The impression that you sell

Passes in and out like a scent

But the long face that you see

Comes from living close to your fears

"One Thing Leads to Another"

The Fixx

September 28, 2021

Carmichael Industries, Los Angeles, California

"Mr. Bartowski, the General is requesting an audience with you in a secure conference room. I've reserved Room 112 for the purpose," Chuck heard over the intercom on his desk speaker phone, the voice of his receptionist.

He frowned, in the room by himself, wondering at the reason. "Thanks, Gina," he said briefly back into the phone. The entire office itself was what would be considered secure, routinely sweeped by security for listening devices, as was standard procedure for the nature of the contract government work they conducted. Over 80 percent of the work he did was directly related to work sent his way by General Beckman through his contract with the NSA's anti cyber crimes division.

Chuck left his office, seeing the receptionist escorting a much shorter woman, but whose imposing presence dominated despite her size. The General wore a simple black skirt suit with a crisp white blouse under the jacket, the points of her collars accentuating the sharp angular lines on her stern face. Always the same, her auburn hair was pulled into a tight and pristine chignon, not a hair out of place. She had hardly aged, he thought, knowing his own gray hair was the only indication in the current picture that pointed to any time having passed at all. "Mr. Bartowski," she said crisply, not breaking her stride, passing him with her confident gait on her way.

He followed her without a word, dismissing Gina with a brief and silent wave of thanks. "To what do I owe the pleasure, General?" Chuck asked her, a teasing lilt to his voice, a tone no one else in the office ever took with her on the infrequent occasions when she visited in person. She didn't flinch, never even slowing down, breezing past him into the conference room.

He entered after her, and shut the door. She sat without being asked, pulling a black leather briefcase up on top the table top, clicking the latches open and motioning for him to sit in the chair across from her. "First, I want to know what your sister found out yesterday, Chuck. But know that's not the only reason I'm here," she said stiffly, following him with her eyes as he moved to sit at the dull white table.

He felt the weight of the knowledge, remembering all the votes of confidence he had gotten from everyone–Sarah, Casey, and his sister. He could feel it in the air, heavy, knowing once he told her, nothing would ever be the same. "I…uh…I wasn't sure it was safe to even tell you," he mumbled, looking away.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, honestly not sure why he would say such a thing.

"Look, I know we've known each other for a long time. In the beginning, I was a nuisance, a pain, something you wished you didn't have to deal with, am I right?" he started, shrugging and spreading his hands in front of him.

One eyebrow went up, her face set like stone, though her eyes were warm. "That's a fair assessment," she said flatly.

"It took a while, you know, before you had any faith in me at all. That you knew I could do what was required of me, and to trust our team and the way that it worked," he rambled, stuttering over the words, more nervous than he had anticipated he would be upon speaking to her.

"What are you getting at, Chuck?" Beckman asked impatiently.

"You used to call me 'The Intersect,' like I wasn't a real person. But you changed, you know. I used to question your motives sometimes, but I don't any more. I felt like it was important to say that, here, even though I know you hate this," he offered.

"That's also a fair assessment, on all counts," she added, almost rolling her eyes dryly.

He took several deep breaths, then started. "I know why you want to know what happened. But I need to preface it this way, because after I tell you, I'm pretty sure we're going to need your help."

"Go on," she said, the genuine concern on her face visible, comforting Chuck in his tentative state.

"He was born that way, with an Intersect," Chuck told her softly.

"How? How in the world is that even possible?" she almost stammered, fumbling the words, her mouth gaping for a second before she realized and pulled it shut hard.

"The Congressional report was 40,000 pages long, General. You convinced the DOD to shut it down, based on the intel that you had, mostly from my sister, that it only works for me, because of the mutation that I have. A mutation that Stephen inherited from me," he said firmly, spacing out the words in the last sentence, pausing, letting the information sink in.

"That makes all the sense in the world to me, Chuck, after everything we learned about Orion's work. But how does a nine year old boy end up with classified information in his brain?" she asked.

Talking about it again, having to keep repeating it, was wearing him down on the inside. "His mutation is different from mine. Those connections in his brain are stronger, because of what Ellie did to remove Sarah's Intersect. The DNI spent thousands of man hours downloading that information into those Intersect computers, am I right?"

"Hundreds of billions of dollars worth, yes," she replied.

