A/N: Here's the last part of this story.

-0-

The Devil You Know

His eyes flew wide open, simultaneously he inhaled loudly and deeply. His lungs hurt, they hadn't breathed on their own in who knows how long. He ripped the mask off his face and sat up. Disorientation overcame his mind. His memories were fuzzy. He shut his eyes and gripped the sides of his bed. Calming himself down; controlling his breathing; clearing his mind. Panicking wouldn't do any good. He had to get his bearings. His mind began to clear. He started to remember. Opening his eyes, he recognized the Fulcrum medical room. He'd been to one many a time, they all looked the same. His grip on the bed tightened. They'd brought him back again … why wouldn't they just let him die? They had taken everything from him. Why couldn't they just let him die? They didn't need him anymore, Chuck was dead, the Intersect was gone.

He just wanted some peace. But he couldn't get it, even in death. Fulcrum wouldn't let him.

The soft swish from the sliding door, caused him to lift his head. Coming to stand at the foot of his bed was none other than the Director himself. "Agent Larkin," he greeted. "Welcome back."

Bryce continued looking on. "Why?"

"Why what?" The Director asked dryly.

"I did what you wanted. I took care of Chuck. I was done. Why am I here?"

"You're done when Fulcrum says you're done." He paused. "You're not done." The Director pointed to folded up clothes, neatly set on the chair beside his bed. "Clean yourself up, Larkin. You've got work to do." With that, he casually turned and started walking away. His back firmly turned to Bryce.

He could so easily snap that smug bastard's neck. It wouldn't even take much right then.

"You could try it, of course," Bryce heard the Director's voice say. "I wouldn't fault you if you did. It wouldn't end well for you, but you could try it."

At least he'd be dead; it would all be over, Bryce thought. "No … I told you, you're not done."

Bryce remained quietly sitting on his bed until the door closed behind the Director.

He heard a terrible wail over take the room. The pain being almost too much to take. When the tears in his eyes blurred his vision, Bryce realized he was the source of the horrifying noise. He was crying. He was pitiful. How had he fallen so far?

Bryce allowed himself a couple of moments to feel sorry for himself, then dried his eyes. He regained his composure and deliberately climbed out of his bed. Mechanically, he put his suit on, piece by piece. Looking in the mirror, he saw the life in his eyes that had been missing since his days at college, days when he and Chuck were inseparable.

After one last look, he slowly closed his eyes. When they opened again, the cold blue stare he'd become so familiar with over the years was back.

As he adjusted his tie, looking in the mirror, only one thought ran through his mind: They were going to pay. They were all going to pay. For what they did to him, for what they did to Chuck. Only then would he allow himself the privilege of dying…

-0-

He woke up. His head was a jumble. Opening his eyes, he saw a familiar sight. He was in a hospital room … again. That was getting old. Had he been in another explosion? Hadn't once been enough? He really needed to—

Wait … He died. He had actually died. Everything started coming back to him. The rooftop, Bryce, the fight. What it felt like to take his last breaths and know he was not coming back. He couldn't have survived. How was he alive?

The monitor in the room came on and there he saw two people he didn't recognize staring back at him. One, an older woman in military uniform; the other, an older man in a suit. Neither of them a picture of friendliness.

"Bartowski?" The woman started.

"Yes?" His head turned to focus on her.

"How are you feeling?"

"Um … Okay, I guess." Before he could think about it, he asked, "Do I know you?"

He'd been consumed with thoughts of his death, but as soon as the question was floating in the air, he knew he'd made a mistake. Their stare turned inquisitive and it sent chills down his spine.

"You don't know us?" The woman asked.

"I told you this was a bad idea," the man on the other side of the screen chided.

"We don't know how bad it is," she replied.

"He was dead, for god's sake! And we used Fulcrum technology to get him back. Who knows what that did to him?"

As they continued arguing, Chuck noticed a pin hanging on the woman's collar and immediately knew that was General Beckman, he was right to be fearful. The watch the man was wearing was all he needed to see to know that was Director Graham of the CIA. Another lovely fellow. Aw… hell… I was better off dead.

"Calm down, Director," General Beckman commanded. "Let's send in the doctors to check him out, then we will proceed."

"You'd better hope the Intersect is intact, Diane."

The screen went black without as much as a sideways glance toward Chuck.

It was nice to be missed, thought Chuck derisively. Bryce was right: they didn't give a damn about him. Their only concern was the Intersect. Not that it wasn't great to be alive again, he didn't want to die in the first place, but he knew they only brought him back for that damned thing in his head.

The one thing he had going for him this time around was that they thought they were responsible for his memory loss; that was good. They could go on thinking that. On the negative side of things, he still couldn't remember anything from before the explosion.

He had a lot of questions… again. But he knew what Bryce told him and he knew what the Intersect had told him. That was all he needed for now. Bryce … poor guy. No one deserved what had happened to him. The more he thought about it, the more it became clear they were on the same boat. The government was using him the same way Fulcrum used Bryce. He wasn't going to let that happen anymore. No one was going to control him.

First he'd make Fulcrum pay for what they did to his friend. Even if he didn't actually remember their friendship at all, it was undeniable that they had been friends; and Chuck owed it to his friend to make sure Fulcrum could never harm anyone else again. Only then would he be free to turn his attention to his own Fulcrum. The lesser of two evils, for now, he thought.

A team of doctors came rushing into his room and he was taken from his thoughts. But he had a plan. And he was going to see it through… god help whoever got in his way.

-0-

A/N: Well, that's the end of that. Told you it'd be short. I do hope that if you took the time to read this, you enjoyed it. I've been away from this site for almost two years now, and the more time went by, the harder it got to put myself in a place where I wanted to write about Chuck. I don't feel it anymore. I've forgotten characters, storylines, plot points, and frankly, I don't feel like going back and watching any episode of the show. That's what happens when a show I like completely falls apart. I thank each one of you that has p.m.'d me to ask about my stories. I've read every single notification of favorites, follows, reviews, and everything else. I can't believe my stories are still getting any of that this far out. It feels good to know I wrote something people are interested in. I just don't know how to write for these characters anymore. I pretty much don't care what happens to them. That's my opinion, you don't have to share it, but it does make it near impossible for me to continue writing these stories. My old computer broke down right after I posted the first chapter of this story and I lost these last two chapters. It took me this long to recreate them from scratch; and, believe me, I tried like hell. That should give you some idea of the block I have. This is the end of the road for me. It was a good experience, but all good things and all that. So, thank you all, one last time. I've been Grey Alchemist and you've been a great audience.

-G.A.