A/N1 A dense chapter of events and context, backstory. Making sure depth of field is adjusted for the finale.

Drop me a line, please. I could use the push.

Don't own Chuck.

Sarah vs. Omaha

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Under the Scope

"What doesn't kill me makes me stronger!"
"Right. Until it kills you."
-response to Nietzsche

June sat staring at the cracked plaster wall of her dingy hotel room. Her rifle with its scope and her pistol with its silencer were comfortable on the stained bedspread. She was on one end of the bed. She was staring at the cracks, unsure whether they were in the wall or in her. She has spent the last hour feeling like she had forgotten something, but she had forgotten what she had forgotten.

Things kept flashing in her mind. She could not tell if the cause of the flashes was external or internal or both. Each flash was a splash of popping grease on her mind's raw, tender flesh. The pain was physical and psychological, agonizing, total.

Another flash: June was small, very small, early in her time at the group home, very young. A woman stopped to visit. She was tall, at least she seemed so to the little June, and pretty, with platinum hair. She sat with June and played with her dolls, asking her about them. The woman seemed sad. She smoothed June's hair and straightened her dress. June noticed that the woman had bandages on her wrists, hidden by long sleeves but exposed when she reached out to June. She drew June into a hug and then she was gone.

Later, June heard two counselors talking. "Yes, that was June's mom. The court allowed her to see her daughter, but this is the first time she has come." Mother. Momma. June waited for her to return. She never did. Much later, June would learn that her mother succeeded at the failure her bandages covered. June hated her for that success, that failure...for that...and June lived in its dark shadow.

The wall is cracked or I am. Walker's face seemed to be projected on the wall. Walker: Graham, Bryce...Chuck. All the men who mattered in June's life, Walker had claimed them all. Taken them from June. The way her mother took herself from June. The wall is cracked. I am. Or. Wall. Can't focus on anything else. Can't. Focus. Walker is causing the pain. Walker is the pain. Can't hurt like this for long.

June stood and walked to the battered dresser. She leaned against it. Then she leaned further forward until her forehead was against the distorted mirror on the dresser. She looked into her own eyes. The only way to get any relief was to be in motion, making progress toward the goal.

June detached the scope from the rifle and slid it into her pocket. She put on a jean jacket and a Tulane cap she bought at the airport. She had tied her purple ribbon around her wrist; she had taken it from her hair to put on her hat.

She looked at the ribbon as her arm emerged from the sleeve of the jacket, traceries of purple around her wrist, and, for a moment, she was her mother.

Bleeding out.

ooOoo

June had located the coffee shop. She knew Bryce's habits. He would want coffee in the morning but would not drink the swill in the hotel. He and Walker had to be staying somewhere within walking distance of the hotel. She did not know if they knew she was coming. She did not know if they knew she had the burner. Assuming they did, assuming they knew she was coming was the only thing that made sense, tactically. That meant that they would be on their guard, and perhaps actually guarded. Getting to Walker was going to be a challenge. But there was no possibility of turning back or turning right or left. The mission was the mission. The mission was Walker. The termination of Walker. It took June an hour or so of walking to locate candidate hotels. After a few minutes of consideration, she narrowed the list to one. It fit Bryce, what she knew of him. Now she needed to confirm her guess.

She stopped at a drugstore on a corner and bought several packs of aspirin powder and a bottle of water. She could not stand to chew any more. She'd just dump the bitter powder straight on her tongue. She also bought a small notebook and a mechanical pencil. Outside the store, she opened a couple of powders and chased them with water. Bitter. So bitter.

She walked to a vantage spot near the hotel she had targeted. She got out her notebook and pencil and began taking notes on the comings and goings of people. She could see into the lobby through the large windows. She expected it to take time to identify the protection team. It did not. She flashed on three faces almost immediately, saw service records, photographs, and evaluations. But the flashes required several more aspirin powders just to keep herself from screaming.

So, there were three men guarding the lobby of the hotel. She had targeted the right one. Walker was there. Pain. Pain.

Flash: Eighteen and leaving the group home. A small suitcase in her hand, her whole world inside it. She had no one. Nowhere to go. She was standing on the street, lost, when a car pulled up. The window went down. "You look like a young woman in need of direction," the man in the car said. "A friend of mine recommended you to me. He thought you might need a job and I might need someone like you. My name is Langston Graham…" She had nothing. No one. Nowhere to go. She got in the car.

