PART II
I count him braver who overcomes his desires than him who conquers his enemies; for the hardest victory is over self. – Aristotle
The Spy Who Came In From DC
16 OCTOBER 2007
BURBANK-GLENDALE-PASADENA AIRPORT
18:21 PDT
"Don't get used to it," John Casey growled at Chuck Bartowski as the two climbed down onto the tarmac. "This is the last time the government shells out for a private jet for your overfull skull, got it?"
Chuck didn't answer. The whole day was surreal—had been surreal since he'd woken up that morning in the hotel. All he could do was lift a hand to shield his eyes, though the sun was already sinking for the evening.
"Here." Casey slapped something into his chest. Sunglasses. "You left them on your seat. Don't forget 'em again. I'm not your nanny."
"You'd be the world's scariest nanny," Chuck said as he slipped the sunglasses on. He took Casey's growl as assent rather than a threat, and craned his neck to look around. It wasn't the biggest airport in the world, but there certainly seemed to be a lot of space…and a lot of people…
"Get a move on," Casey snapped, pushing the skinnier man to ensure that Chuck obeyed. "We don't have all day to stand around and admire the scenery, Bartowski."
"You're cheerful today," Chuck observed, but he began walking. "You must really hate airline peanuts."
"Shut up."
"Shutting up."
They went in through the terminal doors to the private terminal. Inside, there were even more people, which made sweat spring cold and damp under Chuck's suit. Casey, however, was having none of it. He strong-armed Chuck all the way across the terminal to where a car with tinted windows waited for the pair.
"You're like my bodyguard," Chuck said after Casey had shoved him into the backseat and had climbed into the front seat with the driver. "Why is that?"
"Is every sentence out of your mouth going to be a comment on my job?"
Chuck opened his mouth to reply, and thought better of it. Instead, he reclined back into the seat and watched the world pass by outside the car. Even after nearly three weeks of being out of the bunker, he still couldn't believe how wide open the entire world was. The sky, just tinged at the edges with twilight, stretched onward and outward for years. And the people—the thousands and thousands of people. They were everywhere Chuck looked—in other cars, crowding the street corners, sitting out in front of restaurants, walking down the sidewalks…
Why on earth had he thought he could handle coming back to Burbank?
His grip tightened on the door handle, but not to open it. In the car, he was safe. The car was closed off, quiet. But out there…out there the variables came in. All of those people in all of that space, all those circumstances, none controllable or malleable or predictable.
His heart rate kicked up even higher.
"You better not start crying, Bartowski," Casey called.
It was small and petty to flip him the bird, but Chuck did so anyway. When Casey didn't immediately come back to kick his ass, he figured that had been Casey's plan the whole time. It was harder to freak out when you were angry.
Just another one of John Casey's little life lessons.
It had been a roller coaster since Athens—the black hood, being loaded into a van beside Sarah. Being loaded onto a C-130. Being loaded into another van in DC. Being dumped in an underground cell. And throughout it all, there had been Major John Casey of the NSA, who seemed to see it as a life goal to make as many snippy comments as he could to make Chuck as miserable as possible.
They had a dislike/distrust relationship. It worked well for both.
Chuck fiddled with the buttons of his suit coat. It occurred to him that he should probably be curious about what was going to happen next. "Where're we going?"
"Base," Casey grunted.
"What are we talking here? Home base? Third base? All your base are belong to us?"
"I'm under orders not to tranq him unless I absolutely have to," Casey commiserated to the driver, who merely nodded. To Chuck, he growled, "Our base of operations. And what have I told you about nerd speak?"
Chuck went back to watching the world pass by out the window.
The base of operations turned out to be a building that looked dishearteningly like an old bunker. "The government couldn't clean the place up a little?" Chuck asked in dismay as he looked around at the cracked, weed-ridden parking lot and the squat cinderblock structure. The windows were completely black, a throwback to 80s architecture at its worst. "Please tell me you guys got a two-for-one deal and that's why this is our new base."
