A/N: Well, it's been a minute! Sorry for all that delay. Been having the worst January ever. Flu, ear infections, pneumonia...ugh. Not a good start to the year at all. We're all treated and disinfected and ready to go, FINALLY! I was losing my mind lol. A little bit of background in this chapter. Huge thanks to nevr who not only previewed, but made some suggestions about keeping Sarah more in character. I'm out on a limb here as it is. I know it does seem Sarah is OOC here. To be fair, I'm not sure if she is or she isn't. The show never went into territory like this. We all know Sarah would hunt down and kill anyone who hurt Chuck, even as far back as Season 1. She is despondent at the beginning of Season 3, but angry at him too. She is unhinged when the Belgian takes Chuck. She does feel a little guilty then in Season 4 ("He did this to prove to me he could be a spy"-she despairs to Casey.) In her right mind, Sarah never causes Chuck harm the way she does here. Absolute hopelessness coupled with guilt can do lots of different things. As long as her actions are consistent and believable with the premise, I think anything is possible. I've finally gotten my tv back so the Ring II chapter is done. I'll publish tomorrow morning. Double publishing is no bueno.
I go deaf, blind, mute. I'm in complete shock, denial, disbelief.
How can that be? It isn't possible…it just isn't. None of it makes sense.
My brain sputters, like a car running out of gas.
All the while, Carina just stares. Sadness covers her like a blanket.
I lash out, so thunderstruck that I need something to latch onto. Anything. I'm about to teeter over the edge of sanity.
"You knew, didn't you? You knew and you were trying to hide it!" I'm on my feet, leaning into her personal space. Even as I scream, a voice in my head is wondering why this is why I'm so upset.
"Not until Casey called me, I swear. By then. it was too late." She's apologetic and it throws water on the raging inferno of my outrage. "Damn Beckman to hell. She obviously knew and didn't give a shit. But that's all you get with her, right?"
Beckman's odd behavior comes back to mind. She was just like Casey: duty before all. The fact that I even noticed anything speaks volumes.
I'm angry at Beckman, angry at Casey and I realize it's distracted me from the main focus.
Chuck. Chuck is Carlo Bellini.
The last I knew, Beckman had bunkered him, in January of 2008. I was deep undercover with Bryce, probably in Bolivia or Uruguay at the exact moment. The worst part is that I wasn't paying attention. Once I committed to running away, I avoided all information, not wanting to face the repercussions of my actions. I never stopped thinking about him, though.
I found out the truth after Bryce died and Graham had me placed on house arrest in DC while the CIA investigated. He suspended my service, but he never restricted my clearance. It was easy enough to find once I knew where to look.
The days after I knew, waiting in my apartment, are a blur now. Full of alcohol-drowned despair and guilt that almost drove me over the edge of my balcony. It's really only by chance that I didn't kill myself, just coincidental phone calls or texts.
Understanding at the same moment how much I honestly loved him and how utterly and epically I failed him…well, it's been almost three years since then, since I was sober. Not counting today because Amy drugged me.
Amy…
The words she said shine differently now that I know the truth. She's fucking him. Both her and Zondra…and who knew who else? Apparently he had quite the reputation. I think of how inadequate Chuck felt around Bryce, mostly because Bryce was so condescending and smug. Now, it seems Chuck makes Bryce look like a monk.
The Special Agent in Charge. Chuck?
"Sarah, say something!" Carina shouts, troubled by my demeanor.
"You have Casey's contact info, right?" I shout. Before she can reply to the question I already know the answer to, I add, "Get him on the phone. He's got a lot to explain."
"He's here, Sarah. In the office downstairs."
In my rage, I also forgot that despite our accommodations, the wild party we are still recovering from…this mansion is the base of operations. Casey and Chuck live here, work here…maintain the cover from here. A blurred line indeed.
Neither one of them was prominent at the party last night, perhaps not even in attendance. But they still must know what happened after Carina and I arrived. I'm preparing to charge after Casey…in my robe, unshowered. It takes a moment before I tell myself I have to get ready first.