Blood. Bleeding out.

ooOoo

Sarah was trying to catch her breath. What had happened between her and Chuck in the past couple of hours had been beyond comprehension. She had no categories, physical or emotional, for what had happened between them. We made love. That was all she really had as a category. But even that seemed not to be responsive to the uncontainable, cup-running-over reality of what had happened between them. Her body was still shaking periodically, aftershocks of the earthquakes she had endured. Chuck had his head pillowed on her bare breasts. He felt her trembling and smiled, enjoying her prolonged enjoyment. She felt him trembling. She smiled.

"We have to get up, Chuck. Casey must be exhausted. Bryce is going to get harder to handle each moment that we are gone. We need to start planning. We think an important Fulcrum meeting is going to happen near here tomorrow." Chuck raised his eyebrows and Sarah gave him a quick run-down of the mission, Garland and Josephine, the whole thing. He listened carefully, thoughtfully.

"Huh. I hope I can meet this Joe; she sounds like someone I'd like."

Sarah brushed her knuckles softly on his face. "She will like you too, no doubt."

"And Bryce and Garland?"

Sarah shrugged. "Let's just say that for Bryce, our mission has a sub-mission."

Chuck shook his head. "I suspect his sub-mission is his mission, and his supposed mission is the sub-mission."

Sarah chuckled. "That's a lot of 'mission', Chuck."

He grinned with half his face. "You inspired me, Sarah. Not that 'mission' was our only mission."

It took her a minute. Then she smacked him on the top of the head gently, the smack lingering and becoming a caress, entangling her fingers in his curls. "Goof. We have to get up."

He put his hands on the mattress to push himself up and she leaned forward, overcome by a rush of feeling, taking his face in her hands and kissing him. "I love you, Chuck. This…" she somehow gestured with all of her to their bed, "...I have no words. I just love you."

He nodded his agreement, his eyes alight, and kissed her back. He stood up and started singing Missionary Man, dancing away from the bed as he picked up his scattered clothing. She knew that song; Ellie had played a Eurythmics album one day in the apartment when she and Sarah were waiting for Chuck. Sarah let herself fall back onto her pillow, laughing freely, and then she jumped up and started singing and dancing with him. "...Believe, believe, believe…"

ooOoo

Sarah, Chuck, Casey, and Bryce were gathered in the Anderson's room. Sarah noted that Bryce had offered no apology for the stunt at the door and he had been pointedly ignoring any indication that she and Chuck were together. Casey kept looking at Bryce with a version of the same contempt Joe had, but Casey said nothing.

On the coffee table in the front of the couch Sarah slept on was a paper map of Louisiana. Bryce had circled the estate that was supposed to host the Executive Meeting, or at least so Garland's planner said.

"Having the Intersect here changes things," Bryce began, his tone business-like but with a spoonful of snide on the side. "If this meeting is as important as it seems to be, major players in Fulcrum will be there. The Intersect can perhaps identify them, see a pattern in who is present, that sort of thing…"

Casey rumbled, "Larkin, you of all people know the kid has a name."

Bryce scowled at Casey. "Oh, he does. You mean, his name is not 'kid'?" Casey's face twisted into an icy smile. "No, it's not. It's Chuck. And 'kid' is miles better than 'Intersect'. If you don't want to call him by name, you could just give him a more fitting title, like 'The Better Man'."

Bryce stood up and Casey did, too. Sarah stood up between them. "Look, I know that you two have a history, what with Casey killing you and all, Bryce. But let it go for now. Call Chuck by his name, Bryce."

Bryce smirked at her and then at Chuck. "Of course I know his name. I was just reminding some of us," he looked pointedly as Sarah and Casey, "that he is government property, an asset, nothing more."

Sarah opened her mouth to speak and Casey's hands became fists, but it was Chuck who replied. "Bryce, like Sarah said, let it go. You know, we were friends once, or I thought we were. I realize you had your reasons for what you did to me at Stanford. With the tests. I don't think those reasons were good ones. I have a mind of my own. I don't need you to substitute yours for mine.

