Revelations
By MySoapBox
Chapter 9: Propositions, Part II
"But you didn't, did you?"
Chuck turned to Sarah, and Sarah just stared at her glass as she swirled the ice around and around.
"She…" Chuck began, but then Sarah put a hand on his knee to silence him.
"Charlie, you need to know before deciding to join the CIA, that once you are in that life, things are never, never that simple."
"You've said that a lot today, Mom; that the CIA makes everything grey."
Sarah nodded. "That's right. And this was another of those 'grey' moments. Did I trust Fulcrum? No. But I didn't trust the CIA either. I guess what it came down to was: who did I trust the most?"
"Or the least," Chuck chimed in.
"So what did you do?" Charlie asked.
"Well, the first thing I did was to send you and Uncle Morgan on a camping trip to Yosemite. Fulcrum knew about us and that made me nervous.
"And then I tried to contact the CIA. Because of what happened, I wasn't exactly on friendly terms with anyone at the Agency anymore, so I didn't really have any contacts. I tried leaving messages at the Director's office but I never could get through. The only person I really trusted was John Casey. I left message after message at the emergency number he left me, but he never returned my calls. When all that didn't work, I decided to fly to D.C. myself …"
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
Sarah checked her watch. She had been sitting in the waiting area for a little over four hours. The agent working the front desk had been entirely unhelpful. It wasn't like she had asked to see the Director himself, just someone from his staff, someone with a high enough clearance to know what the Intersect program was. She told him that she was ex-CIA, and that she had valuable information. He refused to even look up her name. As a last resort she asked to talk to Colonel John Casey. When the desk agent finished typing into his computer and told her that no such person existed, Sarah nearly lost her temper. She raised her voice and the desk agent called in some friends to help him 'calm her down'. Sarah backed down, informing them that she would sit in these chairs until 'hell froze over or someone came down to talk to her, whichever came first.' Now she suspected that she had come all this way for nothing.
She watched jealously as person after person flashed badges and ID cards and passed through the security check points. That was her once, determined and confident. She had walked these halls so often that she knew them by heart. But now she was a stranger to that life and to all the people who lived it.
A man in a black suit walked up to the security desk and spoke to the agent there. The agent pointed at her and the black-suited man nodded. He approached her. "Mrs. Bartowski? I'm Agent Snow from the Director's office. I understand you have something to report."
"Yes. Thank you for seeing me. Is there somewhere we can talk?"
After being shown to a small, windowless conference room, Sarah told Agent Snow all about 'Nicole', the Fulcrum agent. The agent grunted and took down a couple of notes on a pad.
"Well thank you for the information, Mrs. Bartowski. We'll be sure to look into it," the agent said, folding up his pad and storing the pencil in the rings.
"That's it? That's all you're going to say?"
"I'm not sure what you expect me to do, Mrs. Bartowski. I told you we would look into it, and we will."
"But my son and I could be in danger."
Agent Snow smiled condescendingly. "I'm sure that you'll both be fine. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a lot to do."
As the agent made for the door Sarah reached out and grabbed his arm. "Can I at least see my husband?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." When he tried to break her hold on his arm, Sarah refused to let him leave.
The Agent's expression turned threatening. "Go home, Mrs. Bartowski. Go home to your son."
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
"As soon as I got back to my hotel room I decided…"
Chuck interrupted. "You're not going to give away the best part are you?"
Sarah looked at him, puzzled. "I don't know what you're talking about. I was just going to tell Charlie what happened."
"But you're going to tell him the punch line first thing."
"It's my story, Dear, I can tell it any way I want."
"But you're making it boring."
"Chuck, history is history; I don't see why it matters."
"Just trust me on this one. Let me tell it."
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine. You win. You tell it. I wanted to order some dessert anyway."
"So," Chuck turned to Charlie with excitement in his eyes, "one night I was sitting in my apartment finishing my daily report…"
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
At the end of yet another day, Chuck's handlers escorted him back to his apartment. They used the word "apartment" but really it was a one-roomed cell in the basement of an old house. Chuck's handlers lived on the main level. The warehouse wasn't really a warehouse either; it was more like Fort Knox with a tin covering. Chuck couldn't have an apartment in the warehouse because he would set off all the "sensitive security equipment" there. The house where Chuck stayed was separated from the warehouse by a hundred yards of gravel parking lot and the entire compound was surrounded by a chain link fence and barbed wire. A large sign on the chain link declared: "FDA Research Lab, Biohazard."
