You say you'll give me
Eyes in a moon of blindness
A river in a time of dryness
A harbor in the tempest
But all the promises we make
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you
You say you want
Your love to work out right
To last with me through the night
You say you want
Diamonds on a ring of gold
Your story to remain untold
Your love not to grow cold
All the promises we break
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you
"All I Want Is You"
U2
May 17, 2036
Burbank, California
"When was the last time we did this in the middle of the afternoon?" Chuck asked Sarah, as she lay half on top of him, the single sheet twisted into a jumbled knot as it partially covered them.
"Hmm," she teased, mocking deep thought. "Switzerland…on the train," she added, her voice deepening.
He chuckled and she felt the gentle vibration of his chest as her hands danced across it. "This is nice," he hummed, running his hand along the curvature of her hip.
"I did my best to keep your heart rate regular," Sarah added, a half smile there though she was serious.
"That's quite a feat…considering the normal effect you have on my heart rate," he said, his voice low and deep against her ear.
They were comfortable and cozy, nestled together in the half-dark room, a faint orange glow about the room as the about-to-set sun beamed through the blinds. The branches on the trees outside left shadows that traced weblike patterns on the walls and the ceiling. A thin slit beside the blinds on one window allowed in a radiant beam that gleamed off the shiny surface of the bedside lamp. The whole room shone like burnished copper, like a bubble full of her feelings blossoming outward, protecting them from the world outside.
The entire process this time had been a slow-burning passion…left entirely to her control and discretion. The lovemaking had been satisfying in a new way, his need to not exert himself priming him for her ministrations. It seemed a dichotomy, to be so aroused and yet so relaxed at the same time. It was borne of patience and an intimate, finely tuned knowledge of the other, perfect after so many years together.
"Your sister made sure I knew what to do," Sarah giggled.
"My sister?" he teased, sure, or at least hopefully sure, that the doctor half of his sister had instructed Sarah about the safest way to have intercourse when his elevated blood pressure could be dangerous. "I'm glad I missed that conversation," he laughed. She giggled again, curling herself across his chest.
Sarah glanced at the nightstand and the notebook placed atop it. "You should write this down while you're thinking of it," she instructed him. Ellie had advised Chuck to keep a detailed time notebook that basically chronicled every minute of his day and what he was doing, as a way to record any potential lapses of memory, while she was trying to figure out what was going on.
He rolled his eyes, but reached for the notebook and the pen nestled beside it. He flipped the cover open and uncapped the pen with his teeth. "Having sex with my wife," he mumbled over the plastic pen cap, teasing, pausing on each word to emphasize how silly he thought what he was writing was. "What time is it now?" he asked, scanning for the nightstand clock.
"Almost six," Sarah said, her voice hastening as she realized how much time had elapsed while they were in bed. "The girls will be here any minute, Chuck," Sarah told him, shifting her weight off of him reluctantly as she slid to the edge of the bed. She jumped up and started grabbing her clothes from the floor while Chuck finished scribbling in his notebook. She was completely dressed by the time he scooped up his clothes in one armful and tossed them on the bed. Chuck finished pulling his t-shirt over his head when they both heard footsteps on the stairs.
"Mom!" Ally called from the hallway as the footsteps ceased. She knocked on the closed bedroom door the instant before Chuck opened it.
"What is it, Honey?" Chuck asked her. Though his daughter was a 21-year-old college graduate, she still rolled her eyes, both at the name he used, and at the fact that the unmade bed in the middle of the afternoon only meant one thing.
She held out her cellphone in front of her and began reading aloud. "Stephen texted me and asked me to tell you specifically: GMT2." She made a face, twisting her lips and raising her eyebrows. "Why didn't he just text you?" she asked, irritated that she had been enlisted to relay the information.
Stephen's clandestine activities for the CIA had been extensively explained to his sisters as contracted classified government work. With both the truth and the cover, it was well known that his whereabouts and travels for his career could not be disclosed to anyone in his family, even his parents who had active security clearances, just not at the level of their son. The text he had sent his sister was a routine, benign way to at least let them know he was away, and the most specific he could get to which time zone. He usually texted his parents, but Sarah realized that he wisely was avoiding texting his father anything to minimize the potential for flashes.
