Armadilloi's Undisciplined vs The Nightmare

by jaytoyz

This is classic Armadilloi AU. Chuck and Sarah. Part one. I think Jim wouldn't mind this being shared. No clones or space aliens. I'll eventually move this to APR's account.I know there's at least three parts and I hope to post the rest if its wanted.JT

1. Chapter 1

P/N: (Poster's note) This story appears here for the first time, as far as I know. I don't know why Jim never shared this…maybe he never got around to it or maybe he didn't think it was good enough and now I'll be haunted by his shade for sharing this. Oldestman has been slowly sending me Jim's stuff whenever he's feeling well enough to. Tom's currently fighting the same fight that Jim fought and, unfortunately, it looks like the outcome will be the same. If you're a fan of Oldestman's stories, drop him a line. I don't know for a fact but I'm sure he'd appreciate hearing from you. Eventually I'll be adding this to APR's account but until then, it'll be here.

I corrected a couple of spelling errors(imagine that, me correcting spelling mistakes) but aside from that, this is exactly as it was when I first read it. I know that there are more chapters and as I get them, I'll add them…as long there's an interest. JT

A/N: This part one of two planned parts but who knows. Non-canon, Charahpeeps will be pleased, plot lovers will also. Probably the product of a deranged tripe-writer but tough. I'm not a review nut otherwise I'd write 5 paragraph chapters.

Armor-Plated-Rat

Bayou Mansard

Undisciplined – vs – The Nightmare

1999

"Charles, you know better. The guoi-fan is not to be used for your entertainment. Look at you. Covered in ice like chicken in a freezer. You are not ready. It takes years of study and you have not been the best student nor will you stay long enough to master it. Your destiny lies in that world," gesturing out the shop window, "not this one," pointing to rear of the shop. He loved that damned mountain pass she'd shown him near her birthplace. He would freeze to death one day or worse, lose his way and not be able to return.

"Now, find a broom and go sweep the back courtyard. The activity and sun will warm you." The Asian woman not so gently pushed the shivering young man toward the back of the shop, muttering curses and supplications to her gods to give her the strength and wisdom to sustain her until he graduated from Stanford.

She knew she would not find another who soaked up knowledge like this one. He had come looking for work to help pay his student expenses nearly three years ago and she had hired him even though she had no need of assistance. He was a scholar, this one, and she would teach him what she could of what she knew. He was not the first nor would he be the last but he would be the most challenging and Ahn-Zhu loved a challenge.

"Why, Ahn-Zhu, why does it work like that?" was his most frequent phrase. Why, how, when, were the first words he'd utter when he learned something new, found something he couldn't understand or realized something she hadn't yet taught him. Given a lifetime she might have been able to teach him patience but somehow she doubted that would be sufficient time. He lacked self-discipline, this one. He lacked all discipline. He was a lovable rogue born out of his time.

He did everything fast, wanted to learn quickly, did not prepare as much as respond and spent too much time with girls for his own good. He would never be a monk, that was for sure. If she were only 70 years younger she might have taught him things that made her blush to think about. The Disciplines served her well and she looked to be only 40 with smooth skin, black hair and a libido to match. Her mother and father were still living and she'd heard that her grandparents had lived to be well over 180 but she didn't believe it.

Residence Hotel

Burbank, CA

2007

"Graham, secure."

"Walker, secure. Director, I cannot perform this assignment. I cannot take one more moment of this idiot's immature, undisciplined crap."

"Calm down, Agent Walker. What's Bartowski done that has you so up in arms?"

"What hasn't he done? He ignores my instructions unless I reinforce them with a little pain, he questions my judgment, he makes a mockery of our cover and he has no idea of the need for security."

"Strange. Major Casey and the NSA are quite pleased with Mr. Bartowski. His results are what matter, Agent Walker, his results. Live with his methods, please, they yield results. Perhaps if you were to relax a little around the asset you wouldn't have these moments of meltdown. He's not 4 years old, Agent Walker and that's exactly how you're treating him."

"Director, that's exactly how's he's acting. He's a big dumb idiot with no drive, ambition, no desire to better himself plus he is downright aggravating. He's …"

"Agent Walker, firstly, he's not dumb. By comparison, you are dumb. He is off the charts smart, Walker. You don't know how to deal with the brilliant people because you've never dealt with anything other than your fellow agents and marks, and they are all, by definition, dim, in comparison to Bartowski."

"Secondly, he responds to respect not threats. Major Casey at least listens when Bartowski voices an opinion. Since you replaced Agent Thorne, you've done more to undermine the asset that to utilize his native talents. Every mission since your assignment has been either an outright failure or a marginally successful operation."

"Review the results prior to your arrival. Thorne was compromised and was professional enough to admit it. She saw past what you seem to be stuck looking at and worked with him as a true partner."

"Unfortunately, Bartowski somehow found his way past her defenses and into her heart. Rather than continue in a capacity where emotions might get in the way, she requested reassignment. He did not take it well at all. He saw her relief and reassignment as his 'fault' and said as much. You, Agent Walker, would not be missed for days if you were suddenly to disappear this very moment."

"What's that say about your performance, Agent? Quit bitching and start working with the asset. He's not going away although you might be if things don't improve out there."

"Now, I have General Beckman waiting and I believe you have a mission briefing and you're late for it. Clean up your act, Agent Walker. This is the big-time."

Casa Bartowski

It was Friday night. Cover date night. Another night of hearing her bored and judgmental sighs about everything from where they went, what they did, what they ate to what he wore. He never had any problems like these with Robin Thorne. They were relaxed evenings with lots of laughter, zero business, and honest conversation. She listened when he talked and if she didn't understand something she asked for an explanation. She told him things she probably shouldn't have and always offered her own personal insights.

One of those 'insights' was that she had fallen for her asset, hard, and had to leave. Her explanation was short and her response to his objections even shorter. "Chuck, I love you and I don't want to be the cause of anything bad happening to you because of my emotions. And as far as any objection you might have, forget it, Chuck. They make all the right sounds at all the right times, but never forget – they do not care about Chuck, all they care about is the machine named Bartowski who carries their precious intersect."

"That's all you are and will ever be, Chuck. And someday, Chuck, when they get their precious machine to work, you'll be judged to be 'excess' and killed. And I can't be party to it. I'm sorry." And she was gone less than 8 hours later. Casey told him. She didn't leave a note, a message, or a post-it. She even gave back his t-shirts she'd stolen to sleep in thinking he wouldn't miss them.

If Agent Walker didn't understand something she dismissed it as 'stupid' or 'juvenile'. She felt out of place in an ordinary restaurant if the menu didn't include pate or wasn't written in French or Italian. She was arrogant and rude and made no attempt to get to know him as a person at all.

Walker was all about the perception of position and power. It made him want to puke.

She made him want to puke.

He wanted his ordinary looking, beer drinking, burp-contest winning, 'shit, I've got a hang over, Chuck' Robin Thorne. He didn't love her but he liked the hell out of her. They had had sex, well, made love, several times in the month before she left. It wasn't to control him, either. No, it was because she wanted him. It was that simple. And if he liked her, a lot, the word would have stretched to the breaking point if Thorne had stayed. It would have shattered into 'love' within a few months. But she didn't stay. She was afraid she'd receive the order. She never said so, but Chuck knew it just as he knew the sun would rise and set.

Two months earlier

"I know, stay in the van. Don't leave. Do not emerge from the vehicle. No sliding out for a latte. I get it, Robin. You're as bad a Casey."

"Well, thanks, Chuck, I consider that high praise. Now, be safe and flash your ass off so we can get out of the rain and back to the apartment. I know Ellie's made lasagna and if Awesome left any, we'll split it. One of the bennies to being your handler, Chuck, Ellie's cooking."

Beckman had decided that Chuck's cover of 4 months should have progressed to the 'moving in' stage so Robin had moved her stuff into Chuck's room and become a fixture in his life and that of his family's. Surprisingly, it was a comfortable arrangement. She and Ellie were like sisters and she thought Devon was 'awesome'. She was a cuddler and Chuck found he could handle it after a few sleepless nights of being surrounded by a soft and curvy woman whose idea of sleepwear was his t-shirt and a smile. On those nights they were apart Chuck found it hard to fall asleep.

"You ready, Robin?"

"Ready, Casey. Did you see that guy down there with the big boat dragging animals into it? A modern day Noah?"

"It's just a light, gentle spring rain, Rob. You won't melt." The lightning and thunder was playing havoc with communications. Between the static and thunder they lost about every 4th or so word. The video was little better.

"Chuck…" Casey started to give his standard speech.

"I know, stay in the van."

"Yeah. For once, please listen to your handler. You get cranky when you're wet." Casey laughed and he and Thorne trotted out through the rain to the office building and warehouse at the other side of the parking lot.

The video pickup from their low-light headsets was displayed on a split screen and Chuck watched their progress through the office, showing them where to plant the repeater links on the office computers, which lines to tap and directing their path on his displays to the warehouse itself. The company was an importer of fireworks for US distribution.

"Now remember, guys, no fireworks amongst the fireworks. But if you see some cool roman candles or stuff, appropriate some for me."

"Radio discipline, numb nuts. Buy your fireworks if you have to enrich the Red Chinese, Bartowski. I'm not filching any goodies for you. And neither is Thorne, right Rob?"

"M80s, Chuck?" She chuckled knowing it would piss Casey off.

"Radio silence, Thorne. Jesus, now he's got her doing his filching."

"Time to Geiger up, boys and girls. Do not touch anything that looks like a pile of gray modeling clay." Chuck was deadly serious. What they were looking for would kill anyone who came in contact or even close proximity with it. Plutonium.

"Hey, Casey, there's a dead rat on the ground, to your left. Sweep it." He got the double click acknowledgement and saw Casey sweep the pick up of the counter over the rat. Nothing. A dead rat with a high radioactive reading would be something else entirely.

"OK, just a dead rat. Moving right along, campers. Mission clock is +20 minutes. We're behind the curve. No shortcuts but no loitering." Chuck's other job was to monitor progress against plan. They had a narrow window on the watchmen's rotation through the complex. The electrical storm was increasing in intensity and static was interfering with audio and visual reception.

Headlights swept the recon van and Chuck ducked even though he knew no one could see through the deep tint. "Truck's arriving at the loading dock. Large U-Haul. Two men in cab, and …oh, shit. Time to unass. Six, no eight, heavily armed men in street clothes with night vision gear." He checked the position of the team against his diagram of the building.

"Turn around, head south 50 meters or so then turn east to service bay. You should find a large set of double doors leading to the front-loading bay. Get there now. The evil dudes are in the warehouse and spreading out in a search pattern according to thermal sensors. Move your asses people."

The storm increased and the audio was blanked out by static from lightning and just plain loud thunder and rain drumming on the van roof. "Confirm instructions! Casey? Thorne?"

"Well this is just another fine mess you've gotten me into, Ollie." Still trying to reach his team he took off his headset and ran out of the van towards the front-loading bay doors. He could hear Casey and Thorne suddenly as he closed the range to the warehouse dock on his earwig.

"Bad guy on the left, Casey."

"Got him. Let's go, Thorne. Move it. There's the doors, Chuck? Chuck, you copy?"

"Must be the storm. Let's ungh." Power failed on that grid section plunging the warehouse into darkness only occasionally broken by the strobe-like flashing of a lightning strike.

As Casey burst through the doors Chuck could see over his shoulder the instant Robin went down, one leg flying up and her body crashing down driving her head into the warehouse floor.

"Casey, Thorne's down. Casey?" No commo. Damned storm.

Casey blew on past Chuck, not even noticing him amongst the cartons palleted on the loading dock and he ran toward the van. Chuck ran in, scooped up Thorne and threw her over his shoulder and followed, although at a much slower pace.

Casey cursed the gods for saddling him with an asset who wouldn't follow directions. Just as he was going back out to find and kill his asset the doomed Chuck slid open the van door and deposited Casey's unconscious partner on the carpeted floor.

The look he fixed John Casey would not soon be forgotten. "Forget someone, Major Casey?" Casey got to work on his partner just as a few bullets hit the side of the van.

"Get us out of here, Bartowski. I'll work on Thorne."

Chuck drove like a madman to Burbank General Hospital and was just pulling into the ER parking area preparing to storm the ER with his injured handler when she put her arms around him from behind and said "Chuck, I just got knocked out. Not shot. Slow down and turn around and head for the Castle. It's OK. Calm down before you kill us all in an accident. The roads are awash from the storm, slow down, please?"

Chuck slowed down and pulled off the boulevard into the parking lot of a small strip mall. He slammed the van into park and threw himself out of the driver's door and stalked off down the street muttering imprecations and curses against the gods, the CIA, the NSA and all agents, big and small, totally unaware of or immune to the rain of dogs, cats and toads that was currently filling up the L.A. Basin with 12 inches of rain water.

Casey drove the van slowly along the street paralleling the pissed off asset. "Where do you suppose he's headed, Thorne?"

"Don't know Casey but thanks for pulling me out of there. I can't believe I got knocked cold from a bullet hitting the heel of my boot. Thanks, partner."

"Well, I didn't. I didn't even see you, Thorne. I was 10 feet ahead of you and just as I went out, your hero ran in and hoisted you over his shoulder and brought you to the van. I didn't even know you were down. Commo was shot due to weather. I guess Chuck saw it and panicked and ran for you. Dumb assed thing to do. But glad he did."

