A hospital is no place to be sick. — Samuel Goldwyn

Disconnect

11 JULY 2008
ST. LUCY'S EMERGENCY ROOM
22:49 EDT

Chuck hit the entrance to the ER and didn't pause, though it nearly meant crashing into the automatic doors. Instead, he slid to the side, glancing one shoulder off of the metal frame of the door, and slipped through the narrowest opening he could manage. He repeated the process with the second set of doors, skidded to a stop inside, and swept a frantic look over the room. The minute he spotted the reception desk, he crossed to it in three strides.

The nurse on the phone didn't even look up at him. "Sign in, please."

"My sister, they told me she's here, I need to see her right away."

The nurse sighed. "Name?"

"Bartowski, Elli—ah, Eleanor Faye Bartowski. She would've come through less than an hour ago? Maybe a little more, I don't know. It was probably less, I don't know how much time has passed. I just know that I really, really need to see that she's okay."

The nurse suddenly looked less bored. "If you'll wait just a second—"

"You don't get it!" Did the woman not understand? That was his sister. She'd been close to an explosion and now she was in the hospital, and he needed to see her, to make sure that she really was okay, that Graham hadn't gotten to her somehow. "I need to see her now!"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask that you please calm down and—"

"Chuck!"

Chuck whirled on the spot to see Devon standing a few feet away, wearing a bloodstained shirt and jeans. His head immediately felt faint. Was that Ellie's blood? What had happened? "Devon? What's going on? Where's Ellie? Is she okay? She made it, right? She's okay?"

"Relax," Devon said. "She's going to be fine."

Immediately, Chuck's knees turned to water. His fists, which he hadn't unclenched since the moment Gwen had told him that Ellie had nearly been blown up, finally unclenched. He felt the world sway dangerously, but managed to stay on his feet. Relief tasted tangible in his mouth until he realized what Devon had said. "Wait, going to be?"

Devon looked over at the nurse behind the desk. "I've got it from here, Kayla."

"Thanks, Dr. Woodcomb."

"Going to be?" Chuck asked again, as Devon took his arm and guided him away to a more secluded part of the waiting room. "Devon, what happened? What's going on? Where is she?"

"She's in surgery."

Again, the world swayed, but Devon tightened his grip on Chuck's arm. Since Chuck's knees had liquefied again, it was probably the only thing keeping him upright. All he could think was, Surgery. My sister's in surgery. Surgery was what they did to injured people. Surgery was that thing they do on E.R. where they cut into live humans like craft projects and shout about needing O-neg and things like that. Somebody was doing that to his sister. His sister was hurting.

"She got hit with some of the shrapnel from the explosion. She was in the back of the room, so it could have been much worse. There was some internal bleeding, but I just got good news: they've fixed that. Did you hear me, Chuck? She's going to be fine."

"Yeah." Though the word surgery was still terrifying beyond all measure, Devon's calm tone had broken through the ice of panic coating Chuck's brain, making it hard to think. He took a deep breath. When that did nothing, he took another, and found that it helped this time. "Yeah. Yeah. You're right. She's going to be—how do you know they're going to fix her right?"

"Because her doctor is one of the best. I made sure of it."

Chuck looked in horror at the bloodstains on his clothes, and the pieces finally connected. "You were there?"

"I was in a waiting room. This isn't Ellie's blood. Some of the other doctors were in worse condition than she was, so we ran triage until the other professionals could get there."

"We?"

"Me and Ellie. See? She was healthy enough to help with the first aid."

"You said internal bleeding," Chuck said, and nausea rose, coating the back of his throat and his mouth like a bilge. "There's nothing fine about internal bleeding."

Devon grimaced. "It was scary, but they got it stopped. They're just stitching her up now. Where were you, by the way? I tried calling your cell like fifty times, but you never picked up."

"Somebody took it from me," Chuck said, swallowing the sick. When Devon looked startled at that, he sighed. "It's been a really long, really confusing day. Gwen was the one who heard about the news and Ellie, and she gave me a ride here. When can I see Ellie? Soon?"