"Shut up, Bartowski."
"You just have that one on repeat, don't you?"
Casey slanted a sideways look at him that promised pain.
"Whose cars are those?" Chuck asked, jerking his head at the only two cars in the entire parking lot.
"The Crown Vic's mine. Loser car is yours. C'mon." Casey shouldered his backpack as their airport escort drove away. He led the way across the evening-cooled pavement to the building's only entrance. "Welcome to the Castle."
"Is this the one with the princess in it?" Chuck wondered as Casey input the code into the panel by the door. "Or are we going to have to go to some other totally lame castle-slash-secret-government-facility to rescue her?"
Casey's reply was to go inside—and shut the door before Chuck could do the same.
"Hey!" Chuck pounded on the door…which only succeeded in setting off the alarm. Which was apparently connected to the sprinkler system. The building, parking lot, and sidewalk may have looked like crap, but the government apparently cared a great deal about their landscaping. Chuck was drenched in under twenty seconds. In his new suit. He scooped his dripping hair out of his eyes and spat out the mouthful that he'd accidentally almost swallowed. No telling if government water was safe to drink. "This is fantastic, this is. Just great."
Casey apparently deemed his penance over. The sprinklers shut off; the door whispered open.
"You done now?" Casey asked as Chuck came in to drip on the carpet.
Chuck just gave him an aggravated look. He resisted the urge to shake himself like a wet dog only because he'd seen Casey in action, and the result was rarely pretty. So instead he focused on his surroundings—they'd entered some sort of waiting room lounge, all boring colors, uncomfortable-looking furniture, two year old issues of Time and Us Weekly.
"Nice."
"It's your waiting room, not mine, doofus. C'mon, this way." Casey unbuttoned his suit jacket and pushed through a swinging door with the name "Pacific Securities, LLC" on it and into a spacious-if-boring office. A glossy desk, taupe walls and carpet, generic paintings on the wall, and a wide window that overlooked the parking lot. The only impressive thing about the whole place was the monster of a computer sitting on the desk.
Casey crossed to this and tapped something on the keyboard. Instantly, a groaning noise made Chuck jump. The bookcase swung out from the wall. Chuck stared for a full minute before he said, "Isn't that a little Scooby-Doo even for the US government?"
"Shut up and get inside."
Typically, he had to duck a little to get through the door, but once he crossed through, everything changed. Stale, sterile office space became a moodily lit military bunker—but not the horror movie-esque version from his nightmares. This one actually seemed pretty cool, all bright blue lighting and raw stone walls. They headed down a staircase together and into what seemed to be the main bay…
Chuck stopped dead. "Is that what I think it is?"
"It's a computer, Bartowski. Shouldn't a nerd like you know that?"
But Chuck's face took on a reverence normally reserved for Catholics meeting the Pope. "That's not just any computer," he breathed, stepping close. "I can't believe I'm standing this close to a D-U-97, Freon cooled, reconfigurable thirty teraflop architecture with modules for cryptanalysis and video processing…"
"It's like watching nerd porn," Casey observed. "Don't drip on the mainframe."
Hastily remembering that he was indeed soaked to the skin, Chuck leaped backward—and nearly ended flat on the floor for his trouble. Casey just raised both eyebrows and snickered.
"Gentlemen."
A voice behind Casey had both men straightening and turning. Casey recovered first. "General, Director," he said politely, buttoning his jacket as he faced the bay of computer monitors, all of which contained the frowning faces of their bosses.
"Major Casey, Agent Bartowski…why is Agent Bartowski wet?"
"Just showing him how the alarm works, General," Casey said.
Chuck straightened his soggy tie. "It's very effective. The facility has top notch landscaping support equipment."
The others gave him looks with differing degrees of puzzlement. "Sprinklers," Chuck explained. "The place has really, really good sprinklers."
"Bartowski," Casey growled without moving his lips, which Chuck would find to be a truly impressive feat when he gave it some thought later. Right now, he just edged away from Casey and hoped it didn't come across the computer screen too obviously.
