Though I saw it all around

Never thought I could be affected

Thought that we'd be the last to go

It is so strange the way things turn

"Don't Give Up"

Peter Gabriel

October 2, 2021

Walt Disney Elementary School, Burbank, California

Chuck had hoped the monotony of his son's archery meet would have helped to calm him. However, the swirling sensation of anxiety in his stomach had done nothing but intensify as he'd stood alone, trying to keep his mind from wandering. Usually, the meets were hours long, only two archers allowed to shoot at a time, gradually narrowing the competition until the best archers faced each other. His son had been competing with the team since he had turned seven, and Chuck had never been present when Stephen hadn't made it to the final four. Only one time Stephen had finished relatively early, on a day when it had started raining and he had been coming down with a cold. Sarah had been there by herself for that instance.

Sarah.

Getting his mind off of their current predicament, distracting himself from spiraling thoughts of her, just wasn't possible. He knew that, even as just the thought of her name brought the full storm forward, to rage inside his head. She had landed in London, he knew–he had received the encrypted text from her burner phone.

Computer work had always been an engrossing activity in which he could lose himself, what he knew he needed now. But Casey had nearly threatened to shoot him to keep him at home with his kids rather than stay at work on the weekend. Casey had promised to keep Chuck up to date with any developments in the situation.

Granted, this was after more than one very heated discussion. Why couldn't Cole go back to England to assist? Because he was here, with Hannah, running the op. He'd also had to admit he was generally too old for field ops, the same age as Casey, despite his youthful and fit appearance. Cole had been both crass and sympathetic at the same time, trying to rationalize with Chuck. He had promised the extra agents to meet up with Carina and Sarah, and that had to be good enough. Chuck knew what Cole left out. Field agents the same age as Carina and Sarah were few and far between–mostly due to the dangerous nature of the work, the physicality required to do said work. Carina and Sarah were in excellent physical condition for their ages. But still, Sarah was out of practice. Kickboxing class at the Y with Andrea and trips to the shooting range with Casey were not up to par with the training regimen she would have maintained had she stayed an agent.

"Hi, Mr. Bartowski," Chuck heard at his side, looking down quickly as he saw Stephen's friend, Griffin, suddenly appear.

Disturbed by how hard his heart was hammering, after being startled by a nine year old, Chuck still managed to smile. "Hey, Griff," Chuck said, despite everything, warmed by the fact that he knew Griffin was here merely to cheer on his friend. He looked up, knowing Jim, Griffin's father, would be right behind. He smiled in greeting, pinching his lips together and raising his eyebrows in a friendly greeting. "Hi, Jim," he added once the older man approached.

Jim Tisdale, always casual, an electrician by trade, on Saturdays was always extra casual, and today was no different. Chuck wore a plain t-shirt and jeans, with his well-worn Chucks. Jim wore a ragged looking sweat suit and sneakers. Jim shook Chuck's hand, squeezing Chuck's long fingers with a meaty, well-callused hand. Jim's longer brown hair was combed back off his forehead, his receding hairline blatant, though he had far less gray hair than Chuck did, despite their similar ages. "Where's Sarah, Chuck?" he asked casually. "I can't remember a meet that she hasn't been at."

The amount of effort required to just appear neutral and at equilibrium was enormous, Chuck thought. And he had been saving such a herculean effort for his children. Jim had to have noticed how awful Chuck looked–dark circles under his eyes, his usually tan complexion sickly pale. "She's…uh…traveling…for work. Last minute," Chuck muttered quietly, looking away to maintain the casual tone that he knew didn't match his expression.

"Don't you two own the company?" Jim asked innocently.

"Uh, yeah, it's just, you know…she has to stay up to date with her language certifications, for the…uh…you know," Chuck stuttered, wondering if he sounded as unsure as he felt. He was already exhausted, each word taking more of his strength away as he struggled to speak.

"Andy told me she speaks twelve. Holy crap, Chuck, that's amazing. That's quite a gift," Jim continued to ramble.

He's not rambling, Chuck admonished himself. He's just making conversation. He has no idea what's wrong, how close to losing it you are right now.

How many useless conversations had he partaken in when he worked at the Buy More? Fretting away about Jeffster gigs, camera returns, sandwich orders, movie synopses, action sequence believability…so many more he couldn't recall them all. All of that while some life or death spy problem had been festering in the background. But that was just it, wasn't it? His foreground had been masqued as everyone else's background, and dealing with all of that had been their covers–his, Casey and Morgan. Sarah had had to learn to use a deep fryer and swirl frozen yogurt.

