A/N: All of Alma Mater in one chapter as well, a bit longer. A few little loose ends in this episode, like who was where and what day it was considering Stanford is a five hour drive from L.A. I've added a little meat to the backstory here, just because I could and there is nothing in canon that contradicts my embellishments. Take it as you will. Thanks so much for reading.

I was supposed to give the costume back to the CIA when I was done with it. Fortunately for me, there wasn't high demand for a Princess Leia costume, and I was working in the field, so it sort of fell through the cracks. I had every intention of sending it back when I changed out of it that night in my hotel room. Chuck had joked at the party about me keeping it, though leaving the end of that joke open, unsaid, as he felt he had embarrassed himself and said something inappropriate. It didn't bother me, whatever it was that he said. It was when I was actually taking it off that I realized the garment itself, the top anyway, smelled like Chuck. I had stood close to him in his room to take the picture and I assumed he had put on a little more cologne than he normally would have worn, probably because of anticipation of the interview that he never ended up having.

I folded up the top and tucked it into the hotel drawer with my undergarments, in the back where it would be hidden when I opened the drawer. It faded, but it served as a sort of Chuck-scented sachet in that drawer for a few weeks. I denied it, refused to accept what I was doing. I can't remember what my rationale at that time even was. I do know I blamed some of my attraction to him on the way he smelled.

Anyway, over ten years later, I still have it…and it still fits, even after four children. I will say the Halloween party was the longest block of time that I wore it, regardless of how many times it was actually used. Chuck might blush a little bit if he heard that, due to the potential presence of mixed company, but it's still worth mentioning. Only if it served as another symbol of my hope that somehow the situation would change for the better, even as far back as 2007.

After the party, five days went by without me seeing Chuck other than across the parking lot at the Buy More from the sidewalk in front of the Wienerlicious. Casey had been there with him in the store, and for that amount of time at least, that was sufficient to keep him safe. I wasn't idle during this time, or only cooking corn dogs on the company dime.

Graham actually contacted me via phone on the second of November in the morning, outside of the usual joint briefing in Casey's apartment that happened almost every day, with or without Chuck. He told me it was a matter outside of Project Bartowski, what the CIA called my assignment. I think Beckman referred to Casey's assignment as Team Bartowski, but either way, it was the same job. I had trepidations at first, worrying that Graham had some special assignment for me, some assassination he wanted me to carry out.

I found myself wondering when the change had happened, because it had done so in such a gradual and innocuous manner that I could no longer tell. The time I had spent with Bryce had tempered all of that, allowing it to recede into my memory where it was never summoned. My time with Chuck, relatively short in comparison to both my time with Bryce and my time as an assassin, had softened me enough that the thought of performing an assassination made me feel nauseous. I had been defending and protecting Chuck for over a month and a half, but I hadn't killed anyone since Budapest.

It turns out all of my fretting had been for naught, as Graham just wanted to talk to me about some old intelligence. He brought up the project he had wanted to send me on before the CATs, the one I knew as Omaha, though he never named it specifically when we were talking. He asked me very pointedly what I remembered…and I remember thinking he was asking not because he wanted to fill in my gaps of knowledge, but rather, he was asking because he needed to know exactly what I knew…like he was afraid of implicating himself in something if he said something that I knew contradicted what I knew. Again, that was just my intuition at work there, but my intuition was one of the greatest skills I possessed, so I never just ignored those feelings. I was cautious instead.

I spoke in over-simplified generics, on purpose. I told him about the college campus recruiting and the military application that the company scientists had been covertly testing for, as well as the red herring and fraud that had eventually shut down the project.

I'm still only speculating the reason here, because Graham died and no one left alive could ever verify or refute my suspicions any longer, but he told me in that conversation that while Omaha had been abandoned as a project per se, the covert testing on college campuses had never stopped, and was still in progress as we spoke. Now, Omaha had been intertwined with the Intersect, when the computer had first begun being developed, way before it was ready to be deployed when Bryce stole it and sent it to Chuck. They had been recruiting since the late 1990s as I recalled.

But Chuck had the Intersect now. Almost two months later, why was the government still recruiting potential Intersect candidates? There was no more computer–Bryce had destroyed it after he'd copied the file and sent it in an email. The government had plans, it seemed, something I knew nothing about, maybe something even Graham didn't know about. I filed that information away, never letting Graham know I was suspicious. It was months later that I found out why, but that's for later.

