September 28, 2012
Burbank, California
"Sarah…" Chuck said, a cold dread in his voice, as he stopped pacing in front of the bed, holding his phone out in front of him. Sarah still knelt on the foot of the bed, but she was lifted up, standing on her knees, as if poised to jump at any moment.
"What?" she asked, unable to mask her own dread.
"This is telling me this is an encrypted line," he said, his eyes huge as he turned the phone to show her. "Yesterday this was her normal phone."
Sarah processed the information rapidly. "Just wait, Chuck," she said, having a suspicion but not saying it out loud.
"Chuck?" he heard, pulling the phone away from his ear to protect from the volume of her frantic voice.
"Ellie, what's going on?" he demanded, forgetting the information he had wanted to relay first and foremost.
"You know, don't you? Beckman talked to you. Casey said Beckman talked to you," she rambled, barely pausing in between words.
"Casey?" Chuck asked in disbelief, making eye contact with Sarah, exchanging a bewildered look. "When did you talk to Casey?"
"This afternoon, before the kids got home," she explained. "He made it sound like you knew, that…that you already knew. That you knew everything."
"El, I talked to him this morning and he didn't say a word other than he wanted to check on Liam," Chuck insisted indignantly.
"Maybe he just told General Beckman to brief you," she concluded, pondering like she was deep in thought. "He knew how upset you already were."
It struck him odd, yet at the same time comfortingly familiar, that Casey would have considered any of his feelings about anything. Times had certainly changed. Fortunately for Casey, he still had a switch he could turn on and off, to do his job and filter out his emotional attachments. His role as the Director of the NSA demanded it.
"She did," he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. "But I still don't get it. What did Casey tell you?" he asked, needing clarification.
"That we need protection," she said forcefully. "Look out your window, Chuck," she said ominously. He kept the phone raised, turning his body first and then his head, as he walked to the window in the dormer. He slid one finger into the closed blinds, creating a gap just wide enough for both eyes. He never heard her move, but as he peered outside he felt Sarah standing at his right shoulder.
Chuck knew what to look for, and it only took a few seconds before he saw them. Three unmarked black cars, the windows tinted black, heavy duty antennas mounted to the sides and on top the trunks. He turned to look at his wife, certain she had seen what he'd seen. "NSA?" he asked, hating that his sister most likely already knew.
"They're outside my house too," she told him.
"Ellie, I'm sorry," he blurted, his hand over his eyes.
"Chuck!" Ellie very nearly shouted. "Stop!" Sarah looked on, hearing Ellie's words though the phone was pressed against his left ear. He looked stricken, angry and frustrated.
"Our entire family is in danger because of me—"
"Not because of you!" she shouted again. "We all made our own choices. And we live with the consequences. Knowing we would do the same thing again, given the choice, because what we chose was necessary. It made a difference."
Tears in his eyes, Chuck responded, "My kids didn't choose that. And neither did yours." He felt Sarah wrap her arm around his back, resting her hand on his hip.
"Maybe not," Ellie replied, tears in her own voice, sensing his pain though she couldn't see it. "Sometimes things are out of your control. Life hands everyone a certain set of circumstances. It only is what it is, no matter how much you want it to be something else."
"Mommy!" They both heard a loud scream, followed by hysterical screeching. Without another word, Sarah turned and bolted, running for their daughters' room. Chuck could tell the difference instantly, knowing it was his daughter Ally screaming. The phone call forgotten, he turned to follow her, when he heard the follow up. "There's a spider on the ceiling!" Hysterical tears. If only it were just spiders, he thought sadly, as his panic in the moment fizzled.
He heard Sarah's muffled voice, not every word she said, but enough to know the jist, telling both girls to be quiet because they were going to wake up Stephen. He fought to regain control of his breathing, terrified in the moment of stress but knowing it was fine if Sarah was in there with them.
"What was that?" Ellie asked anxiously, having heard the ruckus.
"Arachnophobia," Chuck answered dully. "Sarah's taking care of it."
He stayed quiet, the silence filling with the thought he wasn't saying out loud. "How's Devon?" Chuck asked suddenly, only imagining how upset he could be, after so much angst in the past, always wanting to keep his family safe from Chuck's dangerous life.
"Worried, like we all are. But he's not angry, Chuck. Please understand that." She paused. "It's strange, that all this is coming to light at the same time we just found out about Stephen. But this was in motion for a long time, a lot longer than we knew, it seems," she finished.
"They know about you and me, and they know we have children," he stressed, thinking she must know but needing to say it out loud just the same.