It always somehow came back to Sarah, no matter what he did.

"Chuck?" he heard Jim, realizing he must have asked a question that Chuck had missed while in deep thought.

"I'm…I'm…I'm sorry, Jim. I didn't sleep well last night. I'm kind of a zombie this morning. What did you ask?" Chuck said gently.

"I asked if you were ok. You look beat. Busy at work?" Jim offered amicably.

"You could say that," Chuck said cryptically. He realized how unappreciative he had sounded, opening his mouth to say something nicer, when he was interrupted.

"Stephen's next!" Griffin piped up, pulling on his father's arm and pointing. Chuck's eyes followed the younger boy's finger, seeing his son step into position in front of the target.

Chuck breathed a sigh of relief, both for the respite from conversation, and the distracting and calming effect watching his son now seemed to have.

Stephen had already eliminated four other students. He had four more turns at the stationary target until he was in the finals. Today was windy, not ridiculously, but enough that the team was aware no personal bests would be achieved here today. Chuck knew the Intersect could compensate for the wind better than the normal human eye, but it wasn't perfect. He watched–all five of his son's arrows, shot while alternating with his opponent, with the exception of one, hit inside the 10 circle. Chuck clapped, whooping, calling out his son's name. Griffin and Jim were louder, but Chuck didn't mind in this situation.

It was when Stephen went to the target to retrieve his arrows that Chuck saw his face, drawn and sad, as he had been this morning, missing Sarah. His Intersect had nothing to do with his emotions, Chuck thought. The girls missed her too, Ally more emotional than her tougher sister, but not the way Stephen did. They had no concept of danger or worry. Only the simple longing for their mother, who they had been assured would return very soon. All of them had never really been without Sarah, ever, but still were dealing with it very well.

Stephen, Intersect or no, was very sensitive and always had been. He knew last night how upset Sarah had been telling him she had to leave, how upset Chuck had been when he'd done the same. And because of the Intersect, Stephen knew more than he should have at nine years old about what the real reason behind her departure had been. He seemed acutely aware of when Chuck parsed information, harping on what Chuck didn't say rather than what he did. Was that the Intersect? His above average intelligence? Or just who he was?

Chuck saw the toothy smile directed their way, watched Griffin pump a ridiculously vigorous wave his way. They were still here, and they would stay. This was the first time today Stephen had seen all three of them together. At least that seemed to make him feel a little better.

"He gets that from your wife, doesn't he?" Jim interjected again. Chuck had to swallow down his irritation, reminding himself consciously. "She freaked me out the last time I saw her practicing with those knives."

"He's got a good mix of the both of us, but, yeah. He gets that from her," Chuck said, forcing the lightness into his tone.

The best of you, the best of her. Never forget that, Son.

He heard his father's voice as if he had been standing at Chuck's shoulder. Normally, little blips of the Intersect overlay were a comfort. But in his heightened state of anxiety, it almost brought tears to his eyes, exactly what he was trying to avoid around all these people, and especially in front of his son. He tried to focus on what helped–Sarah could take care of herself, no matter how long she had been away from the spy life. She had learned all of that when she had been younger than Stephen was now, and had only gotten better as she'd grown. It was an ingrained skill, never lost even after nine years of changing diapers, breast feeding, homework, carpooling and extra curricular activities. He now clung to that fact, dizzy with fear as he thought that perhaps was the only hope he really had of ever seeing her again.

Jim and Griffin stayed relatively quiet as the meet progressed. Stephen won the stationary target competition, and put his team in the lead. Chuck heard the coach on the microphone announcing they needed to move to the open soccer field for the aerial target portion of the competition. They walked silently across the field.

Chuck saw the launchers positioned at the white line. Inside each contraption were coated styrofoam aerial targets. At the intermediate level, which team Stephen was on due to his age, this was limited. Coach Benson only had three team members who competed with aerial targets. Sarah had explained it to him before about the methods used. The other two competent students on Stephen's team were both 13, and both used a method called point shooting, which involved a lot of guesswork, but was an introductory way to learn. Stephen had taught himself, probably using the Intersect, Chuck now realized, how to use a method called sustained lead, much more difficult to master but more successful when it was perfected.

Had it really only been one week since they had figured out Stephen had an Intersect? The thought boggled his mind.