"I trust the flight went well, Major Casey?"
"Very well, Director. Thank you."
"And you find the facilities to your liking?"
"Agent Bartowski just finished wiping up the drool, ma'am."
Chuck gave Casey the stink-eye. Casey ignored him with the ease of practice.
"Very well. We just wanted to welcome both of you to the new Castle facility and inquire about any problems you might have. Seeing none, I'll wish you both a good night and give you time to settle in. You'll be introduced with the third member of Operation Prometheus in the morning—we have full team briefing at 1000 hours. Major, make certain that Agent Bartowski knows all of the codes and regulations regarding the Castle."
"Yes, Director." Casey waited until the screen had gone blank before he plucked a huge manual off of the table and shoved it at Chuck. "Congratulations. Your assignment for tonight."
Chuck kept the book from clattering to the floor, but only just. "Actually, I need some time off tonight."
Casey just gave him a look.
"I promise I'll review the materials, I will, but I absolutely need a few hours tonight. I have to see my sister."
"Today?"
"Yes. Today. It's end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it vital, I swear it is."
"You mean, after five years you can't wait one more day?"
Chuck bit his tongue. "The five years wasn't by choice," he finally said. "I will learn this information, Casey. I will be able to quote you book, chapter, and verse, whatever you need to know. But I'm taking personal time tonight."
For a long moment, Casey stared at him without blinking or giving in. At length, though, he crossed to a cabinet and keyed in a sequence to open one of the doors. "This watch is to remain on you at all times," he told Chuck, handing over a nerdy black watch. "If I find out it leaves your wrist for longer than it takes you to shower, your ass is mine, pal. And here's your new phone."
"Oh, shiny," Chuck decided. "I thought I'd have to wait years before I could afford one of these."
"Those are tax payers' dollars at work," Casey warned. "You wreck that, I wreck you."
"Got it. You've got a real flair for words, I must say."
Casey grunted.
16 OCTOBER 2007
MADISON MERCY HOSPITAL
21:08 PDT
He knew that sitting in a parking garage was stalker-like and creepy, but Chuck couldn't move. Twice, he reached for the door handle, only to draw his hand back. Four times, he gave himself a pep talk. Five times, he berated himself. Absolutely none of it worked. In the end, he just sat in the driver's seat of the car the US government had seen fit to issue him, and called himself pathetic.
The problem stemmed from the fact that there wasn't much he could tell Ellie. And Ellie would have questions, lots and lots of questions. Five years before, he'd hugged her at the airport on his way to work a "nondescript government job" and then he'd dropped off the face of the earth. The only thing that would excuse that would be a full explanation with apologies, flowers, chocolates, jewelry, and the last five years back. None of which he had.
He should have stopped for Godiva on the way over, should have made better plans. But a combination of things had worked against him—it had been five years since he'd been behind the wheel of a vehicle without Sarah in the passenger seat. He hadn't realized how reassuring a presence she had been until she wasn't there anymore. Burbank traffic had never scared him before, but by the time he inched the car into the parking spot, he'd been covered in flop sweat and shaking worse than an Everquest addict during a power outage. Even now, he cowered up against the wheel and tried not to worry about the fact that he would have to brave the roads again soon.
One thing at a time, Chuck.
Over to his left, the door underneath the wash of orange streetlight opened. Chuck flinched and ducked down in his seat as he had every time before.
The lone woman that slipped through looked about the right height, but something seemed…off. Ellie, Chuck remembered, had always moved with the confidence and grace of a power-walker. This woman seemed tired from the tip of her bent head to the toes of her sensible sneakers. Chuck narrowed his eyes, squinting to see better, but the woman moved through the shadows and headed to an SUV without looking up.
He dithered. Should he get out and startle some total stranger? The woman had Ellie's height, weight, and coloring, but he was too far away to get a clear look at her face…
Nothing creepier than being accosted in a parking garage.