"Listen, I'm not a geneticist, I'm a neurologist. But I did look at years and years of Dad's research. I don't know what gene you have that other people don't. Who knows if it's a gene or a series of genes or genes plus some environmental factor that we don't understand. But Dad's brain was different from an average male's. He passed something onto you and me genetically. It amplified in you, and you passed that amplified version to your son. My version is non-functional, so to speak. They inherited that non-functional version from me."
"These people…they're looking for a way to build a mechanical Intersect. If they think they can use you or your kids, they will. Scientific research rarely sways crazy people hell-bent on world domination," he spat out.
"Chuck, we have a lot of people on our side, people who want to help us and keep us safe. Casey told me he won't let anything happen to our family. He means it, Chuck." There was a long pause, so long he wondered if the connection had been broken. When she spoke again it startled him. "You became a spy because you wanted to make the world a safer place. And you walked away to make sure your family was safe. To keep them safe, wouldn't you do anything? Even go back there, to where you never wanted to go again? I know I would. They're already in danger, Chuck. They actually were all along only we didn't know it. We all are. And now they need you," she stressed in her impassioned plea. "I know it's hard, but we can do this. We'll be ok," she reassured him.
He sighed so heavily he choked, coughing and clearing his throat. He wanted to respond, but he knew she was right. His sister, always half a spy. Driving home her point, she spoke again. "Chuck, you've known Casey for 15 years. You trust him, don't you?" she asked, trying to make him see reason.
"You know I do," he said wistfully.
"Beckman told you about his meeting tomorrow, right?" she asked.
"With MI6?" Chuck asked, confused.
"With who?" Ellie asked.
"British intelligence," he responded matter-of-factly. "What did you mean?"
"No, Chuck, he's coming to Carmichael Industries. With Beckman. He asked me to come, so he can brief me on the security measures," she explained.
"When the hell was he going to tell me?" Chuck snapped, finding it stranger and stranger that Ellie knew so much more than he did.
"Chuck, he knew Beckman was talking to you. He didn't want us to worry, because he sent security before he talked to me and he didn't want us to freak out. I'm sure he'll be in touch, Chuck," she said.
He heard the phone beeping against his ear, pulling it away to see the other call waiting was from Casey. "His ears must be ringing," Chuck muttered. "That's him, Sis," he told her.
"Ok, bye, Chuck. I'll see you in the morning," she said, and hung up.
He answered the call, blurting out before Casey could speak, "Casey, what the hell is going on?"
"You sound vaguely freaked out, Bartowski. Take it down a notch," Casey clipped.
"Take it down a notch?" Chuck repeated in outrage. "I have three teams of security in unmarked vehicles parked outside my house where my three young children are asleep. There is no notch to take it down to," he hissed. "Not in this situation," he concluded with conviction.
"It's better to be over prepared than under, don't you think?" Casey asked crisply. "There's no specific credible threat against your family or your sister's family. But we know now that there could be. I won't take chances, not where family is concerned."
The words Casey used, referring to them all as his family, wasn't lost on Chuck. It softened the edge in his voice. "Why didn't you tell me this morning?" he asked.
"Because I didn't have all the intel this morning," he countered.
"Beckman said Interpol picked up that courier five days ago. You knew that this morning, didn't you?" he accused.
"It's not just the information found with the courier. Don't forget what I told you I would do for you this morning," he insinuated.
"Liam?" Chuck asked, suddenly nervous.
"Something fishy is all. We have our best people on it," he said stiffly. "I wasn't wasting any time." He took a deep breath and let it out in a hiss through his clenched teeth. "I have a briefing with MI6 in the morning, then I'm sure your sister told you I'll be there with Beckman and explain more. For now, send your kids to school like normal. They'll have an undercover escort, courtesy of Verbanski Corps. And once they're inside the school, they're pretty much safe. It's locked all day, there are metal detectors, uniformed police officers at every entrance."
With a brief shudder of acknowledgement, Chuck knew Casey was right. "Casey, this isn't just a coincidence is it? That my sister just ran all those tests yesterday—"
"We don't know, Chuck. Beckman asked your company to check, didn't she? Did you find anything out?" Casey asked.
"Skip was still running the trace when I left. I'll know in the morning," he told his friend.
"Chuck, tell Sarah everything, ok?" Casey coached. Chuck at first questioned why Casey would even say what he said. Perhaps thinking somehow Chuck's gut instinct was to protect Sarah from worry, and on second thought maybe not as far from the truth as he had first thought .