"She'll be in post-op pretty quick, and then I'll get you cleared to see her. Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure, what?"

"I need to get out of these clothes. I was holding down the fort until you got here, but I've got a set of scrubs in my locker. Mind staying here and keeping an ear out? Kayla over at the desk will set you up with any updates and can page me if something changes."

Panic came back. "How likely is that?"

"Ellie's healthy, Chuck. She'll be just fine, so stay here and keep breathing. I'll be right back."

"Keep breathing. Right."

He managed to stay on his feet until Devon hurried off, but the minute the other man was gone, all of the tension left his body at once. He collapsed into the nearest chair and leaned forward until his face rested in his hands. Ellie had been hurt. Ellie was going to be okay. There was internal bleeding, and surgery, but she was going to be okay. Ellie had nearly been blown up.

Graham had been blown up.

Chuck would have been blown up, if he'd been there, too. Gwen had said there were no survivors.

Chuck began to shake. Hard.

"She's fine," he told himself, not caring that he was being relegated to the role of crazy person in the room by talking to himself. "She's fine."

When Devon came back, he'd managed to collect himself, though he was still shaking. Gwen had gone straight to the DNI upon dropping him off at the hospital, as part of the building blowing up had to be an "all hands on deck" situation. Chuck imagined that even Dave had been called in.

He looked over as Devon sat down next to him, wearing scrubs and looking exhausted. "You okay?" Chuck asked, as it occurred to him that witnessing the entire thing had to be twice as frightening as finding out after the fact.

"Yeah," Devon said. "I wasn't close enough to feel anything but the floors rattle. Just shaky, you know?"

"No kidding." Chuck held his hand up so that they could both see it quiver in the bad fluorescent lighting.

Devon let out a long breath. "Scared about five years off my life."

"Mine too. Gwen broke every speed limit to get here and it still felt like we were crawling." Chuck scrubbed his hands over his face and when that did nothing to quash the too-exhausted-and-scared feeling, he ran his hands through his hair and left them interlocked at the back of his head. "We need to get out of the Intersect game."

It was the first time he'd voiced the thought aloud since returning from the bunker. Sure, he'd discussed the idea that the Intersect—and Lincoln—could be removed with Sarah and Ellie, but hearing that in his own voice, so final, just felt different. His sister had nearly been blown up because of the Intersect. He'd nearly been blown up because of the Intersect. They were all stuck in this perpetual limbo once more because of the Intersect, because of Lincoln, because of things in his head.

"Damn right we do," Devon said. "Any idea how?"

"Not sure." Chuck stared at his feet. "But I'll think of some way."

"Good."

Belatedly, Chuck looked around. "Have you called Sarah and Casey? Do they know?"

"I called Casey. He told me they'd handle it." Devon looked exhausted, the day's stubble somehow more obvious in the harsh lighting. It contrasted sharply with his skin, which was the same gray as Chuck's own, Chuck figured. "He asked if I'd seen you. Where have you been?"

"Graham wanted me to upload the Intersect and didn't want to take no for an answer," Chuck said.

Devon gave him a horrified look. "What? Were you in—"

"No. They kept me somewhere off-site. I got away." Chuck's smile felt absolutely grim and humorless now. "Good thing, too."

"Dr. Woodcomb?" Kayla the Nurse called across the waiting room.

Instantly, both Chuck and Devon were on their feet. Devon gestured for Chuck to stay there as he headed toward the nurse. It only took a few seconds of conversation before he clapped Kayla happily on both shoulders and rushed back to Chuck. "She made it through just fine," he said. "They can let us back to see her, but only one at a time."

"You go," Chuck said immediately.

"You sure?"

"You're the fiancé. I'm just the annoying younger brother. I can chill here, see if Sarah and Casey show."

"I'll be quick," Devon said.

"Take your time. Like I said, just the annoying younger brother."

"Yeah, right," Devon said, but he hurried through the double-doors and out of the waiting room. The minute he was out of sight, Chuck let out a long, slow breath. He fell back into the chair again and rested his head back until he could look at the brown-spotted ceiling tiles. Was that dried blood? No, it was probably just dust. St. Lucy's had a great neurology department, but their E.R. waiting room left much to be desired.

