If all were there when we first took the pill

Then maybe, then maybe, then maybe, then maybe

Miracles will happen as we speak

But we're never gonna survive unless

We get a little crazy

"Crazy"

Seal

October 3, 2021

Burbank, California

Just as Chuck moved to open the door, he felt it give, as it was pushed against his hand, and eventually against his chest, as Corrine forced her way into the office, reaching behind her to shut the door. Her face was severe, deadly serious. He was surprised she didn't have her gun drawn, but, he knew somehow, that was probably not far from this moment.

"They're–" she started.

"Dismantling the security net. We know," Chuck told her, sucking in a labored breath and pressing his lips together.

"We don't have a lot of time, Charles," she said urgently. All business, the sweet woman who had let his daughter braid her hair was gone. "Once the net is down, they're isolated. And sitting ducks, and they know it."

"And so are we," Chuck hissed at her.

"Look, Charles," she said, stepping closer to him, angling her chin up as she emphasized each word. "They are after your son. They won't risk calling attention to themselves until they've got the target in sight." She turned to Carter, who had paled a sickly shade of white. "Take my daughter, my mother-in-law, both of the girls, and the dog–and get out. Casually. Like you're taking them to get ice cream or whatever. Now," she finished sharply.

"The NSA can't follow them now," Chuck said nervously.

"No, they can't. Go to Eleanor's house, as if it's the most normal thing in the world," she instructed Carter.

"Wait!" Chuck shouted, his eyes wide and fixed on Corrine. "My sister?" He was panicked, worried for them all.

"I'm telling you, Charles, you have to trust me!" she shouted back, forcing her voice into his spiraling panic. "They won't be followed, not when they are still trying to acquire your son. The NSA is there protecting your sister, and your mother is with them. It's the best way to get out an SOS to your security detail," she insisted. "What you need to do, Charles, is shut whatever is left of their ability to communicate down. Right now." She was not without compassion, but the spy in her had taken control.

"Then the jamming is absolute," he told her, his voice cold.

"We can't talk to anyone, but neither can they." She sighed in defeat. "It's the only way we're going to be able to slow them down."

Carter, teetering on the edge of terror, slipped over the edge as he watched Chuck's face, as he came to understand what it was Corrine was saying, but also what she wasn't. Slowing them down meant protecting Stephen at all costs, until reinforcements arrived. Chuck and Corrine, against a potential army. He felt his legs begin shaking, threatening to completely give out on him. "Go, now, Carter," she urged him. He looked between Corrine and Chuck, steeling himself for the task. "You're not going to be able to tell Vivian in front of the children. Don't let on that anything is wrong."

"I think Viv has more of a clue than you think," Carter said, remembering the odd look she had given him as he'd made his way into the office with Chuck.

"That's actually a good thing," Corrine said, biting her lip. "She can keep a calm head, Carter, even when things get really crazy."

Chuck nodded silently in agreement. "What about Hartley?" Chuck asked, opening his eyes wider, concerned that her plan did not include evacuating him from the home as well. Vivian was much cooler under pressure than her father.

She impatiently gestured to Chuck, guiding him towards his computer, wanting him to start doing what she'd asked. "He hates guns, Charles, just like you do. But he can handle one, I made sure of that." Chuck felt a little sick at the way she had phrased that, stressing his dislike, as if it were a bad habit he needed to overcome. Firearms skills were very much a part of the Intersect, but skills he had almost never utilized. It filled him with dread, but when his son's safety was at risk, he knew he had no other choice.

Breaking into his spiraling thoughts, Corrine added, "And do you honestly think he would just leave me here like this, Charles? He's mild mannered, until someone he loves is in danger. Reminds me of someone else I know." She gave him the slightest of smiles, her mouth twisted up on one side, her confidence in him bolstering him in his fear.

"Go!" she shouted, gesturing to the both of them at the same time.

"Carter!" Chuck called as he moved to sit at his computer. His face was still, but his eyes were haunted as he regarded Carter. "If something–"

"You know I will, Chuck," Carter said, his stiffness and nerves pushed aside as he gave calm reassurance to his friend. "Don't worry. I won't let anyone hurt your kids. I promise."

Chuck nodded once, bowing his head over the computer as he swallowed hard over the lump in his throat. The urge to run out the room, scoop up both of his daughters and squeeze them painfully tight made his arms and hands twitch, but he knew doing so would alert them to something being wrong. He had to keep them oblivious to the imminent danger.

