Nobody's right until

Somebody's wrong

Nobody's weak until

Somebody's strong

"It's in the Way That You Use It"

Eric Clapton

September 28, 2021

Burbank, California

Acutely aware of the others parents' proximity, Chuck clamped down his initial panic. The instructor had interrupted, and the tight formation of children, a sea of white against the royal blue mats that lined the dojo floor, broke apart in a disorganized jumble. Chuck made his move, weaving his way past the other parents who stood, distractedly chatting and waiting for their kids.

He was closest to the mat when he called his son. "Hey, kiddo, let's get ready, ok? Dinner is waiting," he said hurriedly.

Stephen had been laughing with his friend Griffin, looking up in surprise at his father's voice. His eyebrows crunched as he asked, "Dad, where's Mom?"

"Hi, Mr. Bartowski," Griffin mumbled at the same time.

"Hey, Griffin, good job out there," Chuck said to the other boy, before turning his attention back to his son. "Busy, but she'll be home soon. Come on, Stephen, let's go. Shoes, jacket, chop chop," Chuck added impatiently, clapping his hands together softly.

Stephen sighed, his shoulders slumping as he had to walk away from his friend. Chuck stood there, fighting his irritation as his son poked, goofed around, still laughing, taking what felt like an eternity to tie his shoes. In the end, Chuck almost picked him up by his elbows and carried him out, garnering a strange look from Andrea, before she smiled and waved as they hustled out the door.

"Where's the fire, Dad?" Stephen grumbled once they were outside.

"Can you please tell me what I just saw?" Chuck asked, stopping in mid-stride in the middle of the parking lot.

"Uh, karate?" Stephen asked, confused.

Exasperated, Chuck put both hands on his hips, looking down at the ground before he spoke again. "You flashed, didn't you? Have you been doing that all this time? With karate? And archery?"

"You mean zapped?" Stephen asked, focusing on the miniscule, adding to his father's aggravation.

"You know what I mean," Chuck snapped, dropping his hands to his sides.

"Yeah," Stephen said, like he was answering if the sky was blue.

"Oh, boy," Chuck muttered to himself. "I should have known, after all that."

Stephen still stood there, befuddled. Slowly, others started streaming from the doorway of the dojo into the parking lot. Chuck needed to talk to him, but in private. "Come on," he urged, pulling Stephen towards the car.

Once they were in the car, Chuck looked in the rearview mirror to make eye contact with his son. "That's what you've always done, since you first started, isn't it?" Chuck asked him, fully understanding that his son had no control over how and when he flashed, never understanding that he was unique in any way.

"Yeah," he answered, more tentatively, sensing his father's distress over it, a look of chagrin on his face.

The contrition, sweet in and of itself, was not the reaction Chuck wanted, and he realized it. "I'm not upset with you, Stephen. I know you can't help it."

"Whenever Sensei would demonstrate something, and I tried to copy it, you know, do it the right way, that would happen. Once I know something by heart, it doesn't anymore. With archery too. The target always sort of zaps into place. I can just see it, and I know how to make the arrow go where I want it to." He paused, looking at his lap, away from the mirror. "Is that, like, cheating, or whatever? Is that why you're getting upset?"

It was a pointed question, almost a philosophical debate, but not what his young son needed to hear at the moment. "No, it isn't. It's just something that you can do, that other people can't. It makes you special. If it makes you better at karate, or archery, it's because it's part of who you are."

"But you are upset," Stephen said, parsing out the conclusion from his previous statement.

"Not upset with you." Chuck sighed, trying to find the right balance of what to say, without saying too much. "I just want you to keep in mind, the other kids don't know that you can do that. And they shouldn't, like we talked about. You have to be aware of that, at all times, especially when it's karate, and you're with other kids. You're bigger than most of them anyway, and you could really hurt someone if you aren't careful. I know you would feel very bad if that happened."

Stephen nodded, accepting the truth of his father's words.

"Promise me you will keep that first and foremost in your mind. No matter what happens, hold yourself back, so you don't accidentally hurt someone," Chuck asked, raising his eyebrows and waiting for the reply.