He told me all of this because one of the company scientists involved in the recruiting process, a Professor George Fleming from Stanford University, was missing. He had left a message for his contact, a cryptic one that seemed to imply he was in some kind of danger. Graham then explained that Beckman was going to call Team Bartowski for assistance in attempting to locate Fleming before he was taken by hostile force. He was very explicit when he told me Casey and Beckman both knew nothing at all about the Omaha Project, or even the more specific Intersect research…and he wanted it to stay that way. My direct orders: play dumb. Fleming was a general recruiter, Graham said, telling me the angle. Part of that at least was true.

Casey and I had developed a good working relationship so far, despite a few hiccups caused by mistrust in the beginning. I hated not being honest with him, as we had sort of reached a truce by agreeing to mutual cooperation. Graham wouldn't budge on that, so I had to swallow my displeasure.

I felt uneasy when I got off the phone. In the past, I had dealt with situations like this with Bryce. We worked together despite Graham trying to keep us separate. It was different, because in the end I believed Bryce had only pretended to trust me and had used my trust as a way to betray me. Graham had ordered me not to tell Casey…and there was no way I could talk to Chuck. Stanford wouldn't leave my head. Bryce and Chuck had the potential to at least know who Fleming was, or potentially more. If Beckman was handing down a mission that involved Stanford, Chuck would not just take it in stride. He still bore his wounds from that time in his life…this could only open them and cause fresh bleeding.

I tried to put all of it out of my mind as I got ready for bed. The situation was easier to put aside than my thoughts about Chuck. I had this vague uneasiness, this twisted knot sensation in the pit of my stomach. I missed him, I realized. Not the way I missed him while I pleasured myself before trying to sleep. And also not the way I had known myself to miss people in the past…that demolished building feeling…how I missed my father and Sam…maybe even Bryce, if I let myself accept it, although with Bryce it was a little different. With him it would have been a building you had set foot inside, no place you have ever lived, but a place you had decorated in your mind with the hope that you could live there someday.

I missed him…in an entirely new way. So new, in fact, that I didn't know the way I was feeling was caused by my missing him. Three days here without him as I pondered this…and I found myself wanting to hear the sound of his voice, see his smile, or smell his cologne. I didn't know I felt this way…until I saw him for the first time in five days, in the Home Theater Room at the Buy More. Casey had ushered me in through the back entrance, since I wasn't working a hot dog shift and my plain clothes would be harder to explain than my just hanging around Chuck's work while he was working.

I was seated on the sofa. Casey called up the video link for Beckman and Graham. Then he went out into the store to call Chuck. I felt my heart racing as I waited and I felt flushed the moment he walked into the room with Casey. Chuck was much more interested in the view on the monitor than he was me…he barely looked at me at all, which made me feel strange, considering how badly I had been wanting to see him.

He made some silly comment about Beckman's wrinkles, then corrected it comically after Casey informed him they could hear him. I stayed looking straight ahead, afraid I would burst out laughing right there, not appropriate at all for the setting. Beckman gave the low down, explaining what I already knew from Graham. Fleming, considered officially an asset of the CIA, had gone missing. Beckman said no contact for two days. It wasn't lost on me that Graham had called me two days prior to tell me Fleming was missing. Was Graham the last contact? More importantly, how would Graham have known then, unless there was more he didn't tell me? I played very dumb–for Beckman and him.

What riveted my attention back to the direct matter at hand was Chuck's reaction to Fleming's picture. I thought he had flashed, but he didn't. He recognized Fleming, just as I'd thought he might. Chuck had been in a class of his, which was even worse, all things considered. He reacted immediately, thinking Fleming was a spy. I explained the same way Graham had laid out for me…he was a company scientist involved in recruitment, as was done at prominent college campuses all over the country.

Graham played the recording of the last contact. He used the term Glass Castle and Black Coat, code names, neither of which I was familiar with, although, based on my previous train of thought, I guessed Black Coat could have been a code name for Graham. (That ended up being the case, I later learned.) He mentioned he copied intelligence onto a disk, which was a dangerous breach of protocol. Namely, the reason he sounded like he was running from a hunter, if some bad actor found out and was trying to retrieve it. I asked Beckman what he copied.