With shaking hands, and an anguish burning deep inside his chest, he forced himself to work. Usually coding absorbed him, pulling all of his attention away. He had always believed his ability to hyperfocus as intently as he could had been what had aided him as he'd progressed as a hacker, and also a computer programmer. Now, he was hopelessly distracted, all the while knowing he needed to do what Corrine had told him or his family was doomed.

He felt her reach down, grab both of his hands and hold them still for a moment. "You can do this, Charles. Listen to me. We will get out of this. Just do this. Now."

She was so sure, so confident, his trepidation seemed to slowly recede. He started typing again, letting his focus on his surroundings start to blur. There was only a minor blip in his concentration, as he heard Corrine mutter before she left, "I'm going to go see about your son."

A few moments later, his attention flickered again as he heard the muffled sound of voices on the other side of the door. Definitely the senior Mrs. Winterbottom. Several moments later, Corrine was back in the room with Chuck.

"There," he said with a grand finality. "It's jammed. Nothing in, nothing out."

"Can I just tell you my mother-in-law is insufferable? She refused to go, by the way," Corrine told him, crossing her arms in her frustration.

"The woman could handle an M60 better than Casey," Chuck said resignedly, a nervous, twitching smile on his face.

Corrine pursed her lips, shaking her head slightly back and forth. "That was ten years ago."

"She saved all of us. Just saying," Chuck admitted.

"She stayed to protect you, you know. She thought the absolute world of your father. After everything, you know," she offered. Chuck nodded.

He jumped up. "Where is Stephen?"

"In the living room on the floor playing video games. Away from the windows," she said cautiously. "He knows something is wrong." Chuck just gave her a knowing look.

"Carter got everyone else out. You cut communication. Fifteen minutes, Charles. That's all it should take. We just have to hold down the fort, so to speak," Corrine said.

Chuck thought she sounded insanely calm, considering that short window of time was so fraught with danger. "You need a firearm," she added, lifting up her pant leg and pulling a small gun out of a holster.

He gulped and took it, hoping he wouldn't have to use it. But knowing he could, if it meant protecting his son. There, he was absolutely certain. He tucked the gun in the back of his waistband, acutely aware of the bulge it made, the uncomfortably cold sensation he felt against his skin. "We have to talk to him, Corrine," he told her, his voice uneven as he internally mourned the innocence his son would be losing.

She nodded, opening the door. "Quickly, Charles."

Walking down the hallway, Chuck saw Hartley and his mother, trying to look casual, but blatantly barricading the front entryway. As he approached, he saw his son.

Of course Corrine thought he was playing video games, but anyone who played video games the way Chuck did knew he was letting it cycle, his characters bouncing aimlessly across the screen. He was anxious. Chuck could feel it radiating off him like a breeze. He kept shifting the controller back and forth in his hands.

"Stephen?" Chuck said as he approached him from behind, crouching down beside him.

Stephen dropped the controller, and it clattered, a jarring sound that made him jump. He turned to look at his father, huge, terror-filled blue eyes seeking out his father's soft hazel ones. "I know Aunt Vivian lied when she said goodbye, Dad," he said very slowly. "I should have told you before. But it was so much and I…"

"What are you talking about?" Chuck asked him, seeing Corrine's urgency as she stood there looking on.

"I think it must be the…you know." He pointed to his head. "I can tell when people are telling the truth. I don't know how I know. But I do. I always know."

Chuck forced his mouth closed, telling himself it was a topic for another time. What the hell? He thought instantly. "She didn't want your sisters to worry," he offered lamely, knowing it only scratched at the surface of the truth.

"They're safe, then?" Stephen asked.

"Stephen—" Chuck started.

"Dad, I know. Ok?" he said, licking his lips.

Had he flashed? It didn't matter, did it?

"They're safe. And we are going to do everything we can to keep you safe. Uncle John will help us," Chuck assured him.

"But he doesn't know anything is wrong, not right now, right?" Stephen explained. "And all our neighbors need help too. If something bad is about to happen."

"Yes," he told his son, the one word a gushed breath. "Things could get very scary. Very dangerous. I wish to God I didn't have to tell you this, but you need to know the truth."

The fear on his face broke Chuck's heart. He knew more than anything else, his son needed strength. Before he could say anything else, his son spun and sprung at Chuck, nearly knocking him backward as his son's arms squeezed him around the neck. He crushed his son in a tight hug, stifling an internal cry when he heard his son whisper in his ear, "I'm scared, but as long as you're here, I'm ok, Dad."

When Stephen finally released his father, he turned to regard the trio of Winterbottoms who had stood and observed the touching scene in silence. "You guys are, like, more than just…you know. Mom and Dad's friends. Right?"