God, he was tired. He was still freaked out and worried about Ellie, but somehow, seeing that relief on Devon's face had been enough to kill most of the adrenaline. When he looked down, his right knee—his good knee, but the one also cut up by the day's activities—was jiggling, but it didn't change the fact that he was bone-weary from what had been the craziest day in recent history. He could use some caffeine. He'd get some coffee, hand it off to Devon when the other man came out. It would be a long night.

The vending machines were in a small room off to the side with something for everything—a spinning rack vending machine with plastic-wrapped sandwiches, candy, sodas, and most importantly, coffee. Chuck debated the energy drinks and figured he'd rather go low-tech. Plus, the hospital was cold. Coffee would warm him up. He put in two quarters and watched the cheap paper cup begin to fill.

He heard the pacing of high heeled shoes in the short hallway outside the vending machine room. They clicked back and forth and Chuck thought, I know how you feel. My sister was nearly blown to pieces today.

It made indigestion shoot through his midsection like a live spurt of acid.

Since he didn't want to dwell on it, he grabbed the coffee cup. Maybe he'd offer it to High Heels. Whoever it was sounded like they could use it just as much as Chuck.

He stepped in the doorway and cleared his throat. "Hey, do you want a—Sarah?"

Sarah spun on her high heels so fast that she actively stumbled. Alarmed, Chuck took an instinctive half-step forward. Hot coffee sloshed over the rim of his cup and onto the skin between his thumb and his forefinger. He jumped—which only splashed coffee around worse.

Sarah, on the other hand, stared. Her eyes went huge and almost glassy, pupils shrinking to pinpricks. The blood drained out of her face; she stumbled back, groping blindly along the wall. "C-Chuck? Is that you?"

Chuck warily set the coffee down. "Who else would it be?"

"How—what are you—how? How?" Sarah stared at him so hard it was almost like she could see through him. "How are you here?"

"Gwen gave me a ride."

"That's not what I—" Sarah broke off mid-sentence and turned away to stare at the wall opposite her. She took a deep breath, one that made her entire torso shudder. "That's not what I meant. How are you here? You're alive!"

Chuck gaped at her, baffled. "Sarah, are you okay? Of course I'm alive. Why wouldn't I be? What's going on? Ellie's fine. I haven't been in to see her yet, but Devon says—"

"Beckman called me," Sarah said, turning away from the wall. She was still bone-white. "She called me and told me you were dead, but you're not dead because you're right there and you weren't blown up because you're right there. You're there, and you're not dead."

"Oh, my God," Chuck said, as his brain finally caught up with him. "Sarah, I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

When he stepped forward, though, she took a step back. "Why the hell didn't you pick up your phone!" Belatedly, he realized that her clothes—the same outfit he'd spotted from Gwen's driveway—were covered in flecks of hyper-glow paint, as though she'd been splashed by a craft project. "What the hell, Chuck? Seriously? I know you're mad at me—"

"I'm not mad at—"

"But couldn't you have at least picked up your damned phone so that I didn't have to spend the last ten minutes rehearsing how I was going to have to tell your sister that you had died?"

"Whoa, hold on," Chuck said.

Sarah plowed on right past him. "What were you doing? Playing video games?"

"My phone got taken from me, for your information," Chuck said. Confusion and guilt were quickly turning to annoyance. Maybe it was the way Sarah was glaring at him. Maybe it was the fact that he was tired and sick of having to deal with everything. Hell, it was sheer exhaustion, and he knew it, but he could feel the anger rising. "It wasn't like I had a choice."

"What are you talking about? Your phone got taken away from you? By whom?"

"Graham's men," Chuck said promptly. "Or at least, that's who I think they were. They never outright said while they were busy kidnapping me."

Sarah gaped at him.

"So, you know what, sorry for being out of touch. I didn't know you were calling or otherwise I would have found some way to tell you I wasn't dead, don't you think?"

