A/N1 The denouement, but like everything else here, under compression.
The final scenes of Act V. There will be a brief coda soon.
My time is almost up; I thank you for yours.
Don't own Chuck.
ACT V
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ending, Not Stopping
Huntaker choked on his expensive scotch and fell into a brief coughing fit.
No. What the hell had happened?
What the hell hadn't happened?
The President was on the tv screen, standing at the podium inside The Excelsior, waving to friends and nodding his head. Alive.
The President is goddamned alive.
Huntaker wiped his mouth and then his forehead. He got up, keeping his eyes on the tv, and went to his desk. He needed to get out of town. Dropping into his plush desk chair, he pulled open a drawer in which he kept a file of encoded papers and other items he would need on the run.
His hands trembled. His breathing was ragged. He was seeing spots. He was certainly in one. That small voice in his head was now shouting: Chuck Bartowski!
ooOoo
Chuck was trying to check Sarah's wounds. Spiralling. He kept asking if she was ok. Sarah kept trying to tell him she was, she really was ok. Not just the wounds, everything.
"Chuck, stop, stop for a moment, sweetheart." The last word, the endearment, seemed to reach him. He stopped fussing and looked directly into her eyes.
"Sweetheart?"
"Chuck, it's me. I mean, it's always been me, but I remembered, Chuck, all of it, on the way up the elevator. My life came back to me. You came back to me. I know myself; I know you; I know us." She returned his look but then suddenly felt shy, self-conscious. She bit her lip and glanced away.
"And," Chuck started, his voice warm but wary, "you are still ok, ok with...everything?" His eyes ticked to her abdomen for a second, then back.
She laughed and pulled him to her, kissing him. The kiss now trailed her life, her life in full, memorial; she knew how she had gotten here. Her gratitude was too intense for words. Her love for her husband was more than she knew how to contain. She lengthened and deepened the kiss.
They were like that, embraced, when the stairwell door burst open and a team of Secret Service agents stormed the roof.
The following moments were tense and dangerous. Chuck and Sarah surrendered and were taken into custody. Cuffed. Chuck was able to finally get the lead agent to listen to him, and he shared a series of codewords with her. Her eyes bulged and she immediately got on the phone, walking away from the captives and the rest of the team. Guns were still trained on Chuck and Sarah.
Chuck glanced surreptitiously at Sarah and she rose one brow in question. He pointed at his head. Intersect.
The agent returned, her eyes now bulging even more. "The President wants to talk to you." She held the phone out to Chuck, but he could not take it smoothly because of his handcuffs. He dropped it. Sarah caught it before it hit the rooftop, despite her own cuffs. Everyone stared at her. She shrugged and handed the phone carefully to Chuck.
Sarah half-expected Chuck to spiral again. The President. But Chuck was completely calm, masterful.
"Sir, I believe you know who I am, and I believe you know what it means that I knew that code." Chuck was silent, listening. "Yes, sir, that's right. That's me. I do have...it. Yes, General Beckman arranged it, before DARPA was bombed. No, sir, Sarah did not do that. It was Archeus...Yes, that Archeus," Chuck shook his head at Sarah in bemused disbelief, "and it is her body-well, hers is one of the bodies up here, on the roof…above where you arrived. Yes, sir, Sarah did do that. She had no choice, it was either her...and you...or Archeus…"
Upon hearing Chuck say that, Sarah ignoring the guns trained on her, leaned in and kissed him on the cheek and whispered a barely audible "I love you".
"You ignored the calls from Beckman? Sir, all due respect, but that was stupid…" Chuck stiffened. "Um, right, right, yes, sir...Mister President." Chuck grinned weakly. "You need to call Beckman, sir. This was all the doing of Olin Huntaker. Yes, that's right. Well, sir, I have never actually met the man, but I trust your judgment, as well as your impressive knowledge of equine anatomy...Sir, I'd love to chat more, really I would, I mean really, but...Huntaker."
Chuck listened for a while, then handed the phone back to the agent, grinning broadly. "Um, he wants to talk to you." She glared at Chuck, but then gave in and grinned back at him. Watching, Sarah took his hand in hers.
"He's going to talk to Beckman. If she convinces him, they'll let us go. A team is being sent to Huntaker's, to take him into custody." Chuck turned from her and looked at an agent. "I assume there is someone here who can attend to my wife's wounds?" When no one moved immediately, Chuck growled, "Don't make me tell the President." Suddenly there were a number of volunteers.
ooOoo
Huntaker was so panicked that he did not hear the doorbell. But his Janice did. She went to the door and looked out the clear glass on one side of the door. A man in a delivery uniform stood there, his delivery truck visible, parked by the curb.
She opened the door. The man looked at her for a moment, up and down, then caught himself and fixed his gaze on her eyes. "I have a certified letter for Janice Huntaker."
Janice blinked in surprise. No one ever sent her anything. Deliveries were always for Olin.
The man held out an electronic device for her to sign, and then he handed her a large envelope after using the device to scan it. She took it from him and went back inside, closing the door with her hip. It was from a lawyer's office, a very prestigious New York firm. The address was handwritten, in an obvious woman's hand. Puzzled, Janice opened the envelope. There was a second envelope inside, and a piece of paper.
She took out the piece of paper. It was a brief note, addressed to her, in the same handwriting as the address.
Janice,
We don't know each other, but I hate to tell you we have something in common. Your husband. Enclosed find photographs and other documents that should make clear to you the many lives your husband has been leading and keeping from you.
Janice's hands began to tremble. She opened the interior envelope. Photographs of Olin, of Olin and...women. Of all ages, some quite...young. She looked through a few before she made herself stop and look at the printed pages. Bank account information. Vast sums. And then more photographs, of Olin in meetings in shadowy places. For the most part, Janice did not recognize the others in the photographs, except for Samuel Gordon, the Vice President.