Thorne didn't say anything, just watched as her tall asset plowed through puddles, ponds and small lagoons on his way to who knew where.

"I think almost losing one of us rattled his cage, Casey. Pull over and I'll bring the hero in out of the cold." Casey pulled the van in against the curb a few yards ahead of Chuck. A shaky Robin Thorne got out of the van, heedless of the rain and walked toward her asset.

"Hey, Chuck. Please, get in the van. Please. You're going to catch pneumonia or a bad cold and Ellie will be all over me. Please, sweetie, in the van. We'll talk about this at home, OK?" She took him by the hand and led him to the van.

"To the Castle, John. Let's get out of these wet clothes and report to the general. And I need some extra strength Advil or Demerol for this headache. And I think Chuck needs some serious time alone. He's so pissed at us for messing up like that." Casey knew that Chuck was pissed at him, not for messing up the mission but for almost leaving his handler behind. Casey could see the signs of compromise on the road ahead. He just hoped his partner could see them, too.

"So, General, the mission was only a partial success but we broke contact per instructions and returned. The information from the computers should prove interesting and valuable once the intersect reviews the data."

"Fine, but Mr. Bartowski, if you ever leave the van to rescue an agent, or assist an agent or for whatever reason, I'll bring you into secure custody immediately, is that understood?"

"Yes, General. Understood. I'll be packed and ready to go within 30 minutes. You already have my home address in your Rolodex, I'm sure. I'll be waiting for your little group of happy gnomes. Oh, do you have HBO?"

"You misunderstood, I meant, in the future, Mr. Bartowski."

"Well, I meant NOW, General. Might as well save you the bother. I will not let another member of this team suffer injury or harm or be 'left behind' if I can do something to prevent it. Given that stance, your pickup team might as well do its thing sooner as opposed to later, don't you agree?"

Casey muttered 'Oh, shit,' but stepped closer to Chuck in support while Thorne just looked at the floor, not wanting to see how this played out. She knew Chuck had screwed up leaving the van and she knew he was right in his world but wrong in hers. She waited for the hammer to fall, driving the first nail into Chuck's underground coffin.

Diane Beckman did not like to be challenged, certainly not by a spoiled brat civilian who happened to have possession of the intersect. She knew that the effectiveness of the intersect would be diminished to the point of uselessness if Bartowski was put into custody. Between his rotten attitude and the constraints on his proximity to source data he might as well be dead. She toyed with that but dismissed it, for the time being. The new intersect was coming along and then she'd issue the order to eliminate the previous intersect.

He needed to be in the field. Things were heating up. The discovery of processed and machined plutonium in a shipping container in Long Beach sent alarms throughout the intelligence community and the military.

"Very well, Chuck, your 'stance' is noted. See to it, Thorne and Casey, that he doesn't have reason to exercise his idiotic notion of nobility and team loyalty. Perhaps someone has seen too many movies where no on is left behind. That's a romantic notion and has no place in the intelligence field. Watch your ass, Bartowski. Don't overestimate your importance. You have been warned." The NSA logo floated across the screen.

Little was said in the Castle between the team members. Casey felt uneasy around Chuck for obvious reasons and Thorne kept her distance from the other two while mulling over what to say to her asset when they were clear of Casey and the listening devices. Chuck just waited for the storm to pass. He knew he was right. As long as he did the 'right' thing he was satisfied.

The drive back to the apartment seemed to take hours. Thorne's head was splitting and she felt sick to her stomach, a sure sign of a concussion. She'd lost track of how many she'd had in her 29 years but figured it was getting up there.

Castle Bartowski

He helped her out of the Herder and into the apartment. Ellie and Devon were on shift so they had the place to themselves. He went to the bathroom and started the shower then found his handler working on removing her shoes without much success.

"Hey, let me help. Then you get in the shower and I'll nuke some lasagna and we'll have a quiet dinner and you can yell at me and tell me that you, too, think I'm stupid for taking on Beckman over leaving you behind."

She nodded he head while he removed her clothing except for her bra and panties. This was a first. They'd never even indulged in non-cover anything, no handholding, nothing, except for the cuddling and that was almost like having a teddy bear.

He helped her down the hall to the shower and said quietly, "Sorry for the liberties but you're obviously not feeling that well so hop in the shower and then I'll bring you some dinner. I'll also bring you some clothes and leave them on the vanity." He'd never met her eyes during the whole speech, just reached in and made sure the water temp was tolerable and then handed her the body wash and left.

She put on the clean underwear and threw on his t-shirt and a pair of her own shorts realizing that he had no intentions of 'getting physical' with her since he brought her 'sensible clothing'. Her disappointed sigh surprised her.

She had been tamping down her emotions and feelings for Chuck since moving in with him and it was getting more and more difficult to stop herself from just jumping his bones. She needed it and wanted it and she found herself falling deeper and deeper for her asset. She knew he felt something for her or he wouldn't have risked his life going in unarmed to pull her out.

She strolled out to the kitchen, doing her best to look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to allay any concerns Chuck might have about her physical status.

'She's pulling this off rather well, I think. The hard assed agent sloughing off a concussion as if it's nothing and probably thinking she's going to eat, drink beer and then chew his ass off for his foolish stunt. So not going to happen, Robin.'

She sat down and Chuck pulled her plate out of the warmer and then got her a glass of water and an unopened diet Coke. "I could use a beer, there, Charles. Fetch me one, post haste, asset." Her usual bantering humor was not going to fly this time.

"Nope. Concussion + booze equals hospital. Nope. And we're going to do the every-two-hour neuro check, too. Just like in the movies. You were out cold for several minutes. You can chew on me now for failing to follow your instructions, but you will not hassle me about Beckman. That's my ass and I'll handle it. You can have the rest when she's not chewing on it."

"Chuck, she's right. You can't risk yourself for one of us. We protect you. Not the other way around. The President doesn't jump in front of a secret service agent, does he?"

"He would if he felt like I do, I mean, like I do a-a- about my handlers. I can't be detached and distant. We're a team, Robin, and we support each other. Beckman's wrong. Period. Now, eat your lasagna, sweetie, or I'll tell Ellie you thought it was dry and inedible."

And at that very moment Robin Thorne plunged headlong down the slippery slope to fully compromised status. Without a doubt she would have resigned from the Agency at that very moment and spent the remainder of her life hiding in Chuck's room and ravishing him nightly but for one niggling little factoid: she was a career professional. She knew what she had to do but put it off as long as possible.

In 29 years she had never been as happy as she had the past months. Being assigned to the intersect asset was the best thing that ever happened to her. She would give it a month and then reevaluate her position. She was only fooling herself but she refused to acknowledge such a thing. She was in love. And people in love do foolish things, don't they?

He woke her as promised every two hours. The first time she was cranky. The second time she was listless, the third time she was ready.

"Robin, Robin, come on, wake up for me, Robin. Two hour neuro check as promised and required."

"Oh, Chuck, something's wrong. See, look right here…" He leaned over to see what was wrong with her neck and she pounced, rolling him over onto his back and straddling him with his arms trapped against his body.

"Now, Chuck, this is how it's going to be. I am going to slowly remove all my clothing and then I'm going to kiss you until you can't remember your own name and then I'm going to ravish you until you can't remember a damned thing except MY name. I've been patient, I've been professional, and I've been respectful, but damn it, I love you and I'm going to make the most of whatever time we have. Understand?"

"Ummm, are you sure you're feeling all right?" He screeched as she grabbed him firmly and said, "I am feeling great and I intend to feel a lot better in a while, understood?"

"Do I get to take off your clothes next time, Robin? Or is that like, 'wait in the van, Chuck', type of instruction?"

"Smart ass."

"Chuck, I have to talk to you. This past month has been the most incredible time of my life but I can't be your handler and your lover at the same time. You know why. I'm leaving in the morning, Chuck. It has to be this way. Please don't look so glum, Chuck. I'm hopelessly compromised and hopelessly in love with you. You're just moving through 'like' so don't get all mushy and profess what you don't feel yet. You don't lie Chuck, and that would be a lie."

"Why? I mean you didn't just discover you were compromised, did you? You told me you loved me from the start. So what was this, a fucking vacation for you? Jesus, Rob, you can't mean this. "

"Chuck, I love you and I don't want to be the cause of anything bad happening to you because of my emotions." 'And I don't want to be the one or watch as you're killed for being the obsolete intersect.'

And she was gone the next day.

BuyMore

Burbank, CA

A week later, Marissa Stone walked into the BuyMore and approached the man at the Customer Service Counter. "My cell phone has died and I don't know why, could you please look at it for me?" Chuck took in the CIA agent with a glance, disgusted with his life and this munchkin version of Robin Thorne. Someone in the CIA had a weird and perverse sense of humor. Or Robin Thorne had a twin sister. "Sure. If you want to look around for a while, I'll have it back up for you in a few minutes." He knew if he turned screw A and tightened screw B it would work fine.

"There you are, Miss. Compliments of the BuyMore. No charge." He turned on his heel and walked around until he found John Casey. "Casey, tell them no. I won't work with a Thorne clone. Not going to happen. Tell them to send me her evil stepsister. I can live with bitchy. All that sweetness and light would kill me in a week."

Casey laughed, actually laughed. "Oh, Bartowski, be careful what you wish for. She's the best of the bunch. No baggage, first assignment, full authorization for intersect duty. You won't get one better suited to your … unique personality. They even had an FBI profiler select her based on your 'preferences'. OK, I'll tell Beckman. She's not going to be pleased I can tell you that."

"He said what, Major Casey?" Beckman was at the end of her rope with Bartowski. If the damned trolls in the NSA labs could just finish the intersect without creating exploding death traps she could be rid of this obnoxious Nerd.

"He said all that sweetness and light would kill him in a week and to send him her evil step-sister instead of a Thorne clone."

"So be it, Major." She knew exactly who she'd send – the most evil and heartless agent she knew, The Nightmare, the perfect assassin for the most obnoxious human being in the world. She was still angry about the confrontation where he'd defied her with his old-fashioned 'stance'. Damned romantic. He should have been born in the 10th century if he had to be born at all.

Three weeks later a very unhappy Sarah Walker showed up in her Porsche and strutted into the BuyMore looking like she'd just stepped out of a centerfold or off the cover of Vogue and asked Chuck to 'fix this cell phone, please? It doesn't work,' and after he tightened a screw that had come loose and checked the connections, he told her it was fine and there was no charge. She strutted out the same way she'd come in, arrogant, cold and aloof, leaving without so much as a 'thank you, peasant'.

She was immediately forgotten as Chuck wallowed in his own self-pity over Thorne's departure.

The next day Casey had put it best that 'agents come and go but Bartowski is stuck here.' He laughed when Chuck shot him the bird but straightened up and walked away when he heard "My cell phone must still be broken. I've been in town all this time and you haven't called." Chuck looked at her in disgust.

"Agent Walker, I presume? That's the lamest line I've heard since I got involved with this crap. I suppose you want to discuss our cover? Agent Casey is over there in the appliance section. I'm sure he'll need you for some in-processing nonsense. I'm due back in the cage. I suppose I'll have to see you later. Have a nice day, Agent Walker."

Sarah Walker was not used to being dismissed by a man out of hand especially not one who was so obviously...deficient. She'd heard about the fate of one former handler, hopelessly compromised, reassigned to undercover work in some backwater country, probably as a fishmonger's wife. She already hated this assignment. She'd been good at what she'd been doing in South America until Bryce got tangled up with Fulcrum and then destroyed the Intersect and their plans for a future outside the Agency. Of all the dumb asses in the world he had to send it to, this one was by far the dumbest. She hoped her NSA partner was at least tolerable.

'Agent Walker, Major John Casey. I see you've met Chuck Bartowski. Interesting fellow, don't you think?" Casey treated Chuck like the annoying little brother he'd never had. He'd commiserated with him over many a beer since Robin's departure just as he had with Robin over Chuck's antics. He doubted very much that Sarah Walker drank beer. She looked more like the white wine type. And he knew of her, knew of her moniker, The Nightmare, and how she'd earned it. Well, Chuck got what he wished for. Now, if only he could survive his new handler.

"I knew Robin Thorne at the Academy. She was in the class ahead of mine. She seemed competent if somewhat ordinary. I know how she got along with the asset. Was she using the honey trap to keep him in line from the beginning or was it necessary later on? I have to know what is expected of me." She shuddered at the thought of sex with Bartowski. Oh, God, maybe she could just pretend to be lesbian. It had worked in Bulgaria, until the mark's sister came for a visit.

"Agent Walker, Agent Thorne never used the 'honey trap', she didn't have to. Bartowski takes the intersect duties very seriously but wants to have a life of his own. Thorne filled that role voluntarily and then she got hopelessly involved with him and left. He took it hard."

"It was real for both of them, Agent Walker, not a role she was playing. They were honest with each other from the beginning and that honesty kept them viable for a while until Thorne just couldn't risk him any longer and pulled the plug on it. Hurt him, too, although he'll never admit it. And it never, ever, got in the way of a mission." He told her about Chuck's confrontation with Beckman and the results. He was proud of his asset. She was appalled.