They both said they had no idea what it could have been. Graham followed that by adding that Fleming was involved with many sensitive projects and any leak of information was critically dangerous for the CIA. I had a feeling Graham was either lying or being evasive, but I kept it to myself. They were attempting to extract Fleming, believing he could have run to Los Angeles from Palo Alto. Beckman straight up asked Chuck for his help.

He was shocked, and then gave a stuttering but adamant refusal. Graham doubled down. The CIA was exploiting Chuck's prior history with Fleming and his knowledge of Stanford specifically…almost as if the Intersect were a secondary concern, not the primary reason why they would ask Chuck. Chuck continued to argue with Graham. Chuck said it was all in the report about him, and it probably was, but I didn't remember reading his file that closely, not when Graham had first presented it to me when I had returned from Budapest. I found out during that conversation that it was Fleming who had gotten Chuck expelled from Stanford.

I was instantly making connections in my head. If it was Fleming, then the supposed tests under Chuck's bed were from Fleming's class. Bryce framed Chuck for cheating…in the class being taught by a CIA asset who was recruiting for the CIA and the Intersect. There were too many overlaps for anything to be a coincidence. I think if there hadn't been so much emotional baggage associated with all that history from Stanford, Chuck would have connected the dots this early as well. In fact, I know that's true...considering Chuck is the smartest person I have ever known, by quite a long shot. In the end, for the first time since the whole Intersect craziness began, Chuck refused to help with the mission.

That is, until by happenstance, Chuck flashed on himself when he found one of his old college IDs from Stanford. He went straight to Casey, who then called me. We were trying to figure out the possibilities–both of us fully aware no one in the NSA or CIA had any clue about Charles Bartowski until after Bryce sent the email. Chuck was pacing, his anxiety level quite high, while he was wracking his brain. He assured me all of the files he saw were from college. He thought it had to do with Fleming.

I told him the only way we could know for sure was if we could find Fleming. He had already refused to help us…but because of this new development, he was now all in. Casey and I briefed him on everything we knew. One of the students in Fleming's class the day he disappeared identified an Icelandic spy named Magnus known for selling intelligence. A rather dangerous individual now appeared to be hunting Fleming.

The next day, Casey called me to tell me the search had found a positive match on a DMV traffic camera in Los Angeles. They traced his car to a local address and we were going to extract him. Casey told me bringing Chuck was important, a familiar face to assure him that we were all on the same side. Chuck drove us in his Nerd Herder, using a work call as his cover for being away from the Buy More for an extended period. He was quieter than usual as he drove, pensive, like he was running something over and over in his head and wasn't really present in the moment. We told him to stay in the car and Casey and I went in.

We rang Fleming's doorbell and then entered with guns drawn when there was no answer. We searched the house from front to back and then upstairs. The house was empty. It probably took us about five minutes to sweep the house from top to bottom. We went out the same way we came in, to find the Nerd Herder empty, for yet again, Chuck disobeyed our order to stay put in the car.

Chuck must have heard Casey and I talking because he started screaming, "Man down." We determined it was coming from the side of the house. We rounded the corner and found Chuck, flat on his back, with Fleming on top of him, a crossbow arrow protruding from his back. Chuck was very close to hysterical.

I forewent the usual verbal scolding I would have given him because first, he was so freaked out about the situation, and second, because I had already started to accept that telling him the same thing for the tenth time was useless. Chuck at least had enough of his wits about him to do a check on Fleming, feeling a weak pulse and faint breathing. There was very little blood, which Chuck noted, almost with relief, but it wasn't a good sign, in retrospect.

Removing the arrow right there would only worsen his chances for bleeding to death. The fact that he was prone, with the arrow sticking out of his back, was allowing the blood to pool inside Fleming's thoracic cavity. There was also no way to do CPR while Fleming lay on his stomach. We called in medical support, but due to the nature of the situation and Chuck's identity, his presence was too hard to explain to the team the CIA was sending. Casey and I sent him home in his Nerd Herder. Before he left, he remembered to tell us about a piece of paper Fleming had given him, telling him to give it to Bryce. The Icelandic spy had taken the paper after piercing it with an arrow straight out of Chuck's hand.

It was late afternoon by the time Casey and I made it back to Chuck's apartment. We knocked at his window and climbed in, the only way Casey's presence could be explained along with mine. Just looking at his face, I could tell he was exhausted, emotionally exhausted, after what he had just witnessed. Casey and I were hardened and used to that, and it was easy to forget after what we had done, but that was the closest thing to death Chuck had witnessed outside of photographs. He was very shaken up.

