A/N: Wow, I've updated this in two weeks! I know it's pretty impressive, right? It's also my longest chapter to date. Go me. Hope everyone had a great Christmas and New Years, and is over all the post-holiday hangovers by now.

As usual, a massive thank you to my beta reader, DanaPAH, for editing this chapter, despite it's length.

I've taken a leaf out of the great Frea O'Scanlin's book, with a quote at the beginning. It may not be entirely appropriate but it just seemed to fit.

Oh yeah, 8 days until Chuck! Well, 9 for people like me, if you live in the UK and have to download it off iTunes. ;)

Read and review!

# # #

I hate the idea of causes, and if I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend, I hope I should have the guts to betray my country. - E. M. Forster.

Chapter 4

Living A Lie

October 8th, 2007

Griffith Park, Los Angeles

13:11 PST

Raymond Perry had been dead for three nights now. Dawn had broken and the sun had risen three times since Chuck had pulled the trigger, and the world was still here. It had only taken one bullet to deliver the fatal blow. That was all it took to end nearly thirty years of life. Thirty years of build up, memories, and experiences, all gone in an instant. The irony really was wasted on the situation. If he had felt anything beyond an empty numbness, Chuck was sure he would have been disgusted by the poetic simplicity of it all. That was the worst part; he didn't even feel guilty. He couldn't. He didn't feel anything towards it.

He was sitting on a picnic table in the north end of Griffith Park, his feet resting on the seat, looking south at the Los Angeles skyline. Somewhere in one of those tower blocks, the Director was probably sitting in his office ticking off Perry on a list as another problem solved. Chuck was sure that was how the Director saw the world, in lists. Everything was black and white, there was no grey area. Everything was either a problem, a solution, or an opportunity.

Chuck knew that the world wasn't black and white. It was a gigantic mess of complications, lies, and hypocrisy, which he somehow found himself in the middle of. Although, he didn't need to think of things in terms of black and white to know that killing Perry had been wrong.

Cooper had told him to take a couple of days off, not out of sympathy for what he had just done, but rather because all Ring operatives needed to lay low for the moment. Chuck wasn't sure why and frankly, at the moment, he didn't really care.

He couldn't exactly remember getting to Griffith Park; he had just sort of found himself here. He'd left his hotel room and had just started walking. No, not walking. That wasn't the right word. Drifting. He had started drifting. Drifting along and letting the world pass by. At some point, a cab driver had pulled over to ask if he needed a ride. When he had ignored him, he had heard curses in Spanish and various other languages thrown at him in return. The meaning of the words may have been lost on him, but Chuck was sure that they were appropriate anyway. A couple of hours later, he was in Griffith Park.

He was feeling slightly more at ease here than sitting in his hotel room, despite the reality that he really shouldn't be here. Griffith Park was too close to Burbank; his sister's apartment was just around the corner and the BuyMore wasn't far. That was probably the reason why he had gravitated towards this place.

He had taken Jill here once, back in college. He'd brought her home with him at the end of the semester to introduce her to Ellie. But before they'd gone to the apartment, he had dragged her over to Griffith Park, insisting she had to visit the observatory. Jill had been reluctant to do so at first; she was already nervous about meeting his sister and didn't want to make a bad impression by being a late. Chuck had laughed this off, telling her how cute she sounded and that Ellie wouldn't mind. Jill had come round eventually and both of them had a great day.

Chuck almost smiled at the memory. He had seen a lot better times in this park.

As much as he wanted to go home to see his sister and his friends, he knew he couldn't. The last time he had seen them had been over six months ago, before the Columbia mission. Then his life had changed for the worst. He may have ruined his life, but he certainly wasn't going to ruin theirs and let them get caught up in any of this.

Chuck was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't notice a smaller man approaching him.

"Holy Moses!" the man cried as he saw the occupant of the bench.

Chuck wrenched up his head from the patch of grass that he had been staring at and found himself staring at the face of his childhood friend, whose bearded jaw seemed to have dropped farther than was humanly possible. The beard, along with his hair, were slightly shorter and more tidier than the last time he'd had seen them. The uniform was the same, although the green shirt looked like it had been ironed. The only truly unfamiliar thing was the shocked expression on Morgan Grimes' face.