"His brain collates the information all by itself. Pretty much everything he knows he learned that way. Only very recently did he start having national security related flashes, if you will. He and I had the same flash at the party, although after talking to him I knew he was missing some important details. He watches the news with me, absorbs the information, even if he can't necessarily understand all of it. But he was around me enough to absorb the same information," he concluded.

She had been in the process of pulling a stack of paperwork out of her briefcase, stacking it off the side, but she stopped. Her hand covered her mouth briefly, before she rested her head forward, her entire forehead resting in her palm, her gaze still angled downward. In the 15 years he had known her, she had definitely softened from the cold as stone soldier she had been when they had met, but never in all that time had he ever seen her look like this. Not when she had been worried over Daniel Shaw, or Roan's well-being, or even when she had needed his help to bring down the head of the DNI, Lieutenant General Arthur Meriwether. She's worried, he told himself in shock. It made his blood run cold.

"General?" he asked, curling both hands into fists and almost feeling them swish, his palms were so sweaty. She ignored him like he wasn't even in the room with her. "General?" he asked again, more strident in his worry.

" Ultima Intersectio," she finally said, quietly, like she was telling him a secret.

"I'm sorry, what?" Chuck asked, not understanding what she said.

"It's Latin. For Ultimate Intersect," she said tensely.

"That's what my sister said, when she finished testing him," Chuck told her.

"No, Chuck, you misunderstand," she said slowly, a heaviness in her voice he was unaccustomed to hearing. "Like I said, I'm not the least bit surprised your son has the same unique aspects to his brain that you and your sister do. But, I honestly thought somehow you were going to tell me he was accidentally exposed to something, like you described to me when you were nine and accidentally downloaded that beta version your father was working on. I never imagined it was like this. Although, in hindsight, I guess I probably should have. I've yet to have two things that seemed coincidental actually be that way after scrutiny."

At his blank stare, she reached for the papers she had stacked on the table top. "This is why I asked for this room." She pushed a thick file, marked with a red "Top Secret" stamp across the table to him. "Your G6 clearance is still in effect, concurrent with your role with the NSA, even as a contractor."

"I'm sorry, what?" he repeated, tilting his head, confused, not expecting the conversation to turn this way when it had only moments before been about his son.

She sighed, one eyebrow lifting, just a minute sign of her impatience, although much milder now in general than in previous years. "You're privy to information that pertains to the work you do here, you know that. But things go across my desk, and sometimes across Casey's desk, that we don't always bring up. You and Sarah are civilians. We tend to tread more cautiously in that area."

"Then what are you showing me? Why? If this doesn't have anything to do with CI operations?" he asked, afraid to open the top of the file and peer inside.

"Because as much as I hate to say out loud, I care about you and your family. So does Casey. Don't let that out of this room, Bartowski. I sort of took for granted you know that, after all this time," she said, a faint smile drawing up the corners of her mouth for a few seconds. But the look that replaced it chilled him to the bone.

"Can I just say that you are scaring the hell out of me right now? Do I need to call Sarah in here?" he asked, his fingers twitching on the file cover.

"No!" she said, much too forcefully in the moment, realizing she had blurted it, but too late to call it back. Recovering her stoicism, she added, "Let me get this out before you tell your wife anything, Chuck. It's a long story." She reached over and opened the file, sensing his hesitation. He lifted his eyes, looking at her, waiting for her to begin explaining before he started reading something that was going to freak him out.

"Do you remember when we tried to send you to Rome?" she asked.

"You mean when you brought up Rome, I freaked out, you put me on ice, then Shaw tried to kill Sarah? Yeah, I have a vague recollection," he said sarcastically, on edge from her words.

She rolled her eyes, losing her patience in the moment. "I did pull you back, after all of that, for the reasons that you say. It ended up being for the best, as you know," she said, pursing her lips and waiting for his acknowledgment of her veracity. He nodded briskly. "But in 2010, at that time, we had intel that the Ring was trying to build their own Intersect."

He shook his head in confusion. "Do I have deja vu? We knew that. Shaw uploaded it. I threw a letter opener at his shoulder in front of the Director of the DNI, in case you don't recall, General," he shot out in aggravation.

Beckman almost growled in frustration, huffing in a strangled sigh. "Please, Mr. Bartowski, can I just finish?" she drawled out.