I actually apologized for bothering him, since he looked like he was frazzled, probably frazzled beyond the ability to collect his thoughts. The problem was Fleming was in surgery…but he wasn't expected to survive. Those words to Chuck had been probably the last clue we would have about what was really going on. Chuck asked the first thing about Fleming. I mentioned the surgery, not the prognosis. Fleming ended up passing away three days after his surgery, never having regained consciousness.

Casey asked Chuck if he was certain the perpetrator had been Magnus, the spy. He snapped at Casey, more evidence of his frayed nerves. He apologized, not for not staying in the car, but for not getting Casey and me the second he spotted Fleming. I told him it wasn't his fault, even though in that situation, one of the few I might add, everything would have been better if Chuck had listened. Maybe questioning Fleming was where he did go wrong, since getting out of the car was the only way any conversation with him would have been possible at all.

I did this a lot…always thinking about Chuck and how he felt before I thought of anything else. Telling him straight out he was dead on accurate that he made the situation worse would have been what a good handler would have done. Chuck always thought of Casey and me as the best, but at least in that respect, I could have been better. I couldn't upset him more than he had already upset himself. Maybe our missions would have worked out better…but our relationship wouldn't have been the same. He was always more important to me than the CIA, my job, even my own life, so I guess my behavior made sense. I'm sure it irritated the hell out of Casey at this point, however.

Chuck couldn't get over Fleming mentioning Bryce. I just told him Bryce must have been a contact of his, my mind still twisting around thinking Bryce's involvement somehow was more than what we knew. Fleming's impending death seemed to close the door to finding out the whole truth here…but it couldn't be helped. Whatever it was, it concerned the intelligence that Magnus had been after…possibly where Fleming hid it in order to protect it.

Chuck was snappy with Casey and much more focused on why he was in the Intersect, the only reason he had even agreed to help us in the first place, now something he would most likely never be able to find out. We left him without much else to say, other than we would let him know if we found anything else out.

A few hours later, Casey called me to tell me Chuck had realized the numbers on the paper were the call letters for a book in the Stanford library. Chuck explained that Bryce had a secret hiding place in the library and he reasoned that Fleming had left the intelligence in a book there for Bryce to find. While I understood Chuck's insight, as intelligent as it had been, I was still skeptical. Fleming wouldn't have to tell Bryce where to find the intel…not if it was Bryce's own hiding spot. It could have been a covert way of letting Bryce know the intel was in the library. Writing down the call letters made the intelligence more vulnerable to discovery, although we already had ample evidence that Fleming wasn't the most prudent when it came to handling critical information. Something didn't make sense, and part of me was worried we would end up driving all the way to Stanford and find nothing. But, it was our best shot, so we went with it.

Ellie and Devon were driving up in what Ellie called a caravan with a lot of Devon's fraternity brothers from UCLA for the Stanford/UCLA football game. Ellie had already invited Chuck, so he just told her he would go, and that he was taking me with him. Ellie was thrilled, partly because she felt that Chuck agreeing to go was the first step in moving past all that pain from Stanford, and also, as Chuck told me, because me needing a seat in Ellie's car meant one less noisy frat boy in the car with her.

Casey had to drive up separately in his own vehicle, for there was no way he could explain Casey's presence there with us. I had to remind him he needed to make sure Ellie and Devon didn't see him, for it would definitely compromise Chuck's cover.

It was a very long ride in the car, more than five hours door to door. We stopped a few times, once for gas and another for snacks. I really had a good time, sitting in the back seat with just Chuck. He explained almost every song that we heard on the radio, winking at Ellie and telling her I was a rube when it came to music appreciation and he was my tutor. I heard more than one silly story from each of them about things that had transpired while they were growing up. I completely forgot that Chuck was doing all of that to take his mind off his troubles and the thought of going back to the place where all his dreams had been crushed. I also forgot, once again, that I was a spy and not just Chuck's girlfriend.

The campus was mayhem when we arrived. There were literally thousands of people on campus for the game, current students and alumni like Ellie and Devon. They were still partying. Devon had his shirt off, his face painted, and was running around playing football with his friends. He even scooped Ellie off her feet, slung her over his shoulder, and spun her around dizzyingly fast. They were just so happy…so normal. I couldn't help but smile when I watched them.