"Chuck! Buddy!" Morgan continued, the initial shock of seeing his best friend after so long having faded.

Chuck instantly felt a sense of warmth inside just from hearing the familiar voice, but quickly chided himself for it. He really shouldn't be here. Morgan took a step closer to him and raised his arms in jubilation. "You're back!"

Chuck opened his mouth to say something, but the words just didn't come.

Morgan, however, didn't seem to have noticed and was now pointing his finger accusingly at Chuck. "I knew it! I knew you'd come back. I kept telling them. Charles Bartowski always comes home. I can't wait to tell everybody. Oh man, everyone has missed you so much, buddy. Have you seen Ellie yet, Chuck? C'mon, I'll call her right -"

"No, Morgan!" Chuck snapped, jumping up, seemingly having regained the use of his voice, forcing Morgan to take a step back. Ellie couldn't know he was here. Morgan shouldn't even know he was here. Chuck couldn't believe he had been so stupid; it was lunchtime and he knew some of BuyMore employees, including his best friend, liked to come here for lunch. He really needed to get out of here.

"What? Why not?" Morgan looked slightly aghast at Chuck's reaction. "She hasn't heard from you in like forever. Where have you been, anyway?"

Chuck let his eyes fall shut for a second. He had no idea how to answer that; for someone who was supposedly a good liar, he was completely stumped. "I've been... I've been away."

Morgan slowly shook head at Chuck's answer before his eyes suddenly brightened and he smiled. "It doesn't matter. We can talk about it later. Oh man, I've got so much to tell you. I've got a girlfriend now. She's really amazing..."

Chuck found himself reluctantly smiling as Morgan continued talking about his life. A life that he really seemed to be enjoying. He had to remind himself that he shouldn't be here. Every second he stood here talking to Morgan, the more danger he put his best friend in.

"...And I'm applying for the Assistant Manager position at the BuyMore. Harry Tang's finally gone and left. Couldn't take the trenches anymore, you know? I know the job's not much of a change and it only pays two dollars more an hour, but it's a start, right?"

"Yeah," Chuck said, forcing out a response, but Morgan wasn't quite done yet.

"Anyway, my interview's tomorrow and I was wondering if you'd help me prep. You know, practice questions and all?" Morgan asked, looking up at Chuck with hopeful eyes. It was the same expression that Morgan had given him all through high-school whenever he needed help with anything.

Chuck desperately wanted to say yes and help his best friend get the job that he so obviously wanted. But he couldn't. The agent part of his mind was telling him that he needed to end this now. There was only one way that came to mind. He hoped Morgan wouldn't hate him for this.

"Morgan," Chuck began, forcing himself to look into his eyes, barely managing to make his voice sound cold. "What's the point? Management requires responsibility, and what have you got to show for that? You're twenty-six and you still live with your mother. You stay up all night playing Halo tournaments. You ride a bicycle to work. You're a child, Morgan."

The expression on Morgan's face had changed from a look of pleading to shear disbelief, and Chuck felt his heart sink. "Chuck..."

"I'm not going to waste time helping you prepare for a job which you obviously won't get." Chuck had to look away. "Grow up, Morgan Grimes."

With that, Chuck pushed past Morgan and started to move down the path away from his friend, unable to bear seeing his friend's crushed expression. He heard Morgan call out his name a couple of times, the anguish in his voice only making Chuck walk faster. However, the voice was stationary, suggesting that he'd either gotten the message or was too shocked by Chuck's sudden condescending outburst.

He continued down the path until he was sure Morgan was out of sight. He couldn't believe he'd just done that to his best friend. His best friend of over 20 years. His best friends who, at 8, had been there for him when his mother left. Why did he have to put his friend down like that? He could have just said he had to go...

No, Morgan would never have accepted that.

Remembering what had happened between him and Bryce at Stanford, Chuck knew only too well what is was for a friend to betray you like that. For a friend to not have belief or trust in you. It was horrible. But as horrible as what he had said to Morgan was, it had been necessary. It was necessary to protect Morgan, and the best way to do that was to put as much distance himself and Morgan as he could.

He needed to get out of Los Angeles. He didn't understand why they were still here. His Red Test had obviously been the reason for coming here, so why stick around after that?

