A/N: Sorry for the delay. Rough couple of days, but still on track to finish this by Christmas.
Chuck started to brief Casey, but after just a few sentences, Sarah took over. She filled in all the background information, almost from the day she left Burbank until their recent encounter at the airport. Chuck listened, absorbing the information, incorporating new information he learned as she talked to Casey. The instant she started talking, Chuck knew it was the agent in Sarah that was talking to the agent in Casey, professional, with barely any friendship or camaraderie involved. His spirits sank, but he consciously pulled them back, searching for equilibrium.
Sarah was finding her way again, and as much as he wanted everything to be the way it had been before, it wasn't; it might never be again. He reminded himself he was finding his way again, too. As disconcerting as it could feel, as discouraging as it felt, they had each other. He could not forget that, would not forget that. He had to hold onto that, to allow it to buoy him.
Casey had just nodded along, grunting occasionally, as Sarah told him her story. He paused for a long time before he said anything after Sarah had stopped talking.
"The Fixer," Casey said tightly. "That's what the NSA was calling you. Although they didn't know it was you. Beckman actually told me she thought it could be you, Sarah. The analysts hypothesized that the Fixer was one of them, one of Tipton's recruits, who was plotting to wrest the control from him. General Beckman gave them hell, debunking almost every point that was made. She said it was personal. Her gut was telling her it was personal, and she was right. For a while she thought it might be Roberts, but, well, to be honest, the Fixer was better than anyone the NSA had ever seen. Didn't fit Roberts' skillset or profile. Fit yours."
Bristling, Chuck interjected, "Why was this kept from me? That was my job, Casey. Especially if the intel was in question–"
"Chuck," Casey argued back, firmly and sharply. "With your history, with either one of the suspects, you were compromised."
"Damn it, Casey, when wasn't I compromised?" Chuck shouted back.
Casey grunted. "You have a point."
He shook his head and cleared his throat. "However, there is the fact that…Beckman was concerned about you. About how you were managing your life and what…that extra stress would do to you."
Chuck narrowed his eyes, not quite believing the words Casey was saying.
"Damn it, Chuck, we all went soft. Beckman included. Hell, Sarah got so soft she almost went out for coffee with the Viper." Chuck saw Sarah's confused face. He held up his finger, a sign that there was a longer explanation he could give at a later time.
"Ok, water under the bridge, Casey. Let's cut to the chase. The most logical conclusion is that Tipton is here because of my sister. She has no idea what is going on. She's at home with my niece, for God's sake, Casey. I promised my sister she would never be in harm's way again because of my job." His desperation edged his tone.
"I can dispatch a tactical unit to your sister's house. The weather may be a minor impediment, but it's a universal impediment, if that makes any sense. That can be done in relative secrecy. But it would need a counteroffensive from you two. I can't get any agents on the ground to assist, not at this hour, not in the middle of a snowstorm."
"That's not a problem, Casey," Sarah said. "I want this over with. I'm tired of living like this." Her voice broke a little. "I just want to go back to California and…rebuild whatever is left of the life I used to have." She glanced at Chuck then glanced away, hope and fear mixed on her face.
"Roger that," Casey said softly, seeming to intuit Sarah's vulnerability.
"In the meantime," Chuck cut in, "because Sarah can locate Quinn's base in Japan, we need to use that to our advantage."
"What did you have in mind?" Casey asked.
"If I can pinpoint the location, I can hack into either the security system or the mainframe. I may not need to be physically in Japan to destroy the base once and for all."
"That leaves only Ellie to try and deal with the dud that's in Sarah's head," Casey added.
"I trust her, Casey," Sarah said.
"Keep the com in sync. Make sure I know what's going on. I'll stay put until I know that everyone is safe. Copy?" Casey asked.
The minute Chuck cut the line, Sarah started to prepare her gear. Her face hardened. "Maybe it's better if we split up. I go after them and you stay here–"
Chuck was on his feet, in front of her, hands up. "No way, Sarah." He reached for her shoulders, gently holding her in place. "We do this together."