"He said that to the General and got away with it? How? He broke protocols. He put himself in a compromising position and that can never happen with the intersect. Once the new program comes on line he'll be…redundant and probably disposed of. That's the only reason I can fathom that she would tolerate such… disrespectful and insubordinate behavior."

Casey sighed. This was going to be a painful process of either bringing her around to the team's way of thinking or building a case to get rid of her. That would be difficult considering The Nightmare's unparalleled string of successful missions. But Beckman had mellowed and actually praised Chuck's initiative on several occasions. She was beginning to accept that the team worked, not just the intersect. As for redundancy, she obviously didn't know about the last 3 attempts to rebuild the intersect and the 3 failures.

"He saved the mission, saved a team mate and we still accomplished most of the mission goals. Fulcrum was tipped off and we almost got nailed. He went in and saved his handler. He didn't think, he just did. It's why we're so committed. He'd run into a burning building to bring one of us out. It's why I regard this as a plum assignment."

"Also, if you lie to him, you're toast. He requires us to be honest with him, even if it hurts. He'll be brutally honest with us, also. And with you, even more so because he'll know you're looking down your pretty patrician nose at him and he'll find that amusing, then annoying and finally, you'll be gone with a nice black mark in your copybook, Agent. There is a line of applicants for your position. These people have heard of him and want to be on this team. How did you get here?"

"I was partnered with Bryce Larkin and…"

"Oh, shit. You're the one he was undercover with? Oh, crap. Don't mention that to Bartowski. Larkin sent him the intersect, Larkin ruined his life at Stanford, then your boytoy screwed his fiancé and made sure he caught them in bed together. He was Chuck's best friend. Tell me, how was it, sleeping with a snake? God, I don't know whether to pity you or what. Just don't bring that crap to the team. It's over, right?"

"Yes, um, yeah, it's over. And I'll keep it between us. It's really none of his business anyway. I keep my personal life well away from my professional life, Major Casey. I assume you do, too?"

He just looked at her and shook his head. "This is your entire life now, Agent. 24/7 until relieved or he's dead. As such, you no longer have a personal life, just as he doesn't. I suppose they didn't tell you that back in Langley, did they?"

Present Day

"Chuck, have you seen Walker?" Casey needed to brief them both in on a new mission that came up as a result of one of Chuck's earlier flashes on the dailies. Someone in D.C. finally looked at his daily report and took note and requested a mission.

"No, and she's late for cover date night, too. Thank God for that. Fewer minutes with Ms. 'This is so disgusting. Why can't we go someplace upscale where they don't drink wine out of boxes'? That Agent Sarah 'I hate Bartowski' Walker?"

Casey actually laughed. "Yep, that would be the one. Have you tried calling her, Chuck? She does have a cell phone, you know? It wouldn't hurt you to be a little courteous to her, Chuck. Quit being such a jerk off."

"Courteous? This is the woman that actually pinched my arm as a warning of what would happen if I left the van. This is the woman whose idea of fun is totally unknown to me. This is the woman I don't even know after 4 dates and 2 weeks. Casey, she has got to go, my man. Get me someone without a ton of Bryce-baggage, please?"

"She told you about that? God damn her! I told her to keep that shit from you for her own good." The Nightmare was fast becoming a nightmare for Chuck. Casey chuckled for about the 100th time. He'd always heeded the warning 'be careful what you wish for, you just might get it'. Chuck wanted the 'evil step-sister' instead of a pixie Robin Thorne clone. Well he got it, and more.

"Casey, I'm the intersect. I know all, see all, tell very damned little. It's her private business but obviously Bryce has influenced her opinions. She's a pompous, egotistical, self-centered, overachiever with a superiority complex that matches Larkin's. And she lives up to her handle, doesn't she? The witch is a Nightmare. I don't like her and we don't need her. And worst of all, I don't trust her."

Trust. The kiss of death. If he didn't trust her he couldn't work with her. End of story. He needed to let Walker know upfront about the trust issue. It was a career killer for sure. He knew if he asked for more time for Walker he'd get it. But right now he didn't even know where she was and they had a mission briefing in 30 minutes.

Castle Facility

Burbank, CA

The teleconference briefing originated from Graham's office for a change instead of the little General's. That was the only difference.

"Team, you objective is to identify as many of the Fulcrum couriers and related underlings as possible. We're taking a new approach: cutting off their troops by identifying and arresting them. Many of these operatives will be known personally by Major Casey and Agent Walker. Fulcrum has stepped up it's defection campaigns and is apparently having great success. It is imperative that we identify and eliminate these defectors before they can damage our own operations through sabotage and espionage."

Chuck had discovered a pattern to the movement of known defectors between cities. Los Angeles, San Francisco and Seattle appeared to be 'hub cities' and the General had dubbed the facilities 'hives'. Although they had not yet found the Los Angeles hive location, Chuck had isolated patterns of movement, both legitimate and suspect, in San Francisco Bay area and had narrowed it down to a string of pier-side warehouses along the southern-most portion of the port.

"That makes sense. They can use the shipping containers to move people, material and weapons from city to city, even internationally." Sarah shuddered at the thought of spending a week or more shut up in a shipping container. She'd never admit it but she was mildly claustrophobic.

"There are rail spurs and sidings all over the port. Put a container on a flatbed truck or railroad car and they can be anywhere in the US within 5 days. Not a bad way to avoid detection of routes or individual shipments." Chuck was still trying to find the link to an initial shipping point figuring from there it was just a matter of connecting the dots.

"Casey, what we need are shipping and cargo manifests from ships with cargo we know is coming from or being sent to a Fulcrum hive location. From there we track individual containers and determine route and method. But how do we get the first piece of the puzzle?"

Director Graham provided the missing piece in the teleconference inadvertently.

"Mr. Bartowski, do you recognize the man in this photograph?" He showed Chuck an 8X10 grainy photo of a man exchanging suitcases with another man.

"The man on the left is a regional director for the office of Homeland Security, Donald Wallace, who coordinates efforts on the state levels for the US Southwest excluding California. The man on the right is, it's blurry, but it looks like Wexler of the Aryan Nation. So he's not dead?"

"Apparently not. And Wallace is now suspected of providing Wexler with the locations of arms caches at selected locations in states under Wallace's jurisdiction in exchange for a large sum in stolen treasury bonds. Wallace is definitely Fulcrum but I needed you to identify the other man. Good job. You got them both! Wallace cracked like an egg and provided us with the locations in his area before he became unavailable for further questioning." It gave Chuck an uncomfortable feeling hearing a man's death described as 'unavailable'.

"Yes, Director, but more important than that is we have a known location of stolen arms and can back track them to the ports of entry or surface transport from US locations."

"Question, Director. Is Fulcrum using the AN as 'troops' to further it's cause?"

"Unknown, Agent Walker, but I'm sure you'll find out, won't you."

"I'll send you the locations we've learned about and you can pursue this dot-connecting as a result. Good work, everyone."

From the information provided by the late regional director of homeland security they were able to determine that the closest weapons cache was just outside Stockton, California. Casey organized helicopter transport while Walker examined the latest satellite photos of the suspected cache.

It appeared to be located on the southwest perimeter of a deactivated group of old Titan missile silos referred to as 'a farm' by the Air Force because of how they used farms as covers for their locations back during the Cold War. It had all the physical properties of the barn it was supposed to represent but in fact it was a multi-storied warehouse or storage facility with most levels underground. Walker figured that was where they were storing the weapons.

Chuck had flashed earlier when she had brought up the satellite map showing the location of the 'farm'. It was owned by a company that stored paper records for various legal firms and corporations where the Best Evidence Rule of 1941 required true paper copies, an anachronism from an earlier time. Missile silos were dry and could be sealed and with internal climate controls they made the perfect environment for storage of paper and old microfilm and microfiche.

Donald Wallace had been on the Board of Directors of the corporation that owned the silos. That corporation was owned by another that was owned by a company chartered in Luxembourg with a post office box for an address. Donald Wallace had been on the board of the all three corporations. No other one individual was on any of the other boards. They had their link.

Casey proposed a simple plan. Simple was good. Fewer 'moving parts' to break. Helicopters would deposit a strike team immediately behind the barn structure and the agents and asset would land a hundred yards behind the strike team. No one was taking the Intersect's safety for granted.

"Mr. Bartowski, stay behind Casey and I and if we tell you to do something, please do it immediately without your usual 'why'. Please?" She put her hand on his to emphasize the importance of this to her.

He gently removed his hand from under hers and looked at Casey and snarked "where's the truck for Chuck?" He didn't notice the briefly strange look that transited Walker's face. It was very brief but then John Casey was very observant. 'Good boy, Chuck. Keep it professional and distant. This one is a heart-breaker and a life-taker.'

"We'll have to improvise, Bartowski. Maybe find an old authentic outhouse and you can stay in the basement?" He thought that was hilarious and even Walker smiled.

"Very funny, Casey. Just remember who's riding back from the airport with you."

NSA Helicopter Flight

UH1-E Team Intersect Helicopter

The two-hour ride to Stockton provided Chuck with the opportunity to catch up on his sleep. He found that helicopters were like lullabies and a cradle. He could sleep soundly despite the noise and buffeting. Walker found that strange since she always tensed up on choppers but she realized that Chuck handled stress by sleeping, just like seasoned combat veterans did.

She basically distrusted any aircraft where the wings flew around her head in circles.

Stockton CA

Suspected Fulcrum Hive

The three Blackhawks carrying the strike team landed without opposition. None was expected. The team chopper landed far back as planned and they got out and trotted to the strike team's perimeter.

Just as the strike team was preparing to advance and enter the barn structure weapons fire erupted from fake haystacks and from the structure itself. The choppers let loose with their miniguns and the depleted uranium rounds made short work of the pillboxes constructed within the haystacks. The choppers then began chasing down the routed defenders who were trying to escape in utility vehicles.

The strike team entered and secured the building while the intersect team led the way along 'corridors' created by the stacked shipping containers. Chuck was busy photographing the shipping and routing details when the word came from the strike team leader to evacuate immediately. And then the overhead lighting went out plunging the structure into inky blackness.

Chuck had been following dutifully along behind his handlers and failed to note that they'd made a turn to the left while he was taking photograph's of the trucking company details on one of the containers. When he got the order he turned around and realized his handlers were not where he'd left them.

"Casey, where are you guys?" His radio still worked.

"Chuck, you heard the strike team leader's order to evacuate. Don't wait for us, go now."

"Well, that's going to be problematic since you turned one way and I think I got turned around somehow while taking the photographs. I think, no I know, I'm lost. Head for the nearest exit and I'll find you guys on the outside. I'm moving now." He started retracing his steps. In the dark with only his night vision goggles providing illumination from the ambient light he figured he'd have no problem retracing his steps. He was very wrong.

"Walker, this is Casey. I'm at the exit. No sign of Chuck. Damn it, we should have roped him to us. Or at least made sure he was between us. Chuck, do you copy?"

"Yeah, and I found out why they wanted to evacuate. There's a rather large device here attached to what appears to be a daisy chain of small artillery shells. Oh, shit, oh dear. I think my warranty is about to expire. "

Sarah Walker blanched when she heard Chuck comment on his warranty. "Mr. Bartowski, if you had listened to our instructions you wouldn't be in a warranty expiration position. You never listen to me, ever. You are so… stay put, Mr. Bartowski and Do. Not. Move!" And she grabbed Casey's GPS tracker and set off at a sprint for the blinking green light. 'I'll show him who is worthy of trust.'

"Hey, Casey, you got me on your GPS?"

"Ah, that's a negative, Chuck. Walker just grabbed it and hared out into the barn."

"Agent Walker, forget it. Turn around. Use it to guide me out, not find me. Won't do either of us much good if we're together but killed by the explosion. Turn around, and get out and lead me out. It's like a maze in here. Maybe I should just defuse the damned bomb." Chuck turned around and examined the firing device that was steadily counting down the remaining minutes of Chuck Bartowski.

'Well, this sucks. Four minutes. A lifetime. I can do this. I will do this.' Flipping on his comm. he again tried to contact Sarah Walker. "Agent Walker, I'm just going to disarm this sucker. Shouldn't be too hard for an electrical engineer from Stanford. Turn around and get out!" He didn't mention that he'd never graduated but that seemed unnecessary now.

He unscrewed the cover panel using his multi-tool and saw a mass of wires. He knew most were dummies to distract him but he also figured at least one or more were anti-tamper devices. It's what he'd do.

Sarah was walking quickly but calmly using the GPS and her maglight to wend her way deeper into the barn. She had to find him. She picked up her pace.

Chuck had found and isolated the power source and deactivated the bomb. The countdown was stopped at 2:28, a lifetime. He wished he still smoked. He could use a cigarette about now. Something to calm his nerves.

"Casey, Chuck. I deactivated the power. The countdown timer froze at 2:28. Find the power and get the lights back on and I'll see you in a few minutes."

"Bartowski, Walker. Stay put; I'm almost to you. Do not move." She wasn't far from him but the maze could turn 20 linear feet from point A to B into a hundred yards via maze.

Chuck sat down and leaned against the container. Walker appeared from the dark and shone her mag light over the timer. "Bartowski, you said it stopped at 2:28, right? Well, it started again."

"Shit!" He grabbed her by the hand and ran pulling her along behind her.