Maybe this was his punishment. His punishment for Perry. If there was a god, maybe he was looking down on Chuck and laughing. Laughing at how tantalizingly close Chuck was to everything he loved, and yet so incredibly far. Trapped in a open version of purgatory, where the sun burns hot every day of the year.

Several glances of his shoulder told Chuck that he wasn't being followed. The winding path was entirely clear of the short midday shadows cast by the trees that ran either side of it. It might be slightly harder for him to evade Morgan. Despite everything he'd said to Morgan, Chuck knew his friend was persistent; it was unlikely that Morgan would give up over twenty years of friendship without a fight. He loved Morgan for that, and hated himself all the more.

Chuck carried on down the path and starting mentally planning a more evasive route back to the hotel, making sure to pass through some of the more crowded parts of the city. He couldn't let the mistake of what had just happened occur again.

It couldn't.

Charles Carmichael didn't have friends.

He couldn't afford them.

# # #

11th May 2007

Sarah's Apartment, Washington D.C.

09:30 EST

Beep Beep Beep

Something was beeping.

Beep Beep Beep

Something was beeping loudly.

Beep Beep Beep

That was really not a pleasant noise to be woken up by.

Beep Beep Beep

Especially if you've been awake most of the night trying to contemplate your boyfr – partner's actions.

Beep Beep Beep.

Made worse if said contemplating was done over a drawn out bottle of wine.

Beep Be-

The beeping was abruptly silenced by a fist that came crashing down on whatever had been making that damn noise.

Sarah Walker really hated alarm clocks. Like, really hated them. She had been so much happier asleep. Albeit, it wasn't the most relaxing sleep she'd ever had. The alcohol had seen to that. But it was sleep all the same. Sleep where she didn't have to contend with a damn hangover. The mother of all hangovers, that currently felt like it was driving a monster truck through her head and was about to shatter through her cranium any minute now, leaving tiny little bits of skull all over the wall.

Yep, she really hated alarm clocks.

As simple as it had been to return the room to its previous state of tranquillity by destroying the thing, it was not going to be so simple to get rid of that monster truck. Why didn't the alarm clock realise that? Couldn't it see that she needed to sleep? Didn't the stupid thing recognise-

Sarah slowly pried her eyes open.

She didn't have an alarm clock. But she did have an alarm on her-

She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the early morning sunlight that was penetrating the blinds, and tilted her head just enough to see the remains of her cellphone. Her agency-issue encoded cellphone. The cellphone that was supposed to be on at all times. The screen was now completely wrecked and it looked like her fist had also taken out several of the buttons.

She spat out of flurry of expletives, alternating between Russian and Polish.

This really was not her morning.

After an extra long shower, downing several glasses of water and nearly maxing out on painkillers, Sarah was feeling slightly better. Her headache was still there, but it had faded considerably and was now just a dull throbbing. Whilst in the shower, it had come back to her that she'd set the alarm on her phone the previous day so that the she could get up early – on her day off – and go for a run. Needless to say, that plan had quickly gone to the dogs.

She was now lying comfortably on the couch, dressed casually in sweats, a pillow delicately balanced on her nose, blocking out the light. Hangovers were never normally a problem for her, as she was not much of a drinker. Still, when she did drink, she could normally hold her liquor. Carina had seen to that. Last night was an exception on both counts.

She hadn't much felt like eating after Bryce had left the previous day. After he had caught her completely off guard by his revelation about how much he cared about her. She couldn't understand why she was so surprised by what he had said, or why she was particularly bothered by it. Surely it was a given that he cared about her, with all that they had been through together. And they were boyfriend and girlfriend.

Sort of.

True, it was no "I love you", but he had never said anything like that before, and she had never said anything of the sort to him, either. She wasn't even sure how she felt about him at the moment. After everything. She'd never really been very good at this sort of thing. It was one of the few things she didn't excel in. That made her all the frustrated for being so infatuated with it.

And then there was everything Bryce had done to Chuck...

That had led to the wine. On the empty stomach.

And here she was.

# # #

11th May, 2007

CIA Facility, Washington D.C.