Ellie told us we would meet up in the stadium for the game, which was still several hours away. Chuck covered and told Ellie he was giving me a tour of the campus. Everyone around us was vibrant and happy, just enjoying the day. Chuck was morose, and trying, but not succeeding, in hiding it from me. His enthusiasm just kept falling flat.

We met up with Casey once Ellie and Devon were out of sight. We started making our way to the library. We were halfway across the quad when Chuck just stopped walking, standing there staring at the building.

"What is it?" I asked, turning back when I realized he wasn't right behind me.

"I don't know," he said hesitantly. "I mean, I figured this would be tough, but this place is just a lot to take in, you know? I used to have so much fun here, and then…" He sounded wistful, but his face fell and he couldn't finish talking.

"And then?" I prodded, wanting him to just tell me. Holding it inside had been hurting him for five years, letting it fester instead of dealing with it. Of course, I had my own pit full of festering emotions that I had yet to deal with. We were more alike than different, I contend that here as well. I couldn't help myself, but I wanted to help him, if I could, even just a little bit.

"It was the worst day of my life," he answered, huffing his breath to disguise the devastation in his words. I knew what had happened to him so far…saying that was quite drastic. None of it could be separated, mind you. It was all a chain, one event linked to another. It was the worst day of his life because all the other bad days had been ransomed on this hope, that despite his difficult childhood that he could triumph anyway. He almost had, I knew…first in his high school class, National Merit Scholar, on his way to graduating Stanford summa cum laude when Bryce burst that balloon and sent him crashing back down to earth, broken bones and all. He had been wronged by someone he trusted…and his future had burst into flames while he was forced to watch helplessly.

He brought up his sister, having to tell her, having to pack up his things. He said Bryce told him he brought it on himself. By this point, I thought I was no longer conflicted about Bryce, thinking I had been betrayed and used and that he was just as bad as Chuck thought he was. But that was just it. Chuck was a decent person, a very good human being. He had only a few close friends; he chose them wisely and chose people of value and equal character to himself. Had Bryce fooled someone like Chuck? Or had he just been different when he was young…that hero he wanted to be still then hidden somewhere underneath his clothes?

"Why do you think that Bryce betrayed you?" I asked him, intensely sincere in wanting to know his theory.

He sighed. "I don't know. He's had four years to call and set the record straight. Now that he's gone…" He shook his head, minute little vibrations side to side, like he was just so frustrated himself for not having the answers that he wanted. "You know what? Forget it. Bryce has betrayed a lot of people, hasn't he?" he finished, narrowing his eyes as he looked at me and walked away.

Maybe he was deflecting…maybe he was empathizing. It's hard to know, mostly because when I think about this, I do it now with all of the knowledge I didn't have then. Chuck thought that Bryce and I had been different than what we were…and I didn't correct him for a long time. All I know was right there, when he said that, he made me feel…like I mattered. He equated what Bryce had done to him as badly as what he thought Bryce had done to me. In all fairness, right there, what Bryce had done to Chuck wasn't even in the same category as what he had done to me. Sure, I was his partner, his girlfriend, however that would have been defined, and his bedmate. Bryce was Chuck's close friend who completely ruined his life, the life of someone who had already been beaten down well before the two had ever met. I should have told him that, but I didn't, mostly because I would have to explain something about Bryce and my relationship to Chuck, which I did not want to do.

We approached the library. I actually recommended Chuck wait outside while we went in, in case Magnus was already there. Part of me was concerned that there was something worse than just random intel that Chuck could potentially see. He flat out told me asking him to wait outside never worked, also telling me we couldn't find the book without him, which was the truth.

Chuck led us to the correct spot, but the shelves had already been ransacked by Magnus before we arrived. Chuck had an idea, though. Without explaining what he was doing or why, Chuck ran his hand along the underside of the shelf until he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a small case with a disk inside. Chuck concluded that the professor had used the call numbers on the book as a way to mark the location, rather than just a book. That was all Chuck, no Intersect required, that solved that problem. He still amazed me at every turn. Hell, he still does…just one of the reasons why I love him so much.

We were in a hurry to leave before Magnus found out the book was worthless. We had an unfortunate altercation with a librarian hellbent on extracting $294.68 in late fees from Chuck. The stupid book only cost $85, but that's besides the point. While we were arguing with the librarian, Magnus and his men showed up, armed and dangerous. All I told Chuck to do was run.