He sat back, laying one hand flat on the table and stretching the other out as an invitation for her to speak. "We wanted to send you to Rome to investigate. You know what inevitably became of the Ring Intersect project, and beyond, thanks to General Meriwether and his manipulation of your parents and the Winterbottoms. But back then, we only had vague reports. There were rumors that the Intersect the Ring was trying to build was next gen. Not just images. Hardware," she stressed.

"Hardware?" he asked, utterly dumbfounded. "You mean like cyborg implant Star Trek hardware? Is that what you're telling me?" he asked incredulously.

"While I'm not privy to your quaint little cultural references," she said in irritation, the side of her mouth twitching, "it sounds like you're very close to explaining what they wanted. An Intersect computer that was condensed and implantable, like a microchip. Literally programmable, able to be hooked up to a mainframe and information to be downloaded. Also capable of adapting to environmental stimuli, absorbing intel on the fly in real time."

He swallowed hard, loud enough for her to hear his gulp across the table. "You never sent me to Rome, General. Did you send another team instead?" he asked.

"The CIA sent two agents, the NSA four. Highly unsuccessful missions," she tsked, tapping her finger on the table. "Although I was told at the time that I was spoiled by Team Bartowski's success rate in the field, and that no team was successful 100 percent of the time. But by the time we pulled the agents, you had discovered the intel being transferred in Dr. Kowambe's tooth, pertaining to tissue regeneration research."

"Which they used, General," he said tightly, remembering the lab he and his father had found, in the last few minutes of Stephen Bartowski's life.

"Once Kowambe was taken into custody, they were left scrambling. He knew how to build what they wanted, at least as close to what they wanted as anyone could promise. What he didn't know, and what delayed them from implementing sooner in 2010 was how to embed the hardware without causing damage. You know what became of the Ring, and Arthur Meriwether, and the document you referenced that forced the U.S. government to abandon Intersect research. But just because we declared it defunct never meant that the rest of the world gave up too. Far from it. You were isolated from all of that, contracting for the NSA. But it was still very much discussed in international circles. The world still wants it, even though we proved it won't work," she concluded.

"In 2012, a group calling themselves the Sentries emerged from the EU. All of the information we had on the Ultima Intersectio was stored at an NSA substation in Halifax, Virginia. In 2019, all of that information was stolen," she said, lifting her finger to point. "And before you ask me why didn't we bring the problem to you, it wasn't a cyber crime. It was hard evidence that was stolen. Research notes and files, paper as well as digital documents."

Chuck continued listening to her, wondering how all the pieces connected, worrying, because it seemed she had more to say and it already sounded treacherously serious and fraught with danger.

"So the Sentries are trying to build a cybernetic Intersect. What does this have to do with me, and why you're here? I'm sure the CIA and/or the NSA is on it, General, without my help. Especially considering it's not a cyber crime, as you just explained," he said.

She sat up straight in her chair, leaning forward for emphasis. "Look at the file, Chuck," she said seriously.

He broke eye contact with her, clenching a fist before he lifted his shaking hand to touch the papers. He saw what looked like MRI scans, and pages of medical records and documentation. He was more confused than when he had started. "I don't…I don't understand…what this means," he said wearily.

"A courier for the Sentries was picked up in London five days ago in possession of all of that. MRI documentation, bloodwork results, all various aspects of research being conducted in secret locations. All pertaining to this experiment. Some of the intel dates back eight or nine years, to the beginning of the project. The courier seemed to be in possession of all of their data, at least a copy of it. We are trying to get some answers out of him, but we've been unsuccessful so far."

Chuck kept scanning, pouring over the medical data, most of which looked like gibberish to him. "My sister would understand this a lot better than I do, not that I'm asking you to involve her. She's had enough espionage for one lifetime," he told Beckman.

"Chuck, everything in that file correlates back to this data," Beckman told him, a strange, unfamiliar hitch in her voice making him look up. She held another file in her hand, laid it down and pushed it across the table to him. Her face itself was unreadable, but looking in her eyes made him almost dizzy with fear, wondering why the dire edge to her voice. He flipped the file open, unable to unlock his gaze from hers, terrified of what he was actually going to see. It was all medical records, condensed, pages and pages. Most of the dates he saw were from 2012. Horrified, he realized he was looking at intel he had seen before, on his sister's computer, when she had been sub contracting for the NCS. MRI, Cat scans, PET scans, everything Ellie had worked on while proving the government's case about the feasibility of the Intersect program as a whole. He read faster, heightened stress pressing into his thoughts. He saw the date change on the first few documents, to 2014. He dropped the paper out of his hands when he saw the hospital stamp on the sheets. Westside Medical Center. It was familiar, but not unusual. Until he saw the date on a batch of information. March 16, 2014.