I ignore Carina and see to cleaning up. I turn the water as hot as I can stand it as I feel the remnants from last night dripping out of me. At least one of them didn't use protection. Drunk, I wouldn't have cared, but sober—I resist the urge to vomit. Shame colors my entire body. Without the alcohol to numb me, the self-loathing is unbearable.
I want to leave. Quit. Mission be damned. Let Graham "retire" me. A mercy killing is all I deserve.
The problem is—without the alcohol, my feelings are banging against my insides. I need to know. Chuck, at least who he used to be before Beckman bunkered him, was the most wonderful human being I had ever met. If he is what Amy described now—I needed to know why. What happened?
And worse, is this somehow also my fault?
Thirty minutes later, I'm dressed in a standard issue CIA skirt suit—black, pencil skirt with a slit on the side, tailored jacket, with a white silk shell beneath. My legs are bare above high heels that I'm amazed I can walk on with the furious determination that's carrying me to Casey's office.
I hadn't asked, but Carina offered the info that Chuck was out. Carlo. Whoever the fuck he was. I am angry enough that I don't care, but inside the knowledge that complication isn't imminent gives me more strength.
I don't knock—just barge in. Casey is seated behind an ornate wooden desk with a telephone receiver to his ear. He is mid-conversation and obviously pissed at my bold entry.
He mumbles something into the receiver then slams it down as he rises to his feet.
"You've got a lot of nerve, Walker!"
"Oh, I do, do I?" I snap. "You're an asshole!"
Moving so quickly he catches me by surprise, he grabs my arm and pulls me away from the door, slamming it. "Listen, Walker, I didn't want you here. I filed a formal complaint with the NSA over it. Beckman overruled us, saying we needed the CATS, and Graham wouldn't budge on your status as a CAT. So you're here. But you speak to me like that again, you're all out of here. You know where that leaves you." He huffs angrily. "So do this job, as a professional, like your life depends upon it. Because it does."
He releases me. His rage is cool like a glacier.
How little he knows…how little I care about myself. The threat falls flat. I'm burning white hot, trembling with the power of my wrath, how little regard he has for me. Rage is my greatest power here…the guilt, loss, sadness, despair, hopelessness…they evaporate as I slap Casey, hard, across the face. Normally he is solid like stone, but I surprise him and he staggers. "I'm glad I know where we stand."
I'm ready to fight him, right here in his office, but he, at least, is in control. He takes it silently. Did I see pity on his face? It's gone before I can scrutinize it, but the idea of Casey feeling sorry for me pours ice water on my rage.
"You didn't think an explanation might have been a good idea?" I'm amazed by how level, neutral my voice sounds.
His rigid stance relaxes slightly. "I did. I do. I told Beckman I would be the one reading you in. That's why no one said anything." He lifts his head as he gives the appearance of looking down at me. "You were busy last night."
"I was drugged, you son of a bitch! Tight ship you run here, Colonel."
I notice his shock, but he covers it quickly. "After hours party that you went to before you checked in, Walker."
"My squad mate did the drugging, so maybe she needs a good dressing down, Casey. You do that better than anyone I know." My voice is cold as ice and it chills the room.
We're at an impasse, and I'm not backing down. I'd like to say I wouldn't show him weakness—but it's hypocritical. A bold-faced lie I can't even tell myself. He has full access, a front-row seat to my weaknesses and failures. All I can do is call him on his own mistakes. He's not blameless.
"Sit." He's all business now. I capitulate, tired of arguing when I want answers.
"Did Carina really not know, Casey?" I ask. It's not important, rather, it's emotionally superfluous. Exactly what Casey doesn't want. But the thread from which I hang is frayed, and Carina is all I have left to cling to. If she's lied…
"Couldn't risk it. She's the only other one who knows his true identity. She was already leery based on the rumors circulating about the villa. I didn't trust her to not improvise her way out of this if she knew the whole truth."