Chuck listened to Griffin talk about his best friend with so much admiration it made Chuck warm inside. He was telling his father about how amazing Stephen was with aerial targets. Compared to the other kids on the intermediate team, he seemed almost supernatural in his abilities. Chuck knew though Stephen was high school or college level at age nine. It was his age, not his ability, that was phenomenal. Because there were so few competitors, they all went at once, though Stephen did not ever compete against a member of his own team.

When it was Stephen's turn, Chuck heard the crowd hush. His son had a reputation, he thought with pride. Stephen may have been a little self-conscious of the attention, but he was confident in his skills. Chuck heard the plunk of the launcher, watched the blue disk fly up into the air. Before he had shifted his eyes to Stephen launching his arrow, he could see it, its red tip just barely discernible as it sailed over the disk, meeting it in midair and sending it crashing to the ground, pierced through in the perfect center. Five times in a row, perfect every time. The applause was loud, full with whooping and fist pumping from the other kids.

Chuck knew for this meet that was enough to awe everyone. But his son was capable of more. He knew the launcher could be pulled to the farthest line on the other side of the field, doubling the distance the disk would be when he aimed, and he would still have hit all five. What Coach Benson had tried to explain to Sarah at practice this week. An aerial target at 70 yards was world champion material. And technically only that because there was no aerial target shooting in the summer Olympics.

The crowd dispersed as the teams intermingled, congratulating each other and Stephen's team for the win. Parents milled about on the field, as Chuck made his way towards his son, Jim and Griffin trailing. "That was awesome, kiddo!" Chuck said, making sure he forced a huge smile and the brightest tone of voice he knew how to make. He raised his hand for a high five, then crushed his son in a hug.

Griffin took his attention, which was a godsend in the moment, as Chuck knew he saw the slight narrowing of his son's eyes that indicated he had been studying Chuck's face too closely, looking for evidence of distress. They took off running, oblivious to the adults.

"That's the most amazing thing I've ever seen," Jim sputtered out, his eyes wide. He had been at Stephen's meets before, but rarely stayed to the end to watch the aerial portion. Sometimes there would be no aerial, if there were no qualified team members at certain meets.

"He is amazing," Chuck gushed. "But I'm his Dad. I get to think that no matter what, right? I thought he was amazing when he tied his shoe for the first time," Chuck laughed, Jim laughing with him.

Or when, it turns out, he saved his mother's life, before he knew how to talk.

Again, his father's disembodied voice in his head. Chuck wasn't sure if it was just imagined, or actually part of his Intersect. Either way, he gulped as he turned away, hoping his despair was masquable.

October 2, 2021

Carmichael Industries, Los Angeles, California

"I thought you might like some company," Vivian said, leaning in the door of Carter's office, a wide smile on her face. He had stayed all night, working on the same problems he had been before the forced shut down early the day before. It was Saturday, and the office was quiet otherwise. She sidestepped, gesturing with her hand to the shorter, older woman who was at her side. "Carter, this is my grandmother, Mildred Winterbottom."

The plump little woman who made her way into the office appeared to be in her 80s, her stark white hair pulled into a neat chignon on top of her head. She wore tasteful and understated jewelry, a very traditional, almost school marm-ish dress, with a tiny pillbox hat and veil pinned to her hair. A very light floral scent of perfume followed her in a delightful cloud as she walked. Her face was made up, bright red 1950s lipstick and muted neutrals on the rest of her cheeks and eyelids. Her smile was beautifully white, a joke Vivian had made many times about the above average state of her family's "limey" teeth as her father would say.

"Gran, this is Carter," she added with a sly smile.

"Oh, this is your young man then? Quite handsome, Deary," Mildred said in her flowery English accent. Carter blushed scarlet red, keeping his eyes on the desktop as being referred to in the third person like that embarrassed him.

Her young man? Two days ago she was dating Liam. He looked up in confusion at Vivian, but was interrupted by the older woman before he said a word.

"I know you're not that two-timing snake in the grass. You're the one my son always talked about, you know. The one he knew really loved our Viv, here. Lucky girl," she added, winking at him.

"It's…uh…nice to meet you, Mrs. Winterbottom–"

"Oh, please, just call me Gran," she said, folding her outstretched hand at the wrist as she explained.

"Gran," he said slowly, listening to it roll off his tongue. "Gran? Really? Is that…you know…" he stammered, still beetroot red.

"Of course it is," she insisted, clipping the ends of her words. "I won't hear of you calling me anything else."

He smiled nervously, but felt the warmth inside him at the older woman's jovial nature and accepting aura. For someone who had nothing of the sort in his own life, it was very sweet.