Chuck ran out before us and we were close behind. We ran across the quad again, weaving through throngs of people. A whole group of them had spotted us and were pursuing us. We ran across the quad, away from Ellie and Devon and all the other hundreds of innocent bystanders and into what ended up being the Chemistry building.

We ended up inside a chemistry lecture hall. Casey checked the doors. I heard Chuck say he wanted to know what was on the disk. I told him no, not to look at it, that it was top secret. His answer for that, which he gave me more than once, was that so was he, which was the truth, technically speaking. I was concerned about what he would see that I might have to explain, or lie about. Part of me wanted answers too, considering the holes I had in my own knowledge.

He loaded the disk. It was testing data and videotaped interviews. There was over ten years worth of information stored on the disk. In just the few names that Chuck scrolled through, randomly opening some, I saw names I recognized. Fellow recruits, people who I knew from the Farm…and at least one name that was familiar because of files I had been cleared to see concerning test subjects for Omaha. I told Chuck they were all students that Fleming had recruited into the CIA, those names valuable intelligence that foreign governments would find valuable.

First, he found Bryce's name on the 2002 list, shocked that Bryce had been recruited their junior year of college. Second, he found his own name on the 2003 list. It was then that it hit me. Graham's plans for me to be the liaison officer for Omaha. Set in motion because an ideal candidate had been found…only later disbanded when the test was found to be flawed. "Don't open it!" I shouted over Casey, who was telling him to open it. Chuck had taken that test. I was sure of it if Fleming had a file on him. I could feel it in my bones…Chuck was the candidate that had gotten me pulled from Secret Service duty…and the CATs had been my next mission because Chuck had invalidated the test by cheating. Only he was framed for cheating. By Bryce.

Chuck rambling loudly that he never applied to be in the CIA interrupted my train of thought. It took all my strength to bury my emotions there, so he wouldn't notice how upset I really was. Right after he said that, Magnus and his men breached the lab. I ordered Chuck out to safety. Casey and I did our best to hold them off. We were outgunned and outmatched, almost done for. My only consolation at that time was that Chuck was safe. I did vaguely worry about his sister and how he would potentially explain my death to her.

Of course, Chuck didn't do what I'd asked him, only this time, his actions saved all of our lives. He took the disk to the computer lab, uploaded it, and called all the currently enrolled students who were pegged as CIA for back up. They appeared in the lab to save Casey and me, as well as in the computer lab to save Chuck.

Casey called the cleaners and the additional backup for the CIA while Chuck and I reported to the stadium as requested by his sister. Ellie actually asked us if we were near anyone shooting off bottle rockets because we smelled like gunpowder. Chuck shrugged it off, but we did, and I knew we did, after that prolonged gun fight with Magnus' people. We were shaking from the adrenaline rush and sweaty, but sitting for three hours on hard bleacher seats calmed us down to normal pretty quickly. I know literally nothing about football, but UCLA beat the hell out of Stanford, I guess to the point where it wasn't even enjoyable to watch any longer. I had no idea Chuck still had the disk on him, thinking he had given it to Casey to turn over like I'd asked him to. I had no idea what that file would say when he opened it, but it was way more than I wanted him to know.

Ellie and her group had rented rooms for the night near Stanford so they could drive home in the morning. Because Chuck had made the decision to go at the last minute, he could crash on a cot in Ellie and Devon's room, but no one had been expecting me. I made the excuse of needing to get back for work and told her I was renting a car to drive back. She tried to make arrangements, tried to find me a place to sleep with someone else's female significant other, but I insisted. I actually had a ride back with Casey. Casey and I got back close to one in the morning, while Chuck, Ellie, and Devon didn't return until dinner time the next day.

Right before Casey dropped me off, I mentioned that I wanted to see what was on the disk when Chuck wasn't there. It didn't really bother me if Casey saw, regardless of what Graham said. Casey had proven loyal, despite our rough beginning, and if Graham was doing something sketchy, it felt good to have Casey on my side, much as I had come to rely on Bryce. Casey was no betrayer, of that I was certain. That was when he told me he didn't have it. I waited for Chuck to get home, tracking him via his watch the entire time, to retrieve the disk before he watched it without me.