Hartley and his mother exchanged curious, ponderous looks. Corrine looked at Chuck quickly, then spoke. "Are we just as dangerous as the people your dad is worried about? Yes. But in a good way. We're on your side. And believe me, Stephen, there is nothing 'just…you know' about being friends with your Mum and Dad." She had playfully mimicked the boy's intonation of the words of his she had repeated. She smiled brightly, warmed at the little boy's crooked grin.

Corrine moved slowly to the window beside the door, pulling the gun from the back of her waistband. Chuck saw Stephen's eyes widen, and his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. But he absorbed the scene without further outward signs. She moved the gun, using it to slide the curtain to the side, exposing a thin swath of glass with the vantage point of the front of the house.

"Damn it, Charles, Barker is out there. He must have noticed when the communications net went down originally. General Casey won't be far behind, but for now, he needs to get out of the line of fire," she hissed.

Just as the last word was out her mouth, the stillness inside the house was shattered. Though the memory was old, Chuck had heard enough instances of a bullet breaking through a plane of window glass, that he knew what it was before the rest of his senses could react. The bullet had come through the window on the opposite side of the house, splintering the wood around the hearth. And in that same split second, Chuck knew where there was one, there were more, instantly experiencing rapid fire in all directions.

His only functioning instinct was to hurl his body on top of his son, at the same time dragging him in an uncomfortable slide across the hardwood floor to behind the sofa, the best cover the room provided.

"Get down!" Corrine screamed, at the same time Hartley pulled out the gun from his shoulder holster.

Hartley's mother nearly wrestled it out his hand. "You're giving me that!" she commanded, pushing her son out of the way. "You take this peashooter," she grumbled, handing her son the smaller gun she had stashed against her hip. "Corrine!" she yelled as she positioned herself next to the window. "I'll provide cover. Get those two out of here, now!"

Chuck felt his son underneath him, shaking, his arms pulled up over his head. "Are you hurt?" Chuck asked him urgently.

Stephen felt his father's breath, hot against the side of his face. "No, Dad, I'm ok," he whispered in reply, wondering why he felt the need when the house was so full of loud gunshots he wanted to shove his fingers into his ears. Stephen jumped when he heard his father gasp, then realizing he was only surprised as Corrine slid onto the floor beside them.

"Out through the back, you two, let's go," she demanded, motioning with her gun for them to move.

Chuck kept his son underneath him, crawling along the floor. He knew rationally he was moving as quickly as he could, but the distance he had to cover seemed impossibly far. And even then, there was no guarantee they would even be able to find an egress. He heard gunshot after gunshot, intermittently interspersed with breaking glass or splintering wood. The acrid stench of gunpowder burned inside his nostrils and made his eyes sting.

"Take that you bastard!" Mrs. Winterbottom's shouted voice was heard in the background.

They rounded the corner, creeping along the floor into the kitchen. Chuck felt his foot catch on something, bending down to see his shoe had caught in the strap of Stephen's archery bag, where his son had left it instead of storing it away in the basement. He pulled his foot free, sending the bag tumbling down, crashing into one of the kitchen chairs on its way. He scrambled into the corner closest to the back door, pressing his son behind him into the corner, pulling his own firearm from his back. He heard the slightest hitch in his son's breathing, but nothing else.

Chuck was panting, trying to catch his breath, when Corrine sidled up to him. Her hair was disheveled, coarse, frizzy strands coming loose from her ponytail. She was perspiring heavily, the strands stuck to her forehead. She crawled on her knees, putting herself between Chuck and the door. Their eyes met as they both heard the same noise–a clunking and a banging. Someone was approaching the door from the other side. Chuck watched the set of her face, her lips twisted into an angry grimace as she hoisted the gun in a two-handed grip and pointed it at the door.

The sound of the door being kicked in was a trigger. Chuck turned in place, completely blocking his son's body with his own, wrapping him tightly in his arms.

"Don't shoot!" Chuck heard the second after the door opened. Cole.

He turned back to see Corrine, sighing in frustration as she lowered her gun. "What were you thinking? You're lucky I didn't shoot your bloody head off," she cursed him.

"I was thinking you needed help," he growled, ducking down and leaning against the door. "Looks like I was right." He leaned past Corrine, looking over to Chuck. "Is everyone unhurt?" he asked.

"For now," Chuck panted.

"Who the hell is that?" they all heard, as Mrs. Winterbottom raised her voice to be heard over the noise.