"I promise, Dad," he said clearly, gratified that his father smiled once he said it.

After a bout of silence, Stephen asked him randomly, "Dad, how did you end up with your…you know…your Intersect?"

"It's a long story, Son. And you're not old enough for me to explain it to you, not now. Maybe when you're older," Chuck muttered, knowing it was a weak answer, but not having a better reply.

His eyes narrowed, Stephen asked him, "Does yours do what mine does? With, you know, karate or whatever?"

How did he know to ask that? Chuck asked himself, wondering if he was just asking because he was curious, because it would make sense if he could, or for some other reason. Chuck's Intersect was equipped with many different skills, none of which he had used since Stephen was born. For his work and his life, the intelligence aspect of it was all that he had utilized. "Yes," Chuck replied, not wanting to lie to his son. "But I…I don't have any reason to use it. I haven't for a really long time."

"But you did?" Stephen asked incredulously. "Working on computers?"

Sensing the conversation was winding into dangerous territory, he mumbled, "I didn't always do that job, Son."

"Mom said you worked at the Buy More when she met you. With computers, right?" he prodded. "You fixed her phone."

The phone that she broke on purpose, he thought with an internal chuckle. "Yes, I fixed her phone. And the world was never the same," he teased, making Stephen roll his eyes.

His son stayed quiet for the rest of the ride. Sarah would have been proud, he thought, at how expertly he had redirected the conversation away from the touchy subject. Thinking of Sarah, he pulled out his phone and called her, wanting an update on where she was and when she was coming home. She picked up on the first ring.

"Hi, Sweetie. What happened? Where are you?" he asked.

"With Vivian," Sarah sighed. "I can tell you when I get home. Like I said, it's a long story. She called right after I got home with the girls. Fortunately Molly was available. I told my Mom she could stay for dinner and get picked up afterward."

He thought about it, not remembering seeing Vivian after General Beckman had left. "Everything ok?" he asked cautiously.

"It will be," she said softly. "I should be home in about a half hour. But Chuck, I just remembered I never took the chicken out of the freezer."

He smiled, thinking about this silly domestic problem, how unimportant it was faced with everything he learned today that he still needed to tell her. "Scrambled eggs and french toast it is," he said. "I'm only 10 minutes from home. I already grabbed Stephen. I'll see you soon, Sweetie."

September 28, 2021

Burbank, California

Sarah was exhausted when she finally walked through the door of their house. Teacher meeting, work, violin lessons, then a heart to heart with Vivian. Far from saving the world, but hectic and tiring nonetheless. The sight before her filled her with joy, renewing her stamina, now that she was home with her family.

Music was blasting, coming from the kitchen but filtering into the living room. Molly was on the couch, a textbook to the side of her and a notebook in her lap as she did her homework. She looked up and smiled at her sister. On the floor in front of her were Ally and Abby, with Chewie in between them. Somehow Chewie was now fully adorned in a pink tulle tutu and a pink plastic crown, although happily wagging his tail at the attention. Sarah could smell toast and the sweetness of maple syrup in the air.

"Hi guys," Sarah yelled over the music. She recognized the song, Radio Ga-Ga by Queen. "What's all this?" she called to her daughters.

"80s dance party!" both girls shouted. Molly giggled, looking up from her homework.

"Can you concentrate with that?" Sarah asked her as she moved into the room.

"I'm used to it," Molly said with a smile, looking over her shoulder into the kitchen.

Sarah followed her gaze. Stephen was doing his homework at the kitchen table, while Chuck was behind him cooking on the stove. He turned and smiled at his wife, and Sarah realized he was also singing and conducting at the same time. He pointed, got the girls to double clap in unison, in time with the song. Then he turned, pointed to his son, saying, "Take it, Stephen," only to be rewarded by silence and an eye roll. He grabbed his son by the shoulders, singing loudly into his ear, perfectly in tune and forcefully loud, "Someone still loves you." Then air-drummed on top of his son's head along with the keytar.

"Looks like I'm late to the party," Sarah said with a smile. Chuck turned down the music, but left it playing.