Thinking quickly, Sarah replied, "Oh, he did. We were just busy…and we didn't see it right away."
Ally rolled her eyes again, tucked her phone into her back pocket, and walked away.
"Eastern Europe including Finland and Greece, Istanbul, Cairo, Cape Town, or Russia," Chuck muttered to her once they were alone again. Sarah's brow furrowed, but he responded quickly, "Not a flash. Just a good memory. In two years, he's been just about everywhere except Japan and a few points west."
Sarah walked up behind him, rubbing his back gently with her hand before resting her chin on his shoulder. "You remember in Australia, how excited he was to finally see someplace other than California?" She referred to his second participation in the Summer Olympics in 2032. His first, in 2028, had been local, in Los Angeles. Their son had six gold medals from two consecutive trips to the Summer Olympics before he graduated college in 2033.
Chuck nodded, reaching around and holding his wife's hand. They seemed to do this frequently, wistfully reminiscing about when their children were younger. It was a precursor to empty nest syndrome, or whatever it was called. Chuck and Sarah's children were a little older than the others in their family with the exception of Clara Woodcomb, but Ellie's and Morgan's children were not far behind. Vivian's children were younger, and Molly had very young children that sometimes reminded him how close to being grandparents they actually were.
"I know. I think that actually was what made up his mind…about spying. See the world on the government's dime," Chuck told her.
"Isn't that what made up your mind?" she teased, referring to the words he had told her at the train station in Prague…words he had used because the full, emotional explanation would have been too much there…because he was fighting with all his might to stick to his conviction and not what his heart was telling him to do. It was all in the past, and they were better for it, so it no longer was a source of sadness to discuss.
"I think it had much more to do with the girl that I loved," he said gently, squeezing her hand. "She thought the only way we could be together was if she gave everything up and tried to live a normal life. I tried to show her there was another way…that we could both be…abnormal together."
"Oh, Chuck," she whispered, overwhelmed in the moment at the frank and unexpected openness in his words. Things she knew already of course, but things that were so nice to hear again, phrased the way he had.
"We figured out abnormal…and normal…and everything in between," he said, turning around in her arms and pulling her against him. "Stephen will figure it out. Everything will be ok, Honey."
Sarah hugged him, nestling her face against his chest. Stephen wasn't what Sarah was worried about. Her complete faith in her son was the only reason she had any hope at all that what she was worried about, Chuck's mystery Intersect, could be resolved.
May 17, 2036
West Hollywood, California
"I'm thinking Chinese…but whatever you want is fine," Stephen said as he stepped into the apartment and shut the door behind him.
"Are you sure about that?" Cozette queried as she stepped out of the kitchen to greet him. The apartment was still cluttered with unpacked boxes, scattered about and leftover from Stephen's move from his parents' home to her apartment. "That's a 15 hour flight…all that salt and fat…and–"
He closed the distance between them, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her, for the moment quieting her fretting. After several seconds, he pulled away from her, murmuring quietly, "It's very sweet, you know, you take care of me the way you do."
She sighed and bumped her nose into his. "Someone has to," she said with a smile.
"So what does the doctor recommend, Zette?" he asked, releasing her and smiling back at her with a crooked grin.
"Carbohydrates and protein. I defrosted one of my mom's lasagnas," she told him. "If we don't use it now, it could go bad by the time we get home."
He followed her into the kitchen. "Do you think other spies have the same problems we do?" he asked her, crossing his arms. "When to grocery shop for perishable items, what to defrost, who's going to water our plants…" he rambled, half teasing, half serious.
She turned on the oven to preheat it, then stooped to pull the glass pyrex dish from the refrigerator and then placed it on the counter. "What did your parents do?" she asked him.
Stephen's lower lip bent in a frown as he concentrated in thought. "You know, I don't know. By the time I knew they were spies…or they had been spies…my parents were like the Brady's. My mom cooked almost every night…my dad chipped in sometimes. Chicken pepperoni," he added, the "yuck" just barely there in his tone.