"I will, Casey," he said weakly. "Why did my sister know so much, before you told me?"
"Come on, Bartowski. Did you think I could just put security in place outside her house and her not go totally crazy? That I could explain with a one-liner? She's your sister. Smarten up," he quipped, his usually gently-ribbing self.
Chuck huffed once in amusement, then replied, "I know. What was I thinking?"
"I'll be there bright and early. Get some rest in the meantime," Casey said in conclusion and hung up, without a reply. More and more like Beckman every day, he thought.
Standing alone in his bedroom, Chuck felt like there was a hole in the floor, slowly opening up and threatening to swallow him. He searched inside himself, thinking of what his sister had said, letting the words turn over and over in his head. Yes, he had walked away to protect them. But she was right, and he internally thanked her for reminding him of the simplest truth. That there was literally nothing he wouldn't do to keep them safe.
That notion seemed to fortify every cell in his body, flooding him with strength and determination. He walked out into the hallway to check on the situation. He saw Sarah standing in the doorway to the girls' room, leaning on the doorframe with her arms crossed. She turned quickly, her index finger over her mouth to shush him. "They finally calmed back down," she whispered, so quietly he knew what she said only by reading her lips. He leaned over Sarah's shoulder, peering into the gray darkness in their room. Abby's bed was farther from the door, but he could see Ally, snuggling into her pillow, hugging her stuffed frog to her face, her sweet little face relaxed with her eyes closed. The tenderness rose like a tidal wave, nearly stealing his breath.
But the face he turned to Sarah showed something else entirely. His eyes were on fire, burning with the intensity of a thousand suns. She had never seen him look like this, he realized with a start. Casey had seen it, watching him rise from Sarah's bedside in the hospital after she had been lethally dosed with radiation. Too delirious with fever, she had no idea what had churned to the surface inside him then. But it was here now, sharp and penetrating, as she regarded him.
"What was all that?" she asked, turning around and stepping away from the door.
"Both my sister and Casey, reminding me that when you love something, you fight for it. No matter what," he said, a heated tenacity in his voice.
She was confident he would tell her specifics, but she understood his meaning in the moment. She knew that very well. In fact, it was a lesson she had learned from him, a very long time ago. She grabbed his hand, squeezing it, as she pulled him back to their bedroom.
September 29, 2021
Undisclosed Location, Los Angeles, California
Hannah closed the door behind her, listening to the sound of her children's feet as they ran into the house, a strange new environment ripe for exploration. They were treating it like a vacation, something missing from their lives since their father had passed away. It was novel, a change of pace, an added excitement to the otherwise tedious every day. At least they were happy, and not afraid, not the least bit worried. She had done a good job, she told herself, of convincing them that this was no big deal. Just a trip for work, so that she could take them with her. They could still go to school remotely, on their computers, and stay in the house that her work had rented for them.
Which was in truth the CIA safe house where Cole had sent her. She had memorized the code phrase, spoke it to the man posing as the agent for the rental, and he'd replied with the proper code in return. Quickly scanning the street, she had seen the cars he said would be there, agents and a covert tactical team who had been awaiting their arrival, there at his request and for her and her children's protection. She trusted he had followed her out of Santa Barbara, though his tail was not detectable by her, being the civilian she was. After two hours of driving, starting super early in the morning, she was glad to be inside, safe. Hiding her growing fear from her children had been difficult as she drove, her only reprieve when they had eventually fallen asleep, tired from being awoken so early.
Checking her surroundings, she was sort of surprised that it looked like a normal house. Almost lived in, except there weren't any photos of people. All the frames and artwork in the house were of scenery–an ocean, a lake, a mountain, a forest. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, her imagination pulling from what she knew of television shows or movies. But this looked like just an ordinary house–comfortable furniture that coordinated, accent pieces and potted plants, tasteful rugs and fixtures.The bedrooms were down a hallway, and she could hear Pierre and Cozette talking and comparing the sizes of their bedrooms, choosing which one was which.
She walked into the kitchen, opening the cabinets next to the sink, surprised that everything was so well stocked. She checked the refrigerator and noted the same. Jumping, she felt the phone, a burner phone, Cole had called it, vibrating in her pocket. Pulling it out, she looked at the screen. Stay in the house. Be there within the hour.
She knew the story, well rehearsed in her head, to explain who he was to her children. He was the regional director for her company, the one who had requested her to travel to this location to head the project she was working on. It all seemed so real, so normal, sometimes she would almost have to pinch herself to snap out of that haze, reminding herself that he was a spy, and she was here because both she and her children were in mortal danger, and he was trying to help her.