11:37 EST

Stepping into the small elevator, Sarah hit the button for the floor that the receptionist had indicated, "Sub-level 7 Portable Electronics". Having changed into a smart-enough shirt and suit pants, she'd taken the short drive to the small building that the Agency used to house field equipment in D.C. Even on her day off, she couldn't afford for her phone to be out of commission. Not for long anyway.

Having flashed her credentials at the guards, she'd made her way to the receptionist desk and politely inquired where she could find someone to fix her phone. The middle-aged receptionist hadn't been immediately forthcoming and had instead made some snide remark about the colour of her hair. That had really pissed her off. She was unbelievably glad that headache was almost entirely gone by this point. Though she was reluctant to admit it, Sarah knew she was probably one the most capable field agents in the CIA. What should her hair colour matter? Still, not wanting to rise to the bait, she had remained polite and repeated the question. Several seconds of glaring later, the receptionist had told her where to go.

Some people just have too many problems with life, she thought as the elevator passively descended, giving off a gentle hum. It was too bad she was one of them.

With a little ring, the elevator doors sprung open to reveal a large singular room with rectangular panel lights running linearly along the ceiling, which made everything in the room seem unnaturally bright. She stepped out the elevator, and was able to see right across to the other side of the room, which she guessed was about 100 feet away. Workbenches were scattered around the place, with all sorts of electronic devices strewn across them. There were phones, laptops, PDAs, watches and many more items that Sarah couldn't identify, all in various stages of dissection. Sub-level 7 really was true to its name.

Unfortunately, it looked like she was alone in the room, and she couldn't see any other doors.

The room was like a small warehouse, isolated from the world by 50 feet of concrete. She shuddered slightly, taking note of the lack of windows, which made her feel a bit claustrophobic. The bright lighting, combined with the lack of windows, probably made it feel it like time stood still in here. Sarah couldn't imagine the kind of people who'd want to work down here. Then again, the CIA probably didn't give said people a massive amount of choice.

"Hello?" she called out cautiously, her voice echoing around the large room.

There was a rustling from behind one of the benches to her right. "Yeah, just a sec."

She turned to see a small man stand up and casually drop a circuit board on the desk in front of him. He looked up to where her the voice had come from, noticing her by the elevator and began to close the distance between them. The man looked to be Asian in appearance and was in his mid-twenties, with short spiky hair. He was dressed in a white short-sleeved shirt and grey tie. She had a feeling that this man might be able to help her.

As he neared Sarah, she could see that he was no more than five five and that she, in her heels, towered over him. He stopped a few feet in front of her and leaned against one of the benches.

"How can I help you?"

"I, err, need to get this fixed. " Sarah smiled and held up her phone. "Bit of an accident and the phone didn't fare too well."

The man gave a little laugh and reached out to take the phone from her. He looked over the phone, surveying the the broken screen. "Yeah, we get this a lot."

"Really?" Sarah asked, frowning.

The man laughed again. "More than you might think."

"Ah okay," she said, feeling slightly relieved. "So, um, can you fix it?"

"Yeah, that shouldn't be a problem," he answered, continuing to examine the phone. "Just got to replace the screen and the keypad. Can probably get it back to you by tomorrow."

Sarah breathed a sigh of relief; at least that was one of her problems taken care of. "Great. I'll swing by tomorrow to pick it up. Thanks a lot..."

"James," he said. "James Sato."

Sarah gave him another smile. "Well, thanks again, James Sato."

She started to turn to leave, when Sato held up his hand. "Wait a second. Can I ask you something?" His voice sounded suddenly more nervous.

She stopped.

"Are you Sarah Walker?"

"Yes," she answered, feeling slightly puzzled. She was normally good at remembering faces. "Yes, I am. Have we met before?"

"No, we haven't." Sato shook his head. "We, err, have a mutual friend."

"A mutual friend?" she said, the frown returning to her face.

"Yeah," Sato continued, hoisting himself up on the workbench, depositing her broken phone next to him. "Chuck Bartowski."

Sarah paused. He knew Chuck?

Sato seemed to pick up on her confusion. "I was in the class below him at Stanford. He and Bryce were actually the ones that recruited me. Met them in my freshman year. We were all in the electronics club. That was before I knew they were CIA." Sato sighed, suddenly looking very deflated. "Still can't believe Bryce got Chuck fired."