"Just in time, as a matter of fact," he laughed. He had already changed into a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. "Go get changed. Dinner will be on the table when you come down."

Dressed more comfortably, Sarah sat at the table and ate dinner with her family. She thought it a pleasant turn of events that she for once didn't have to listen to her children complain about the chicken she cooked, or the broccoli they had to eat. No complaints with breakfast for dinner, although she had a sneaking suspicion getting the three of them to bed tonight full of all that sugar would be a challenge.

"What did you three do after I left?" Sarah asked her sister and her daughters.

"Ally played a song on her violin for me," Molly said with a smile. Ally simply blushed, a very shy smile on her face. Allison was the one with the musical talent, far advancing past her twin sister though they had started lessons at the same time. They were still very young, and Sarah wanted both of them to give it an honest try before just giving up. She was never about forcing her children to do anything, thinking that she thought they should do it, or because she wanted them to. But they had the means to provide opportunities for their children, and she took every chance to expose them to all sorts of things. Sarah thought perhaps Abby's passion lay elsewhere, but the lesson about persevering, and doing her best, was not lost.

"And Abby did my makeup," Molly beamed, fluttering her eyelashes, showing off the brightly colored swaths on her eyelids.

"With your makeup, I hope," Sarah said with a tilt of her head.

"Oh, yeah," Molly replied. "Mom just started letting me wear makeup. She bought it for me for my birthday." Sarah smiled.

"Is that when she let you, Mommy?" Abby quizzed, her ulterior motive clear. The fact that her six year old daughter could almost expertly apply makeup to her 14 year old aunt was highly suspect.

Molly looked down, understanding however rudimentarily that Sarah hadn't lived with their mother when she was growing up. Chuck was chewing, but was nicely surprised as his son spoke up. "Mom lived with Grandpa Jack when she was old enough to wear makeup."

"And I never did. Not until I was much, much older, Missy," Sarah said, gently pointing her fork at her daughter. "But I think 14 is about right. What do you think, Daddy?" Sarah asked.

"When she's married sounds reasonable to me, but I guess 14 is a good compromise," Chuck teased, bopping his daughter on her nose at her quick pout.

Molly helped clear the table, and sat with Stephen again at the table while he finished his homework and she waited for her mother. Chuck started washing dishes, turning up the music again now that dinner was over.

"You did cook, you know. I can help with cleaning up," she murmured over his shoulder as he stood at the sink. He was bouncing on his feet, shaking his shoulders in time to the music he was playing, obviously still his 80s dance party mix, as she recognized When Doves Cry by Prince. He turned around, grabbed her hands, and started dancing with her, a mix of actual salsa dancing and casual fast dancing, holding both of her hands and bumping against her with his shoulders and hips. Sarah collapsed in a heap of giggles, bent over his arms as they circled her waist.

Seated at the table, Molly whispered just under the music to her nephew, "Do they always do that?"

"Always," Stephen groaned.

The music changed, and Chuck went back to washing dishes, Sarah at his side to help. When they were alone in the kitchen, Chuck could finally ask her, "So what happened with Vivian?"

"She broke up with Liam," Sarah said quietly. "It's for the best, I told her. But it was hard. She was really upset. He was her first serious boyfriend, despite her age."

"What…what happened?" he asked, wondering still about what Casey may have found out, and how this complicated everything.

"Ugh, I think it was my fault, to be honest," she sighed.

"How is it your fault?" Chuck asked her.

"She was talking about wanting to have kids, you know, her biological clock and all. She wasn't sure. I just told her if she wasn't sure, then he wasn't the one. I think that's fair, isn't it?" she countered. "Especially when the right one is here and waiting," she added under her breath.

"The right one. Carter? He's the right one?" Chuck asked in disbelief. It was as Casey had said, obvious to anyone looking how Carter felt about Vivian. But did that mean he was it? Her perfect partner?

"I'm not a matchmaker, believe me. I hate meddling in people's personal lives. But she said something. About you and me. And it made me think," she replied.

"What about us?" he asked innocently.

