Burbank
Burbank smelled like sunshine and espresso.
Warm.
Simple.
Real.
After weeks of tuxedos, gunfire, and cities that never slowed down, the soft chime of a coffee shop door felt… out of place.
In the best way.
I pushed inside.
Indie music hummed low in the background. Conversations overlapped—mundane, harmless, normal. The kind of noise that didn't hide anything.
No exits to map.
No threats to track.
Just people.
Stephanie
And then I saw her.
Stephanie Barnett.
White coat draped over her chair.
Tablet in hand.
Focused—but not closed off.
Her eyes lifted—
met mine.
And for a second—
everything slowed.
Not because of the Intersect.
Because of something else.
First Contact
I smiled first.
"Looks like someone beat me to the last good table."
Her lips curved, dry but warm.
"In my defense," she said, "I got here first."
"Hard to argue with that."
I nodded toward her tablet.
"Doctor?"
"Resident," she corrected, but there was pride there. "Surgical. Westside Medical."
I let out a low whistle.
"So you're one of the people saving lives before I've had my second coffee."
A flicker of amusement.
"And you are?"
"Chuck Bartowski," I said. "I run a think tank."
Her eyebrow lifted.
"A think tank?"
"Yeah," I said with a small shrug. "Fancy name for solving problems people don't want to deal with."
A beat.
"Some weeks are more interesting than others."
Choice
My name got called.
I grabbed my coffee.
Paused.
Then made a decision.
Not Carmichael.
Me.
"Mind if I join you?"
A brief hesitation.
Then she gestured.
"Go ahead."
Conversation
We talked.
Not strategy.
Not missions.
Not lies layered on top of truths.
Just—
life.
Her residency.
Long hours.
Impossible expectations.
The kind of pressure that didn't come with backup.
"Wait," she said suddenly, eyes widening. "Ellie Bartowski is your sister?"
I blinked.
"Yeah. You know her?"
"Know her?" she said. "She's one of the best in the program."
A smirk.
"And Devon? Pretty sure half the hospital has a crush on him."
I laughed.
"Yeah… that tracks."
She tilted her head slightly.
"So you're that Chuck?"
"The one and only."
Ease
It wasn't forced.
That was the thing.
No performance.
No angle.
No need to read every micro-expression or map every outcome.
Just—
easy.
And that felt… new.
Goodbye
By the time we stood up—
numbers had been exchanged.
No expectations.
No pressure.
Just—
possibility.
She gave me a small smile.
"I'll text you."
"I'll hold you to that."
Outside
The sun hit warm as I stepped out.
No mission waiting.
No comms buzzing.
No immediate threat.
Just—
space.
I caught myself smiling.
And for once—
it wasn't practiced.
Not calculated.
Not Carmichael.
It was just—
mine.