AN: Ownership of Chuck. There, I said it. I hope you're happy.

AN2: Many years ago, when I was a young man, I was sent by my employer to deliver some papers to five or six government offices in Washington, DC. I put on my nice suit and flew to our nation's capitol. One of the government offices I was to visit was the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. I had on my Ray-Bans and carried my little briefcase of papers and I thought I was James Bond, whereas in reality I was just a delivery guy in a suit. The DC cab let me off in front of the building and agreed to wait for me. I walked inside and was politely told by the man at reception to wait on the left side of the lobby where there were a few couches and armchairs assembled into a waiting area. Soon a pleasant man came down, took my papers, signed a receipt, and wished me a nice day. That's the whole story. But, to this day, whenever I see a movie or a TV show with a character walking across the large granite seal of the CIA from the floor of that lobby, I turn to my wife. Before I can say anything, she says, with one hand held up to silence me, "I know, I know, I know...you were there. Big whoop." Since I can no longer tell my wife this story, I thought I might burden you instead. Forgive me.

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Daniel Carroll, the President of Stanford University, was generally a pretty happy man. He'd started out life as a computer scientist and had been in on the ground floor of dozens of cutting-edge developments in the field. He had been credited with co-developing the architecture for two different computer operating systems in use around the world. As a scientist, he was widely recognized. His academic career was as successful as his scientific one. He had been a popular and sought-after professor at Stanford, then the Dean of Students and, finally, President of the University. Stanford was one of the most prestigious schools in the country and the Presidency was a huge honor (and responsibility). In that position, he regularly engaged with the most powerful and influential figures in the nation. Although, as President, much of his job was glad-handing and fundraising and his days were otherwise full running the school, he still managed to support and encourage developments in Silicon Valley. Many considered him a bit of a godfather to the explosive growth of the Internet and the computer industry as a whole. He delighted in the prominent platform his Presidential position afforded him to support causes special to him. He was proud of all that he'd accomplished and pleased with where life had brought him.

He stood looking for just a moment at the sixteen foot diameter circular seal of the Central Intelligence Agency composed of black and white inlaid granite in the polished lobby floor of the CIA Headquarters in Langley, Virginia. He had seen this same seal in innumerable movies and TV shows. He was no more immune to the moment than others might be, and he thought to himself, 'yeah, this is pretty cool.'

He was with Dean Harvey Johnson from Stanford and a young CIA man who had introduced himself as Jerry Barker. It was his first time in CIA headquarters, but not his first time dealing with the Agency. During his time as Dean of Students at Stanford he had been the University's liaison with the Agency and had had many meetings and conference calls with various Agency officials. Since his elevation to University President, that particular task had fallen to Dean Johnson. That was the reason he had asked Johnson to accompany him to this meeting with Director Graham.

The meeting itself was a bit of a surprise, as he didn't have the Director on his calendar for this trip to DC. When his assistant emailed him that the Director had urgently requested a meeting at Langley while he was otherwise attending meetings in the city, Carroll readily accepted. He had dealt with Graham several times in the past and the men had a cordial relationship.

Barker took them through the vast lobby. He handed them visitor passes (it took a few moments to have one issued for Johnson, as the man's presence was unexpected) and gave them strict instructions to wear them at all times while in the Building. He used his own card key to escort them through the turnstiles and into the elevators. Shortly they were taken into the outer office of the Director of the CIA. Barker said to Graham's assistant, "President Carroll and Dean Johnson."

The man took their coats and nodded towards the closed door inviting them to go inside the inner office.

Barker opened the door and gestured for them to enter, saying, "Please." Carroll stepped through and smiled in greeting at the Director.

It was a large room with a large, tidy desk at one end, near the windows. Autumn sunlight poured through those windows to illuminate the room, but otherwise the overhead lights had been dimmed. This left Graham, standing behind the desk, very much in silhouette. Graham was almost six and a half feet tall and built like a pro football player. He seemed to fill the entire side of the office and block out the sunlight behind him.

Smiling, Carroll stepped forward with his hand extended and said, "Director Graham, so good to see you again. I have brought Dean Johnson here with me today. I hope it's alright. He's our newest..."

In silence, Graham's arm extended to point at Johnson. Carroll stopped talking in midsentence. The arm shifted to point to the door and, speaking in a very quiet voice, almost a whisper, Graham said, "Out."

Johnson stammered slightly in confusion until Barker took his arm gently and escorted him out of the office, closing the door on his way.

Stunned into silence Carroll stared at Graham who used the same pointing finger to point to a visitor's chair by the desk and say, "Sit."