"Does Chuck know?" I can't say his name out loud and sound indifferent. My cheeks burn, the longing in my voice, the pain behind it, embarrassingly on display.
Casey's expression changes. I can't read his face–he's far too stoic, his general air of neutrality with his anger simmering underneath inscrutable. There is something here that's complex, even more than I could imagine. Something I don't understand. Is this the reason he insisted on being the one to read me in?
"That you're here, on the mission with us? Yes." He rubs his palm across his eyes. "Once I knew having you here was unavoidable, I actually convinced myself that it might help. But…"
He doesn't continue, doesn't explain. What is he talking about? My desperation to know is overwhelming.
"Beckman bunkered him two months after I left." I was admitting that I'd gone looking for the information, maybe giving too much away, but he needed to know where I was starting. "How is it possible that two and a half years later, he's the SAC on a major international campaign to bring down one of the largest counterintelligence entities in the world?"
Casey sounds weary when he starts talking, like he hates having to tell the story. "We thought taking Tommy into custody was enough. But he managed to get word out to Fulcrum. The Buy More was buggier than the Everglades in summer. We found over 40, all modified, Fulcrum design. Beckman pulled the Op. He was transferred into government protective custody on January 21, 2008."
"I know all of that, Casey," I snap impatiently.
"I stayed in Burbank for an additional month." He raises his voice over me. "Staged his death. Car accident with enough evidence that no one questioned it."
That wasn't part of the government file. And as tragic as it would have been for his family and friends (Ellie and Morgan…I can't breathe for a moment, thinking what they must have endured over this), it would have been a few lines far back in the newspaper if it made the news at all. People die in car accidents all the time.
Casey's eyes are haunted. He's a soldier, after all. He did what was asked. But staying there, watching Chuck's sister grieving the one person who mattered most to her in the world, had to have left a scar. Maybe one he would never show, but a scar nonetheless.
"One of the designers of the Intersect, a rogue agent code-named Orion, broke Chuck out of CIA custody."
My eyes widen in shock. What Casey has described is impossible. How could anyone have penetrated that level of security? "Why?" I ask, a little breathless.
"The Intersect was usurped by the CIA and NSA, not the original intent of the designers, or at least that was how it was explained to me. A lot of that information is classified at a level higher than me. What I saw was heavily redacted. The implementation alone was enough to get his attention. But once it was known that the recipient was accidental, a civilian whose civil liberties had been violated at the highest levels, Orion came out of the cold.
"Orion removed the Intersect that Larkin sent to Chuck."
He couldn't have found Chuck sooner? Before the government had faked his death? The injustice of it made me bristle.
"I don't know all of the details after that because I was in Kyrsktstan with my unit, but another company scientist who worked on the Intersect, code named Perseus, found out what had happened. He'd been turned by Fulcrum and hijacked the replacement Intersect under development, what they called the 2.0. Very different from the first one. More than just intel. Fulcrum tried a handful of test subjects but they all died or went insane. They knew Chuck was the perfect test subject. Fulcrum grabbed him and uploaded the 2.0 against his will."
I tense my muscles, hoping Casey won't see me shaking. I feel like throwing up. What had Chuck endured over that time?
"He could tolerate it, alright. I guess it makes sense for whatever reason Larkin sent it to him in the first place. The testing at Stanford that you found out about. I don't know. All I know is when Fulcrum tried to turn him, thinking he was their puppet with their Intersect, it didn't work. He had complete control. And bonus for us, he had access to all Fulcrum's intel, which the Ring did not like."
I can guess what happened next. Once Chuck had access to enemy intel, Beckman would have done literally anything to ensure it wasn't lost. Fulcrum had forced the program back into his head, after he was free…and then Beckman made sure it was permanent. Did he choose it, or did Beckman force him?
The horror must show on my face because Casey says, "Once he knew he could help, he willingly went to training. The CIA and NSA were able to make adjustments to Fulcrum's design, improving how it functioned and how it integrated specifically with Chuck."