"Maybe I thought too much of you back at college, maybe I deferred to you too often, let you make too many decisions...I don't know. But none of what I did justifies what you did. Sending me the Intersect was another decision of the same sort... God, with a friend like you, Fulcrum seems positively chummy…Just call me by my name, Bryce. And ease up on the property crap. No one owns me. I don't own anyone. And you don't own anyone..."

ooOoo

Bryce let his eyes trail to Sarah as Chuck finished. But she was looking at Chuck, her feelings for him written on her face like a headline. Bryce scowled again. Sarah was supposed to be unreadable. He had never seen that look on her face before. She had been telling him the truth, he realized, his pride absorbing the blow. Although he kept discounting her claim, she had never loved him.

ooOoo

Joe was spooked. Things had been strange during and since breakfast. Beignets ate and coffee finished, Gretta gathered the plates and cups without making eye-contact with Joe. She left with the tray. Joe sat for a moment, cursing herself for the old fool she was. She should have remembered the key; failing that, she should have let it fall and left it on the ground, unconcerned. Instead, she grabbed it, almost unseating herself in doing it. Gretta had noticed. Joe had no idea if Gretta suspected what lock the key fit, but she might. It was no special looking key, brass and discolored from handling over the years. Many of the keys for locks in the house looked almost the same. Still, Joe felt a chill, even seated in the warming morning sunlight. She was not really frightened for herself, but she was frightened for the mission. For Sarah, and even a little for Bryce. Perhaps she might have endangered them.

She bit her lip and rolled her chair inside. She worked her way to her room. When she got there, she had a feeling of presence, a feeling that someone was in the room, or had been in the room. She scanned it. Everything looked as it had when she dressing this morning and the nurse who attended her helped her finish up.

Still...that feeling. Then she noticed that a folder on her small desk was crooked. It had been stationed parallel with the edge of the desk; Joe was a bit obsessive about little details like that. It was not much off parallel, but it was. The folder was the one in which the nurse put the printouts of Joe's daily schedule: medications, doctor visits, physical therapy, social events, etc. Joe did not keep her schedule secret, but she also did not normally share it with anyone, including Gretta. Gretta's schedule was the one that dictated to all others, not Joe's. As far as Joe could tell, there was nothing on the schedule that would raise any red flags. She straightened the folder and wheeled over to her nightstand. She picked up the novel she had been reading, and put it in her lap. As she entered the hallway, she heard a rustle of fabric, and turned her head just in time to see Gretta disappear. She had been watching Joe.

Joe had one thought: That is not good. But she went down the hallway as if she had seen nothing.

ooOoo

The meeting over, Casey called Beckman to tell her how matters stood. She told him she had a team in the lobby, and that there were two other agents stationed in the stairwells. She urged them to stay in the hotel as much as possible, particularly Sarah. The problem was that the Executive Meeting was an event at which the kid could do some real good, identifying the players perhaps or bringing the Intersect to bear on other factors. BFL was right about that. They just had to find a way to get him in position. And Casey knew: no matter what the danger to herself, Sarah would not let Chuck go without her. So they'd be in a two-front battle: Fulcrum to the left, Thorne to the right. Goodie Goodie Goddamnit.

ooOoo

Devon and Ellie were waiting at baggage claim when Susie Lou and Dan got there. Introductions were made and luggage was claimed, and the four of them started out of the terminal. Almost immediately, Ellie and Susie Lou were engrossed in conversation. Dan glanced at Devon and Devon gave Dan a What Can You Do?-look. Dan chuckled and shook his head.

The two women fell even deeper into conversation on the way back to the apartment. Ellie was explaining the gist of Chuck's story, his use of the Intersect, the nature of his flashes. Susie was listening keenly, asking questions, supplementing or qualifying Ellie's suppositions and guesses. Devon saw for the first time someone who could equal Ellie's focus. The two of them were lost in speculations, neurology and artificial intelligence swing dancing together, oblivious of everything else but the music and the steps. For Devon, Ellie was never sexier than when her mind was in hyperdrive. He was smart; he knew it; Ellie had a whole different set of gears. So, too, evidently, did Susie Lou. Dan looked out the window, peeking back at Ellie and Susie Lou, but not focusing on them for long. Devon could see what was happening. Each peek made it clear how hopelessly attached to Susie Lou Dan was, and how intimidating he found her.

ooOoo

Robert helped Joe into the car, then he folded up her chair and put it in the trunk. It was Joe's day to work at the Shelter for Abused Women and Children. She spent several hours there once a week, working at the front desk, and she filled in at other times as she could. It was often distressing, but it was worth it. Gretta's charity work was a commercial enterprise, a way of making herself seem an upstanding citizen. Joe's was real, unadvertised but effective.

Robert got behind the wheel and Joe saw him look at her in the rearview mirror. His gaze was thoughtful and troubled.

"Robert, what is it?"