Chuck was glad to be back to his little room consisting of an armoire, a kitchenette (that he never used), a table and a bed. It had only one window and that was locked tight. Because he was in the basement, there was no view out of the window; just some gangly weeds growing in the four foot deep window-well. Chuck had learned that if he stood right next to the window and looked up, he could see a sliver of sunlight through the iron window-well cover. It was good that he was only here a few hours each night because living there full time, in a tiny room with no sunlight, would have driven him crazy.
The first, and only, thing Chuck had to do this evening was work on the daily report. It was bad enough that they made him work ten hours a day rebuilding the Intersect, but every night he found the daily report waiting for him in the form of a laptop sitting on his table. The laptop would have photos and videos, even sound clips, that he would have to review to see if he "flashed" on anything. Then he had to dictate all his flashes into a digital recorder, which, he assumed, someone transcribed.
His vision was going blurry a couple hours later when he finished the last of the report and closed the screen. Chuck stripped down to his boxers and fell exhausted into bed.
He woke with a start to a series of soft "pft" sounds. Perhaps it was all those years on the run, but Chuck had a hard time sleeping through any unusual noises. He lay there tense, waiting for anything further. It wasn't long before he heard another "pft" and a solid crunch in the gravel outside.
Alerted now that something was defiantly amiss, Chuck jumped out of bed and pulled on his jeans. He went to his window and looked up out of the well. It was a dark night and he couldn't see anything but blackness. That wasn't surprising; even on the brightest of nights he would only be able to see a few stars and shadows.
There were crunching sounds again; this time it sounded like footsteps close to the house. Should he wake his handlers? Chuck took a deep breath. He was probably just being paranoid.
He sat back down on the edge of his bed heavily, wishing that Sarah were here. She would know what to do; she always knew what to do. This was simply another reminder of how much he had depended on her the past six years. Just being with her gave him strength and confidence. Being here alone, he felt lost.
He heard a clunking sound outside his window. There was no mistaking the sound: bolt cutters breaking through steel.
Chuck ran through past the kitchenette towards the stairway that led to the door. He turned back and his heart leapt into his throat as he saw shadowy figures descent into the window well.
Panicking, he ran up the stairs, his footsteps thudding loudly on the treads. As he climbed he thought he heard his name called through the muffle of the glass, but he wasn't about to turn around to find out how the intruders would know his name.
"Help!" he called, pounding on the door. "Someone's breaking into my room!"
The glass in his bedroom shattered just as the door on the landing swung open. Chuck, who had turned to see what had happened to the window, was struck by the door. He went tumbling down the stairs as one of his handlers burst through the doorway.
Twack! A muffled shot rang out. Chuck regained his footing just in time to see his handler come toppling down the stairs toward him, blood marking his chest. He turned to see three masked figures standing by the window.
"Dammit!" a woman's voice hissed. "I told you, tranqs only! Do you want the whole compound to know we're here!?"
"Dead CIA is good CIA, I say!" a man's voice growled back.
"This is my mission, got it? And I don't want the heat of dead agents on our backs. Now put the gun away!"
That voice, it sounded so much like Sarah's, but no, it couldn't be.
A male voice came from the open door at the top of the stairway, "Chuck! Get down!"
It was Chuck's other handler filling the door with his large frame, a gun in each hand. Chuck ducked low as a couple of shots rang out from the landing. The three masked figures dove for cover. The smallest of the three, obviously the woman whom he had heard, popped off a couple of well aimed shots with a tranq gun. Chuck looked up to see his second handler crumple on the landing at the top of the stairs.
"Blackhawk, go upstairs and scramble the surveillance. It will be a miracle if they don't already know we're here."
Chuck turned to see the largest of the three intruders making his way towards him. Chuck raised his hands in surrender, but surprisingly the man just sprinted right by him, over the bodies and up the stairs.
"Go pull around the van," the woman ordered the other man. He scrambled out the broken window and out into the night.
Chuck looked down at his handler's body at his feet. "What are you going to do with me?" he asked the woman, who had stuffed her weapon into the back of her black pants.
"This." The woman walked up to him, pulled off her mask and kissed him.