"These days, I wouldn't know," Sarah said.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that—yes, Devon?"

Chuck turned to see Devon standing at the mouth of the hallway, peering at them uncertainly. "Hey, Sarah," he said, edging forward toward Chuck. "Sorry to, um, interrupt."

"It's fine," both Chuck and Sarah said, turning away from each other.

"I just thought you'd want to know: Ellie's awake." He looked over at Chuck. "She wants to see you."

"Okay." Chuck shoved both hands in his pockets. "There's coffee here if either one of you wants it. I'm going to—yeah, I'm just going to go."

"I'll walk you back," Devon said.

Chuck didn't look at Sarah as he walked away. He was tense, his spine ramrod straight, and every muscle in his body wound tight. Devon must have noticed, for the instant they were around the corner, he asked, "You okay, man?"

"I'm fine," Chuck said. "Just a very, very long day."

Devon nodded. They headed for the double-doors together and were nearly through when Chuck heard his name being called again. He turned slowly.

Sarah hurried across the waiting room and gave him a hug. It wasn't a heat-seeking-missile hug, but it still caught him off-guard. He hugged her back. One—or both—of them was trembling, and it rocked through him.

Eventually, Sarah let him go. "I'm glad you're not dead," she told him, and left.

"Don't look at me," Devon said when Chuck gave him a confused look. "I don't understand women any better than you do. What was all that about, anyway?"

"I don't know." Chuck ran his hand over his face again and took a deep breath. His stomach was still in knots over Ellie. He hadn't even seen her yet and his thoughts were a mess. Something was wrong with Sarah and she was going to start repressing it or not talking about it or whatever she did because it was Sarah. His sister was recovering from life-saving surgery. He'd been nearly blown to pieces. He hadn't even talked to Casey yet and there were bound to be issues there, too. It wasn't even midnight and he was just so tired, but it looked like a long night ahead.

He took a deep breath again. "Let's go see Ellie."

"Okay. This way. They moved her to a different section for post-op. I'll come back and get Sarah." Devon led the way down a corridor that smelled of disinfectant and other hospital things Chuck couldn't identify. They had to go two floors up and down another hallway to get to Ellie's room. At the door, Devon paused. "This is where I leave you. Waiting room's through there."

"Thanks, Devon."

"She probably looks worse than she feels. Keep that in mind. They've got her on the good drugs."

"Okay."

He had to bolster himself for the worst. Even then, it didn't come close. Devon's warning hadn't given him leave to imagine how pale Ellie was, her skin leached of all color so that she looked gray and bruised and tiny in the harsh light. She lay on her back with her eyes closed and there were machines all over the place, monitoring her blood pressure, heart-rate, things Chuck didn't understand. A needle—he hated needles—poked out of her arm to an IV drip. She had her eyes closed, but she was grimacing.

It made him feel so impossibly scared and sad to see his sister like this.

After a second, he found the courage to move out of the doorway. The nurse puttering with a clipboard by the machines looked up and gave him an encouraging smile. "You can come closer," he said. "She's resting, but she can hear you if you talk to her."

"Thanks," Chuck told him. Warily, he moved around to the other side of the bed. "I'm not in the way if I…"

"No, no, you're fine."

Ellie stirred, the grimace deepening as whatever she did pained her. It hurt Chuck like a physical ache. Instinctively, he moved to try and stop her, though he had no idea how.

"Chuck?" Her voice was faint. "That you?"

"Hey, El," Chuck said, and bit his bottom lip. "I'm here. Don't try to move or anything, okay? I'm right here."

"Trust me," Ellie said, opening her eyes to look at him. They weren't quite clear of the pain and the drugs, but she seemed a great deal more lucid than he had expected. "I tried that already."

"Bad idea?" He forced a smile.

"Really bad idea."

This time, the smile came a little more naturally.

"Quit hovering," Ellie said. "If you're going to hover, pull up a chair or something."