"Why are you working on the weekend?" Mildred asked, pronouncing the last word with the stress on the second syllable. "That dreadful business that has my daughter-in-law staying with the Bartowskis?"

Carter still looked confused, wondering what Vivian's grandmother actually knew of the current situation. Vivian had left him here to work last night, telling him she had to pick her grandmother up at the airport in the morning. Her flight had been delayed while the airport in London had been temporarily closed–the same reason Sarah had needed to wait until early this morning to fly out.

"Ye…yeah," he said cautiously. "Something like that."

"I don't ask questions, Deary. But I did talk to my son late last night and he was worried about Charles and Sarah, that I know," she said, her smile fading.

"We all are," Vivian said softly.

October 2, 2021

London, England, United Kingdom

Carina and Zondra had been utilizing an MI6 spy base on the outskirts of London. When Cole Barker had initially contacted Carina after his cease and desist order, she had been in the spy base, having made her way back there after she was released from the hospital. The doctor had advised rest, just like Cole had, but she had no intention of resting. The dizzying headache had been a sore reminder that she wasn't in her 20s anymore, and perhaps a brief rest might have actually been beneficial. Closing her eyes, however, now only left after images of Zondra and her bleeding gunshot wound, caused by Zondra's split second decision to jump as the gun was fired.

Her headache positively screamed after the argument she'd had with Cole once he had contacted her again and told her to wait for Sarah Bartowski. No longer an agent, Sarah's special agent status had been temporarily reinstated at the request of the head of the NSA, General John Casey. Carina still couldn't wrap her head around it now, her reasoning process slowed down as her concussion slowly healed. She still saw halos around lights, was extra sensitive to sound, and couldn't taste certain foods–all things the doctor had told her were consistent with serious head trauma. The extent of her impairment could have sidelined her for the rest of this mission, but she downplayed it on purpose, especially once she heard Sarah was on her way. She may be impaired, but she was all Sarah had. And though in her heyday Sarah had been the ultimate spy, she had been away from that life for so long Carina couldn't picture her doing the job anymore.

When Carina thought of Sarah, she saw the domesticated mother. She talked to both her and Zondra, always providing tales of her mundane life in the house with the white picket fence, such a contrast to the tales the spies told her and each other. Mundane was not a good word, Carina acknowledged, something Sarah would have taken offense to, because though it may have been snoresville, it made Sarah deliriously happy. And having known Sarah as long as she had, she knew Chuck had been the first ray of happiness that had ever shined in her life. Best of the best, but somehow never of that world, Sarah had only been looking for a reason to leave, and a way to leave it behind. Chuck had been that reason and that way, and she had never looked back.

Until apparently now, when every part of that mundane existence was in danger. Carina could maybe understand why Sarah had wanted to go, now that she knew Zondra was out of commission. But why Cole and Casey had been so willing to just let her, that Carina didn't understand. And she was going to absolutely grill Sarah when she saw her again. What she most wanted an answer to–why had Chuck let her go? Carina teased them mercilessly, but deep down, she knew how much Chuck genuinely loved her, why she had wanted a real life with him. In the deepest, unexplored part of her heart, Carina was almost envious of that.

Carina had just gotten word that Sarah was en route, with an escort that was associated with the MI6 agents Cole had sent in to help now that their team was short and the situation had worsened. Under the normal looking office building, Carina had been sifting surveillance camera footage all over London looking for the two men she had been tasked with locating. Hearing Carmichael Industries had been down for almost nine hours had been troubling, with now a real possibility that either of the men she was searching for were already in the United States. Cole believed Kovacs would have gone after the mystery agent who had saved both her and Zondra. Or that perhaps, the mystery man would have gone after Kovacs. Either way, they were connected. After the scene in the flat where Carina had found the data drive, there was no way that wasn't possible.

She didn't want to think about what could happen to her friend. The bullet she had taken had lodged in her liver, precipitating part of that organ's removal. Zondra's tremendous blood loss, danger of infection as well as liver failure all loomed over Carina's head. The only consolation she had was if she had waited like she had been ordered, Kovacs would have gotten away with the data she had found instead.

Carina looked up, hearing the sound of the metal door clunking shut, seeing commotion at the entryway at the top of the stairs. Two men in dark suits came in first, began descending the stairs. Sarah was obviously behind them, though the way Sarah was dressed somehow made Carina feel uneasy. She still looked less spy-like and more domestic–casual jeans and blouse, in boat shoes, while her hair was pulled back into a ponytail fastened low, against her neck. Carina was on her feet as the men approached her, gripping the table's edge fiercely to keep from wobbling in front of anyone.