As always, the hardest part was waiting.
September 29, 2021
Carmichael Industries, Los Angeles, California
Sarah watched Chuck, the excess nervous energy from his caffeine overdose this morning before they'd left the house making him fidget, drumming his fingers and clicking his pen. He hadn't slept, she knew, mostly because she hadn't either. His twisting back and forth all night, pulling at the covers and turning his pillow had been only an observation, as she lay awake staring at the ceiling, contemplating how their peaceful and comfortable lives were about to change. Caffeine, he obviously thought, was the best option without sleep. But he was already anxious, and saying goodbye to the children this morning had been extremely stressful, not wanting to frighten them, but somehow hugging them longer and tighter, holding them closer than necessary, only to watch as they left, oblivious to the potential danger, with Gertrude's agents tailing them.
Another cup of coffee later, and Chuck was a basket case, barely able to sit still in the jam-packed briefing room. Sarah sat next to him, letting her eyes roam around to take in the full scope of the participants. Generals Casey and Beckman were at the head of the table. Beside Sarah Vivian sat, her own tribulations from the past night just barely noticeable beneath her regular makeup, a telltale puffiness about her eyes. Ellie was there seated beside Morgan, who had been informed at the last minute, a gushing apology from Chuck ensuing, which Morgan understood, once he knew everything they had learned last evening. On Morgan's other side was his former employer and John Casey's significant other, Gertrude Verbanski. Lastly, completing the circle, were Mary Bartowski and Corrine Winterbottom, his and Vivian's mother respectively, also still semi-retired spies.
Casey stood, preparing to start the discussion. Sarah reached across the table, grabbing Chuck's twitching hand in hers, holding it tightly. She felt his hand steady, though the tension in his arm was still taut. The briefest of glances from the corner of his eye soothed her, his silent thanks, for being there to calm him, even when she was just as worried.
"You're all here because you have the proper clearance for this current situation. The NSA as we speak is upgrading the security measures already in place, as General Beckman and I will be using this office as a temporary base of operations for the time being. None of your other employees, even the ones with the highest clearance, are being read in. Safety precaution," Casey added, although the disdain in his voice was unmistakable, considering he had worked with many of them years ago in the Buy More.
"Ellie still has high-level clearance?" Chuck asked, glancing sideways at his sister. At Casey's barely contained stare, Chuck started rambling, "Of course, of course she does. She does, why else would…would she be here? Right? Shutting up now," he mumbled in conclusion, shaking his head in self reproach.
"The NCS never revoked it, even though I quit, Chuck," Ellie said quietly. It made sense, but it still surprised him.
"And before I start, Chuck," Casey said, speaking only to him, "the CIA director has been read in as well."
Sarah could hear his intake of breath, amazed that it seemed to have no terminus, wondering how he wasn't out of breath. He kept his face averted, and Sarah heard his teeth crash together as he clamped his jaw together. "This situation. Nothing more. There is no one but the people in this room who know about your son. The trace Skip ran was clean. And now that data is secure. For good," he said, tapping his finger hard on the table.
Finally Sarah heard his breath flow back out. "Thank you, Casey," Chuck said sotto voce.
"We don't have the resources to deal with this situation without working with the CIA. But we are all still the point people. We run the op," Beckman explained, glancing at Casey as she interjected.
"Forgive the redundancy for the parts that you already know, as well," he instructed Chuck, just as he clicked on the screen for them.
Beckman took over. "Everyone in this room knows what happened in July of 2012, after the mission to Romania to extra Corrine MacArthur." Beckman glanced around the table, noting the nods she got from everyone, and the warm smile on Vivian's mother's face. "The confidential report filed after the congressional hearing was at some time unbeknownst to us, hacked by the group calling themselves the Sentries. They never functioned like Fulcrum or the Ring, rogue agents with a separate agenda contrary to the official goals of the United States government. More like a loosely organized criminal organization, arms dealers, weapons brokers, various other nefarious factions. Many of them had previous contacts with Leonid Poshenko," Beckman said with a sigh, glancing sideways at Corrine, who flinched at the sound of the man she had spent 20 years with, trying to prevent him from obtaining a functioning Intersect. The man Sarah had killed only moments before he had almost fatally shot Chuck inside his sister's house in Chicago. "Agent Winterbottom has corroborated the identities of more than fifty individuals she had a part in dealing with in the past."