"You've got an 80 year old woman laying down cover fire?" Cole asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Better than you can, apparently!" she shouted again.

"Mother!" Hartley shouted, banging into the furniture as he dove for cover on the other side.

"Stop jibber jabbing about and get that little boy out of here!" Mrs. Winterbottom shouted again. "Corrine, come help us!"

Corrine nodded, flashed Chuck a brief smile, and hustled along the ground back out into the living room.

"My daughters are with Vivian and Carter at my sister's house. I took down the security net to slow them down. How did you get here so fast?" Chuck asked him, all his words running together.

"Casey was trying to monitor. He knew communications were down. I was closer. He's on his way too, but he was supposed to be with me connecting with the teams in Europe," he said rapidly. He spun, now putting himself in the same position Corrine had just been in. "There were at least 15 men that I counted. I know I hit seven, possibly eight. But we're still horribly outnumbered."

"Slowing down, are you?" Chuck said sarcastically. Cole only smirked at him.

"We're going to have to escape without being detected. Through the neighborhood until I can get you to safety in a secure location." Cole's face was deadly serious when he turned to face Chuck. "Are you ready, Chuck?"

Before Chuck could even nod, he heard the same voice he had been hearing all along in his head. He wasn't sure if it was the Intersect again, or just his memory of what he had heard before.

Let him help you, Son. Don't be afraid to let him become who he is supposed to be.

It was a split second to make the decision, life altering forever after. But he trusted his father. And, he trusted his son. "Cover him!" Chuck shouted, diving away from his son and scrambling along the floor to pull Stephen's archery bag towards them.

"Chuck, what are you doing?" Cole called.

Chuck started talking to his son before he answered Cole. "You have 12 arrows. The second we clear this door, Mr. Barker is going to shield you in front and I'll shield you from the back. If you see anyone at all coming towards us, do you think you can aim your bow enough to disable them? Hit their firing hands?"

Stephen looked at his father, his eyes gigantic in their sockets.

"For god's sake, Chuck, he's a child! Are you completely mad?" Cole hissed.

"Believe me, Cole, I wish I had another choice. But this child can hit a moving target at 80 yards with almost 100 percent accuracy. He's our best shot of getting out of here, considering it's just us against at least eight more, with minimal cover fire." He looked at his son again. Chuck noted how large Cole's eyes had gotten at the mention of that information.

"Do you think you can do it?" Chuck asked him.

Stephen gulped, and nodded.

"Remember, it's no different than practice. Or a meet. It's just a moving target. Use the thing in your head. Your Intersect. Understand?" Chuck coached him. Stephen nodded again, calming a little as his father talked.

"Casey's team is still close to five minutes out," Cole informed them. "If we're moving, we need to move now." They waited while Stephen adjusted the quiver on his back, and gripped his bow. Chuck silently thanked his wife for her encouragement of her son to practice shooting the bow in positions other than standing at full attention. Defensive, rather than just competitive.

Cole crept to the door, pulling it open with one hand, and crawled outside. Stephen looked over his shoulder at his father. "I love you, Dad. You know, just–"

"I love you, too, Son," Chuck shot back, not letting his son say the words that Chuck knew would crush him on the inside. "You can do this. You're amazing. Just listen to my voice." He nodded to his son. "Let's go."

October 3, 2021

Budapest, Hungary

Sarah could hear talking, hushed, urgent words being spoken between Carina and Ilsa. She couldn't discern specific words. Their voices combined into a rising and falling durge, sadness and anger, directed towards the situation, Sarah surmised.

She was so far below her skin it was almost as if it weren't even about her, about any of this. Events occurred, time progressed, outside of her experience. She knew she should feel angry, scared, perhaps worried or maybe sad. But the more she searched for her emotions, the more she came to accept that something inside her had shut down. She had 26 years of training herself to do this, still longer than the 15 years she had known Chuck. She had an automated defense mechanism, compartmentalizing her emotions so she could continue to function in the moment. It had been so long since she'd needed these skills, but 26 years of conditioning could never be removed, not completely. With Chuck, she had learned how to consciously remove that training.

Without Chuck…

The thought was a normal progression in her thoughts. But it did something to her, blasting apart the walls of each mental compartment she had constructed. Twenty-six years of perfect control was no match for the thought that there was a part of her life that could evolve into that. Before Chuck, with Chuck, after Chuck….

Why had she left them to come here? She berated herself, losing the battle inside. The argument continued inside her head. What difference would she have made? Twenty armed guards in a connected network hadn't been enough. What honest difference would she have made?