"She thinks just because she's never seen it, that no one looks at her the way you look at me. And it isn't true. Have you seen the way he looks at her? Really seen it? He's just so quiet and he keeps to himself so much I think she thinks he couldn't possibly feel that way about anyone. Come on, Chuck, you know I'm right," she finished, crossing her arms as she put down the dish towel.

"So what are we supposed to do about it, if we aren't playing matchmaker? Hmm?" he asked again.

"He talks to you, right? Try to feel him out, you know, however guys talk. I don't know," she offered.

"We are very nerdy when we talk. The exact opposite of what you're thinking," he teased.

"I don't know, I fell for the nerd. Is it that hard to believe?" she teased back, leaning in and kissing his nose.

Her smile faded only for a second. "Chuck, what did Beckman have to say?"

The glass in his hand slipped from his grasp, hitting the median between the two sinks and shattering on impact. Sarah took a step back, feeling tiny shards of glass hitting against her sleeve. "Damn it," he swore under his breath, reaching into the soapy water.

"Wait, Chuck, you're going to cut yourself," she warned, pushing his hand aside and pulling the drainplug out. They stood together, watching the water slowly spin down the drain. "We can talk later. It's just…Vivian said you were a mess afterward, right before she left. She was worried."

"She sent Morgan in as well," he told her, a slight edge of irritation in his voice. In the empty sink, lacy ghosts of dish soap surrounding the rim, he reached down for the broken pieces of glass. He turned, tossing them all into the trash. When he turned back to her, he was smiling, but his eyes were an abyss, full of despair, making her breath hitch. "I promise we'll talk. When we're alone."

She sensed it, what he was doing. Enjoying the moment, happily surrounded by their family and the joy of being together. Their normal life, as he still called it, especially when he was fretting that it was somehow compromised. She had hoped he had taken her words from today to heart, telling him how blessed she was, perfectly content in the life he shared with her. But she had an awful, nagging feeling that he was savoring it now, because it somehow had become finite.

How much time was really left? she thought crazily. There was no mistaking that devastated look in his eyes. Whatever he had to tell her was life-changing. And not for the good.

XXX

"What are you guys doing?" Molly asked, looking over the top of the couch, seeing all three children huddled in the corner, their gaze focused on the kitchen.

"Sssh," Abby hissed, her finger over her mouth. "We're spying," she whispered.

"You're not supposed to spy on your parents," she lightly scolded.

"They know we do it," Ally explained, gesturing with her hand towards her parents.

The scene they were watching was simple. The lights in the kitchen were off, except for the faint glow of the lightbulb over the sink. All of the dinner dishes were either in the drainer by the sink or the dishwasher. The music from before was still playing, only much more softly, like background music. The song was One More Night, Molly recognized, from that same mix, familiar because it was such a repetitive song. Chuck had Sarah in his arms, slow dancing with her. Not the typical, clumsy way, like the boys at the high school dances, swaying back and forth aimlessly on their feet. He was moving in perfect time to the music, stepping expertly around the kitchen, avoiding the table and chairs. She even saw him dip her, a slow drop, Sarah's hair fanning and falling in crazy angles when she was upright again.

"They have a secret," Abby whispered, more loudly than a normal whisper.

"What do you mean, a secret?" Molly asked, realizing she had been conned into whispering as well.

"Mrs. Tisdale said so," Ally explained. "She picked us up after soccer practice. And I heard her on the phone with my Mom. She said she didn't know what their secret was but she wished she knew."

Molly was laughing, intuitively understanding what the adult conversation had been about, misinterpreted by the younger girls. She stopped, pondering, when she heard Stephen whisper, "I wish I knew too."

XXX

"Well, that was fun," Chuck said, rolling his eyes, as he walked into his bedroom. "I practically had to peel Abby off the ceiling."

"That's what french toast two hours before bedtime will do," Sarah said, a twisted smile on her face, propped up on her elbow on her side of the bed.

"Eh, there's worse things, right?" he sighed, flopping down next to her. The remnants of the smile remained, but the deep crease in the center of his forehead was prominent, hinting at his lack of relaxation.