"Stop! You're going to get lost, wait, this is not the way out."

"I know that," he yelled. He also knew he had to get as many stacks of containers between them and the explosives as he could. It had taken Walker almost 3 minutes to reach him and he knew that was with the GPS guiding in on his transponder. There were no breadcrumbs to follow leading them out.

"Walker, I'm sorry. I didn't want either of you coming in here after me. No one should be in jeopardy because of me. Now, I'm going to open this shipping container and we're going to make a cave for ourselves then close the door. I figure we have a minute until it blows maybe less, so help me out as much as you can but please do exactly what I tell you." She looked at him and nodded. He had taken command and she hadn't even tried to stop him.

He opened the door on one of the containers and was relieved to find it contained communications gear. He dragged out four or five cases, looked at the 'cave' he'd created then motioned Walker to get in first and lie down. "No, I can't, it's too small, too close. Leave the door open, please?" Claustrophobia in an agent?

"Walker, look over there, what's that?" When she turned he hit her behind her ear on the mastoid cavity. Years earlier, Ahn-Zhu had told him in passing that it would render the victim unconscious without danger of permanent injury; he did not want Walker and her knives pissed at him.

She collapsed and he dragged her into the cave, pushing her in until she was under all the other cases. He took a deep breath and closed the door, securing it.

"Casey, Bartowski. Walker's kind of freaking out so I put her out for a bit. I've made us a place in one of the shipping containers about 4 rows from ground zero. I'm closing it up and keeping my GPS on. I'll check commo every 30 minutes beginning right after the big bang. If it doesn't go as planned, Casey, it was my choice. Sorry about Walker, Casey. She shouldn't have tired to save me. Wasn't worth it."

He turned off his comm. unit and crawled up into the 'cave'. It was tight but the alternative was totally unacceptable.

When the explosion came it was anticlimactic - until the cases began to shift and shatter as the container was thrown on its side. Luckily he'd arranged the cases and crates so that they overlapped and didn't collapse into the 'cave'. He hadn't anticipated the impact and rolling of the container. A few cases shattered from the impact. One shattered and sent shards of wood into the backs of Chuck's legs and his back like dime-sized splinters. He didn't think they'd done much damage since he didn't feel a lot of pain. And he found Sarah Walker on top of him, unconscious.

Sarah Walker regained consciousness and panicked and began to hyperventilate and cry. She struck out and managed to bloody Chuck's nose and split his lip before she realized she wasn't alone.

"Bartowski, is that you? Are you OK? Has the bomb gone off yet? Are they looking for us? Hey, damn it, Bartowski, talk to me."

"Wait a minute, Agent Walker. I'm trying to reach Casey. Don't know if he can get our comm. signal but the GPS will cut through this clutter. Just hold on, Walker, and take deep cleansing-breaths and then think of something really cool and refreshing. Think of the surf at Malibu right before a storm with the waves crashing down on the beach and the rain cooling your face. Imagine it, Agent Walker, and feel it. And relax."

"Ch-Chuck, I'm sorry I hit you. Did I hurt you? Are you OK?"

"I'm fine, just fine. A little dizzy but otherwise OK. You? You done flashing back to something horrible? We're here, safe and together. Doesn't get much better. Well, it could if we had beer. And wings. Hot wings with sauce. See, Agent Walker, its not so bad, is it?"

"I can't stay here. I have to get out. I'm suffocating and it's – the walls are going to fall in on us and crush us if we don't suffocate first. Get me out, Bartowski, please!"

She was pounding on his chest and her hair had come loose from its mission ponytail and he thought he caught the scent of vanilla. He put his arms around her and put a hand on her head and pushed her head down against his chest.

"Listen to that heartbeat, Sarah. It's slow and steady. Listen to it and try and match yours to mine. Shhh. It's OK. I've got you. Nothing's going to hurt you. Think of my heartbeat and the beach at Malibu and the sounds of the waves and the seagulls. There's a warm breeze blowing up the beach from the south and the sun feels so warm on your face. Relax, Sarah, relax."

Sarah was gradually calming down. The slow beat of his heart and the calming effect of his voice lulled her into an almost doze. The warm breeze ruffled her hair and the sound of the seagulls and surf was very relaxing. She dozed in the warm sand, the breeze keeping her cool. She started, almost crying out. What the hell just happened?

She reached up and put her arms around his neck and pulled herself up until she thought they were face to face.

"Chuck Bartowski, that was the kindest and most gentle thing any man has ever done for me. Thank you, Bartowski. I think I'm glad I'm your agent. I hope you are too." She sighed and leaned down until her lips touched him. She kissed his cheek and sighed again. If it were just a little cooler this would be perfect. Her cheek slid against his, aided by… blood!

"You're hurt. I feel blood on your face. Were you hit by something in the explosion?" Chuck laughed. "Yeah, your fists. You were a little excited but you're OK now. Just don't punch me again, please, Nightmare?"

"Sorry. I guess I freaked." Oh, shit. He knows my handle. 'Of course he does, he's the Intersect, or have you been so busy trying to make him miserable that you forgot that one little itsy bitsy piece of information. It's why you're here, Nightmare, to protect the mark.'

"Stop. Don't mention it or think about it. Think about the surf before a storm or a cool mountain pass with snow underfoot. And relax, Walker, just relax. Help is on the way. Casey says it's just going to be a while. The barn's on fire and they're not sure exactly how to reach us. We'll be out and in the fresh air in no time. Just relax. Sleep if you can, but keep still, please."

He didn't want her to know that every time she moved the splinters in his ass and back dug in a little deeper and he knew screaming out in pain would freak her out again. And the air was going bad, the fires were probably sucking all the oxygen out of the barn, what was left of it.

The Barn

2 hours later

Two hours later the rescue team finally found the container they were in. When the team forced open the warped door they saw the agents, one on top of the other, asleep. Or so they hoped.

They grabbed Chuck's feet figuring to pull him and his sleeping passenger off the jumble of boxes and out into the fairly clean area, but they stopped immediately when Chuck began to scream even as he slept.

"Oh, shit, Major, we got blood here and injuries. Send up the crash team. Agent Walker, wake up. You're safe now but you need to wake up and get off your partner so we can help him. AGENT WALKER, GET UP!" Training and instinct kicked in and Sarah bolted awake and slammed her head into the 'ceiling' of the cave.

"Damn! Someone get me out of here. Bartowski, we're saved. Hey, Bartowski? Oh, no. Chuck, please, don't do this. Please!" She struggled to get out but the words of the paramedic stopped her.

"Agent Walker, don't. The crate forming your 'floor' shattered and he's got wood splinters acting like barbs. You need to be very calm and careful and let us pull you out. On 3… 1…2…3. And she was pulled off him and strong hands grabbed her and stood her upright and into an embrace.

"Damn, partner, don't hare out on me. The boy needs us calm and collected. He's in trouble but it's not serious, understand? It's not serious. So pull it together and calm down. He needs you to be strong for him. He saved you, Walker, now return the favor."

Someone tried to put an O2 mask on her but she pushed the hand aside.

"Casey, it was horrible. I wouldn't get in and so he knocked me out. And when I came to I panicked and hit him and he just took it and calmed me down. Told me about the surf at Malibu before a storm and made me listen to his heartbeat. It worked and I was calm. I didn't know he was hurt, Casey, honest. I didn't know…" She started crying into his chest and he was unsure what to do so he just let her cry while they worked to get the asset out of the shattered bunch of crates.

CIA/NSA Medical Facility

It was dark when he tried to open his eyes the first time so he figured they were still in the container and he just sighed and went back to sleep. He was almost asleep when he realized that there was no Agent Walker lying on him. He panicked and tried to sit up but was just too damned tired and being on his side was no help, either.

"Sar? Sar-ah? SARAAAAAH!" Two attempts at words then one scream to wake the dead – and Sarah Walker.

"Chuck, it's OK, you're OK, I'm OK. We're out, and you're in a hospital. You got splinters in your ass and they were too big for me to pull out so I got some help. It's OK. You did good. We're safe." Knowing the reason for his panic and the solution, she kicked off her hospital slippers and lay down next to him, putting her head on his chest.

His sigh told her he would be all right. Everything would be fine. It would just take a week for all the stitches to heal and he'd be back to his old obnoxious self. The problem was she wasn't her old obnoxious self. Something had untwisted in her in that coffin they were in. She was glad she'd met Bartowski, no, Chuck. He'd made her feel safe and…wanted, if just for a bit. And she didn't mind that feeling at all. She realized she liked feeling safe and …wanted. And she liked who made that possible. She resolved then and there that The Nightmare had been permanently retired. Sarah Walker was on duty in her place.

They'd be back in Burbank tomorrow. Casey had already returned, handling the inevitable inquiries about how, when and why the intersect was injured. Better him than her.

Castle Facility

Burbank, CA

"Major Casey, just how did this happen? Where were you and Agent Walker? And more importantly, just how did the both of them survive such a horrific blast?"

"General, Director, we were in a huge facility filled with ocean-going shipping containers stacked 3 high and creating a real maze. Chuck was, er, Bartowski was photographing shipping container information hoping to find the thread to lead us to the various sources. He became engrossed in one label different from the rest and didn't follow us when we made a turn in the maze."

"A few minutes later the strike team leader gave the order to abort the mission and evacuate and Chuck was behind us somewhere and then the lights went out. We spoke by comm. and I was going to guide him out when Agent Walker grabbed the GPS unit and went in after the asset."

"It seems that he found the explosive device and temporarily disarmed it and he and Agent Walker were making their way out of the maze when it started it's count down again. Bartowski knew they couldn't make it out so he opened a container and created a nest or cave and then put Walker and then himself in it and closed the door. The explosion turned the container on its side and the crate they were lying on shattered and wood slivers pierced his back and legs. We found them using the GPS and extracted them."

"Agent Walker was shaken but unhurt but Bartowski was skewered to the 'floor' of the nest and had to be extracted very carefully. They were both treated and Bartowski was stitched up and Agent Walker remained behind as security. They should be here tomorrow afternoon ready to resume their duties."

"His quick thinking saved both their lives and he kept the data from the camera. Except for his injury the mission was a total success. I'm sure he'll find the connection we've all been looking for. He's persistent and driving when presented with a challenge."

"So you think Walker should remain? Despite her reaction at the scene?" Casey was uncomfortable with this line of questioning but was a loyal partner.

"Absolutely. She and I make a good team. Don't spoil it."

"Very well, Major Casey. We'll keep the status quo. Keep Mr. Bartowski out of trouble, Major. He's done very well, don't you think?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am. Very well indeed. I know agents who wouldn't have been as quick witted and self-assured as he was. They'd be dead agents, director."

"Carry on, Major Casey and tell Mr. Bartowski 'well done' from me."

Casey now understood the importance of never letting them see you sweat.

"Oh, and Major, tell Mr. Bartowski to quit the BuyMore. He's on our payroll now and can spend his time more productively at the Castle. Full benefits and pay retroactive to his receiving the intersect. A small 'thank you' from a grateful nation."

The 'thunk' of Casey's jaw hitting the desk actually echoed throughout the Castle. Beckman must be having hot flashes or something. She seemed…'human'.

He had to admit he was very pleased in the sudden change in Walker. Gone was the self-assured and snarky bitch and in her place was a human being. Whatever happened in that container was between them but whatever it was, it had certainly helped the team dynamic. He had a feeling that he'd seen the last of The Nightmare.

NSA UH-1E helicopter transport

The flight back to Burbank was not a pleasant one for Chuck. For one thing, he had a dozen stitches in his ass and another 20 or so distributed randomly in his back and thighs so sitting was definitely an uncomfortable situation. His handler had handled that problem by having him lie on his uninjured side with his head in her lap across the jump seats. She spent most of the flight silently stroking his hair. It was comforting but disconcerting at the same time.

The other reason was that his handler was making life difficult for him since the container episode. Perhaps 'difficult' wasn't the right word but he couldn't think of anything else. She was always touching him as if making sure he hadn't slipped away while she wasn't looking. It wasn't a 'loving' touch, but more like an emotionally satisfying touch of confirmation.

He hoped she'd 'grow out of it' once they were back in Burbank and on the job again. He still didn't see her as a long-term fixture. She was just too damned obnoxious for him to stomach.

Chuck had finally dozed off; he could always sleep on choppers. He'd avoided taking the painkillers because he really wasn't in any pain unless he bent or twisted and then it was only a sudden and fleeting jab of a pulling stitch or complaining muscle. He also didn't want to find himself unable to wake up if he had that damned dream again.

He was back in the barn but after the explosion. He could hear Sarah screaming for him and he couldn't find her. He tried following her voice but it seemed to be coming from a different place each time he opened a container. No matter how fast he opened the container door her voice was always coming from the next container over.

At last he was standing before the last unopened container and he heard her voice from inside calling for him to save her, to get her out, not to allow her to die alone in the dark. He stood outside the heavy door, his ear pressed to the cold steel, and listened. She was sobbing his name and begging him to find her and let her out.

He opened the door but he was too late.

He woke up sweating, breathing heavily and muttering under his breath. He could still hear her pleas even awake. And he had just stood there listening while she died, alone and in the dark.

Sarah Walker awoke with a start. Her asset was dreaming and it must have been horrific because he was gasping for breath and muttering things she couldn't understand.

