still scared. I thought we were safe here. What's changed?" she asked directly.

Bolstered by her no-nonsense approach, he started right away. "Three days ago, Interpol picked up a man wanted for harboring terrorists in the UK. Helping them into the country, hiding them, giving them new identities, things like that," he explained. "He offered the name of some of his sources and contacts in exchange for leniency. The Hungarian was off MI6's radar for almost 18 months, but it turns out, his name was in the dossier. He was one of the last contacts before our mark was apprehended. He was a paying customer, looking for information, personal information about individual parties who were purchasing new identities and falsified passports."

She was confused, trying to connect all the dots, not understanding the whole picture. The trill alarm was ringing inside her, knowing she had escaped France with a fake passport, albeit the one he had provided for her. "What does that mean?" she asked, her mouth suddenly dry.

He actually turned to her, his eyes intense and penetrating, his mouth curved in a soft frown. "I wasn't using proper channels when I did that back then, Hannah. I was protecting you from MI6 as much as I was protecting you from the Hungarian. It turns out he had data on hundreds of people. But yours was included in there. MI6 believes he may have had that information for a week or more."

"So he knows where I am, is that what you're saying?" she asked, surprising herself with the steady nature of her voice though her insides were twisting with trepidation.

"It's possible, but we don't have proof. Not yet," he said.

"Are you still off mission, like you say? Or did they send you here?" she asked. He was silently impressed with the intelligence of her questions, and her lack of emotional outbursts.

"I convinced them to send me. I can protect you, and I can track him if he comes after you, maybe get some answers." he said.

"So what does that mean?" she asked.

"It means you and your children need to come with me, sooner rather than later," he said tightly.

"Just up and leave with them? I can't do that. Disrupt their lives like that," she said, shaking her head.

"If you want to keep them safe, it's the only thing you can do," he told her.

She pondered that for a long time. Biting her lip, she asked him, "Your message mentioned Chuck Bartowski, didn't it? Again. Why? Why is he involved?" she asked.

"In the same file with your information. The Hungarian also had information about Chuck's wife, Sarah," Cole offered, spacing the words out as he thought through how much was safe to tell her. "Again, not a coincidence. They don't really happen like that. In real life, there's always something that correlates. I just have to figure out how. And I need help to do it."

Sighing in resignation, she asked him, "So what do I do now?"

"When you go home, file for a medical leave of absence from your job. It will be approved. Pack up your things like you're going away for a week, with your children. Tell them you have to travel for your work, but only for a short time. Make something up that they would believe. It may end up being longer than that, but we'll deal with that when and if we have to. Leave in the morning and drive to Los Angeles. This address," he said, sliding the piece of paper across the seat to her. "I'll be following you. I'll make sure you're safe, traveling and when you arrive."

She believed him, amazed that she knew without questioning that he was being perfectly honest. "L.A.?" she asked. "What's in L.A.?"

"The help I was talking about."