Casey smiles. Actually smiles. "He became what the Intersect was meant to be, when it was first envisioned, when Chuck was just a student at Stanford."
I recall Bryce's words, seeming to come from beyond the grave back then when Chuck and I thought he was dead. Project Omaha. A military operation. A killing machine. A way to create the perfect soldier, or perfect spy.
But Chuck?! I can't fathom it. Bryce knew back then…that wasn't Chuck. No matter what his brain was capable of. He was too good a person.
I feel my heart crack and bleed. What have they done to Chuck? What have I let them do to Chuck, by running, when I should have stayed to protect him?
"You think that's a good thing?" I challenge, indignant at his infuriating smile.
"Given the choices he had, I think this was the best possible outcome."
I'm so angry, incensed, I can't find anymore words, at least words that I won't regret saying.
Casey feels the need to elaborate. "You know as well as I do, Beckman and Graham's choice to put him in the field at the level he was at was risky at best. He bumbled through everything. We were all lucky many times that he didn't get us all killed."
"He had a conscience and he always thought about other people before he thought of himself!" I'm shouting, angrily defending Chuck. I sound like his old girlfriend, not his old handler.
Amazingly, Casey just nods along. He agrees with me. "Not bad for the world, Walker. Just bad for the spy world."
As angry as I still am, my insides feel frozen, chilled to ice, as the burden of everything I know weighs upon me. "He's the SAC, Casey. You report to him. Technically, I report to him." I can't say the rest. I don't want Casey to confirm the rest.
Casey's expression frightens me. He looks…contrite. Almost sad, at least as sad as I believe Casey can feel. "The Chuck you used to know…he…doesn't exist anymore. Natural selection. Adapt or die. Our boy adapted." Casey smiles again. "Literally the best I've ever seen."
Lying, deceiving, ruthlessly using people…seducing women, killing people…To be Casey's ideal, Chuck had become all of this and more. There is no other option.
Whatever else I believe I have done that deserves damnation, nothing compares to this. My composure is gone, crumbling. I wrap my arms around my body tightly, as if my arms alone can hold me together. Casey says something else, but I can't hear it.
I'm not sure how much time passes before Casey is in front of me. "Walker." He says it firmly, waking me from my fugue. "Larkin was an accident. Graham's report said so. You've let that one mistake, that one accident, ruin your career and your life. You used to be the best. This is a second chance, exactly what you need. Rise to this. Take your life back."
What is he saying? Of course, Casey has no idea, does he? How could he? I'd done everything in my power to hide my feelings for Chuck from him. Casey thought I left with Bryce because I chose Bryce, that Chuck meant nothing to me, or at least, not what he really meant. My mind is blown. Casey thinks those words upset me because I'm jealous of his impression of Chuck as a spy? That he's one-upped me?
Better that than the truth. Casey is not a confidant here. Casey has no idea my life has deteriorated because of my feelings for Chuck. And I can never let him know that.
"What's with the playboy theme?" I ask, changing the subject. "That can't all be just the cover. Amy and Zondra…and they've only been here for what, a week?"
"Jealous, Walker?" Casey quips. His impassioned speech to me is forgotten in the sting of those words. "I don't give two shits what…or who…Bartowski does when he isn't working. You shouldn't either. You know how it is."
I do, and it makes me feel so sad I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. Chuck never thought of sex that way, not before. Exercise…or the need for release. He relied on his emotions before. But of course, being a world-class spy, he no longer had room for emotions like that. Not if he wanted to survive.
"Good morning, Agent Walker. Nice to see you again." I never hear the door open.
That voice, the one that haunts my dreams, the one I drink myself into oblivion to silence…spoken directly behind me. I turn in my chair.
Leaning in the doorway, hands in his suit pants pockets, is Chuck.
Darkness falls like a curtain and I lose consciousness. I don't feel myself slide from the chair onto the floor.