He actually used both hands to steady himself on the edge of the table, like he would to stop a chair from swiveling, only nothing was moving. The sensation of movement was from the dizziness holding his breath for so long had inadvertently caused. He opened his mouth, but couldn't make a sound.

"Chuck," Beckman said so quietly, and still causing him to jump, so lost in his spiral he had forgotten she was even in the room with him. "The baby Sarah lost was a boy, am I correct in that assumption? Did you know–"

"Yes," he said breathlessly, wondering who had spoken, because he didn't remember making the sound. The words and numbers on the pages blurred as tears obscured his vision, as he realized all of the medical data in front of him was pertaining to his wife, and his son who had died in utero. Beckman was talking, he could hear the sound of her voice, but none of it was comprehensible to him. It took almost all his strength to focus on what she was saying, to pull his eyes away from the paper. "Can you say that again, General?" he asked dully.

Kindly, reaching across the table briefly for his hand, she repeated her words. "We checked back with the hospital. The pathology report after that incident was incomplete. The samples from the operating room were not all accounted for. Six separate tissue samples went to the hospital histology department, and only four were filed in permanent storage in the data section of the morgue."

Suddenly the room was too hot, stuffy, making the air seem hard to breathe. He felt sick, sweating, feeling like his head weighed a thousand pounds and throbbing at his temples. He dropped his head down onto his hands, pushing back the chair he sat in. "I'm sorry, General," he mumbled, aware vaguely that his demeanor was not appropriate for a meeting with her, but unable to continue otherwise.

He felt her hand, cool like ice, on the back of his fingers, the slightest of touches before she pulled her hand away. "I'm sure a missing lab sample was the last thing on your mind. But after all this information that we know now, I believe we know it was stolen."

"Why?" he asked harshly, his emotions grating as he fought nausea that was making his mouth dry like sandpaper.

"Once the Congressional report was filed, your unique medical characteristics were detailed in that document. It wasn't available in the public domain, still classified, but it can be hacked, or leaked, for the right price, as I'm sure you're aware. As far back as 2012, the Sentries were looking for proof. Looking for a way to make their design work. Genetic information, pertaining to you. And your male children," she added, stressing the last sentence.

Chuck lifted his head, his eyes searingly wide. "Stephen," he choked out. "But my sister…" The words died in his throat. He knew, and answered his own question. Daily life, ordinary happiness, actually so extraordinary, had made them forget the simple truth. It had taken Stephen flashing to remember that they weren't really all that ordinary. The Sentries knew who he was, from the report. They didn't know he still had a functioning Intersect. But they knew he could pass that trait onto his children. They had been waiting, while he had been living his ordinary life.

But Beckman still shocked him with what she did say. "I know why you were worried about what your son can do. And you aren't wrong in thinking that. But at nine years old, his skills in that area are minimal. He will gradually improve as he ages. Who knows, when he's an adult he could be the greatest spy the world has ever seen–" She stopped looking at Chuck's dismay, "if he wants to be that. What concerns me now isn't his value as a walking, talking computer. It's his value as a blueprint."

The abject horror of her words penetrated the last of his composure. The battle inside Chuck was lost, his stomach contents blasting out of his mouth, as he bent over the trash can beside the table, retching until his eyes watered. His throat burned with stomach acid, a caustic bitterness coating his teeth and tongue. Gasping to catch his breath, the insides of his nostrils burning with the same acid, he tried to apologize to Beckman, but his throat hurt too badly to speak. He saw a tissue in his peripheral vision, held out in a slender and petite hand. He took it, wiped his mouth, at the same time seeing she had picked up his bottle of water and brought it to him. It took half the bottle before the pain subsided enough where he could speak. "I'm sorry, General, I…" He slid the wastebasket away from him, sitting up slowly as his vision swam before him.

"Take it easy, Chuck," she said softly, then turned to sit back down.

"These people are after my son? So they can di…dissect his brain? That's what you're telling me?" he wheezed.