Sato knew both Chuck and Bryce? At Stanford? Judging from his reaction, he seemed equally as surprised as Sarah was that Bryce had sold Chuck out. Maybe that meant that Chuck and Bryce were friends. Well, once.

Sarah realised that she was still frowning and immediately lightened her expression. Sato, however, seemed not to have noticed. "So you knew Chuck and Bryce back at Stanford?"

"Uh-huh," Sato said nodding, sounding eager to change the subject away from Chuck's dismissal.

"Were they friends back then?" she asked, not wanting to sound too pushy.

"Oh yeah," Sato said, smiling at the memory. "They were really good friends, used to do all sorts of stuff together. They were such nerds." He snorted at the last part.

"Chuck mentioned that something happened between them. At Stanford."

Sato's eyes shot up, his demeanour suddenly changed. "Oh, yeah. Right. I don't think it's really my place to say. I only heard the rumours and all."

"Please, James." Sarah took a step closer to him and he began to fidget with his hands. "I'm Bryce's partner. He got Chuck fired. I need to know."

Sato slowly nodded, his eyes returning to the floor. "End of their junior year, Bryce accused Chuck of cheating. Said that he found answer papers to a test in Chuck's dorm room. And that Chuck was selling copies."

What? That was ridiculous. From all that she had gathered about Chuck in the few days she had known him, he appeared to be an honest and truthful guy, if not a slightly subdued one. Definitely not the kind of guy to cheat. Many of her fellow CIA agents had been known to use duplicitous methods to advance their careers. She didn't think Chuck had been one of them.

"Anyway," Sato continued. "A committee was set-up to look into it, and it looked like they were gonna expel Chuck."

Sarah raised her eyebrows, but tried to keep an open mind.

"But Bryce stepped in at the last minute, said there had been some kind of mistake. That Chuck hadn't been cheating, and that it was all a giant misunderstanding. The committee dropped the charges after that and Chuck got off."

Sato paused to look up at Sarah as if to gauge what she thought, but she schooled her expression to be unreadable.

"But yeah, after that, you know, it was weird. I think Chuck forgave Bryce, eventually. But something was different between them, you know? I think Chuck had a lot of trouble trusting Bryce. To be honest, I don't blame him."

Bryce tried to get Chuck kicked out of school? Sarah's head was spinning. But Chuck forgave Bryce?

Now the dynamic between Chuck and Bryce made a little more sense. The awkward tension that seemed to linger between them. In the two years that she'd known him, Bryce had been anything but disloyal. Trying to get his friend kicked out school was completely unlike the Bryce Larkin she knew. Well, until yesterday.

# # #

11th May, 2007

Sarah's Apartment, Washington D.C.

12:23 EST

After saying farewell to Sato, she'd headed back to her apartment. Before leaving, he'd given a her another cell to use as a replacement until her own was fixed. Her number had been temporally transferred to the replacement, so she no longer had to worry about being out of contact. Her head was feeling clearer now, and she'd been able to take off sunglasses that she'd used on the ride over, making the drive back much more pleasant. She picked up a small pastry and skinny latte from the Italian café on the corner of her road, which she liked to visit whenever she was in town, before rounding on her apartment.

Mrs Wiltes' cats were nowhere in sight as Sarah passed through the hallway in her apartment building, and there was no-one hiding behind her refrigerator when she opened the door. She felt slightly relieved that Bryce hadn't decided to pay her a second visit, even though she knew there was only a slim chance he would. He would probably disappear off the face of the Earth, and then turn up a couple of days later acting as if nothing had happened.

She threw her purse down on the couch, the Smith & Wesson which she'dtucked carefully away inside making a slight clunking sound as she did, and pressed her palms together. Last night Bryce had refused to give her answers, well, at least credible ones, and now, with a somewhat ironic twist of fate, she was starting to get them. When Bryce next resurfaced, she was going to confront him about his actions at Stanford.