"Hey, I like your dad's chicken pepperoni, as long as he makes it in the crock pot and it doesn't dry out. He made that the first time I ever ate at your house when we started dating for real," Cozette reminded him.
"Now you have me wondering," Stephen pondered. "I know when they used Castle, they stocked the kitchen. I think they must have eaten down there a lot. My mom learned to cook from Aunt Alex…after they started doing cyber security, when she was pregnant with me."
"You know, we're probably the only spy team in the world that has our parents stocking our freezer with cooked food…you know, just in case that government-sanctioned extraction takes a little bit longer than expected," Cozette teased.
"Maybe that's our secret," he said, winking at her with a wicked grin.
She giggled. "Your dad's frozen chicken pepperoni? Who knew?"
Stephen watched her as she moved around the kitchen in preparation for the meal. "You know, speaking of my Dad…I wanted to tell you something," he said, suddenly serious.
She stopped moving and turned to face him, hearing the heaviness in his voice when he spoke. "What? Is this what you stayed after to talk to Bentley about?" she quizzed.
"Yes," he told her plainly. "What my mom told Ally and Abby was a lie," he confessed. "My aunt knows exactly what's wrong with my father." He saw the concern on her face. "She didn't tell them–"
"Because it's Intersect related," Cozette concluded on her own. "Tell me," she added, asking for the whole story.
He sighed, tucking both hands into his pockets and shuffling his feet as his gaze shifted to the floor. "I have a secret side mission that Bentley knows about…but that is off the record, while we're on the way to…and potentially while we're in…Cairo. My father downloaded…something…something that he doesn't remember downloading…that's affecting his brain. My aunt is the only one who has any hope of getting it out of his head…and she can't do anything unless I figure out what it was…where it came from."
She took a cautious step towards him. "Is it…I mean…is he…?" She didn't know how else to phrase it.
"My mother is really worried. That's sort of my litmus test. She's putting up a front…but…I think it's pretty bad," he replied. "Look, Zette, I have to do this, but you don't. This is off the record and if something goes wrong–"
She put her fingers on his lips to stop him from talking. "Then you need me there," she insisted. "Look, your family is my family. They always have been. I would do anything to help your father, you know that."
He met her gaze, smiling warmly. "I love you," he whispered.
"I love you, too," she whispered in reply, then pecked him on the lips.
"How long until the lasagna's ready?" he asked, murmuring against her lips.
"Long enough for what you're thinking, babe," she giggled suggestively as she felt his arm wrap tightly around her waist.
May 18, 2036
Burbank, California
Sarah had been dreaming. It had to have involved Chuck somehow, although the specifics were beyond her comprehension at the moment. The transition to wakefulness was slow and confusing, as she thought maybe real life had worked its way into her dream. Was she fully awake?
The room was dark, but she couldn't see the clock on the nightstand to determine the time. Her vision was obstructed…by her husband, she realized, as she came more fully awake. He was on top of her, lifted up on his hands. She felt his breath, hot and heavy, against her ear. His mouth found hers in the dark, the furious, demanding force of his kiss startling. She kissed him back without conscious thought, her mind wandering as it progressed and she wondered why he was…so hungry for her.
Her nightgown was raised, bunched around her waist, and she felt the warmth of his skin all down the front of her. He wanted her. The thought blazed across her mind. She tried harder to shake the grogginess away, enough to gather her wits about her. She felt him reach down and roughly pull her against him. She wrapped her legs around him to ease the pinching she felt in her hips at the pressure of his body weight. Never removing his mouth from hers, she felt him shift downward. She gasped in his mouth when she felt him connect to her.
It was rougher than he usually was, less concerned with her readiness for that. It wasn't remotely uncomfortable, rather, his vigor itself had increased her arousal. Had he had a dream? Still half asleep, her body responded to him automatically. He was desperate for something. She thought fleetingly she needed to ask him later. She was close…so close…her mind flitted, worried about his blood pressure. She almost pulled her mouth away, but the pleasure was so close. He groaned in her mouth as he felt her climax, then he groaned louder as he finished. "I love you," he gasped, out of breath, against her right ear.