"But this is…this is…" Her voice faded as her argument fell apart.
Patience, he told himself. Little steps.
"I have the Intersect, Sarah. I haven't used those skills, but they're there. In case what you're worried about is me getting hurt."
She shifted her eyes away from his again.
It may have been part of her worry, but not the main one. This was more fast-forwarding their relationship on replay. This was Sarah after he saw her kill Mauser, the Sarah who lost her cool when Heather Chandler needled her about trying to live a normal life.
At least he understood this time, instead of questioning her feelings or intentions, worrying about what everything meant for their future.
"You don't have to protect me from you…from seeing you this way," he said softly. "I know who you are. I love all of you."
She blinked away tears as she looked at him again, a long, aching look. "I know you do," she whispered. "It's just…I'm fighting my entire life's conditioning. Of keeping myself hidden, protected. I know I figured it out somehow, unlocked myself, shared all of me, but…now I have to start all over again. Find the key."
"We figured it out before. We'll figure it out again," he said confidently. Sarah's face relaxed, a smile lifting the edges of her mouth.
Motion on the computer screen caught her attention and she tapped his shoulder to show him.
While they had conversed with Casey, Tipton and Fortin had been inside the warehouse, their cars still parked in the same position. The new motion at the edge of the screen was both men moving. Tipton waited while Fortin went to his trunk. The lid lifted, blocking the view. The car jostled, like something heavy was being pulled from the trunk. Once Fortin closed the trunk, the view was clear.
Jill Roberts. Bound, gagged, and from what Chuck could see on the black and white footage, beaten and bruised. Fortin was rough with her; Tipton stayed back. Chuck wasn't sure if it was real or imagined, but he got the impression that Tipton's composure slipped at the sight of her. Jill's clothing was torn, both heels of her shoes broken…and Fortin dragged her through the snow to the entryway.
Regardless of Chuck's initial impression, what he saw next was undeniable. Tipton clenched his fists tightly, his body visibly trembling. Was it rage? And directed at whom? Tipton's face was an impenetrable mask.
"Did you see what I think I saw?" Sarah asked him.
"I did. I just don't know what it means," Chuck muttered. "But we don't have time for this. We need to move now."
Sarah tucked her gun into her belt. She fastened her knife holster around her ankle. Her eyes were downcast as she handed Chuck a weapon. An actual gun. His eyes opened wider in alarm.
"I'm sorry, Chuck. I don't have a tranq gun. You can't go in there unarmed," she said apologetically.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd held an actual gun. Aside from that debacle in Berlin when he'd shot down Casey's helicopter. But before that?
Was it really as far back as Paris? When he'd shot Daniel Shaw?
Then he remembered. After Quinn had taken Sarah and Casey had detected her emergency beacon. He hadn't just entered that warehouse with a gun–he'd armed himself with a rifle.
He tried to recall being in that state, what had driven him to that then.
Endless, agonizing hours without her, uncertainty eating its way through him like acid…the pictures playing in his mind on a constantly repeating loop: what he could have done that he hadn't, what she had done that he wished she hadn't, the fear and dread when he thought about what was happening to her, what she was enduring, what was being done to her.
Even for a man like Daniel Shaw, who had killed his father in cold blood, Chuck believed in mercy. But not then, not when Sarah's life was in peril. And once Chuck had known for sure what Quinn had taken from him, he could not rationalize mercy any longer.
He took the gun from Sarah, feeling its foreign and uncomfortable weight before he tucked it away.
"Let's go," he said solemnly.
XXX
As they drove in the snow, the world eerily silent all around them, Casey confirmed the tactical team was in position outside Ellie's home.
With that weight off his mind, Chuck focused on the task at hand. Though Sarah hadn't heard from Jill in three weeks, she was still alive. Had Fortin had her all that time, or was she on the run and captured at some time in between? It seemed an unusually long period of time to hold a prisoner captive, an unbearably long and unsurvivable period of time to endure torture. Chuck's stomach twisted at the thought that regardless of how long it had occurred, she had been tortured somehow.