I arrived at his apartment and Ellie sent me back to his room. He was loading the disk in his computer when I saw him. I was as casual as I could be about asking for it back.

"I need to know, Sarah," he said, his voice soft but intense. I understood, better now than ever before, why he did. I told him ok. I told myself, whatever it was, if I was there and I knew, I could explain. Maybe not all of it, but enough to keep him from the desperate unfulfilled need to know why his life had been ruined the way it was. I watched it over his shoulder.

The test results were not posted. All the file was was a video interview, started by Fleming. He listed Chuck as test subject 0326. Omaha patient zero, as he was referred to in the discussions I'd had with Graham. I pressed my legs together to keep them from shaking. I could hear Chuck breathing from where I stood.

In the video, someone knocked on the professor's door. It was Bryce. I lost my breath seeing him like that, younger than I had ever seen him. He held himself the same, but there was something different about him. Not that there was something missing, rather he had something there when he was young that had gone by the time I met him…that innocence, or whatever one could call it…what I had left in the mirror in Paris myself and never saw again. I listened as the professor told Bryce he was waiting for someone else.

Bryce was the one who said Chuck's name to Fleming. Chuck looked up at me with this remarkable intensity on his face. I shifted my eyes back to the video, afraid of what he would see on my face if he kept looking at me. Bryce had intervened it seemed, shielding Chuck from Fleming's attempts at recruitment. The more I listened, the more everything started to fall into place. Fleming brought up Omaha. What surprised me was that Bryce knew what it was. In 2003, that information was highly classified. Had they recruited Bryce for Omaha as well? I suddenly wondered. It would make sense.

Once I recovered from that, I began to really listen to what Bryce was saying to Fleming. Chuck was a good person, too good for field ops and killing and whatever else Omaha entailed. He had scored perfectly on the test, or rather test subject 0326 had. They wanted him no matter what. Dirty, illegal, morally reprehensible policy that Graham would have gotten away with, just like he would have used me to eliminate those who washed out of the program. Or eliminate Chuck had he straight out refused once he knew what it entailed. Bryce came up with the idea to invalidate the results. He framed Chuck for cheating…ruining his life and his dreams and his plans…yet saving him just the same.

It was a very Bryce thing to do…to make the decision for Chuck, thinking that he knew better. He took away Chuck's ability to choose for himself, believing that he knew better than Chuck what was best for him. It was hard to feel the same way I had felt about Bryce when Chuck and I had arrived on the campus at Stanford. I know what would have happened to Chuck had Bryce not done what he did. In every way that he could have saved Chuck, he did. And even though he had no idea of it in 2003, when Bryce saved Chuck, he saved me too.

"Bryce framed me for cheating…to save me," Chuck said in resignation. I stifled a sob when he said those words, looking away. It had too closely echoed my own thoughts.

Chuck wondered why Bryce had never told him. He was already CIA in 2002…there was no way Bryce could have told him the truth. It would have been a total breach of protocol. His only comment was that if that original motivation was now known, then maybe there was another explanation as to why he broke in and stole the Intersect. I had been thinking the same thing. There could very well be a good reason why he sent it to Chuck…maybe even why he lied to me and left me alone in Mexico.

Everything I had been telling myself about Bryce for almost three months now was all in question again. It was like the dark silt on the bottom of a pond, now kicked up and muddying my thoughts and my perceptions.

I took a deep breath and pulled myself together. I made sure I told him no one could know about it. That meant according to everyone else, Bryce was the same most hated person ever, even though now hating him had become much more complex and far less easy to do.

I hurried out of his room and shut the door. I started walking away, but I almost broke down crying in the hallway. It was a complex cocktail of mixed emotions spinning around inside of me…confusion, anger, relief, hope…other feelings I couldn't put names to…like a longing to just go back in time and unthink thoughts that had been poisoning me for so long. What stayed as I hurried out was despair…and I didn't know how to contain it. I didn't know what the real reason could possibly be…why, after he had gone to such extraordinary lengths to protect Chuck by keeping him away from the CIA, did he then send the entirety of the Intersect and all its lethality to Chuck anyway, completely negating all of that damage his life had weathered only to endure even more?

Chuck had just wished he could talk to Bryce, so he could know. I had thought that same thing for so long it had become a part of my normal thought process. Now I was absolutely on fire with the wanting, and crushed once again that I had no answers, only more questions.

That opportunity, however, would come back around in just a little while.