The pit started to open inside her, anguish rising like a tidal wave. She could have seen his face, looked into his eyes, and told him she loved him. Thanked him for the beautiful life he had given her, even if it had only been for a short time. The wave grew, a tsunami, full of debris and death, taking everything inside her with it as it blasted straight through her. Her children, so young…

Like the subduction that could create such a force, she felt her emotions disappearing, churning under the pressure of billions of pounds of cold, calculated rage, the likes of which she had never experienced, never even really imagined. Rising to the surface in her memory before she pushed it away was a faint recollection, standing on the rooftop, believing she had seen Colt drop Chuck to his death. Blinded by rage and despair, she had attacked the man, twice her size.

But that was nothing, nothing compared to this. She had loved Chuck then, not comprehending the scope or the magnitude, or what any of that meant. He was her husband, her children's father. The most important thing in her life. Her entire life.

Gunfire. Inside her house. If anything had happened to Chuck, or her children…

A thousand days and nights seemed to pass as Sarah waited, barely contained inside the shell of her own body. The sound of the phone ringing again blared like an alarm siren in her head.

Ilsa clicked it on speaker. "Go ahead, Casey. Sarah's here."

He sounded out of breath, seething, like he was speaking through his teeth. "I'm at your house, Sarah. The location is secure, but your house is empty. Evidence of multiple gunshots."

"Empty?" she shrieked.

"Eight dead on your property. Seven unaccounted for from the last report. Your neighbors were all successfully evacuated," he droned on.

"Casey, where is Chuck?" Sarah nearly screamed.

"Hold on, Sarah," he said quickly, obviously pulling the phone away. He returned several seconds later, more out of breath. "Your daughters are with all four Winterbottom's and Carter at Ellie's house. According to Corrine, Cole arrived before me. They were waiting for Chuck and Stephen to follow. But they never showed. And they aren't responding to the phone."

Shaking and pale, Sarah absorbed the information. Before she could speak again, she heard a voice, soft, harsh, and unexpected.

She looked up to see a tall man, with dark hair in a gray suit. His firearm was pointed at all three of them. "Hang it up," he commanded. He had entered the flat unheard, obviously picking the lock on the door while they had been distracted.

Sarah heard Casey's exclamation cut short as Ilsa clicked off the phone. "You're Argente, aren't you?" Ilsa demanded.

Sarah recalled the discussion and the surveillance photographs. Her gaze flickered down to his left hand, her heart pounding harder as she saw his wedding ring, just as they had noticed in the picture.

"He's the one, Sarah. The one from the flat in London," Carina told her. Confirmation, Sarah thought. Carina was making sure she knew, at the same time wondering why the same man who had saved them from the Hungarian now had them at gunpoint.

"So you're CIA," he said to Carina. "The CIA has the drive you recovered?" he asked her. Carina nodded without speaking. "And you're DGSE," he said as he pointed to Ilsa. "Who are you?" he accused as he leveled his gun at Sarah. "And how did you know where to find that?" he asked as he gestured to the device on the table top.

"She's CIA. She's my partner," Carina answered. "We had intel," Carina said sharply.

"No one knew that was there. No one," he insisted. "How did you know?" he shouted.

Carina looked out of the corner of her eye, signaling to Sarah. "Jacques Robert knew," Sarah said defiantly, challenging him to offer more information.

The man Ilsa had called Argente, so utterly unshakable at first impression, seemed shocked, losing his composure for a moment. He almost stuttered. "Jacques Robert is dead."

"He left a clue. For his wife," Sarah answered, waiting with her eyes narrowed, to see how he reacted to her words. Something was odd here, and she was investigating.

The gun, once pointed with steady accuracy, suddenly wavered, until he lowered it to his side, all his strength gone. His eyes were actually filled with tears. "Hannah is dead." His facade crumbled, the sadness exuding from him.

The women exchanged a curious, intense glance. "No, she's not. I don't know where you got your intel, but it's outdated," Carina said casually, even as Sarah shot her a cautionary look. Carina had missed the emotional cues, something usually absent from a seasoned spy.

"Don't lie to me!" he screamed, raising the gun again and stepping forward, its barrel inches away from Sarah's chest.

"No one is lying!" Sarah shouted at him. "She's safe. She's alive."

"How do you know that? Where is she? And her children?" he shrieked, gasping as his breath failed him. Sarah knew what it was she was looking at, as if she were somehow staring into a mirror. He was desperate.

"How do you even know who she is?" Sarah asked sharply.

"Because I was–" He blinked, shaking his head as he corrected himself. "I am her husband."