Carroll knew something was wrong. Seriously, seriously wrong, but he had no clue what it might be.

Once Carroll sat, Graham planted himself in his desk chair and leaned back. He touched a button on his desk. The curtains behind him closed, pitching the room into darkness. He touched a button on his computer keyboard and the wall mounted TV to Carroll's right activated. He saw Professor Fleming fill the screen and say, "Test Subject 032. Bartowski. This will be his first interview." They watched the video through to its end.

Carroll felt sick to his stomach. 'Oh, no...oh, no,' he thought.

Without a word, Graham pressed the button on his keyboard and the video played a second time. When it had ended, Graham reached down to press the button a third time. Carroll said, "That's ...that's ..that's not necessary. I...I don't have to see it again." Graham took his hand away from the button and opened the curtains.

"How did you get this tape?" Carroll asked, when he finally found his voice.

"None of your business," Graham responded, still speaking barely above a whisper, but with fury etched into each word.

Carroll took a deep breath. This was very bad. "Do you know what happened to the young man? To Bartowski?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. He ended up in a dead end job fixing computers for minimum wage. Living in a room in his sister's apartment. Two months ago we found him and he started to work with us. Inside those two months, directly or indirectly, he has saved thousands of American lives without having gone through a single day of training. He has almost immediately become one of my top people. I trust him as much as I trust a member of my own family." He sounded as if he might come right across the desk and beat the living hell out of Carroll given the slightest provocation. Carroll knew it was absurd for him to be physically frightened of the Director of the CIA, but the man's size and fury were ...well, intimidating.

"It sounds like Larkin was one of yours too," said Carroll, trying desperately to get a handle on this situation that was just getting worse and worse.

"Yes, but never mind about Larkin. He's dead," said Graham.

"Well, Fleming's got tenure, but that isn't going to..."

"Forget Fleming. He's dead too," said Graham.

"What? Fleming's dead? How?" asked Carroll.

"He tried to sell government secrets to the wrong people. They killed him for it," said Graham, without softness or sympathy. "But you keep focusing on the other characters in this story. They aren't here. You are." He lifted a large velobound book off the desk and showed it to Carroll. "Do you know what this is? This is the University's report of the investigation into Bartowski's alleged cheating. It includes the transcript of the academic hearing conducted by the University and the decision to expel him. I've read every single word of it. Twice. Who was in charge of that investigation?"

"I was, when I was Dean of Students."

"Who presided over the hearing?"

"I did."

"Who made the decision to expel him?"

"You know I did," said Carroll.

"Exactly...So forget Fleming and Larkin. Their actions have no part in this conversation. You are the man responsible. This is on you. All of it. The way I see it there are two possibilities here." Carroll had to lean forward to hear Graham, as his voice was so low. "Either you were a part of the conspiracy with Larkin and Fleming to expel Chuck from Stanford and ruin his life or ….you are totally fucking incompetent and deserve to lose your job. I see no third possibility. This investigation was a fucking farce and the hearing itself was a goddamn travesty."

Shocked, Carroll managed to croak out, "I had no idea about Larkin and Fleming. About what they were trying to do to Bartowski. I had..."

"Then you are just stupid...and careless. And as a result of that ...inadequacy... an innocent young man has suffered grievously. You call this an investigation?" Graham tapped the book on the desk. "He was accused of selling the test key answers to other students. Who? ….Well, who? Name one... A single student who bought the answers. No?...can't? Ok, name a single student who claimed to have been offered the answers for sale. There were sixty-eight students in that class. Did anyone bother to ask each of them if they'd been offered the answers? Anyone? No... All you have is Larkin's testimony at the hearing that he'd 'heard' it somewhere. That the test answers were for sale and Chuck was selling. From who? Who'd he hear it from? Well? Were the results of the test skewed higher than normal, indicating that something unusual was happening? That the test key was previously distributed? Did anyone ask Fleming that question? There was no cross examination of Larkin or Fleming, of course, as Bartwoski wasn't granted the right to have counsel present at the hearing to determine his entire future. So that's it, some bullshit hearsay about the answers for sale. Did you even try to corroborate it? Look further into the money angle? Look for any increase in Bartowski's bank account balance from the money he made selling the test answers? Lifestyle changes as a result of a sudden influx of cash? Did you even ask anyone? Let me answer that for you. No, you didn't. Not one single fucking question along those lines. Not one.