"Miss Gretta, Josephine, she was asking me questions today about where you've been this week. I was told not to tell you; she said she would fire me. But…." He stopped and shrugged. "I thought you should know." Joe nodded and Robert started the car, backed up and then drove down the driveway.

This is definitely not good.

ooOoo

June did not stand in one place for long. She moved to a new vantage point after she had identified the team in the lobby. She knew there were likely others in the building. June's mind kept playing tricks on her, or she kept playing tricks on her mind. Tricks mind on playing her. No coherence. Kill Walker.

She kept having fits and starts of clarity, never lasting long. Shards of memories. A tranq dart into Chuck's neck: acting on an order never given, punishing him, striking out at Walker. She had not wanted to hurt Chuck….Walker. He loves Walker. Graham loves Walker. Bryce loves Walker. Chuck loves Walker. June kills Walker. Images. Images. Images. Don't understand. Intersect! Images of herself. Her file. Pictures. Bodies. Bodies. Bodies. Bleeding out. Always bleeding out. Momma, don't leave. Come back. "Who hurt your wrists, lady?" "The world, sweet girl, the world. The world hurts….That's all it ever does." Hurts. Everything hurts. Walker. Graham, Bryce, Chuck, Momma. Walker.

Even with the mission imperative, June knew a frontal assault would not work. She would die before Walker did. That was not allowed. But Walker had to leave the hotel sometime.

June's head was a Chernobyl reactor. But she was not tired. She felt fresh and strong. She could bear the pain; she would bear the pain. She would find a way. They taught her at the Farm. I learned how to hurt the world back. Images. Bodies. Her file. Blood. Blood.

Bleeding out.

ooOoo

At the apartment, Ellie showed Susie Lou and Dan to Chuck's room. They stowed their stuff and came back to the living room.

Ellie launched back into conversation immediately. "Susie Lou, we've been talking about Chuck, but what about Thorne? What's the prototype doing to her?"

Susie Lou sat down in a chair and Dan leaned on its back. "I can't say anything for sure, but one of the problems with the prototype is the tug of war it creates between consciousness and...conscience. Graham wanted it to make agents hyper-conscious, luminous, the way we all feel on our best days, like we're tracking everything, aware of everything. But he also wanted it to...suppress conscience. I suppose what he really hoped was that he could find agents who lacked a conscience so that suppression would not be necessary." Susie Lou frowned, shaking her head. "I tried to get him to understand that...increasing consciousness...increases conscience...That the more aware, conscious, a person is, the more aware of value the person is too. Graham wanted something that was ultimately paradoxical. I told him that from early on but he would not listen."

She stopped, a thought occurring to her. "By the way, although I haven't met Chuck, my guess is that this is why the Intersect has worked for him as well as it has. He has conscience enough to withstand its demands on his consciousness.

"And despite what Graham wanted to believe, no one is devoid of conscience; it may be distorted or seared, but it is always there-even the sociopath has things he won't do. My guess is that Thorne's past, her regrets, the things that haunt her...the Intersect will dig up all her graves. Raise the dead. She won't be able to stop what she is doing, but she will be tormented the entire time she does it, until the torment finally breaks her…" Susie Lou's voice began to stumble. She cried as she finished. "And I created that thing in her head. I should have stood up to Graham; I should have walked. But I had nowhere to go, and I kept hoping he would change course, take my hints...that the Project could be used to do good. I lied to myself...and this is the result."

Dan came around the chair and crouched beside it. "No, this is not your fault. You are another of Graham's victims, Susie Lou, not his accomplice. Who knows how much blood that man has on his hands?"

ooOoo

Ellie and Susie Lou had fallen back into a conversation that neither Devon nor Dan could contribute much to. Devon suggested that he and Dan go get a drink. They got to the neighborhood bar, ordered beers and sat watching a soccer game with little real interest. Finally, Devon turned to Dan.

"Susie Lou's smart, huh?"

The beers came. Dan picked his up and took a swig then answered.

"God, yes. Ellie, too."

"God, yes," Devon replied.

Dan looked at him, then said what Devon expected. "I don't think I'm smart enough for her. I'm an NSA analyst; a good one. But I worry that she'll get bored of me."

Devon picked up his bottle, held it out so that Dan would hold out his (Dan did), and clinked it against Dan's. "Cardiac surgeon. Welcome to my world."

A/N2 Welcome, indeed. Writing June at this point while suffering a return of my own headache troubles is a weird art-meets-life moment.

Tune in next time for Chapter Twenty, "Gifts and Losses".