She signaled a medic to bring her a damp towel and she washed Chuck's face, carefully avoiding the bruises she'd inflicted in her panic. 'Not your finest hour, Walker, you'll be lucky to stay in the Agency after this screw-up. He's more important than you and yet you violated protocols and went in after him knowing your actions were foolhardy. You feel something for him, admit it. For the first time in forever, you actually care about another human being. Well, la-dee-dah. Miracles do happen.'

Residential Hotel

Burbank, CA

Instead of taking him to his apartment she told him he was staying with her while Casey worked on a scenario to explain his injuries and protect his cover. Mostly from his sister.

If it took a few days, that was fine. They could work on their own cover story and their partnership.

She never apologized for her treatment of him the first weeks, but he sensed she was trying to make a fresh start. He'd give her one chance. He'd seen a little of the woman she could be if she would just drop all the damned pretense and stop being so damned self-righteous and superior-acting, the brief glimpse was of a nicer, gentler, less domineering Sarah Walker.

She called Casey and told him they were back and that they'd be in the following day provided Chuck felt up to it. Casey recounted the gist of the meeting with Graham and Beckman and told her that nothing had changed and that they were still a team. And to pass on the atta-boy to Chuck from the General.

"Chuck, Casey says we're still good to go and the General sent you an atta-boy. That means you did very well since she's never one to offer compliments easily. So, tomorrow it's a workday unless you feel another day is required. Take it easy, follow directions and sleep as much as possible. And also, you're to quit the BuyMore and work full time at the Castle, Analyst Bartowski. Full pay and benefits retroactive to the Intersect."

"Congratulations, Chuck, er, Analyst Bartowski". She actually felt happy for him.

"I'm going out to pick up some antibiotic crème they prescribed and some clean dressing material. I'm sure you'll want to shower and I'll need to redress your injuries afterwards. See you in an hour. Sleep, Bartowski, sleep. Do not leave this hotel room, understand?"

She returned and quietly entered the room. He was asleep on his stomach and she could see the gauze bandages covering the sutures. She'd bought plastic wrap, adhesive tape and more materials for the dressings because she knew he would want a shower to feel clean. Something else seemed to untwist in her because she seemed concerned for his welfare as a person, not just as a mark or asset.

'Something's happening to me and I don't know why but I feel better about myself and not as bitter as I did when Bryce left me and defected to Fulcrum. I lied to Casey, I wasn't over Bryce but I damned sure am now. And the curly-headed geek is responsible. Maybe it's because he dismissed me the first time we met, or maybe it's because he cares about Sarah Walker as a person first, agent second. My respect for Thorne increases everyday. She held off his unconscious advances for four months. I'm crumbling after as many weeks. He doesn't know the effect he has on me. Those eyes…'

Walker drove him in to the Castle early the next morning. Casey was off for the week (more NSA planted bogus training) and they were working on the plan to pinpoint the distribution from the forwarding facility to some of their destinations. If they could locate and investigate the delivery points they could provide staff and related data for future planned takedowns. By striking several locations simultaneously they could cripple a segment of the Fulcrum network and also arrest defectors. They arranged a teleconference with Graham and Beckman.

"General, the Hive in Los Angeles isn't in Los Angeles at all. Yes, all the delivery points in the L.A. area are a single point but it's a freight forwarding operation. The crates or containers are reloaded onto local vehicles and then transshipped to their local destinations. It's elegant. The local delivery names and locations are substituted for the originals and the original shippers receive notification of L.A. delivery. That's why all the records stop in L.A."

"Fine. But how do we track 'new' shipments from the terminal to the destination?"

"Multiple destinations. Think of letters sent to Southern California towns. They're sorted by the first 3 digits of the zip code and delivered to a processing center when they're further identified and sorted down to their cities or towns of ultimate destination. Our forwarding operation is the processing center. Fulcrum's shipments are then resorted and delivered to their ultimate destination. It may even be a legitimate operation like a drop shipping operation when you order something online."

Casey interrupted. "We'll need to go in, put some Bartowski bug on their computers, download files of all their historical data and then wait for a new delivery of 'mail'. We've already worked out the fine details. Agent Walker has the op plan completed and we're waiting for the nod from you."

"And while we're waiting on the next delivery, Chuck will use the Intersect and our own files and review their closed files and summarize deliver locations. NSA/CIA teams can go in and roll them up all at the same time."

"Catch them with their knickers down, all locations, simultaneously. They won't know what hit them and best of all, no trail of breadcrumbs back to us here in Burbank."

"You have a go. Agent Walker, email Graham and I copies of the op plan. I'll review and send approvals once Director Graham gives his approval."

Castle Armory

Chuck grinned and slapped Casey on the shoulder. "Time for another installment of 'Bartowski shoots his toe off', Casey. You promised."

Chuck had convinced Casey to teach him basic firearms handling. His rationale was that whether his handlers liked it or not, the world they operated in was a dangerous one and he needed to be able to defend himself if they were down or unavailable. His logic could not be beaten and Casey knew it. He also knew he never intended to be taken alive as long as the Intersect was in his head.

Unfortunately, Sarah had taken issue with his choice of instructors. While Casey was back in the armory selecting weapons, Sarah pinned Chuck down in the kitchenette as he was pouring himself some of the sludge Casey claimed was coffee.

"Chuck, why did you go to Casey instead of coming to me? You know I can hit anything I can see. I should be the one teaching you how to handle weapons, not Casey."

"I don't want Casey feeling like he's hired muscle or being left out of 'handling' me, Agent. He was always there, especially after Thorne left. He ran interference with the Big Wigs and got me new handlers when the others were, um, not suitable. And besides, you pinch and punch when I don't do things your way and I have the bruises to prove it."

"Oh. I see. That makes sense. That's sweet of you to worry about his feelings when you consider he probably doesn't see it that way. And I haven't pinched or punched you since Stockton. You finally came around to my way of thinking, well, as close as you probably can get to 'normal'." She said the last with a little smile he hadn't seen before.

An exasperated Casey walked out of the shooting range and shook his head. "Walker, maybe you should try and get the idiot to hit something. I sure as hell can't. He knows safety and handling just fine. He cannot maintain a sight picture worth crap. And he jerks the damned trigger and he's managed to hit the ceiling more times than the back berm. I give up. Maybe he should just throw the damned pistol at them."

Sarah laughed and then nodded. "Well, a punch or a pinch has worked in the past. But I think that approach is long past. I'll try something different and then we'll see. 'Jerks' the trigger? He's uncomfortable around weapons, isn't he? That's the challenge."

Casey pointed to the range door. "Have at it, super spy. He has all the mechanics down pat; he just doesn't handle the actual shooting process well. He's not stupid; he knows what to do. At least he keeps his eyes open now. That's an improvement."

"Hey, Chuck. Casey says to throw the pistol at the enemy. What do you think?" She really wanted this to work. She wanted to build the trust between them. They were sharing the same bed and he was tremendously uncomfortable around her. That had to change.

"I think maybe he's right. I just cannot get the sight picture maintained when I fire the damned thing. I'm not an idiot, Agent, I've fired guns before, but I don't think I hit anything then, either."

"OK, show me your stance. That's good, your feet are a little too far apart and the shooting foot should be just few inches in front of the back foot. Release the magazine and clear the pistol and try dry-firing a few times with the new stance."

"Fine, now take your stance and hold it." She put a dime on the flat surface behind the front sight. "Now, dry fire your weapon. Every time the dime falls off tells me you're jerking the trigger. Think of… caressing a lover's nipple…you don't 'twang' it, do you? Well, OK, maybe you do but you shouldn't… believe me. Now go ahead and try it."

She smiled and almost laughed at the look on his face when she said 'caressing…' and his face turned so red and ruddy she thought he was going to hyperventilate. She had found at least one way of getting his attention.

Chuck was horribly embarrassed. He knew his face was bright red and he could feel the heat radiating from it. Damn her. It was bad enough 'sharing' her bed until the stitches were out and he could explain his 'absence' to an increasingly vocal sister, but now she had to put that thought in his mind.

He almost turned and told her 'no one, not even Thorne had complained about his technique' but figured this was one time silence would work.

He pulled the trigger and then bent to pick up the dime. Sarah just giggled. A first time for everything. She replaced the dime. And he pulled the trigger and then bent to pick up the dime again. He refused to acknowledge the pulling of his sutures when he did it. He ignored the pain and just kept on pulling and bending.

"Chuck, you need to squeeze the trigger gently. Here give me the pistol and you stand behind me and mimic everything I do. Get close so you can feel the stance and the way my hand is on the weapon. Put your hand over mine and your finger over mine on the trigger. Ready? Feel how I squeeze the trigger. It's almost a surprise when the weapon fires. |CLICK| There, see? Were you surprised?"

"Yeah, I get it now. Let me try again. Piece of cake." Sarah snorted but handed him the weapon and stepped back behind him. He pulled the trigger and the dime didn't fall.

"Hey, I did it." His face fell when he saw her face. She looked so sad.

"What's wrong, Agent Walker. I did it."

"Chuck, I'm so sorry. I didn't think. I didn't think. I'm so sorry." She turned and ran from the range.

He cleared the weapon, secured it in the armory and went in search of his suddenly absent handler.

"Casey, you seen Walker? She ran out of there like someone had scratched her Porsche."

"She left. Don't know where she's off to. Check the outside monitor and see if she's in her car."

As Chuck turned to the monitor Casey saw the back of his t-shirt. There were several hand-sized bloodstains. "Looks like you pulled a couple stitches out, Chuck. Let me take a look."

"Yep, got both shoulders. Must have been doing a lot of bending and reaching." Chuck told him about the dime thing. Casey was impressed. "I never would have thought of that. I'll remember that. She's right on the money."

"So where is she, Casey?"

"She's leaning against her car, Chuck. You better go talk to her. We'll clean you up when you bring her back down, OK?"

Chuck ran up the stairs and out to parking area where Sarah was leaning against her car with her face in her hands.

"Agent Walker, it's no big deal. Please, uh, Sarah, turn and look at me. I'm fine, really, just pulled a stitch or two. But it was worth it if I can defend myself. Let's go back down and work on it some more, please?"

She shook her head. She wouldn't look at him. She couldn't.

He turned her to him and pried her hands from her face. She'd been crying. He pulled her into a hug and whispered softly, "Hey, a little blood but so much progress. Now stop the tears, please? I hate seeing you cry, especially when I know it's my fault. Please. You've been upfront with me, taken care of me, kept me from the 'wrath of Ellie'. I owe you. So quit crying."

She slowly put her arms around him and buried her face in his shirt. "I let you get hurt, then I hurt you in the container, then I was careless and you're hurt again today. I can't do this. I don't know how to deal with you. You should be angry but you're not. You should be looking for a new handler. I just can't do this. I don't have the skill set to be 'nice'. It's not who I am."

"Then why, Sarah Walker, are you crying? If you didn't care you wouldn't be crying. You wouldn't care enough. So, what's that say? You've been nothing but 'nice' to me since Stockton. Or was that just guilt?"

She shook her head. And then nodded her head. "I don't know, maybe it's guilt but it's also remorse. I feel bad you got hurt and seeing the blood brought it all back, that horrible container, no air, hot…"

"Shhh. Let's go to the beach, Sarah, for real. We'll swing by your place and you can display your skills and clean this mess up and change. Then we'll go by my place and pick up some clean clothes. I want you to be real with me, relaxed and able to be yourself, have some fun, lose the stick up your fanny." He knew this was dangerous ground. He didn't need a pissed-off Walker on his case.

"Ok, we'll do that. As for the stick, I think it's been there forever and it's permanent. Sorry. I don't have 'fun', either. It's been drummed out of me by the Agency training and experience. But I'd like to see where you call home and maybe meet this demented person you call Ellie. She can't be all that bad."

Sarah had a brief flash of Chuck and her, her wearing his unbuttoned shirt and him bare-chested in boxers, laughing while feeding each other Chinese take-out from cartons while sitting on her rumpled hotel bed. She shivered and then shook her head. 'Where the hell did that come from?'

Fortunately, the demented person named Ellie wasn't home. Chuck breathed a sigh of relief and Agent Walker just giggled. He noticed she'd done that a few times, probably something she wasn't even aware of.

He threw his clothes into a bag, left a note for Ellie telling her he had a new job with the government and would be gone a week for training. He'd call her. Walker was sitting on the couch just taking in all the normalcy. 'So this is how normal people live?'

He went into the bathroom and pulled off his shirt and jumped into the shower. The odor of dried blood was not pleasant. The sting of the water on his back and the fact that no huge amounts of blood were staining the shower tiles confirmed it was just a few stitches. He'd need to have them dressed again but figured to hell with it. He was going to the beach and the sun would do them good. He grabbed a blanket and a towel and went out to the living room.

"Ready, Agent Walker? Had enough of the ambience of Casa Bartowski"?

"It's nice. Comfortable. Pleasant. Must be nice to come home to a real home instead of a room in a hotel or an empty apartment." She looked at Chuck and then smiled, wanly. "The life of a spy is hardly glamorous or exciting. A lot of it is drudgework. A lot of waiting and then moments when you question your choices in life. Like now, for instance. It would be nice to have a normal job with a normal guy waiting at home for a normal night."