Chuck's voice, but so decidedly not Chuck. She had heard her husband tell her he loved her literally thousands of times…it had never sounded like that, the way the words were inflected. He collapsed on top of her, leaving her pinned beneath him.
This wasn't Chuck.
She was suddenly terrified of what she would see on his face when she opened her eyes. It felt like cheating on Chuck with Chuck, she realized with a stab of fear. This was the person she had seen standing in the dark in their bedroom…the one she had run from. She alternated between fear and heartbreak. The only thought in her mind, the only thing that calmed her at all, was the thought that…whoever he was, this Intersect manifestation, he loved her.
She stayed frozen, unmoving, waiting for him to fall asleep. It seemed to take hours, but eventually, she heard his breathing slow and became more regular. Her anxiety lessened, but did not dissipate. If he was asleep, he was her husband again. Moving him, shifting his body, could potentially wake him. She didn't know what she would say or do if he woke up right now. Her heart felt bruised, her spirit crushed, her hope all but gone. Letting him sleep in her arms was something she needed to ground her.
Somewhere in the darkness, sleep eventually claimed her as well, pulling her down into a bleak nightmare.
May 18, 2036
Los Angeles, California
"Wait, Viv, what the hell is going on?" Carter asked his wife as she rushed around the kitchen. Their children were seated at the table eating breakfast. She was making coffee in a frantic dash with her cellphone cradled between her ear and her shoulder.
"Breakfast," she deadpanned to him, sliding a fresh cup of coffee towards him on the counter.
"No," he said, shaking his head at her dismissal. "I know Morgan said Chuck was off yesterday…but he never said… until further notice."
Still deadly serious, focusing on her phone, she replied, "That's why I'm the Operations Manager. He tells me."
He opened his mouth to ask more, but she held up her hand to shush him. "Mum, Mum, listen. I'm crazy busy today. I promise I'll call Dad's doctor later this afternoon. I just–" She paused, obviously listening to her mother. Carter could hear Corrine's voice elevated in the phone, though it was pressed against her ear. "He's at home. How did you–" Vivian sighed, cut off again as her mother was chattering away again. Carter watched as Vivian's face fell as she listened to her mother. "Yes, Sarah is with him. I'm sure she would take your call. Mum, what is this about?"
Vivian held the phone away from her head, bewildered. "She just hung up on me," she muttered in amazement.
"What's wrong?" Carter asked her, genuinely concerned.
"The bus, guys," Vivian piped up, projecting her voice towards her children. They were up and scrambling out the door, waving and calling just as the bus pulled up outside the house.
Vivian purposely waited until she was alone with her husband before she replied. "I don't know," she said, her voice small. "She found out about Charles and she was…upset. She wants to talk to Sarah." She looked up at her husband. "Did you tell her he was rushed to hospital?"
He shook his head. "It could have been Morgan. It would make sense," he mumbled.
"God, Carter, what's wrong with him?" she asked worriedly
He took his wife in his arms, worried himself, but saying nothing, unsure of how he could ease any of her fears.
May 18, 2036
Burbank, California
When Sarah woke up, she was alone. She rolled to the side, running her hand over the dent left on the bed and the pillow next to her. The night came rushing back into her head, freezing her insides. She strained her ears, listening to hear the sound of the shower running behind the closed bathroom door. Her heart started pounding as she thought about the various scenarios that could transpire. Both girls were asleep in their room. What was she going to do if he was still not himself?
She heard the water shut off. Her mouth was dry and her palms were sweaty. She jumped out of bed quickly, throwing on her robe so quickly she had to pull the sleeves down to straighten them. She heard the bathroom door open and the sound of footfalls across the hardwood floor in the hallway.
Chuck, she thought with relief. She would know the sound of his footsteps anywhere. She pressed her hand over her chest, waiting for her heart to calm. She was still nervous, anticipating having to tell him what had happened the night before.