Chuck pushed her away roughly and looked into her face for the first time. "Sarah?"
She didn't answer but pulled him in again, and this time he returned the kiss hungrily.
They were quickly interrupted when the man called Blackhawk came thumping down the stairs. "All video and audio is jammed. It doesn't look like they're alerted to us yet, but it won't take them long."
Sarah nodded and turned to Chuck. "Get on your shoes. We're going. Now!"
Chuck recoiled from her. "No, Sarah," he protested. "I'm staying right here."
Sarah started to answer when they both heard the crunch of tires on gravel outside.
"Sarah, what's going on?"
"We're getting out of here." She threw him a shirt.
"We? Sarah, I made a deal… I'm not going."
"Do you have any Intersect stuff: notes, schematics, that sort of thing?" she asked as she looked around.
"No, nothing. They keep all that in the warehouse," Chuck stammered. "But Sarah…"
"I thought as much," Sarah said, grabbing the daily report laptop and his dictaphone off the table and shoving it in the bag.
The other man's voice came echoing down through the window. "All clear!" he reported.
Blackhawk pushed Chuck towards the window.
"Up and out, Chuck," Sarah ordered.
"Sarah, you're not listening! I told you. I'm not going with you," Chuck insisted.
"Chuck." Sarah put her hands on his shoulders "We can be together. We have to do this. It's the only way."
"It's not!" Chuck protested. "The CIA will let me go…I'll make another deal."
"I don't trust them." One signal from Sarah and Blackhawk grabbed Chuck, twisting his arm painfully up behind his back. "Chuck, you don't have a choice. I'm sorry."
Chuck was stunned. "Sarah?!" he begged. He couldn't believe that she would let him be treated this way. Would she take him against his will? Chuck struggled against the larger man's hold. "It's not too late, Sarah. Just throw down your gun and walk away. I won't tell them it was you. You can go home to our son!"
"We don't have time to argue!" Sarah yelled angrily.
"Can I just break his arms?" Blackhawk growled.
Sarah got in Chuck's face. "Chuck, either go out the window or I will tranq you. Do you understand?" Her voice was threatening but her eyes were pleading.
"Okay," Chuck relented. He was shoved towards the window. Taking one last look at his little apartment, he clamored through the frame, trying his best to avoid the broken glass. The man who had gotten the van was waiting there and pulled him out of the well. Chuck heard Blackhawk right behind him and had no chance for escape as he was physically passed from one man to the other.
Chuck was walked to an unmarked white van, identical to the CIA vans he saw around the compound every day. Sarah opened the back door and climbed in. Chuck was pushed towards the van. "Would you mind loosening up a bit…You're hurting me." he complained. But Blackhawk didn't seem to hear as he shoved Chuck unceremoniously into the cargo area where Sarah was waiting.
The other man took the driver's seat while Blackhawk climbed in the back and shut the doors. "Go!" he yelled. The van sped off into the darkness.
Sirens blared in the distance. "They've probably discovered our entry point. There's no going back that way!" the driver yelled.
"Don't panic!" Sarah ordered; her voice was firm and commanding. "You remember our contingency plan. We're in a CIA van. Just head for the South exit. Casually!"
Tensions in the van were at a peak. Chuck tried to catch Sarah's attention but she had pulled out a semi-automatic rifle and was checking the clip.
"Sarah, what are you doing? You're not going to use that thing, are you?"
"It's not my first choice, but we will shoot our way out of this if we have to," she said anxiously. Blackhawk was also checking his weapon.
"We're almost to the automated guard station!" the driver called out.
"Time to see if this stolen codes works," Sarah said and she climbed forward to be behind the driver. "4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42"
As Sarah called out the numbers, the driver punched them into the number pad. The number pad buzzed and started to flash.
"That's a no go!" the driver yelled. "We have sixty seconds to come up with the right code or all hell is going to break loose here!"
"Chuck! Flash on the code," Sarah commanded.
"What?"
"The security code to get us out of here. I know you can do this! Flash on the code."
"Sarah, I don't think…"
Chuck heard the click-click of a gun being cocked. "Do as the lady says," Blackhawk growled, his handgun pointed at Chuck's head.
"Put the weapon down, Blackhawk!" Sarah ordered, her semi-automatic raised toward his chest.