Did he frame Chuck for cheating? Or was it all a misunderstanding? If so, why would Bryce report him? Sure, it was over five years ago now, and they were both probably young and naïve back then, but Bryce should have told her about any potential animosity between them before they went on the Columbia mission. Not as his girlfriend – she really wasn't very fond of that label anyway– but as his partner. Maybe if Bryce and Chuck hadn't been partnered, things would have worked out differently. Still, it was hard to believe that either of them would let their feelings for each other jeopardise the mission.

Despite it probably violating Bryce's trust, and almost certainly being illegal, Sarah was starting to think that maybe she should look into their CIA files and see what they said about Chuck and Bryce's recruitment at Stanford. Perhaps then, Bryce's actions at the hearing would-

She was interrupted from her thoughts as she felt something slip beneath her feet. It was an envelope. Someone must have posted it under her door. She picked it up and turned it over. There was no address on the envelope nor a postmark. It simply read Sarah. The handwriting was eloquently joined and not immediately familiar to her. She really doubted the CIA would resort to these means to contact her, even if she did have a broken cellphone. Which only meant it could be personal...

She sat down on the couch and stared at the envelope for a couple of seconds for opening it. Inside was a single piece of paper, the writing the same as on the envelope.

Sarah,

Came to say goodbye, but you weren't here. For the best really, I guess.

I'm leaving. Not my choice, but you know how it is.

I regret things couldn't have been different.

Maybe see you in another life.

I'm sorry.

Bryce.

Sarah re-read the letter twice more, and continued to stare at it for a while after before finally putting it down.

Bryce was leaving?

What the hell did that mean? Was he being reassigned? Why hadn't she been contacted? For not the first time in the past couple of days questions began to flood through Sarah's head, and she suddenly felt as if she was being excluded from something very important. She had half a mind to call up Graham right now and demand to know just what the hell-

Sarah took a deep breath, and allowed a moment to realise where she was.

That's when her rational mind kicked in. She worked for the Central Intelligence Agency. Agents were reassigned all the time. That was how the CIA worked. She was pretty high up as field agents go, but they by no means told her everything. There was no secret conspiracy against her. Bryce had probably just been assigned some classified mission.

Sarah kicked her shoes off and sunk back into the couch. She allowed it to swallow her up, and closed her eyes, only to see Bryce's words on the back of her eyelids.

Maybe see you in another life.

I'm sorry.

That really didn't sound like the Bryce she knew. But if the last couple of days had proved anything at all, that was hardly surprising.

# # #

October 11th, 2007

Daniel Marks' Hotel Room, Los Angeles

22:57 PST

Staring at the computer screen for so long was starting to make Chuck feel tired. He was sitting on his bed, leaning back against the headboard with his laptop perched across his knees, its heat causing him to sweat beneath his thick jeans. The endless lines of code that he had been tasked with analysing were starting to look like Tron lines. Though that could also be due to the half empty bottle of Jim Beam that sat on the small table by his bed. The dried blood from several nights before was still there.

Chuck wasn't really a fan of Jim Beam, but Johnnie Walker had lost its appeal to him. Besides, after the first glass, the taste didn't really matter as much. He probably should turn the lights on; focusing on the glaring screen in the dark probably wasn't doing his eyes good. The light traffic coming in through the window wasn't nearly as bright as he thought it would be. But he'd been staring at computer screens since before he could walk, and he doubted it was going to start giving him problems now.

If anything, it was the returning tiredness that was bothering him. The returning ongoing tiredness that belonged to the insomniac he'd become.

He'd been looking over the lines of codes for two hours now. Supposedly, they were recovered from a burnt out hard-drive found in a CIA black site, and related to the identity of the alleged Intersect agent. He couldn't make any sense of them. They were only fragments and none of them were complete.

Cooper had called him earlier and asked him to take a look over them and see if he could make anything of them. It was unlikely that he would. The Ring's top analysts had been working on it for weeks and had come up with nothing. But the Director had personally requested that he see if he could make heads or tails of it. Unfortunately, the Director was going to disappointed.

Chuck then felt something vibrate from under him. Maybe it was his conscience calling.

With a bit of effort, he pulled his Ring phone out from the back of his jeans and saw that he had a message:

All operatives are advised to stay clear of Glendale, CA and immediate surrounding area tomorrow, between 12:00 PST and 21:00 PST.

Chuck frowned at the screen. Stay clear of Glendale?