"Yes, ma'am." He had to maneuver around a tray table to pull the chair closer to the hospital bed. It made for an awkward spot to sit, as he had the heart-rate monitor almost poking into his shoulder, but he obeyed Ellie, sitting down. The minute he did, he reached for her hand. "How do you feel?"

"Floaty." Ellie closed her eyes for a minute. "I may fall asleep on you."

"That's perfectly fine. You, uh, you do what you need to do." Chuck looked over at the nurse, who was still bent over the clipboard, scribbling. "That's, ah, that's a lot of writing you're doing. Is that normal?"

"Chuck," Ellie said, her voice slurring a little. "Let Mike do his work."

"His name is Mike?" Chuck asked.

The nurse shook his head. "Scott," he mouthed at Chuck, and shrugged. "I'm just about done here. I'll be back in a couple of minutes to check on you, Dr. Bartowski. If you need anything, you just press that button there." He pointed out a call-button to Chuck.

"Thanks, Scott," Chuck said, and the nurse left. He turned back to Ellie. "Still floating?"

"Don't feel so good. Might throw up."

"Wow," Chuck said. "Well, uh, okay, uh. Let me…" He searched around until he found a yellow-orange plastic bowl of some sort, probably meant for just this purpose. "Well, we've got it covered if you do. Do you want me to try putting your hair back?"

"S'fine. Feels gross." Ellie started to lift her hand, possibly to mess with her hair, and flinched, letting out a moan that made Chuck want to throw up in sympathy. "Never mind. It's fine the way it is. Gross and all."

"It looks great," Chuck lied, as it was a tangled mess. "You look great."

"Do not." Ellie went silent, her face going slack for a second. She seemed to wake up a few seconds later. "But thanks for saying so."

"I can go to your apartment and get your shampoo and some things for you in a little while," Chuck said. "And some stuff for Devon so he can stay here."

"S'okay, it's fine." The words were coming slower. "I can handle it."

"You should get some sleep. Let others pamper you for a bit. Rest, you know."

"That sounds good." Ellie's face went slack again. Chuck, who'd barely dared to move for fear that he might jostle her, let out a single breath. He felt his shoulders relax, followed by his chest and the rest of his torso, until he was sitting there, almost slumped forward. Ellie's hand was impossibly warm in his, almost burning. Was that a fever? Or was he just so cold—he had been so cold with outright terror since Gwen had told him about the Intersect and Ellie—that everything else felt like a furnace in contrast?

He didn't know how long he stayed, watching his sister breathe. She didn't look happy: her brow was furrowed, and he didn't know if it was pain or something else, if the drugs were working. Scott came back in and made a few more notes on the clipboard, but he didn't talk. Chuck was grateful. Sometimes he himself talked to fill the space quiet created, but right now, he needed the silence.

They'd tried to upgrade the Intersect. It had literally blown up in their faces.

"Why were you even there?" he said aloud, looking at Ellie's sleeping form after Scott had left. "Why did they even need you to be there when they uploaded the Intersect? Did Graham make you, too?"

"Wanted to be there," Ellie murmured.

Chuck jumped. "You're awake?"

"'Course I am, silly. Wanted to be there. Wanted to see how to take the Intersect out of you."

Chuck frowned. "Don't you mean put it into me?"

"I meant what I said, Chuck. I always do. I'm going to sleep now."

"Okay. Why don't I go get Devon?"

"Sounds good."

He was loath to let go of her hand, but he forced himself to set it gently atop the sheets. "I love you, Ellie," he said. "Not, you know, just in case or anything. Just, I needed to say that. When I come back, I'm bringing enough flowers to make the head gardener at the Botanical Gardens jealous."

"Can't wait. Love you, too."

Outside her room, he paused to collect himself, resting his back against the warmth of the hospital wall until he was sure one of the passing nurses would hurry him along for loitering. His knees wanted to buckle again, but he locked them. Ellie had been lucid, but it didn't change the fact that underneath her hospital gown, there were bandages that had no business being there, or that she was hurting underneath the haze of the drugs, and it hurt him in turn. The imagined, he knew, was always worse than the reality, but the reality had been pretty damned bad.