Chuck didn't know what to say so he didn't say anything. It seemed safest. Her mood was strange and unsettling, like she'd opened up a door to a room no one ever saw.

"Sand and surf, Agent Walker, after you." He gestured to the door. She laughed. "Sand and surf, Sarah. Agent Walker is off-duty until further notice."

He waited in the car while she grabbed her 'beach things' and spent a little bit of time at his mountain pass.

'He was standing in his high mountain pass feeling the cold from the winds and the crunching snow under his boots. His ice axe dangled from one wrist and he adjusted his goggles enjoying the scene as the sun's terminator line raced across the glacier that melted into the lake in the valley below.' He could hear his teacher's voice, "you know better. The guoi-fan is not to be used for your enjoyment."

He jerked when Sarah opened the car door. "Wow, I didn't mean to leave the A/C on so cold. It's freezing in here." She reached over to shut off the A/C but it wasn't even on.

"Chuck, what just happened here?" She'd left the keys in the car but knew he hadn't started it. "Chuck, please, trust me, please?"

"OK, but you have to listen and accept, no questions until I'm done. And then if you're still not satisfied, I'll give you a demonstration. OK?" She nodded her head, suddenly wishing she hadn't asked.

"I worked for a holistic therapist when I was at Stanford. I needed spending money because a full-ride didn't cover such things as beer and bettys. The woman took a liking to me and taught me things, like massage therapy that I used to make more money, but eventually I stopped spending and started learning."

"It was a whole new world to me, Agent Wal – I mean, Sarah. She called me 'scholar' although I think that was sarcasm on her part. She tried to teach me about guoi-fan, which is the act of relocating one's chi to a desired place. That's what I was doing while you were getting your stuff. I relocated or disconnected from here and went there. I must have gone farther than I have in years. Once, I 'came back' coated in ice. Man, did she give me hell for that."

Sarah just stared at him, her eyes as big as saucers as the impact of what he told her struck home. The container. That's what he did for her in the container.

"Ch-Chuck, in Stockton, the beach, that was this fooey gan?"

"Guoi-fan, Sarah." He laughed. "Yes, it was that. It calmed you down and gave you peace for a bit, didn't it? And you came back all right, no missing parts, right?"

She just nodded her head in an exaggerated motion, eyes still big as saucers. And she thought she'd be bored on this assignment.

"You OK with this? I mean I can do other stuff, true, but I'm not one of those Eastern Mystics like you see on television. I'm just a regular guy who learned about things not often taught, that's all. So don't go all weird on me."

She started the car and rolled down the window and looked over at him. "Why now, Chuck, why go there now? Do I bore you that much?"

"Oh, no. Well, I was bored just sitting but no, being with you is certainly not boring. At least not so far. Just don't ask me to go shopping for shoes or some other girly thing. I'll be an ice berg in no time."

She popped him on the upper arm. "Ouch, asset abuse, asset abuse!" She giggled and then reached over and kissed where she hit him. "See, all better now." He just glared at her rubbing his arm in mock injury. "Sez you."

Chuck spread the blanket and put the cooler with their water under one corner and then took off his sweats but left his t-shit on. No sense freaking out the Agent. He'd just enjoy the heat of the …whoa!

Sarah had taken off her jeans and t-shirt and was standing there watching the surf in a bikini that hardly fit on someone a lot less…curvaceous was the only word Chuck could think of. An iridescent lime green bikini. More like a bik. Or ini.

She glanced over at him and smirked. Finally, a male reaction. A very nice reaction, too.

"Chuck, can you help me put on this lotion? I don't want to turn into a lobster. I don't tan all that well anyway. Nordic blood will tell. Not much sun in Sweden." She lay down on her stomach and pulled her ponytail to one side. "This better be SPF1000, Sarah. The California sun is brutal."

"Well, then rub it in well, asset. Make yourself useful." She laughed and then sighed as his fingertips rubbed the crème into her skin. She could get used to this. Sun, surf, boytoy… she giggled again.

"Care to share?"

"No. I don't share."

He finished her back and started on her legs. Such nice, muscular legs. Oh, man, he was in trouble. Remember Robin and keep it professional. This one was a heartbreaker and probably his lifetaker as well. He knew that when the new intersect was on-line he'd definitely be off-line. His mind started considering possibilities.

"Earth to Chuck. You still here or someplace cool and wintry?" She looked at him over her shoulder. He was miles away and from the look on his face where ever he was wasn't pleasant.

"Yeah, sorry, thinking about something. All done here. Go ahead and toast yourself."

"Aren't you going to take off that t-shirt? You look warm. A little sun helps the healing."

"Fine, but the first time someone screams 'scars, sutures, OH MY GOD' and I'm out of here."

He took off the t-shirt and lay down on his stomach. He'd had a good tan and the cuts and stitches stood out against his tan. The sun felt good on his back and legs.

Sarah leaned up and was examining his stitches. She could see where several, most in the middle of the cut, had pulled loose and bled. The doctors had to cut them out in a few instances and she could only imagine how his butt must feel 'and look, admit it, and look.'

She started to doze off when Chuck nudged her and handed her a freezing cold water bottle. "Chuck, these are really cold. How did you…Oh, no you didn't. Tell me you did not send your butt someplace just to chill the water? What happens if you get lost, or it's dark and you fall or there's a war going on… please, don't do this when I'm around. It scares the shit out of me."

Well, that was certainly an honest reaction. "Nope, I put dry ice in the cooler before we left. I wouldn't drop out on you here. Too messy if I didn't make it back intact. Once an old monk went somewhere and all that came back were his legs, and they looked like they were bitten off." He was lying but she didn't know it. Messing with her mind was such fun when Agent Walker was off-duty and he wished he'd had a camera to catch the look on her face.

"That's not true. No one bit him in half. That's so Bartowski it reeks. Quit messing with my mind, asset. I know over 100 ways to kill you without leaving a trace." She was teasing but suddenly wished she hadn't joked about killing. "Chuck, I was just kidding." She put her hand on his forearm and he started to pull away from he and get up.

"You're going to burn, Agent Walker, and it's time to call this tanning session to a halt for today. Now that you know which beach to use I imagine you'll look like Ellie before too long. And the sun will whiten your Nordic hair even more." He pulled on his t-shirt and slipped into his huaraches and stood up, offering her his hand.

"Chuck, what did I say that made you so mad, sad, hell, I don't know. Weren't you enjoying us being together even a little?"

"You know I've been told, repeatedly, that when the 'new Intersect' is completed that I'll be 'removed'. I just forget it sometimes and then something comes up, and it's back in the front of my head instead of buried under things I don't want to think or worry about."

"Sorry to dampen your mood. You are getting a bit red there so it's best to quit while you're still able to move. When you get back home, shower in warm water and sluice off as much as your can and then put some lotion on it. Any lotion keeps the skin moist so it doesn't stiffen, crack and then peel."

"And yes, I've enjoyed this time together a lot but I think I need to get going. I've taken up too much of your time anyway. I'm sure you have spy reports and handler reports and other espionage-related duties. So, Agent Walker, can you just drop me off at the Castle or the apartment I'd appreciate it."

"No, no way. You're staying with me and I'm taking care of you. It's my job, Chuck. So just let me do my job, please?"

'Well, Chuck old man, you're her 'job'. You're like a letter to be typed, a form to be completed, an asset to be protected, a dumb ass who thinks he… You're just a job.'

She saw the sudden sadness and regret pass over his face like a wave and then it was gone, replaced with indifference. 'Does he really want to go to the Castle or that apartment that badly? Do I make him that uncomfortable? We're back to Agent Walker now. He appreciates you doing your job. Taking care of him. "…I'm taking care of you. It's my job." Oh, that's a great thing to say, Sarah. No wonder he's indifferent all of a sudden.'

"Chuck, hang on a minute. I got to make a call. I forgot and it'll be my ass if I don't check in. Go ahead to the car and I'll catch up." She threw him the keys and he walked up the beach towards the Porsche.

"Graham, secure."

"Walker, secure. Director, were you aware that Bartowski was told that when the new Intersect computer came on-line that it was his handler's job to 'put him down'? And are you aware that he is near a nervous breakdown from the stress of doing what we demand and the knowledge that at any minute his handlers might get the order to terminate him?"

There was silence on the other end lasting 10 seconds while Graham weighed and measured alternative actions, disadvantages and advantages.

She heard a ragged sigh and her heart skipped a beat. "Sarah, the new Intersect computer blew up and killed the remaining participants in the Omaha Project. It was sabotaged by Fulcrum. I don't see us getting the funding for the continuation of research and programming. I think Bartowski is the only game in town. You have to win him over, Sarah, using any means available to you. We can't have the Intersect going nuts on us. He's shown too much potential and he's performed better than some agents."

"He's here with me and I'll keep him with me until Casey finalizes the cover story. Director, what do I tell him? I need your assurance that if I tell him the sanction's been removed that it has been. He won't, no, he can't trust us. We've lost that with him and I don't know how long it will take to restore it. But that will be the first step. And Beckman has to agree. Both of you. Maybe during a briefing."

"Good idea, because you're the only one who has been able to reach him. You and Casey are good for him, even Beckman agrees. Continue the mission, Agent Walker."

"Yes, sir. Thanks for listening." The call ended and she felt much better. Now she had to convince Chuck that there was a new game and he was a major player. For once, she could tell the whole truth and not hold anything back. It was a new and novel experience for her.

"Chuck, I just got off the phone with Graham. The Intersect project is gone, sabotaged physically and in Congress. There is no more Intersect project, no more Project Omaha, it's all gone. You're the Intersect, Chuck, with a capital 'I' and they won't consider a sanction because it would be like blinding them. You're free from sanction, Chuck and they'll tell you in a briefing. I'm so happy for you."

He just looked at her. He didn't believe a word of it. Oh, he believed that she really believed it, but deep down inside, he was certain it was just another lie to keep him productive until the hammer fell.

"Let's go home. We have some things to talk about and I need to make sure I understand all you've told me. I know things you don't, no, things you can't possibly have had access to. I want your thoughts and advice. You and Casey are all I have to depend on, to keep the wheels on the Bartowski wagon."

"Casey, secure."

"Beckman, secure. Major Casey, there will be a change in the intersect status and it's going to affect your team. The Intersect program is dead both financially and physically. Fulcrum sabotaged the operation and lives were lost. Bartowski is the only game in town and we've learned that his mental stability is in jeopardy because of the supposed sanction order issued and pending on the completion of the Intersect."

"Casey, you and Walker are all that stand between Chuck and the deep hole in the ground. Keep him focused and calm until Graham and I can meet with him and assure him of his safety – as far as sanctions are concerned."

"My concern remain the defections. Director Graham agrees with me that it is of paramount importance. We're attaching a NSA strike team to Team Bartowski. They're to be used as you and or Agent Walker see fit. You're going independent on this one, John. No guidance from home base. Watch your ass and watch out for your team."

"There has already been an assassination attempt on Graham and we're beefing up security and going dark here for a bit. We'll be in contact as soon as a new command base has been established. These are dire times, Major. There is more going on than meets the eye."

Damn, he hated Beckman and her damned qualifiers. Either Chuck was safe or he wasn't. What was so damned hard about just making the statement? Fucking suits and brass hats. Never in the field but they have all the answers.

"Walker, secure."

"Casey, secure. Report to the Castle immediately. Bring Chuck. Don't let him out of your sight. If he uses the head, hold it for him. This is a code word situation, Sarah. Bring him in."

"Casey, I just talked to Graham. The Intersect is done. Sabotaged by Fulcrum. Chuck's the only game in town. What's going on? I won't bring him in if you're just going to kill him or send him down that dark hole."

"Jesus, Sarah, the kid's safe with us. We have new orders, a new status and we're going to be augmented. I need you guys here to plan and prepare. He's my friend, Sarah, don't ever tell him, but he is and I don't screw over my friends."

"On our way, Casey. Chuck, do you need to use the bathroom, honey?" She hung up on a laughing Casey. Walker would do just fine. He didn't think she'd caught his snarky comment. Strange times.

Chuck looked at his handler like she'd grown another head. He just sighed and continued walking to the Porsche. Women. He would never understand them if he lived 2 lifetimes.

Sarah was giggling and running to catch up with her asset. She was so happy and she hadn't felt this way in a long time. Chuck stopped and unlocked her car door and turned to hand her the keys. She'd stopped inches from him and was looking up at him with the strangest expression on her face.

She kissed him. A warm, wet kiss that ended with her sighing and then burying her face in his chest and laughing. "I'm so damned happy for you, Chuck. Now let's go see what Casey's all excited about. Chuck, honey, you have to let me go to drive."

He leaned down and put his cheek to hers and whispered, "If making you happy gets me kissed like that, I have a new goal in life. You've been warned, Agent Sarah Walker." He found her lips and kissed her as he'd been shown all those years ago. He sent warmth and caring and perhaps the smallest bit of love through into her. He knew it had worked because she deepened the kiss, her tongue fluttered against his lips and she moaned a sweet delicious 'ohhhhhhh' as he broke the kiss and smiled down at her. "Can you drive?"

It was a legitimate question for at that moment if she'd moved she would have had an orgasm for sure.

"Sarah, don't tease me and don't use me. Don't tell me one thing and then pull a Thorne. I won't let that happen to me again. So understand, if you want to continue this to a mutually satisfying conclusion, wonderful, and if not, I'm OK with that. Just don't play me."