"Agent Miller?" the taller of the men asked her, extending his hand towards her. "Special Agent Barker sent us. I'm Colin Brand and this is Nigel Peterson," he said, shaking Carina's hand and pointing over his shoulder at his companion. Colin was tall, Carina noted. Not as tall as Chuck, but close. He had very short sandy blond hair and steely gray eyes, speaking in a very proper British accent. Nigel, on the other hand, was shorter than Sarah, with raven black hair, a dark complexion and eyes so deep brown they appeared black, no demarcation between the pupils and irises. He nodded silently towards her as the same greeting.

Sarah rushed past both men and grabbed her friend in a clumsy hug. Carina couldn't remember the last time Sarah had hugged her so earnestly or fiercely. At her wedding, perhaps? That had been quite some time ago. Carina patted Sarah's back awkwardly, before pulling away and gripping her friend's shoulders hard. "Sarah, what were you thinking?" she chastised.

"That you needed help," Sarah growled, her blue eyes flashing. Both MI6 agents stood there quietly, watching the exchange.

"From Carol Brady?" Carina hissed.

"Who?" Sarah snapped back.

"Never mind," Carina grumbled, wondering how she had absorbed so much cultural flotsam hanging around Sarah and her family, and that in some instances, like that, Sarah had come away unscathed. "This is too dangerous for you."

Sarah's face grew red with anger. "I can handle myself," she snapped. "I may not be the field agent you are, but I'm not a liability to you. You need help. These people are after my family, Carina! There's no time to argue about this."

"How could Chuck just let you leave him alone with your kids?" Carina admonished, shaking her head in horrified amazement.

Hearing Chuck's name out loud changed the look on her face from anger to sadness, a veil that passed over her face before she forced her countenance back to neutral. The face she showed Carina was recognizable–the spy who had been her friend for seven years before she had met her current husband. "There's a lot you don't know," she told her blankly.

"Look, ladies, I don't mean to be harsh, but Agent Bartowski is correct. We don't have time for this," Colin interjected. His tone was mild, soft, despite his obvious impatience.

Agent Bartowski. It made Sarah come up short. That had been her husband. Hours before she would have been able to call herself that, she had been ousted from the CIA. Never had she imagined in her wildest dreams that she would be back here–not after the lengths they had gone through to extricate themselves from this life. A life it seemed would never truly let them be free.

"Agent Barker briefed us," Nigel said, speaking for the first time, in an identical accent to his partner. "But you still are the lead agent on this op, Agent Miller."

"Carina," Carina stressed, pointing her index finger into her chest. "Sarah," she added, turning the finger outward to point to her friend. "Colin and Nigel. Now let's figure this out."

"Before we do this," Sarah said urgently, "There are some things I need to tell you. In private."

Carina just looked at her, questions on her face.

"It answers your questions. About Chuck," Sarah added, her voice wavering on her husband's name. The pain at being away from him was excruciating. And worse, from past experience, the only way she could continue like this was to allow the distance between them to act as a buffer, a way to insulate herself. Failure here was no option, and the only way she could succeed was to search inside for her old self, the person she had been the day before Graham had sent her to Burbank. To do that, she needed to extinguish the light that filled her now, to let the darkness bloom again.

Long ago, Chuck had saved her from that darkness. Without him here, she needed to invite it back–and somehow at the same time keep it from devouring her soul.

All that internal struggle, Carina saw cross her visage as she stood. She felt goosebumps raise on her arms despite the warmth of the room and the close proximity to both handsome British agents. Chilling her to the bone was the change in Sarah–like flipping a switch.

Is that what I look like? Carina thought crazily. Blank, soulless, numb? This life is starting to wear on me, isn't it? She admitted to herself. Recruited in her early 20s, Carina had loved the exciting nature of her job, living for only the moment, and only for herself. But 20 years later, did she still feel the same? Perhaps, she thought, she had just never thought she would survive this long. Not many agents did. Live fast and hard, and usually die young. Or end up a lush, like Roan Montgomery. What other option did she have?

Sarah distracted her from her self-reflection, pulling her out of the earshot of the other two agents. And when Sarah was finished explaining, Carina no longer questioned her presence here. Tragically saddened, and at last understanding what had been actually going on all those years ago, she had vowed to see this mission through to the end, so that Sarah could go home to the family she loved.