Beckman gestured towards Corrine, inviting her to speak. She unfolded her hands, leaving her elbows perched on her armrests, leaning forward as she spoke in her crisp British accent. "Poshenko spoke about the Intersect, rarely, to a handful of people. I think because he thought he could use them to get what he wanted. I think some of them thought he was crazy, until he actually created it and downloaded it, right before we reached him in Romania. Word spread very quickly in those circles, once they knew it was real and they saw what it could do. Poshenko died, so they were starting from scratch again. That mutual cooperation is what eventually grew into the Sentries. Or the Santinelele, as they were known by MI6, the FSB, DGSE, the BND, etcetera. By the Romanian word. There is significant evidence that they are the ones who hacked, or paid someone else to hack, the government report."
Beckman took up the conversation again. "Arthur Meriwether died in U.S. custody in late 2013. The Sentries knew of his involvement, his manipulation of information, and his handiwork in the lore of the Intersect. But they knew about Daniel Shaw as well," she said with foreboding.
Just the mention of his name made Chuck's face flush red, and Sarah could see it. She watched Ellie's eyes narrow, brother and sister in silent commiseration concerning the man who had killed their father. She felt a wet sensation on the hand that held Chuck's, looking down to see a pool of black ink under her fingers and his hand, as he'd completely snapped the pen in his hand in half. He was lost in thought, and she reached into her bag beside the chair for a tissue to mop it up before everything was smeared with inky liquid.
Ignoring Sarah's ministrations, Chuck nearly growled, "What about Shaw?"
"A conduit for information. He was the only former Ring member who would talk. Mostly because that virus Chuck passed him drove him insane, and he wasn't always coherent," Casey told them. "From what we know now, they spent a lot of time chasing ghosts, or shadows, or figments of his imagination. Every once in a while they would find out something that moved them closer. But the overall forward progression was very slow."
"He's in an underground bunker in the middle of nowhere," Sarah interjected. "How was anyone getting close enough to even find ghosts to chase?"
"Think, Walker," Casey said pointedly, still wont to use her old last name, his favorite way to address her. "Outside of torture jurisdiction has pros and cons."
She looked deep in thought. "Outside the U.S. means easier interrogations, but also easier access for undesirables."
"They covered their tracks very well," Beckman explained. "Almost never the same guard more than once, and all of them are no longer alive. I don't believe that's coincidental."
Casey took it up again. "Right after Meriwether died, our old friend Dr. Kowambe was moved from a CIA detention facility in Norway to an alternate facility in Morocco. The transfer orders were suspect, but not enough to warrant any follow up, apparently."
Beckman's face set like stone, as she spoke sternly and quietly. "He was moved about two weeks after the theft of Sarah's medical records and samples at Westside in March." It was only one sentence, but the air in the room was suddenly different. Not everyone had heard the graphic details Chuck had heard yesterday, but everyone in the room knew what she was referring to. Chuck's knuckles were white as he clutched at her hand. Sarah looked at him, with his head bowed forward, but she felt every eye in the room on her. Far from intrusive, she knew instinctively that everyone in this room cared about her, was offering support and understanding, holding back the horror of what she knew had to be racing through their minds.
"Kowambe died under very mysterious circumstances in early 2017. The NSA had proof that he had been secretly consulting with the group trying to build the implantable Intersect. It is very likely his death was related to those experiments, although if he was an actual subject, we have no proof of that," Casey said.
"Kowambe's death was a blow to their cause," Beckman added dryly. "They were back almost at square one again. There was evidence of more human experimentation going on, mass casualties of test subjects, disfigurement and brain damage."
"That was still four years ago," Sarah stressed, watching Chuck out of the corner of her eye as she spoke, comforted that he had regained his composure. "What's been going on all this time?"
"The Ultima Intersectio, that was the codename for the project originally started by the Ring in 2010. After the Ring was dissolved, the DNI, under Meriwether's direction," Beckman's eyes flashed with rage, the word direction dripping with acidic hatred, her green eyes like ice on fire, before she evened out, "compiled all of the evidence, both hard and digital in one location, in a CIA substation in Halifax, Virginia. Roan Montgomery helped me obtain most of that intel on him in 2012, but he hid that from everyone. We couldn't secure what we were unaware of."
"And it was stolen," Casey proclaimed. "In 2019. The Sentries didn't have a very good record keeping system, considering they are made up of loosely associated sleeper cells across Europe. But there was information in that compilation that wasn't disseminated among them before. It was also never cataloged, so we don't even know exactly what it was that they learned from that. But it was most certainly the catalyst."