Her mouth moved, she was sure of it, but nothing came out. She just looked up at him and nodded her head 'yes'.

When they arrived at the Castle Casey had briefing packages for each of them that Beckman had emailed to him. Chuck's was considerably thinner than the agents.

"Chuck, here's the way it has to be. One of us is with you at all times, 24/7. Beckman's freaking out that your identity might be known to one of the defectors so it's either that or secure detention. Personally, I think detention is not viable because of the defections. No one knows who to trust or who's Fulcrum. It's paralyzing the operations nationally but not locally. We're independent as of 1500 hours. We're getting an NSA Strike Team and will be relocating to a Citadel or Fortress facility within the week."

"Chuck's been staying with me until we can develop the Ellie-cover so that's no problem. The big problem is still the defections."

"I think we should go with the infiltration of the Freight Forwarding facility. It's still our best option."

"When is the NSA team arriving?" Chuck wondered where the hell they'd put them.

"They're not coming here, we're going to the Citadel in San Pedro and hook up there. It's our new home base within the week. We'll need to plan our op and get in and get out tomorrow night. Let's get started on the details."

They spent the remainder of the day figuring and refiguring the op plan. When they were done, Chuck had questions and no one was in the mood to hear them.

"I need to be inside to check out their servers and figure out where to plant our spoofs and relays. I don't see an internet connection so they're either using dial-up which is doubtful or they are on satellite since they have proprietary servers. We can copy their backups and have their history to work with also."

"Chuck, you stay in the van. Safety first. You'll have to direct us using the vid-cams. Sorry but it's the way it has to be."

"Damn it, that's not right. I have the knowledge and skill set and can get it done a lot faster than you two ham-handed non-technical people. I have to go in. Casey and I ran a similar op without any problems and there were just two of us to provide security for one another."

"Well, it's the three of us, now, Mr. Bartowski, and only two of us are agents. Get used to staying in the truck. You're not setting foot in a potentially hot area until I've secured it and it's 100% safe. There are no shortcuts where your safety is concerned. Live with it." Sarah was not letting him in unless it was secure and safe and this place was anything but.

It was her job. He was her job. She would not fail him.

"You have no voice in the matter. You have no choice. You are along for the ride. Your abilities are what matter and your safety is the most important thing to us. The matter is closed. That's the final word and unless we have any credible objections, I think we're done here, right, Casey?"

Chuck just glared at his handlers. "You're adding at least an hour to the mission clock with your stubborn refusal to let me help. You think those people are just going to go home at 5? It's a 18 hour operation and you can never tell when a truck might come in and the help shows up to unload it."

"That's the risk we have to take. 'We', meaning Casey and I. You're in the van."

Chuck went back to the kitchenette and poured out the last of the sludge into a dirty cup and added sugar. His stitches were itching and he knew from sad experience that was a sign they needed removed.

He took out his cell phone and called home – as if he really had his own 'home'.

Sarah watched him from the door. She was irritated with him. Once again he had fought her and Casey, as if he knew more than they about what it was they needed to do. Her thoughts went back two weeks to her conversation with Graham. She really wasn't cut out to be a babysitter and that's what Chuck required when he was in his rebellious moods.

"I need to get these stitches out. I called Ellie but she's working but Devon's there and he said he'd be glad to help. I got the cover story down pat. I guess I'll see you later either here or at your hotel room. I'm going to catch a cab, Sarah, so you professionals just take your time figuring out how to do in an hour what I can do in 10 minutes."

"Chuck, wait…" but he'd already pushed past her, hands into his pockets, head still down, and left the Castle and walked over to the taxi stand across the parking lot.

She pulled up the external monitor to see where he was heading. She dialed his iPhone number and watched as the image took the phone out, pushed some keys and replaced the phone in its pocket. Her call went directly to voicemail.

'Damn that man! Doesn't he realize that the safety of the nation rests on what's between those ears of his? "Ham-handed?" How hard does he think it is to do what he tells us? I just don't understand how he can be concerned for the 'mission' but ignore the larger picture. Idiot.'

'Well, maybe it's because he's concerned about the people on the mission, not just the mission. You read the after-action reports. You read about what happened when Thorne went down and he was not yet emotionally invested like you are. It's your attitude that's suspect. He needs to be able to do his job, Agent, and to protect his team – something you're just not used to when on an operation. He's not Bryce, he won't send you into a killing zone for expediency's sake. He'd go himself, first.'

Casa Bartowski

Chuck paid the taxi driver and walked through the courtyard and unlocked the apartment door and called for Devon. He didn't see the Porsche pull up a distance away and turn off its engine. His handler was watching her asset. She'd never been more than a few yards from him and wouldn't be until he was back in her zone of protection.

He used his key and opened the front door and called out for Devon.

"Hey, Chuck. One minute. Let me get my bag."

Chuck moved into the kitchen and checked out the coffee situation and helped himself to a cup. "So, where you been keeping yourself, almost-bro? Got some sweet thing stashed away in some hidden love nest?" Devon rambled on and on and Chuck never responded.

"Lose the duds, Chuck. Let's see what those ER mechanics did to you. Whoa, man, those are going to be pretty big scars. Sure sucks to be you, Chuck. We'll do the butt first then work our way up. From the looks of things these are pretty much healed and this is the optimum time to take out the threads."

Ten minutes and a few terse comments later Devon announced that he was 'thread free' and to avoid anymore 'accidents'.

"Chuck, you never answered my question. Where you been hiding?"

"Well, there's this girl and…" he stammered and hemmed and hawed hoping Devon would fill in the blanks and relate his version to Ellie.

"Say no more, Chuck. Man secret." He laughed and high-fived Chuck.

"Thanks, Devon. I got to get back to work. Catch you later."

"So what's with this new job with the government you're so hush-hush about? What are you, some kind of spy or something?"

"Or something. Thanks again, man. I have got to get back to work."

He was dialing the taxi company for a ride back to the Castle when he saw Sarah's Porsche pull in beside the curb. She got out and leaned over the roof, watching him. Why was she here? There were things to be done with mission planning and preparations. He could have caught a cab. No big deal. He was just going to crash at the Castle in one of the detention cells, seemed appropriate, somehow.

As he walked closer he saw her face was tight with anger. Since he'd been the perfect little 'handled' he felt no concern for his well-being.

"Mr. Bartowski, please get in the car." She got in and slammed her door and pushed his open. He got in and looked over at her but she was just gripping the steering wheel tightly and staring straight ahead. She was waiting for something.

"Seatbelt, Mr. Bartowski." What the hell is her problem? 'Mr. Bartowski?' Some one must have crapped on her day.

He put on his seatbelt and she roared away from the curb. If she wasn't going to talk, then neither was he. She was the one in a funk. All he did was get his stitches removed and ignore her voice mail. He didn't want to have to deal with the 'it has to be this way' scenario.

If she was trying to frighten him into talking it wasn't going to work. He just closed his eyes and thought about a high mountain pass, the crunch of his boots in the snow and the cold crisp air in his lungs. His ice pick hung from one wrist and he adjusted his goggles, watching the terminator line of the sun marching across the glacier. The sound of the sea gulls …huh?

He opened his eyes and saw that she'd driven them to the beach. This was the place he did his thinking and his decision-making but mostly his thinking. It was also the place he came to watch the surf when the storms off the coast created the huge swells that rolled into the shoreline shallows and became waves. He'd wanted to share this place with her and that's why he'd suggested it earlier.

She got out of the car and started walking down the boardwalk to the beach. He shrugged and followed her. At least she was wearing sensible shoes, not those spiked heeled leather boots she mostly wore.

She'd obviously given this some thought since she had a rolled up blanket under on arm. His phone vibrated and he saw it was Ellie and he let it go to voicemail. He'd deal with sister angst later.

Looking up and down the beach, she finally stopped, spread the blanket and sat down, her legs up against her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs. Pensive Sarah was a new thing so he sat, watched and listened.

Ten minutes went by like a snail crawling across a sidewalk so Chuck again went to his mountain pass…

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Huh? What?" He'd been gone for a while, apparently. He'd have to watch that. Lately he'd lost hours to his mountain pass. It was beginning to creep him out.

"I've been explaining some things to you and you haven't heard a single thing I've said, have you?"

"No. I sat here for 10 minutes waiting for you to say something and then I disconnected. I went someplace else. I was bored. I'm sorry. Would you start again, please?"

"If I tell you something will you believe me?" She would at least try.

"Probably not. I'd like to believe that everything you say to me is true but I know that's just not possible. I know you're frightened and you think I'm your anchor because of the brief peace I brought you in Stockton but you don't need me. You're strong enough, on your own. You don't need anyone, Sarah. You certainly don't need me."

"Then I'll tell you things and hope you chose to believe the important things. How's that?"

"Go ahead. It's your beach, Agent Walker, ma'am."

"OK, I – I – I think I may love you. I know it doesn't seem like enough time but I do. I've had this 'perfect man' image since I was young. A Paladin. A strong figure, secure in his own skin, and willing to share his soul with me. And before you say it, before you even think it, yes, I have a soul. I have a soul and you touched it, I felt it and it was like coming home, Chuck, and finding something I didn't even know I'd lost."

"I am you, your mirror image maybe. But I – I – oh, hell, ever since Stockton I've felt this growing emotion for you. I think, no, I believe, that I love you. And you are my anchor for now. And that doesn't mean that when I no longer need you as my anchor that I won't still need your as my man just as I hope you'll always need me as your woman."

"Chuck. There is no 'put down' order. I checked and checked. They need you. You're lucky you're not in Nevada underground because losing you scares the shit out of them. That's the burden you didn't want to add to, wasn't it? Me loving the man I have to kill. Right?"

"That's why Thorne left, you know, the real reason. She knew then that she would be called on to do it and she couldn't handle the thought any more than I could. That's the burden, isn't it?"

"Yes." She had to strain to hear him. He'd said it so softly.

"Sarah, I'd make a lousy spy. I couldn't tell them one thing and mean another. I couldn't dangle hope and then snatch it away. I couldn't demand obedience and loyalty and not be loyal also."He turned and looked at her, boring into her soul.

"I couldn't tell someone I loved them and not mean it."

"If those are the qualities you were looking for to love, then I suppose I am your Paladin. But you have to know, in the very inner most part of whoever you really are, that I would require those same qualities in someone I loved."

"Then, Chuck, I'll just have to show you my inner Paladin. And make you see me as I really am."

"I want to go home now, Chuck. Will you come with me, stay with me, be with me? Please? Is that OK with you?"

"It'll do for now. We could both be dead after this op, or worse."

"What could possibly be worse, Chuck?"

"If you died and I didn't. That would be the worst thing I could think of."

"Then you'll just have to take care of me like I'm going to take care of you." She leaned over and kissed him quickly.

"Let's go home, Chuck. And don't zone out on me on the way home. I thought you'd died. Hardly breathing and no movement at all. I don't frighten easily but losing you now that I've found you, well, that terrifies me like nothing ever has."

Residential Hotel

1 AM

"Ohhhhh, my God, Chuck, ooooo, yes, right there, harder, baby, harder, I won't break. Oh, yes, oh yessssss. Oh, Chuck, Chuck, Chuck, that hurts so good."

Sarah Walker was in one of the lower levels of heaven. While she'd taken a shower Chuck had prowled around her bathroom and found a bottle of massage oil that she'd been carrying around, unopened, for as long as she could remember. Well, it was open now.

"Where did you learn to do this, Chuck?"

"I already told you, but you probably thought I was kidding. I worked some for an Asian physical/holistic therapist at Stanford to pay some bills and she taught me this finger tip massage and also the knuckle massage. Neither should be used together but sequentially, one on one day and the other on the next. Something to do with the long muscle groups." She also taught him a lot of other skills that Sarah had no need to know about. Not if he wished to keep his dangling participles attached.

He was kneeling on the bed with her right leg held up straight along his thigh and chest and beside his ear and he was running the fingertips of his right hand down the inside of her leg from the calf to the inner thigh. The pressures were mitigated by the circular motion of his fingertips but the pleasure she derived was mixed with exquisite spikes of pain as he 'straightened' a long-muscle group here and there. The heat of the oil and the heat of his hands were loosening stiff and twisted muscles she didn't even know she had.

He'd already worked on the left leg and as far as she could tell it had fallen off her pelvis sometime after he started working on the right leg. She felt incredibly relaxed and she realized that she'd been in pain for sometime and never recognized it on a conscious level until Chuck's magic fingers had made the pain vanish.

"Sarah, if you've brave enough, roll over and take off you t-shirt and we'll work those muscle groups in your back and thighs.

He put her leg down and she sat up, challenged and responding, and whipped the t-shirt over her head. Chuck blushed when her breasts fell free and the nipples hardened from the cool air. She saw the look on his face as he quickly looked anywhere but at her boobs. God, he was such a guy.

She rolled over on her stomach and Chuck placed her hands under her face and turned her head to the wall. He pushed her ankles together and sat below her buttocks, straddling her thighs. He pushed her pony tail over to one side and studied her back.

"I always had a table for the back but this will have to do. Ummm, don't go getting weird on me, Walker. It's just a massage. You don't have to worry about 'unsolicited behavior'."