"They don't know what Stephen is capable of, I assure you. No one knows, and no one will so long as I am breathing. But he's male progeny. This intel was from eight years ago. People have known for a long time. Why they are moving now, we don't know. But I promise you we will find out. What I do know is Casey has a conference call with MI6 tomorrow morning about the problem of the Sentries in the EU," she concluded.

"This is even worse than we thought," he muttered to himself. His face still pale, he looked at her and asked, "Can you at least understand, then, why I haven't slept in four days? Why I need your help?" he asked despairingly. He swallowed hard, crystallizing the pain, and adding with a growl, "He's my son."

She sat, perfectly still and poised, saying nothing for a very long time. When she finally did speak, Chuck jumped at the sound. "You weren't sure you could trust me?" she asked.

"I know what the CIA is capable of, when they want something," he told her. "The rest of it doesn't matter, not when national security is involved."

"You're right, you know," she said calmly. "Every last resource at the disposal of the CIA would be exhausted in order to obtain that kind of power. As the head of the NSA, it would have been part of my duty to secure that asset for the United States of America." Beckman watched his hand tremble on the desktop, ever so slightly, before he clenched his hand into a fist. "But I'm not the head of the NSA anymore."

"Yeah, General Casey is. And he swore to me that he wouldn't let anything happen to Stephen," Chuck almost shouted at her.

"And he won't. Surely, you know you can trust him, don't you?" Beckman asked him. Without waiting for his reply, she added, "And I'd hoped after everything that we've been through that you would have known you could trust me too, although I understand why you'd be leery. It's your son we're talking about."

"I wanted to just run," he said quietly. "But Sarah won't do that to the children."

"That's a terrible idea, Chuck, and I'm glad Sarah talked you out of it. We can't protect you if you run," she insisted.

"How do you protect us if we stay?" he asked, raising his voice.

"Listen to me, Chuck. I'm only going to say this once. The Intersect team did in two years what a hoard of hundreds of intelligence agents all over the world couldn't do in 20. You walked away when the CIA asked you to choose between your career and your soon-to-be wife. And you stayed away because having a family was what you wanted. But you downloaded it again anyway, to save my life, thinking you were giving up the last chance you had for the life that you wanted. I know that. That's why I did what I did back then, and that's why I'm doing what I'm going to do now," she said, a stern finality in her tone.

"Because believe me, if the DNI had any inclination that you were still an Intersect, you would not be living the life you are living now. And if they find out about your son, he wouldn't be either. That's just the threat from the quote unquote good guys. The Sentries act first and ask questions later. Whatever it was that they learned, we know it wasn't complete. There was never any proof before that your son had an Intersect, only the belief that his brain was different. Chuck, the NSA already sent agents to secure the information your sister gathered on Monday. None of her data was truly secure other than the password guarded LIS system for the hospital, which is very easily hacked, as you know."

She was right of course, he thought, dismayed that he had been naive, not thinking beyond the people at the party. It seemed now Liam Conklin was the absolute least of his current worries. Had Casey known, and just not said anything? He wondered. "Was it secure when they ciphoned the information?" he asked, clicking into autopilot, thinking in work mode again.

"It appears so, but we need your people to verify it," she said, pulling another file from the pile next to her briefcase.

"General, I appreciate your…confidence in my company, but given the nature of this, don't you think–"

She cut him off with a hand raised. "Chuck, listen. Yes, you are a civilian. But there aren't agents in the DNI anywhere–CIA, NSA, or elsewhere, who can do what you can. It's dangerous, which is why you were never approached before today. Casey has been seriously utilizing Verbanksi Corps for all of that, along with our agents. But your family is involved now, and I thought at the very least, since you are already in danger, that you would want to be involved in solving the problem to get them out of danger."

Chuck couldn't believe what he was hearing, what she was asking him. "We have small children, General," he said emphatically. "We left that life behind, because of them."

"I know that, Chuck. No one is asking you to go back to running covert missions. All I'm asking for is your help. And in return, I promise you, we will keep your family safe, until we can neutralize the threat," she swore to him.

" This threat," he spat bitterly. "There'll always be another, though, won't there?"

"Maybe," she said fatalistically. "I can't answer that for you. I've done this long enough to know that evil exists, and it always will. But for every evil, there are people willing to fight it. And as long as that remains true, we at least have a chance."

After a long, heavy stretch of silence, he asked, "What about Sarah?"