"And there were people for you to ask who knew him well. There were five... five separate character witnesses for him... Five ...four faculty members, including both his thesis advisors, one of whom was from your own academic department, computer sciences. And the head of the IT help desk where he worked. Did you ask any of them? Again, I'll answer for you. No, you didn't. And then, of course, you chose to ignore what each one of them told you about Chuck being a good, honest guy. His two thesis advisors were so furious at your decision to expel him that each wrote a letter to the school's then President asking him to reverse your decision or at least institute a re-hearing. Their efforts turned out to be a waste of time."

Carroll remembered that well. One of those men had been a close friend before the Bartowski incident and was so angry at him that their friendship had ended immediately. Carroll had barely spoken to the man in the five years since. And now he discovered to his horror that the other man had been right all along. He felt like he was in a nightmare with no awakening. He wanted to throw up.

Graham continued in his weird furious whisper. "But, of course, you know Larkin found the test key under his bed. So that's conclusive evidence of cheating, right? Of course, because Chuck was the only one who had access to the area under his bed...except that that's not the case. We know Larkin did, obviously. The very student framing him was sharing that same room, so we know it wasn't secure enough...but you never looked into the rest of it. Who else had access to that room? Did you ever find out if the door to his room was locked? Was kept locked regularly? Ok. If the door to his bedroom wasn't locked how about the front door to the frat house, was that kept locked? How many boys in the house? Any of them have trouble with cheating in the past? Any of them in that class? Who the hell knows?...because you never fucking checked. This is the single most half-assed investigation I've ever seen.

"Chuck aced the test. Is that evidence of anything? Of course not. He aced all his tests throughout his time at Stanford. That's why he was at the top of the class. It proves nothing at all.

"And he supposedly took the answer key from the locked desk drawer. How did he do that? How did he get into Fleming's locked office? And then how did he get into the locked drawer? How did he avoid the security camera in the hallway of the building? Right? There was no video footage of him entering that office afterhours. Well, how did he manage that? Did you find any indication that he has the skills of a burglar? Knows how to pick a lock? Lock picks in his room? Any physical evidence that either lock had been tampered with? Scratches on the lock faces from the tension wrench slipping? Anything? Oh, that's right, you have no goddamn idea because nobody ever asked those fucking questions.

"Your own faculty told you about his skill with computers. It never occurred to you that if he was inclined to steal test answers he'd do it from his dorm room and with his computer? Apparently, it did not.

"A scholarship student, double major, top of the class, writing his theses. Plural...theses, not thesis...he was writing one for each of his two majors. A candidate for University honors. His professors and thesis advisors love him. He's working part time at the IT help desk to make ends meet. Never had a bit of trouble academically, not even an overdue library book, much less allegations of cheating. And you ….you...not Fleming and not Larkin, you...destroy his life after this fucking excuse for an investigation. The evidence was literally unbelievable. You should be ashamed of yourself, Carroll. Ashamed." Graham was breathing hard through his nose with the emotion of his words. The muscles of his jaw bulged as he clenched his teeth and there was a vein throbbing in his temple.

Graham's words had had the desired effect and Carroll was, in fact, deeply ashamed. "I...I...what do you want me to do?" Carroll managed to say after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

"I'm not going to tell you what I want you to do. I'm not even going to tell you what I think you should do. I'm simply going to tell you what you are going to do. You are going to leave my office and cancel the rest of your meetings in DC. You are going to fly back to Palo Alto immediately. You are going to meet with the General Counsel of the school in the morning, maybe assemble the Board of Trustees if you think you need to...and you... are... going ...to...fix this." The words came out in a furious snarl and his finger stabbed harshly at the book recording the Bartowski investigation and hearing.

Words couldn't come to Carroll; he felt like his throat was closed. In the face of Graham's fury, Carroll could only bring himself to nod mutely.

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AN3: Oh boy, oh boy. I have really been looking forward to writing this chapter. Really, really. Stay tuned. In case you couldn't tell, this conversation will have consequences.

A/N4: I didn't include the Fleming interrogation because he had nothing new to offer us (or Graham) with respect to our understanding Chuck's expulsion from Stanford. However, Graham told Carroll that Fleming is dead. There are four possibilities here. Either the surgeon lied to Team Bartowski about Fleming's prognosis (don't get me started on the HIPAA violation), or the surgeon was just plain wrong about Fleming's prognosis, or Graham lied to Carroll about the fact of Fleming's death, or Graham lied to Carroll about the cause of Fleming's death. Which was it? I do not intend to answer that question. I will let my readers come to a conclusion on their own. I know I have.

A/N5: Happy Easter to my friends who observe. Happy Passover to my friends who observe that. (And to any of my friends who observe both...busy weekend, huh?)