He kind of understood Ellie when she said she might throw up. He felt a bit like being sick all over the linoleum.

After another minute, he stood and went to find Devon to hand off the bedside baton, so to speak. He didn't know if Sarah had left the hospital to go handle Intersect matters. The NSA and the CIA were likely in chaos right now, the CIA more so because their Director had just been burnt to a crisp.

He found her sitting in the waiting room Devon had mentioned. He drew up short.

She looked up from her hands at him. "Hi."

Warily, he took a seat next to her. "Where's Devon?"

"He went to go see if the gift shop had any calla lilies. If they don't, I imagine he's buying everything else in the shop anyway."

"Oh. I hope he leaves some for me."

"I wouldn't count on it."

"Figures."

Sarah turned to look at him. "Chuck, where is your cell phone?"

"I don't know. Some guy has it."

"What? Why does some guy have it? Chuck, tell me what the hell is going on."

He nearly snapped that he'd already given his statement to Gwen, but thankfully common sense reasserted itself at the last second. Sarah had been out with Carina. She was working on piecemeal information just like the rest of them. The Intersect had blown up. Things were crazy, and that wasn't even getting into the fact that she'd genuinely thought he was dead earlier.

"I met with Graham this afternoon," he said.

"What!" Sarah shot upright in her seat. "Why? Why would you do that?"

"He suckered me into it. Ambushed me in the cafeteria while I was meeting with Dave. There wasn't any way I could say no to the Director of the CIA in front of all of those people, so I kept the meeting short." And he'd had his tattoos ready to move into his line of vision the whole time. Even now, he still felt spurts of the same terror and anger that had plagued him during the meeting, though they had paled and withered in contrast to his all-consuming earlier fear about Ellie. "Long story short: he wanted me to upload the new Intersect. Seems the CIA is just as eager to keep me as the NSA is to ditch me."

Sarah rubbed her temples.

"And stupid me thought that was the end of it."

"Why? Why would you ever think that?"

"I don't know. I thought I had a pretty good presence going in my exit, but I guess not. He sent five guys after me."

"Are you okay?"

"Not really overall. Physically, I'm fine." Chuck stretched his legs out and tipped his head back to rest against the back of the seat. He stared at the ceiling. "They roughed me up a little, but I got out of there."

"How?"

"I flashed."

"There's more to the story, isn't there?"

"Yes, there's a lot more to it, but can I just...not tell it right now? Nothing personal, but it's been a long day."

There was a long pause before Sarah cleared her throat. "Sure. You're right. It's been a long day. We can talk about this later."

Chuck tilted his head to look at her, though he didn't sit up from his resting point. "Thank you," he said, putting his hand on top of hers.

She nodded tightly, and didn't withdraw her hand. "It's no problem. I should probably call Casey and make sure he's up to speed. Or maybe I don't need to do that. Hey, Casey."

Casey stormed into the waiting room like an assault team. His scowl was so intense that Chuck immediately dropped Sarah's hand and sat up straight. The NSA agent didn't comment. Instead, he slapped a paper bag against Chuck's chest so hard that Chuck coughed. "Got your damned cell phone back."

"Th-thanks." The bag did indeed contain Chuck's cell phone and his watch. "Wait, how'd you know?"

"Like you'd really stay at a four-movie marathon without taking a break to go get pizza, at the very least." Casey rolled his eyes. "What do you think, I'm some kind of amateur?"

"A little over-analytical of my eating habits, maybe, but in this case, I'm grateful." Chuck slipped the watch on. Something occurred to him. "How's the guy you took it from?"

"He'll live. Walker, Beckman's telling me we've got to get Bartowski out of the country. Fulcrum thinks he's dead, he's gotta stay that way for a little while."

"Wait, what? Fulcrum?" Chuck straightened, and then the rest of Casey's words sank in. "Leave the country? No way. I'm not leaving Ellie, not when she's injured like this—"

"You don't have a choice, moron. Orders from above. The sooner we're on a plane, the better."

"I need to talk to Beckman," Sarah said.

"It can wait. Let's move."