"You have to tell her, Chuck, as it involves her as well. I'm assuming, because she convinced you to not run, that she knows what's involved. Just tell her the facts, what we know. The next time we contact you, loop her in. Casey and I are in Los Angeles for a while, just so you are aware." She packed her things into her briefcase, clicking the latches closed. She stood and walked to his side. "I know you're worried about your family, your son, but we'll protect him. The rest you shouldn't worry about at all. You can do the rest with your eyes closed. Even after nine years away," she said confidently, squeezing his shoulder and releasing.

He rose shakily to his feet, on his way to walk her out. Pulling himself together took concerted effort, and still he knew, people would see something was wrong the second they saw him. He was torn, wanting to talk to Sarah right away, and at the same time wishing he could keep the information from her, to not let it intrude on their lives and wreak havoc like he knew it would. He just didn't have a choice anymore.

When Chuck was back in his office, he pulled out his phone. Sarah had texted while he was in the conference room. You were still in with Beckman. Had to get girls for violin. I'll pick up Stephen from karate. See you for dinner. Signed with an emoji heart and a capital S. He looked at it, couldn't quite process it in his current state of mind. He randomly thought of how he knew birds perceived the world, a separate functioning brain for each eye, so they could see on both sides of their head. He was looking at her message with one side of his brain, while at the same time processing all the information Beckman had dumped on him with the other. Those two worlds didn't emulsify.

But soon, he was going to have to figure out a way to make them do just that.

XXX

"Chuck, are you all right?" Morgan asked, leaning into Chuck's office door. "Vivian said you looked like death warmed over," he added, smiling internally at Vivian's sometimes British sayings that he wasn't always used to hearing from others.

Buried up to his eyeballs in work, running two computers at the same time, Chuck barely acknowledged Morgan's presence in the room. Work was what he had needed, to distract him from his worry. He had heard Morgan, afraid to look up, wondering what Morgan would see on his face if he did. "Chuck?" he heard Morgan ask again.

"If I look like that, I'm hoping you know I feel about a thousand times worse than that," he complained, pulling his hands from the keyboard, but continuing to look away.

"Dude, what's going on? We haven't had a chance to talk, you know, since that…uh…incident. Can you at least let me know what's going on?" Morgan asked with concern, shutting Chuck's door and sitting.

"It's a very long story, Morgan," Chuck said dismissively.

"I got time, Bro. I wouldn't exactly use Vivian's vernacular, but you are overwrought. That I do know," he said softly.

Morgan Grimes was always the brother Chuck had never had, at least that was how Chuck always thought of him. Life had changed after both of them became busy parents, and sometimes life moved too quickly. Days could go by without them talking to each other outside of work. Usually the catch-up conversations had to do with kids, wives, or the same silly stuff Sarah had mentioned when telling him about Andrea. It had been a very long time since something this serious was the problem. Suddenly, it seemed like the best thing he could do, to unburden himself now, before he had to go home and shatter the peace by telling Sarah what Beckman had told him. He wished he could tell him all of it, but most of the conversation with Beckman was not for dissemination.

So he told Morgan, about what Ellie had found, about Stephen's Intersect and how it worked, including the fears he and Sarah had about how coveted Stephen could be for intelligence purposes. He told Morgan about his meeting with Casey, and Casey's idea to check out Liam just in case, considering what he saw, in the company of the rest of the otherwise trustworthy group. He even told Morgan about how troubled he was, realizing what Ellie had found about what Stephen remembered, about what he had seen and experienced when he was a baby.

With vivid recall, Morgan thought he understood exactly why Chuck had seemed so troubled, having all that stuff rehashed. He gave Chuck a sympathetic nod, but then asked innocently, "So Beckman? What was that all about?"

"We need help, protecting him. That makes sense, right? You know, us not being spies anymore and all," he said quietly, under his breath.

"Is she good with that?" Morgan asked, not quite as steadfast in his belief of her, having a different experience with the woman over the years.

"Yeah, yeah, she was. I knew she would be," he mumbled, shifting his gaze back to the computer and away from Morgan.