Blackhawk paused a moment, and then lowered his gun.
"Thirty seconds!" the driver yelled.
"Chuck!" Sarah called anxiously.
"Uh…okay…okay," he dug into his mind and felt his eyes flutter. "9, 37, 0, 17, 6"
The driver punched in the numbers as Chuck called them out. With the last number, the keypad buzzed and the fence rolled open. Chuck laughed with nervous relief as the van sped off into the quiet night.
Sarah moved back to the cargo area and sat down across from Chuck. "Where are we going? Why have you taken me?" he asked her.
"Taken you?" Blackhawk answered. "We haven't taken you. We've rescued you."
"Sarah?" Chuck pleaded, looking over to his wife. But she sat stony faced and unresponsive. "Sarah, what are you doing here? Who are these men? Where are they taking us?"
She looked up at him, her face unreadable. "You have to trust me, Chuck."
"Trust you? Sarah, you just broke me out of a CIA facility. My handler was shot! You've kidnapped me!"
"That was your choice," she said. Chuck sensed a bit of disappointment in her tone. Sarah put her face down and hunched over against the wall of the van.
"Where's Charlie?" Chuck begged. "Can you at least tell me if Charlie is safe?"
Sarah's head snapped towards him and she looked at him with hurt eyes. "What do you think? Get some rest. It'll be a long drive." Then she turned away and refused to look at him for the rest of the trip.
Chuck tried to make himself comfortable on the worn carpet of the van. He had no idea how long 'long' might be.
One part of him was furious. Sarah had just thrown away everything he had been working for. If all went well, the Intersect would have been completed in the next few months, and then Chuck could get the Intersect out of his head. He was sure that the CIA would cut another deal with him, one that allowed him to be with his family again. But now that was all blown. They were on the run again. He hated running!
The other part of him just wanted to hold her: forgive everything and take her into his arms and never let go. He looked up to see Sarah still leaning against the side of the van, head bowed, a piece of hair falling out of her ponytail and across her face. The sight of her still took his breath away. But he couldn't reach out to her; not now, not while this barrier of mistrust separated them.
After what felt like several hours and so many twists and turns Chuck had no idea which way was up, they pulled in front of a non-descript office building with a deserted parking lot. The back doors to the van swung open. Chuck was a little shaky on his feet as they made their way to the boarded front doors.
Once through, Chuck was amazed at what he saw, an opulent waiting area, with leather couches and plush red carpeting. The light was so bright that Chuck had to squint to take it all in.
A beautiful woman with short dark hair approached them.
"Sarah," the woman called and she and his wife embraced. "I'm glad you've made it safely."
"Yes, the mission was a success." It was the first words she had spoken in hours.
The woman turned to Chuck. "And you must be Mr. Bartowski."
Chuck did not take her offered hand. "Who the hell are you?"
"My name is Nicole. And let me be the first say: 'Welcome to Fulcrum.'"
///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
"What!" Charlie nearly choked on the last bite of his chocolate inferno sundae. "Mom! You joined Fulcrum?"
Sarah bit her lower lip. "Yes…yes, I did."
"I can't believe it! Mom! You were a terrorist?!"
"Shh!" Chuck scolded. "Charlie, keep your voice down."
"But Dad, this is Mom we're talking about here! And I thought the getting knocked-up thing was big!"
Chuck turned to Sarah. "You told him you got knocked-up?"
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Well…I didn't use those exact words."
Chuck suppressed a laugh that came out as a snort.
"Wow, terrorists," Charlie said, leaning back in his chair. "This story just gets more and more exciting by the minute."
If you like this story or any of the others I've written I would love it if you would pop over to the Chuck boards on this site and nominate them in the Awesome Awards for Excellence in Chuck Fanfic. Even if you don't want to nominate my stuff, that's okay, just get over there and nominate your favorite writers and stories. You can enter nominations until May 3rd, then voting begins! You can get to the Chuck boards by clicking on "Discussion Forums" on the upper right of the main Chuck stories page. Choose the first forum and the nominations will be the top post on the board.
Thanks go to Sharpasamarble who did the original beta on this entire chapter. His advice has improved my writing by leaps and bounds. Extra thanks go to Timewalker05 who betaed my total rewrite of this half of the chapter. Both these gentlemen are writers on this site and I recommend their works to you without reservation..