XXX

"Our contact at the DGSE finally responded," Colin told Carina. "Once Barker said the trail went cold, we started digging. Nigel and I have had some past dealings with the DGSE and we were hoping to get a little assistance. She set up a meeting in a little over an hour." Colin turned to Sarah, adding, "Sarah, you and I can make contact while Nigel and Carina scour the rest of this intel, see if there's something we missed."

Sarah nodded to her friend, following the taller man up the stairs. Once they were through the exit door, and alone, he turned to her. "Look, Sarah, I'll be frank. Cole spoke more highly of you than I've ever heard him talk about anyone other than himself…like, ever. But I gave him some serious clap for sending you here."

Irritated, Sarah crossed her arms, tilting her chin up and looking at him defiantly with ice in her eyes. "And why is that?" she challenged.

"You've been out of the field for ten years. And by out, I mean out. Like changing nappies out. He explained that you have background information that none of us has. But we've lost almost 30 agents to the Sentries since 2012. You have to be self sufficient out there–"

His condescending diatribe ended as, before he even realized what was happening, Sarah had pulled his gun from his waistband, knocking him to the ground with a kick behind his knee. He found himself on his stomach, her foot on his back and his own gun pointed at the back of his head. "Is this good enough for you?"

The air knocked from his lungs, Colin wheezed, "Delightfully sufficient. Thank you."

XXX

The air between them in the car was tense, as they drove in complete silence. Sarah was disconcerted, not used to sitting on the right while he drove, unable to shake the sensation that they were driving into on-coming traffic. Her spontaneous attack on him had been coupled with a surge of adrenaline, precipitated by anger and impatience, and she was still trembling slightly in its wake. Truth be told, but never admitted to this man, she had surprised herself how quickly her instincts had kicked in, as if all those years of being a wife and mother had been a waking dream and now she was wide awake again. It was a dangerous way to feel, she conceded.

"How did you know Barker?" Colin asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

"While he was undercover, infiltrating Fulcrum, about 12 years ago. While they were trying to reconstruct the original Intersect computer," Sarah told him flatly. "He saved my life," she added very quietly. "Three times."

"Everyone thought it was just rumors about there being an actual human Intersect. That's what started all of this craziness," he added.

"Once the Ring was defeated, all of the intel, as well as the actual identity of the Intersect, was protected. Or so we thought," she grumbled at the end.

"Your husband," Colin said, saying it as a statement, though Sarah sensed the question underlying the words. "And your son."

She pushed her emotions deep inside her, leaving the icy exterior for him to see. "Only my husband is no longer the Intersect. My son has the mutation the Sentries are looking for."

"That's why this is so hard to swallow. Why not stay with your son, and protect him? Why are you here?" he asked, frustration evident.

"My husband is with him, and the full arsenal of the NSA as well. It isn't only my son in danger. That's all I'm at liberty to disclose. This is an as-needed situation. And as a special agent, I don't need to disclose anything further to you," she barked out.

"Sarah," he interjected, a soft passion in his voice. "Listen to me. I'm on your side. I didn't ask for details, but Barker cares quite a bit about what happens to you. I promised him I would have your back, and I will. I'm not being a condescending, pompous ass. Just his friend."

She looked at him, her eyes like lasers boring into him.

"And I have no qualms about you, believe me. Not after that ass whopping. Your children must be very well behaved," he teased.

"Can we please not talk about my children?" she asked tightly, no trace of a smile on her face.

"I'm sorry," he interjected quickly, shaking his head side to side in self-recrimination. "I know this must be hard."

"You don't know. But I appreciate your honesty with me," she said sincerely.

There was a long silence, while Sarah watched him biting on his lower lip, some thought spinning inside his head working its way out. Finally he spoke, his voice an octave deeper. "Barker gave up field work in 2012. He was on a mission to intercept the leader of a criminal spy organization. He was almost killed. Nicholas Quinn. I know you know that name, Sarah. Because he got away from Cole, he got into the U.S., and went after you and your husband. Cole found out what happened to you because of that and he…he wasn't used to failing. And when he felt like he'd failed his friends, well…"

Sarah clenched both hands into fists to keep them from trembling with the white hot rage the mention of that name still ignited inside her.

Colin sensed her reaction, quickly moving the topic along. "Anyway, he recovered. Took the office job, so to speak. But that's why, if you're wondering. It's not arrogance. It's atonement," he finished softly.

Sarah nodded silently, digesting his words. She was now in between, a foot in each world, looking for a balance and frightened she wouldn't be able to maintain this for any period of time.

Time had softened a lot of edges, it seemed. Sharpening hers again had to take priority.