He entered their bedroom on a breeze of scent, his body wash, deodorant, and cologne the perfect mixture that was just Chuck and most potent after being freshly applied. That was her favorite scent in the world, but it made her eyes sting today. His hair was still wet, but combed back off his forehead. He moved quickly, almost not noticing her as she sat on the edge of the bed.
"Morning, Honey," he said breezily as he walked to his dresser.
He had no idea, she thought in dismay. She had to just tell him, she told herself. If she waited, it would only make it worse.
"Chuck," she started to say, dissatisfied with how little control she had over the steadiness of her voice.
He sensed the unease and turned around. Looking at her, sitting there with her hands folded in her lap, watching as she wrung her hands frantically, terrified him. "What?" he asked sharply. "What's the matter?" he added as he moved towards her. He sat beside her on the bed.
"Do you…do you remember last night?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the floor.
His eyes narrowed and his brow creased. Spacing out each word, he told her, "We had leftovers from the party with the girls and then we watched Die Hard and then we went to bed." His speech had gradually increased in speed, the words closer and closer together. "Why? What happened?" he asked nervously.
"You don't remember waking up in the middle of the night?" she asked him, her eyes fixed on his face.
His eyes were wide and unblinking. "No…I don't. What…happened?" he asked, shifting his body away from her, terrified at the look he saw on her face and in her eyes.
Her eyes filled with tears. "We…uh…we…had sex," she said softly, her eyes darting away, unable to look at him directly when she said it.
He jumped to his feet so quickly she bobbed on the mattress. "Wh–what? What do you…"
She sat there, one hand on the back of her neck as she couldn't lift her eyes from the floor. "You were…you…were…"
"Oh my god," he gasped in horror. He spun away from her, covering his face with both hands. "Oh my god," he repeated, mumbling. Still turned away from her, he demanded in a shrill voice, "Is that what happened before? When they said I scared you?"
"Yes," she whispered, her throat aching too badly for her voice to project. "You were like…someone I didn't know."
His eyes were wild with terror when he reeled back at her. "Sarah, did I–"
"No!" she shouted, jumping to her feet. "I love you. It wasn't like that." She crossed the room, closing the distance between them. "You were just…different." She moved to touch him and he pulled away. The tears she was fighting began spilling down her cheeks. "Chuck," she whispered.
He backed up hard, falling to sit on the bench in the dormer. He felt like his own stomach was turning inside out, like he could throw up everything inside him, including his own internal organs. His chest physically hurt, and he pressed a clenched fist against his breastbone. His entire body shook violently.
I remember once in the middle of the night, I woke up groggy. He was touching me, just, you know, his arm across my waist, touching my chin. But I remember looking at him in the dark, thinking quickly that he was someone else. That I was sleeping next to a stranger.
Corrine Winterbottom's words, to him, from 24 years in the past, while they had been traveling in the van from Budapest to Timisoara. She had been explaining how Hartley had changed into Alexei Volkoff. That original Intersect malfunction, engineered on purpose by General Meriwether, had taken hold gradually, over the course of four years.
Whatever he had downloaded, wherever it had come from…it wasn't the defective version Sarah and he had been worried about. It was an identity Intersect, like the one his father had created for his friend Hartley to go undercover and rescue Corrine.
Sarah thought he was someone else…because he was someone else…or at least, he was slowly being transformed into someone else.
The shaking wouldn't stop. Wheezing, choking, he turned to his wife. "Sarah, take the girls and get out of here, right now!" he screamed.
"What?" she gasped in disbelief.
He shook so badly, she thought for a moment he might be having a seizure. "Sarah, now! You aren't safe with me. Please," he pleaded desperately.
"What are you talking about?" she demanded he tell her.
"Volkoff," he shouted, grabbing his head in his hands. "That's what Ellie saw. On my MRI."
The edges of Sarah's vision swam, darkened, as the shock of what he was saying sunk into her. "Chuck," she yelped.
"Sarah!" he screamed.
She turned and ran, slamming the door behind her.