She cycled back to the original pictures, her eyes filling with tears, mercifully occluding the graphic details. She put all the papers and envelopes on the hallway table. She walked upstairs in a deep trance, and went to her nightstand. She turned around and went back downstairs.
She walked into Olin's office. He was digging frantically in his desk, an open briefcase now on the top of the desk. Janice called his name. He ignored her. Of course.
She walked further into the office. She spoke his name once, in a tone she did not know was hers to use. Olin heard that. He finally looked at her.
Looked at her. Finally.
He saw the revolver in her hand, the purpose in her eyes. He lunged for his desk drawer. She heard a shot but felt nothing. She calmly pulled the trigger six times, stepping closer to him each time, making sure he could see her, until he could see no more. The gun he had grabbed from the desk and fired at her was hanging impotently from his hand.
She put her gun down on the desk and picked up the phone, just in time to hear the front door being kicked in and for her home to be suddenly full of men and women in FBI jackets. Janice put her hands up. Everything turned gray. One of the FBI agents picked up her gun with a gloved hand. Another took Olin's gun. She heard a third say, "Looks like self-defense."
Janice stood among them and wept.
ooOoo
Chuck and Sarah were in the back of an FBI van, still cuffed, when word came that Huntaker was dead, evidently by his wife's hand. Chuck glanced at Sarah and she at him. She smiled at him. Not at the news, but at what it meant. It meant it was over, done. It meant they were finally out, out of the spy life. Yes, they were still cuffed and there was still the Intersect to contend with. But they were done. They were starting a family, starting a new life. Simple. Real.
By the time they reached FBI headquarters, Chuck and Sarah were no longer considered prisoners, and their cuffs had been removed. Clean clothes, a decent fit, were found for Sarah. They spent several hours in discussion with FBI bigwigs, and bigwigs from other agencies. They were both bone-weary and beyond tired of telling the story as they told it for the umpteenth time. But finally, it ended. They were told to expect to hear from the President. And then, just like that, they were released.
They stood on the street in the chill dusk and looked at each other, each at a loss.
After another moment, Chuck asked, "Dinner?" Sarah nodded vigorously. The sandwich from a machine and a stale chocolate donut served her inside FBI headquarters was not enough for a growing mother. She pulled her leather jacket shut and zipped it.
Chuck offered, "How about pizza?"
Another session of vigorous nodding. "Yes," she replied, excitedly, "with piles and piles of olives."
Chuck looked at her sideways. She poked him in the shoulder with her finger, forestalling the inevitable pregnancy gibe. "Keep it to yourself, mister. I'm no woman to be trifled with…"
"No woman is to be trifled with," Chuck noted, a thoughtful, crooked smile playing across his lips, "but, you, Sarah Bartowski, are the most dangerous and the most beautiful and the most mysterious woman in the world..." His eyes and his voice made it clear that he was not just joking.
She took his hand as they began to walk along the sidewalk. "Tell you what, Chuck. I want to talk while we eat that pizza. I have some things I remembered, things I'd like to share, to share with my husband." She deliberately let that last word hang in midair, suspended, as she smiled openly at him: "I'd like to be a little less mysterious." She felt him squeeze her hand gently, and the feeling telegraphed all the way to her heart.
"Oh! Chuck," she added, the thought striking her, "when we head home, can we go to San Diego first?"
He looked at her, a little confused. "Sure…? Why?"
She dug into her pocket and retrieved a carefully folded piece of paper she had moved from the pocket of her bloody clothes to the pocket of the clean ones. "There's something in a pawn shop there that I can't live without."
ooOoo
Beckman had an...energetic phone conversation with the President. She was reinstated and given a substantial raise. She eventually accepted, after getting concessions to other demands. She then informed the President that she would work six more months and she was retiring. Roan, listening in to her side of the conversation, gazed intently at her when he heard that. He shot her a questioning look and then gestured from her to himself and back again, several times, mouthing "Us?" She nodded and beamed. He beamed right back.
The Team headed out of the VA hospital and back to their respective homes. Ellie and Devon were first out the door, desperate to see Clara. Morgan and Alex left with Casey. Morgan and Alex were holding hands and Casey was rolling his eyes at them, but talking on the phone to Gertrude.
Carina stayed long enough to ask Beckman if she could give the story to Al, the inside scoop. Beckman agreed, noting, of course, that security concerns would mean that not all of the story could be told. Carina understood.
She dialed Al's number and trilled his name when he answered. She stiffened at her own tone; it had not been premeditated. But then she relaxed happily and went with it, starting into an explanation. She told him she'd be on the first flight back to DC, and would see him soon. She wanted to have that talk, the talk about them.
ooOoo
At Sarah's request, Chuck and Sarah traveled by train from DC to San Diego, although they saw virtually nothing of the interior of the train (beyond their room) and little of the exterior scenery. There were things to do in their cabin, and so much to talk about.
It was a second honeymoon, and Chuck placed Sarah's reclaimed wedding ring on her finger when it ended.
THE END
A/N2 Thanks, everybody. Coda coming: "Notes from the Overground".
I've been aided and steadied by my pre-readers, David Carner, halfachance and WvonB. My sincere thanks to them for wading uncomplainingly through first drafts and partial chapters, and enduring lots of in-the-margins chatter.
Amazing, isn't it, how flawed Chuck was and yet how compelling it managed to be? Maybe there's a lesson there, I don't know, something about the common imperfection but yet the potential power of human endeavor. But now I sound like a philosopher, and that's my day job.
Even if you are reading this after it was completed, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Leave a review, please.