"That was still two years ago," Chuck said, seeing most of the people around the table were glazed over with confusion. It was a lot of background information, for what they needed to know now. "Why now?"
Beckman and Casey exchanged knowing glances, which increased Chuck's heightened anxiety. There was definitely something else, something they were parsing, perhaps because of the mixed group in the room. "Most of their activities were concentrated in the EU. Armed with the new information, they were utilizing what remained of Poshenko's network. All of the various intelligence agencies in Europe were coordinating and running missions covertly. By chance, Interpol intercepted the courier, and alerted MI6. The information that the courier was transporting was staggering. They are closer than anyone knew, to being able to achieve the cybernetic Intersect. They know all they need is a human brain that has the Intersect characteristic mutations. And they know the Bartowskis and their children are it."
"We stayed a step ahead," Casey told them. "We have protection in place, for everyone involved. Including this building and your employees, as well as your extended families. We aren't sitting around waiting either. The NSA and the CIA have teams working field missions, Verbanski Corps one of them," he said, nodding toward Gertrude who nodded once in return. "We are taking down the Sentries. That is the end goal," Casey affirmed.
"What we need of you, Chuck, is your computer skills. Like you've been doing all along. Although unlike everything else the NSA has ever sent your way, this op is dangerous. We are coming to you because the danger you made a conscious decision to walk away from is back, clawing at your door. And if I know one thing, Chuck, it's nothing means more to you than your family. Your friends and your family. This is not ideal, but the more help we have, the faster we can take them down," Beckman concluded. Her pedantic monotone had shifted, as she had spoken directly to Chuck. The fire from last night, standing in the girls' doorway, was back, Sarah saw, as she saw him lift his head and nod once to Beckman, then looked up at Casey and did the same.
"It sounds like you might need my help, too, General," Ellie offered.
"Your knowledge of the Intersect is unparalleled in the intelligence community, and the world in general," Beckman told her, sighing like she was tired. "But I hesitated, for the same reason I hesitated with the Bartowskis. This is a very dangerous situation, Dr. Woodcomb."
"It's like you said. It's dangerous anyway. If I can help you stop them sooner, the better for everyone. You can count on me," Ellie said, smiling nervously at her brother.
The silence stretched, everyone seeming to come to terms with the new situation. "One more recommendation we have," Beckman said, breaking the silence. "Some measure of round the clock protective detail inside your homes, that won't alarm your children or other relations."
"No," Chuck said immediately. "The kids–"
"In the form of Mary Bartowski, living with you, Ellie," Casey said. "And Corrine, with you and Sarah," he said again, nodding towards Chuck.
The two older women nodded along with Casey. "Ok, Grandma Mary is explainable. Mrs. Winterbottom living with us isn't," Chuck insisted.
"I pack lightly, Charles," Corrine teased, a twitching smile on her face.
"Ooh, I know," Vivian said, sitting forward with animation on her face. "My grandmother is coming into town in a few days. She normally stays with my parents when she does, but my…uh…condo…is being painted and I need to stay with them. So my Mum asked if she could stay with you? Right?"
Mary and Corrine almost laughed. "You're getting good at this, Darling," Corrine said to her daughter. "Perfect."
"I'd better line up the painter," Vivian muttered almost to herself.
"And you have a downstairs house guest. Congratulations, Bartowski," Casey snickered.
"Welcome to Casa Bartowski," Chuck sighed. "It's a crazy place to stay, but the dog loves you, so you're in." Corrine smiled, tucking a stray lock of deep auburn hair behind her ear.
"That's all for now," Beckman said, the starting bell for everyone present to rise and make their way out. "Chuck, stay behind for a moment, please," she added flatly.
The others brushed past, but Chuck exchanged a befuddled look with Sarah, knowing the "stay after class" beckoning was almost never good. He stood, crossed his arms in front of him, and watched the room empty. "What else?" Chuck began. "I knew there was something else, something you were holding back."
"Two things, Chuck," Casey explained. "First, I need to explain about Liam. I thought it best to do that with just you here. Because some of that information didn't come from me. It came from MI6."
Chuck narrowed his eyes, lifting one hand in a so what gesture. His answer to that gesture was a voice coming from behind him, familiar though it had been 12 years since he'd heard it last. A deep voice with a clipped British tint, "Well, well, well. We meet again, Mr. Bartowski. Long time no see."
Chuck spun, his mouth hanging open as he regarded the new addition to the room. "Cole Barker," he said in amazement.
"In the flesh," he quipped.