That was odd. No-one had mentioned anything about this to him. He thought that all operatives were supposed to be laying low anyway. What was going on it Glendale? Was the Ring mounting some sort of operation?

Chuck hit the speed dial button on his phone.

When Cooper answered, he sounded grumpier than usual. "What is it, Carmichael?"

"What's going on in Glendale, tomorrow?" he said, trying to sound as sober as he could manage.

"That's need to know, Carmichael," Cooper sternly responded.

"Yeah? Well, I'm tired of sitting around," Chuck hit back, the anger in his voice sounding legitimate. "So tell me, what's going on?"

Pause.

Chuck gripped the phone and hoped that the other man had not hung up.

Finally Cooper spoke. "We were considering involving you in this op. But we figured you had too much of a conscience."

"Just tell me."

"A car bomb is going to explode somewhere in Glendale, tomorrow." Chuck eyes rounded as he said this, too perplexed to interrupt him. "Nothing too big. Just large enough to get noticed."

Large enough to get noticed?

That probably meant people were going to die.

"As in, car bomb explosion?" Chuck said feebly. "As in, bomb that kills people?"

"Yes." Perhaps surprisingly, Cooper's voice sounded anything but patronising, given his rather dumb statement.

"But why?" Chuck said with the strength he could muster. "We're patriots. Our war is with the government, not innocent civilians."

"It's an unfortunate necessity," Cooper answeredwith what Chuck could have sworn was a sigh.

"Since the new Congress was sworn in, attitudes towards the terrorist threat have been relaxing, while the threats to this nation's security are worse than ever. The Administration's become a joke and lacks the power to take the appropriate measures any more." Another pause. "This will open people's eyes."

"Yeah," Chuck added hoarsely. He really didn't give a damn about the politics of it all. Only one thing was his mind: he was going to be responsible for the death of civilians. Indirectly or not, it didn't matter.

"It'll save lives in the long term," Cooper continued. There was another final pause. "Good night, Carmichael."

As the line went dead, Chuck could only grip the phone tighter and hope that it would deliver him some kind of comfort.

Panic started to flow through him and he lacked the ability to control it. It was gripping at him like a vice and twisting at his conscience. Chuck knew the people he worked for were bad people. Very bad people. And that he was now one of them. But in all seriousness, he'd never thought that the people he worked for were insane. Killing civilians?

This plan was fucking insane.

Chuck suddenly become very conscious of his laptop, still on his knees, which felt like it was slowly burning a hole through his legs. Picking it up, he sat it down on the duvet next to him, taking away the searing heat coming from the laptop's battery.

He was about to reach for his half finished glass of whisky, when he noticed the little notification in the corner of the laptop saying he had a new email. Chuck pulled up his email and opened the message.

Your payment for Raymond Perry has been processed.

The sum of $5,000 has been transferred to your account.

Payment for Perry, he read again. Payment? Blood money, that's what it was. Blood money. Perry's life been reduced to five thousand measly dollars. Did some Ring accountant just sit in an office somewhere, calculating how much someone's life was worth?

Chuck couldn't really explain what came over him and happened next. It just did.

Rage. White hot rage.

Directed at no-one in particular.

White hot, ravenous rage.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was on his feet.

And he was screaming.

He wasn't in control.

With his right hand, he grabbed the laptop off the bed, ripping out the power chord, and hurled it blindly against the window at the far end of the room.

It didn't go straight through. Instead, it impacted with a loud thud before crashing to the floor. Large cracks were spiralling outward from the point of impact.

Chuck stood there for a moment, just breathing. His legs weak.

And then he was lying on the floor. Curled up. Where no-one could see him.

And he began to do something that he hadn't done in what felt like an age.

Chuck Bartowski began to cry.

# # #

A/N:I'm actually feeling really bad for Chuck; I feel like I'm bullying him... Oh well, things are going to get better for him...maybe. Probably. Eventually. After they get worse. Mwah hah hah hah.

The next couple of chapters are going to be very Sarah centric. She's gonna see some action and be the sexy badass we all know and love.

Anyone who's noticed, I've reverted back to being really lazy and naming my chapters after songs.

Reviews only make me go faster. ;)