As Sarah had told him so long ago, under enough duress, everyone talked. If Jill had given up the information about Ellie to them, he did not hold her responsible. She had glaringly suffered at their hands as a result.
But she was still alive. Why? If they knew about Ellie, what other information could they hope to extract from her? The longer Jill lived, the more of a liability she became.
What they wanted, above all else, was Sarah. Even if they had been able to take Ellie, nothing would have been possible without Sarah.
But Ellie could have been leverage, the same type Chuck could have been. Was that why Jill was still alive?
Was she bait?
Tipton had to know Jill had been passing intelligence to Sarah. His entire crew was gone because of Sarah. Was this his way of trying to turn the tables on Sarah?
"Sarah, why is Jill still alive?" Chuck asked, parsing his thoughts.
Sarah sighed heavily. "You might think I'm crazy if I tell you what I think," she murmured.
"She was obviously tortured. She must have told them about Ellie. What purpose does bringing her here have, unless they're expecting you to rescue her."
"You're trying to make sense of something that can't be made sense of," Sarah explained. She turned to him. "It's because of…his feelings. Edgar's."
Chuck let out a long breath through his gritted teeth. "If he cares so much about her, why let Fortin hurt her at all?"
"I didn't say it like that," Sarah retorted. "It's complicated." She winced, a way of acknowledging her poor word choice. "He is selfish, brutal, cruel…all of those things. But in some twisted part of his mind, she…means something to him. Even if it's warped, not really love, more like control. Like the way your mother explained it to Volkoff."
Chuck went completely deaf, the silence of the snowy streets migrating inside his head. His mouth hung open. It took Sarah several seconds before she looked over, away from her driving, to see what was the matter. "What, Chuck?" she asked.
He swallowed, his mouth too dry at first for words. "Did…did-did you hear what you just said?"
Chuck felt the car swerve slightly as Sarah's grip on the steering wheel released. He reached over to grab the wheel to steady the car before she snapped out of it and put her hands back where they were.
"Oh my God," she muttered. "I…it just slipped out. I wasn't even thinking about it."
"Like when you called Casey… Casey. Sarah, do you remember that time?" he asked.
Chuck could hear her rapid, shallow breathing, and watched as she tilted her head to the side, thinking. "We…were…in the Buy More…and he was about to shoot you. Your mother stopped him." She paused, then shook her head. "That's…that's all. Just that fragment."
But that part of the conversation, about Volkoff's need for control not being real love, had happened after that snippet of time Sarah had mentioned. It was like she remembered without effort, and when she tried to focus, it became less clear.
But she remembered.
Aside from the cups in the Wienerlicious and Irene Demova, that was the first thing in almost an entire calendar year that she had remembered.
"No, Sarah, that's…that's…amazing. I can't believe you had a memory, after so long," he breathed.
She smiled sheepishly. "There was something else I didn't mention. When we were… you know, in the hotel room…like that." She blushed. "I kept…picturing the Eiffel Tower. It felt like a memory but…it didn't make sense…other than you… you know…"
He blushed and she did too. His first thought, She's adorable when she's awkward, was quickly overshadowed by what she had just revealed. He was smiling, but his eyes were wet when he replied, "The very first time…for us…we were in Paris."
He heard the soft gasp. "Do you think it's possible? That I could start to remember again, even after so much time?"
"You are starting," he said confidently. "I wonder if…being around me is…helping."
So quickly he never saw her move, she grabbed his hand in his lap and squeezed, smiling. "Definitely helping. Helping me remember, too. Maybe you're the key, and me…letting myself love you. Maybe I couldn't remember because I was afraid to feel what I felt for you?"
A moment passed as they both pondered her question.
The smile faded from her face. "You know, Chuck, if this is going to work…I have to be the magnet. I'm what they want."
He held her hand, folding both of his hands around hers. "I know," he said grimly.
He wished they had back up, but he didn't have time for useless wishing. He was heading into one of the most dangerous situations he'd ever faced–and he was her back-up.
They continued driving into the silent night, neither calm nor bright.
A/N: Thank you to Zettel for pre-reading once again.