She rose quietly, went out to kiss her children goodnight and brush her teeth. The house was calm and quiet. Despite the hyperness, head to pillow had been enough to lull her kids to sleep relatively quickly. As she approached the doorway of their bedroom, she was anticipating Chuck's prone form on his side of the bed. She saw him instead, sitting up, running his hands down his pants, like he did when his palms were sweaty. He was almost rocking back and forth.

She crawled behind him, over to her side of the bed, sitting cross-legged beside him. "Tell me what's wrong," she said plainly.

He reached over, grabbed her hand, pulled it towards the center of his chest. "This is minor, but I need to tell you this too. Stephen's been using his Intersect while he's doing karate, and archery, apparently. I just told him that he needs to be careful, you know, so he doesn't hurt anyone. Because he could, you know," he said, his voice shaking with unshed tears, not really in line with the words he was saying.

"Ok," she said slowly. "I figured that was the case, now that we know. But that's not it, not what's wrong," she told him.

His only hope, he knew, was to detach himself from the explanation, or he would never be able to get the whole thing out. "Before Carmichael Industries was up and running, someone hacked into the government server and acquired all the data my sister compiled about the Intersect. Mostly the medical data, MRI, you know, my information, all of that stuff. There's a group in the EU that call themselves the Sentries. They're trying to build a cybernetic Intersect," he said, pausing to catch his breath as his nerves shook his voice.

"They know why it only works for me. And that the potential exists for me to pass that trait on to my children. My male children. A lot of people died while they were trying to test the implants they created. They knew they needed a blueprint, so they could figure out how to implant it successfully."

He could hear her breath, straining, as she listened and processed what he was saying. "Since 2012? That was a long time ago, Chuck," she said.

"They know about me, and I'm sure they know about Stephen. Not his Intersect, but his brain being like mine. They would have to, after all the information they accumulated," he said slowly.

"I don't understand," she said, leaning towards him, looking at his face for some sign of what he was talking about.

"All of your information, including…tissue samples…were stolen from the hospital," he said, looking away as he said it.

She gasped, pulling her hand out of his and covering her mouth. She started three times before her voice was solid enough to speak. "Why are we only finding this out now?"

"I guess the NSA just apprehended a courier that had all this information, only about five days ago. The Ring gave up before, once Kowambe was arrested. But I guess the Sentries jumped back on the bandwagon. They don't know why there are such gaps in activity. But maybe with the data they have now, it's closer to achievable for them," he said, rubbing his forehead like he had a headache. "Beckman is on it. Casey too."

"Why did she tell you all of this?" Sarah asked nervously.

"Because she thinks we are in imminent danger. She's going to start actively protecting us. You know, like protective detail," he said, turning to face her, his crestfallen features breaking her heart.

She pulled herself up onto her knees, her voice close to hysterical. "They don't know about Stephen. You just said they don't. No one does. So why then? I don't understand–"

"All that matters is that he's my son," he stressed. He had to close his eyes, unable to look at her when he said the words. "The tissue samples…the ba–baby's brain. Because he," he swallowed hard, referring to his lost child as a person like that for the first time, "had the same mutation. Stephen is the only other male offspring I have. And it's only made worse by what he can actually do, if anyone ever found out."

"What about your sister?" Sarah asked, the fear on her face now unmistakable.

"Beckman secured the data from my sister's computer. Beckman gave it to CI to check it out, make sure it's secure–" he explained slowly, cut off by an even more hysterical interjection.

"No, Chuck! Her sons. Devon Jr. and Jason. Is it possible they have it? Did your sister ever check?" she demanded shrilly.

"Oh my God, I don't know," he replied, almost jumping to his feet, his mouth gaping open with shock.

"If these people have all the data from 2012, then they have her MRI. They know your father built the first Intersect file using her brain. If Stephen is in danger, then so are they," Sarah said in panic.

He was on his feet, his phone in his hand, pacing.

"Chuck, what are you doing?" Sarah asked.

"Calling my sister. Then calling Beckman. I told Beckman my sister would know what all of that meant. I didn't want to involve her, not after everything from before. But if her family is in danger too, she'd kill me if I didn't tell her, and let her decide for herself."