Chuck stayed in the car and called himself a coward. He watched in the rearview mirror as the woman climbed into the SUV and rearranged a few things that Chuck couldn't see before she started backing up. As she did so, the SUV backed directly under a street light and Chuck got a clear view of her profile.
"Ellie!"
Everything vanished—the fear, the nerves. Chuck threw open the door and flew out of the car, waving his arms frantically and already starting to chase the car. He saw Ellie's silhouette tense. The brake lights tapped—probably instinct. The engine roared; he smelled the acrid stench of burning rubber on the air—
Ellie slammed on the brakes. A nanosecond later, her own door flew open and she all but tumbled from the car, her face white and her mouth agape. "Chuck?"
Chuck skidded to a halt. "Hey, sis."
"What—what…" Ellie trailed off, completely at a loss. The streetlights were too far away to clearly illuminate her features, but Chuck could see just enough. Relief, of all things, made him feel like his knees had been replaced by Jell-O. Ellie seemed frozen in place. "Are you—you're alive?"
Relief fled; guilt stepped in to take its place. "Uh, yes."
"And you're—you're fine? You're okay? You're still you?"
Since Ellie was still rooted to the spot, Chuck swallowed and moved forward. With every step, he could see her face in the darkness clearer—until they were right in front of each other. "I'm okay," he confirmed awkwardly. "Uh, I think I'm me, I haven't checked lately, but I don't think I'm Larry Bird or anybody like that, so—oof!"
Ellie barreled into his midsection almost hard enough to knock him over. As it was, he had to take a few steps backward to remain upright, and to wrap his arms around her in return. She smelled like the hospital, the undercurrent of musk and sickness mingling with the astringent tang of hospital cleaners. And that alone made heat build up at the backs of his eyes, so he squeezed them shut and held on.
Eventually, Ellie broke off the hug. Tears were falling unhindered. "Wh-what are you doing here?"
Chuck cleared his throat. "I just moved back."
"And where—where have you been? It's been—"
"Five years, three months, and sixteen days," Chuck finished. He smiled sadly. "I can't tell you where I've been."
"Why didn't you call?"
"I couldn't. Honestly, El. If I could have, I would have in a heartbeat, but…" Chuck shrugged. "I'm not allowed to talk about it, really. I just got in a couple of hours ago, but I had to see you. You have no idea how much I have missed you and—"
Both of them jolted when Ellie's pager beeped. She hastily wiped her eyes as she plucked it from the waistline of her scrubs.
"Something the matter?" Chuck asked when Ellie, instead of replying right away, closed her eyes.
She nodded without looking at him. "One of my patients is having complications and the doctor supposed to replace me hasn't shown up yet…I have to take this."
"All right. Can we, uh, meet up for coffee later or something?"
Ellie tilted her head back to look at him, her expression absolutely blank, almost glassy. Shock, Chuck realized, though he certainly wasn't a doctor. He took a half-step forward, though to do what he had no idea. He just wanted to help—he just wanted the pain over.
But Ellie scurried backward. "I—I have to go," she said quickly, and she fled.
Chuck listened to her footsteps echo in the empty parking garage as she ran away, and closed his eyes. "Good job," he muttered at himself, and pushed both hands through his hair in frustration. "That went about as well as a Klingon trying to find a date at a Star Wars convention."
Which was when he realized that Ellie had left her car running in the middle of the lane, the door ajar and beeping insistently.
Chances were, she would realize it pretty quickly and come back. But a million things could happen before that—the car could be stolen, Ellie might remember during the middle of surgery and be unable to deal with it herself, and so on. Chuck counted to ten before he climbed into the driver's side and adjusted the seat (he'd have to remember to adjust it back or Ellie would kill him, just like she'd threatened to all those times he'd borrowed her car in high school). He drove the car back to its original parking spot, locked it, and pocketed the keys. It took a deep breath to actually propel him through the doors and into the hospital, which would be crammed full of people…
But Ellie deserved better. So his penance would begin with bad hospital coffee, a waiting room, and his own phobias to keep him company.
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