His blue eyes squinting in concentration, Morgan asked after a beat, "Are you sure that's all? Not that that's, you know, nothing or whatever, but…" He wasn't sure how he wanted to finish the sentence, but he was worried. Vivian would not be swayed, continuing to tell him something was seriously wrong, to the point of telling Morgan she had seen him, green at the gills, sure he had been sick to his stomach. Chuck wouldn't look up, though Morgan saw the tight, clenched jaw that ticked slightly, like Chuck was grinding his teeth together. "You can tell me, Chuck," Morgan offered lamely.

"No, Morgan, I can't. Not now. And not all of it, ever. But I have to talk to Sarah first. Can you understand that?" he implored.

Feeling his stomach start to roil with anxiety, Morgan sat and regarded his friend. This wasn't just the usual trouble, or even a memory of a difficult time. This was something epically bad, the likes of which they probably hadn't seen in almost ten years. "I can, Chuck," he said slowly, seriousness freezing his face in a frown. He stood, his heart clenching in sympathy for his friend. "Whatever it is, you aren't alone, even if you can't tell me. Remember that, ok?"

Chuck's smile, beginning in the corner of his mouth, tight at first but slowly warming his eyes, was a comfort. He was out of the room before Chuck put his head down on his hands, assaulted with another memory.

March 31, 2014

Burbank, California

"Chuck," he heard, dry and scratchy, barely discernible as his name. The pain medication from the hospital was still slurring her speech, disorienting her. She was ghostly pale, her skin translucent, her lips a soft lilac color and matching the shaded color around her eyes. The pain inside him rang like a bell, amplifying as he took in the sight of her, so broken and failing.

"I'm right here, Baby," he whispered, walking cautiously toward the bed. He pulled back the covers, sliding across the sheet towards her. The heat from her slight fever was intense, radiating off her under the covers like a heater.

She shifted, rolling towards him, a sharp grimace of pain on her face as she moved. The pain seemed to rouse her, focus her attention. Ocean blue eyes fixated on his face, the sadness in them palpable, reaching towards him like a claw. Away from her, in the hospital, while she had been fighting for her life, he had cried until he was empty, turned inside out by the desolation of loss. Here, he wanted to be strong for her, but this moment, her fog clearing and the knowledge of the loss between them brought new tears from the depths of his soul. "I'm so sorry," he croaked, his voice breaking.

"Chuck," she breathed, believing in that moment that he was empathizing with her, no need for a response. She would think back to this moment again, understanding his words for what they were—an apology for something he believed to be his fault.

"Buh," she whispered unintelligibly, her face buried against his chest. She felt him stiffen, his muscles taut even as he held her body against him. "The baby...was a boy," she said, tears obscuring the clarity of the last few words.

An anguished sob, too profound to be held back by his waning strength, punctuated the silence that before had held only the sound of mutual breathing. He recalled the delicate flutter against his hand placed so hesitantly against her abdomen, over the slightest new curve on her body. He had missed that when she had been pregnant with Stephen, when Sarah had left him to try and regain her memories someplace away from his emotional interference. A person, suddenly real like it hadn't been before this moment, who he would never know, never see, gone before he ever really lived but still inside his heart, part of it broken forever.

The sound of his weeping opened the floodgates. Chuck felt her, shaking in his arms, sobbing heavily in silence. Time went on, until he lost the sensation of how much time had passed. His face was wet and his throat burned, and he heard the high pitched wail coming from deep inside her. Only once had Sarah been like this with him--in her apartment, after Beckman had sent him to find her, knowing she was pregnant and hiding it from Chuck out of fear and uncertainty. He had been angry then, but now he was devastated, and his own tears fed the misery. Hours passed, the light of day outside the window slowly fading to darkness as the moon replaced the sun in the sky, and still the tears were interminable. He felt the saturation against his t-shirt, the cloth sticking to his skin. The hair on the top of her head in touch with his cheek was wet, curling and frizzing as his tears soaked her hair.

It was close to midnight when he finally felt her stop crying, the sound of her breathing slowing and regulating as she eventually fell asleep. The calm she found in his arms, even after hours and hours of crying, eased the agony in his soul, even just for a moment. He was exhausted, more tired than he ever remembered being in his life, but his mind wouldn't stop racing, and sleep eluded him. He had imagined once they had given up the dangerous spy life that threats and worry like this would be a thing of the past. He had almost lost her on the eve of their wedding, after she had been shot with the Norseman. She had fought valiantly for her life then, just as she had this time.

Only before, he had known he was the only one who could save her--so he hardened himself and took on full force every and anything that stood in his way. This time, he had been oblivious to her plight, locked in a computer attack scenario and out of touch. Working, while his wife was close to bleeding to death while their infant son watched. How ironic, he thought bitterly, that the person who actually saved her this time was Vivian, the reason why he had done what he'd had to do for Sarah in the past.

September 28, 2021

Burbank, California

The rest of the day had passed, Chuck able to immerse himself in his work, the comfort of delving into a problem and taking it completely apart, examining every aspect from all sides the perfect distraction.

He was in the car, on his way back home, having left an hour early, when he got a text from Sarah. Girls are home with Molly. Long story. Can you grab Stephen at karate? I'll be there as soon as I can.

Because he was driving, he replied with a simple Ok, wondering what had happened to preempt Sarah's arrival at home. The nervous energy was tangible, feeling trapped in the car and restless, just wishing he could talk to his wife about everything he had learned.

He was pulling into the parking lot at the dojo, shutting off his car, when he felt the dread, realizing how many other parents would be there that he would now have to interact with. On a good day, he wasn't bothered, but today, he felt like he was wearing a lead cloak. The banality of small talk was more than he could bear. He reminded himself that his son was there, and suddenly the mask he was forced to wear was not so troubling. Sometimes he seemed to have an endless pool of strength when something was required for his children. Maybe it was just evolution, he thought, although it was easier to believe it was love.

He went through the door, searching for the row of parents, seeing that the children were still lined up in formation in front of the instructor. He could pick his son out of the crowd easily, seeing he was almost 8 inches taller than the next tallest child. Stephen's best friend Griffin was standing next to him.

"Hey, Chuck!" he heard, spinning to see Andrea Tisdale, Griffin's mother, coming at him with a beaming smile on her face. Andrea was Sarah's age, extremely petite but heavy, her clothing baggy to conceal her rotund frame. His thoughts spun to Sarah's comments about her friend, his mouth twisting in mirth at their private joke.

"Hey, Andrea, how's it going?" he said casually, walking closer to the group.

"Oh, Chuck, you always look so nice," she cooed. "The last time I saw Jim in a suit was at his great aunt's funeral."

"This old thing?" Chuck said, forcing out a laugh, patting his hands on his lapels. "Andrea, Jim's an electrician. I came straight from work," he told her. Andrea giggled wildly at his comments.

"What happened to Sarah?" she asked, still making small talk, but her choice of words caused a twinge of distress at their irony.

"Just got tied up is all," he said.

"Hi, Chuck," he heard, spinning at the suggestive tone in the female voice coming from behind him.

"Hi Tammy," he called, unable to keep his face from scrunching, remembering what Sarah had mentioned last night again. She waved at him over her shoulder, all four of her fingers fluttering as she almost leered at him. Tammy was average height, with a muscular body. Her makeup was too heavily applied, her perfume nauseatingly dense, with too many open buttons on her blouse. He shivered involuntarily.

Chuck watched Andrea smile at Tammy as she passed, the smile frozen until Tammy had passed. "Slut," she muttered, once the smile faded.

Chuck stifled a laugh, choking to cover it up. "I'm sorry, did I say that out loud?" she laughed at Chuck. She angled up beside Chuck, speaking louder as the children started yelling as part of their exercise. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot," he said to her, raising his voice as well.

"How many languages does your wife speak?" Andrea asked.

Chuck looked on in confusion, wondering why she was asking him and not Sarah, who was her friend. "Twelve," he told her, crossing his arms. "Why do you ask?"

Her mouth hanging open, Andrea turned to him. "Come on, really? Why doesn't she work for the United Nations or something?"

"And leave beautiful Burbank?" he teased.

"She told me she was tutoring Vietnamese yesterday. I never heard her ever mention that she could speak or understand Vietnamese. I was just wondering, if I didn't know that, how many more didn't I know about?" she said, looking away as she gestured with her hands as she talked.

"Well, I speak Klingon, but I don't really talk about that either," he grumbled, smiling.

"Boy, Sarah wasn't kidding," Andrea teased, biting her lower lip. She reached over, patted his cheek. "You are adorable," she stressed, patting hard enough that he blinked.

His attention was pulled away, seeing a blur of motion as the kids were finishing up. Standing a head taller, Chuck had a perfect view of his son. He stopped breathing for a moment, as he realized he was watching his son flash while he was sparring with another child.