'What if I want unsolicited behavior?' She shivered. 'He has no idea what effect those hands have on me. How much I want those hands on me, and not massaging me, either.'

He put a puddle of oil in his palm to warm it and then rubbed his hands together and began to massage her shoulders and neck being careful not to get the scented oil on her hair.

He worked down the left side, stripping the muscles of their build up of lactic acid and then moved to the right side. He put his hands on either side of her spine just above her pelvis and began long slow strokes upwards and outwards. He found a knot of twisted muscles and worked on it gently until it straightened out.

"Oh, Chuck, that, that's been bothering me since I got here. Oh, thank you. I didn't know how much I hurt until you drove it away. Thank you."

He worked on the tendons in her ankles and behind the knees then up towards her buttocks in long strokes with his fingers digging in slightly and rotating the muscles. Her groans of appreciation made him smile.

"Well, that's it. Tomorrow if you're willing and not too sore we'll do the knuckle massage. It's got a complex name but it's what I remember it being called by Ahn-Zhu."

"I don't think I can move, Chuck. Look down around the foot of the bed on the floor and give me my legs, will you? I think they fell off or something." She giggled but was growing more and more mellow by the moment and drowsy, too.

"I think I need a nap. I can't move so a nap will fill the time. Come here, you big cuddle-buddy and hold me and sleep."

"Nope. I need to shower. This oil will turn colors on my hands if I don't get it off."

"You mean I need to shower? I can't feel anything from the tits down and you expect me to take a shower? You're smoking crack or something."

"No. The oils do something chemically with the natural oils in my palms. A few people get blisters, some get hives, some, like me, have a different reaction. My palms and fingers turn orange. Something to do with endocrine secretions or some such crap. I'm an engineer not a endocrinologist so I didn't pay any attention."

"Thank God you paid attention to the techniques though. You had a good teacher."

"Well, she tried, I'll give her that. She was an incredible woman. So alive, so bright and shiny. Never a hair out of place. Beautiful in her own way. She came here from Tibet when the troubles first started over there."

Sarah felt the green-eyed monster rearing its jealous head. "Is this someone I should be concerned about? A sexy mystic who had my man in his younger years?" She was joking but suddenly uncomfortable with this old flame.

"Ahn-Zhu looked to be well into her late 40s when I came along." That wasn't a lie. She did look 40 even though she was at least in her 80s or more. Still she had managed to keep both her looks and figure and only told Chuck her real age when he had to quit and return to Burbank. He'd been shocked speechless and she'd kissed him goodbye one last time and he never saw her again. He heard she'd returned to Tibet.

"You're the first one I've given a massage to since Stanford."

"Not even Robin?" Oops. Open mouth insert foot.

"Nope. Never had the inclination to share or cared enough to go through all the hassles before."

"Good answer, lover boy. Now go shower and then we'll nap and then we'll go out for breakfast, my treat.

"Start without me. It takes a while to get rid of the oil. Don't want orange palms. Freaks people out."

When he was done in the shower he went over to his bag to pull out clean boxers but the bag was empty. He opened a drawer and found his clothes folded and put away. Apparently the living arrangements were moving toward permanent at least until the move to San Pedro.

Pulling on his boxers and forsaking the t-shirt he got into the bed on his usual far side and realized that he could lie on his back, his other side or his stomach since the stitches were gone.

He slipped quietly into the bed not wanting to wake Sarah. Her Chuckdar proximity system detected him and even asleep she flung herself on him and burrowed in as closely as she could, exactly like she did in the container, sighing with contentment.

'I could get used to this. It's not going to last. She'll do what Robin did and then I'll have a new handler and the cycle will repeat itself.' He sighed and tried to sleep, ignoring the warm and soft body of his handler. The scent of the massage oil still clung to her. Cuddle-buddy my ass was his last conscious thought before sleep took him.

She woke up some time during the night and found he'd rolled away from her. She missed his warmth. She pulled herself even closer to him and let out a ragged sigh and closed her eyes, happier than she'd been in months, maybe years. Happier than she'd ever been with Bryce, and she hadn't known this man nearly as long as she'd known Larkin.

Chuck heard the sigh that followed Sarah taking an even tighter grip on him. While he didn't mind the closeness, in fact he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so…comfortable in the arms of a woman, he wondered how it all had come about.

He put his free arm around her and drew her close and dozed off to sleep, his face in her hair and his mind slowly coming to grips with his new reality and her place in it. He would be her Paladin until she left.

He could hear her screaming for him but no matter where he looked, no matter how close he got, she was always just the next container away. The last container had been turned on its side and the door was sprung open on its hinges. He crawled in and she was lying under some wooden crates that hadn't been properly secured. Her legs were twisted into unnatural angles and blood bubbled up on her lips with each exhalation.

'You came. I knew you would. Lie down beside me and hold me while I die. I'm so afraid, Chuck. Hold me, please. Just a little while longer and then you can go.'

Sarah woke up to his soft moans and trembling. Shit. Another dream. "Chuck, Chuck. Wake up, Chuck. It's OK. You're safe. Please. Wake up."

"Ahhhh, don't die, Sarah. I'm sorry." He was talking in his sleep, still in the dream.

"Chuck, damn it, wake up, it's a dream. It's not real." She knew when he woke because his breathing changed.

"You listen to me, Chuck Bartowski, and listen good. There is no order to kill you. The Intersect Computer Project is dead. Fulcrum sabotaged the unit and killed most of the technicians and programmers and all the remaining Project Omaha candidates."

"Believe it because it's true, damn you. I'm not lying to you. I can't lie to you anymore. I won't lie to you. Damn your stubbornness. Things and people change. I'm changing and you're changing. We're together in this. Do you hear me, Chuck?"

He nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak.

Finally, after several moments of silence Sarah asked Chuck the question that had been foremost in her mind since the beach.

"Chuck, could someone like you ever love someone like me?"

"Yes, Sarah. Someone like me could love someone like you. Why?"

"Because I'm here and you're here and nothing happens. Is it, is it because you still love Robin?" She knew she'd said too much when she felt him stiffen up like he was preparing for battle.

"I never loved Robin Thorne. I liked her a helluva lot and maybe loved her in the sense that she was a great friend when I needed one but I never loved her even though she said she loved me. And that's the damned truth of it. She sucked me in, used me, and then went on with her spy career. No harm, Agent Walker, no foul."

"I'm sorry I brought it up. I didn't mean to upset you. I can see it's a raw wound and I know being here is like rubbing salt into it."

"I don't want to be anywhere else, that's the trouble. Look at us, Sarah, what there is of 'us;" he sighed bitterly. "I can't even carry on a fucking conversation with the woman I see myself falling in love with, without totally screwing it up. I'd better go." He started to get up. It was almost 5am and he could catch a taxi to the Castle and crash in one of the detention bunks.

"Don't go, please. You aren't screwing anything up, Chuck. It's just me and I know you better than anyone. Talk to me, please. You know when we were in Stockton and I was coming in to get you? You told me not to. I heard my Paladin telling me to be safe and sacrifice him. I knew then that we were going to be together, eventually." 'with the woman I love…' had rocked her world a bit. She'd known Robin Thorne and at that moment she both envied and pitied her.

"I can't talk to you or anyone about it. I just can't. I don't know how to say what's wrong and I don't want to talk about it. It just reinforces the negatives. Sorry I woke you up. Snuggle up and go back to sleep. I'll try, too. We have a lot to do in the morning."

Sarah raised her face to his and kissed him gently, sucking a bit on his lower lip and running the tip of her tongue over the captive portion. She ran her thumb over his lips and felt them twitch a microkiss back. It was a beginning. She pulled her t-shirt off and

rolled over in the cage of his arms and pulled his arms around her placing one hand on her stomach and the other above her breasts.

She wiggled her butt against him and giggled.

He was concentrating on ignoring the warm flawless skin of her back bare against his chest and the ivory curve of her neck where the hair had fallen over her shoulder. She'd grabbed his arm and pulled it over her and now it rested below her bare breasts on her warm silky-skinned stomach. Permutations, derivatives, algorithms, geometric proofs, all failed to sufficiently distract him from all her charms.

Sarah chuckled to herself. She could almost hear the gears and pulleys and transistors and circuit boards of Chuck's mind fry under her subtle but age-old assault of seduction. Sometimes Evil Sarah just had to be let out to play. It was only fair.

Chuck's mind was fried. He was cooked. Toast. He hadn't been prepared for the sensory onslaught and his first line of defenders were swept away by the heat of rising passion. He'd have to counterattack if he was to avoid being totally overrun.

He sent instructions for a reconnaissance in force. He'd send the international brigade, Roman Hands aided by Russian Fingers. Loose Lips forces would probe the enemy's defenses for weaknesses to exploit later.

Under the guise of avoiding getting hair in his mouth and eyes he'd pulled the long trailing tail of her ponytail to the other side and this bared her neck and shoulder. After a minute or so he blew lightly on her neck where it met her shoulder and was rewarded with a barely heard gasp. First contact.

An old military adage says that no plan survives first contact with the enemy intact. So it was with this one.

She clenched her buttocks sending shrill alarums through his groin. He responded by sliding a thigh between hers, something he'd never done before. Another gasp, not as sharp as the first but a gasp nonetheless and it was followed by a ragged sigh.

He made slow circles softly with the pads of his fingertips on her stomach, soft enough to be felt but firm enough not to tickle. A slight quivering of her abdominal muscles and he changed course began again, this time long transverse strokes, still circling her warm silky skin with slow circles. After a few repetitions of the patterns he slowed his fingers and stopped.

Chuck let his breath even out and feigned dozing off and let his head fall slightly until his barely-parted lips were in contact with the juncture between neck and shoulder just above the hollow of the collar bone. He kissed the skin, sucking slightly and then just allowing his lips to rest, barely touching her.

A shudder and a whimper.

If he's gone to sleep I'll kill him. I can't believe his fingers have such an effect and his lips on my neck are pure torture. He can't have gone to sleep. Damn him.

Field Marshal Bartowski accepted the enemy's flag and went to sleep, a satisfied smile on his face. Bartowski:1 Walker: 0 The age old game had ended it's first round.

The next day passed quickly. Chuck and Sarah had gone to an IHOP for breakfast and he'd commented on her skimpy breakfast of cut fresh fruit on a bed of lettuce. She commented on his blood-thickening, artery-clogging, cholesterol-laden pancakes, sausage, eggs and toast.

Casey and Sarah were busy packaging up basics for the new facility and Chuck was doing the daily intel briefings when one thing caught his eye. The CIA reported the disappearance of CIA Officer Robin Thorne on a routine surveillance in Mexico. Her partner was unnamed but stated that she had assumed her shift in the apartment overlooking the terminal they were watching and he left to return to their apartment.

There were three more 'disappearances' noted, each occurring while reconning port or terminal facilities in Mexico. All were women. One was Marissa Stone. Chuck didn't know any of the other agents but hoped his handlers would.

What were the odds of two women, both assigned, however briefly, as handlers for the intersect being abducted? Too high to be a coincidence.

He called Casey over and ran the details by him. His eyebrows raised when Chuck mentioned names and past assignments. "Chuck, it probably nothing. Just coincidence, I'm sure. Ask Walker if she knows any of the others."

"Ask Walker if she knows who?" Sarah had walked in on the conversation.

After hearing what Chuck had found, she nodded her head. "Thorne was here, Stone was here, Duncan, I think, Duncan was on the list of possibles if I… failed. I don't know Romero at all. Who were their partners?

Chuck pulled up the partner data and had a hard flash. All but Thorne's partners were suspected of being Fulcrum.

"Well, shit, oh dear. I think the walls are closing in on me and that damned hole of Beckman's is opening as we speak. We have to report this to her, regardless of the consequences. It's the right thing to do, Casey. They're trying to find me. If they've tortured those poor girls to find me… shit. We have to do something."

"Chuck, they're probably dead by now. It's been 72 hours without word. Fulcrum may have taken them for some other reason, simply because they were watching their facilities."

"Yeah, and Casey's a Democrat. You know of the four taken, two definitely had knowledge of the Intersect's host and one may have. That's 50% certainty with a 75% probability of compromise."

"Then I think we need to make our move sooner than planned. Like right now. We take critical shit, weapons and equipment for the mission tonight then leave the mission site and head to the Citadel. Objections?"

There were none. It was decided to have Sarah leave her car at the Burbank Mall rather than the Castle for security purposes. They'd pick it up when they headed south to San Pedro.

The van was loaded and there would barely be room for the 3 of them. When the mission was complete, Chuck would drive the van, Sarah would drive her Porsche and Casey would take one of the Suburbans and follow.

"OK, I'm going back to my apartment and pick up what personal stuff I want and I'll stow it in the Suburban. You two do the same and put it in the Suburban before we leave for the freight depot. See you here about 1AM and we'll go through our final mission brief and then conduct the op. Sarah, we'll drop your car at the Mall on our way to the terminal."

"I have nothing I'll need since neither Ellie or Devon are involved. I'll just keep you company if you don't mind while you pack. Then we can grab some dinner and meet Casey, OK?"

"Won't take me long to pack, Chuck, don't have much. Dinner sounds good. Something healthy. Pizza?" She laughed at the look on Chuck's face. "No olives, though, Chuck. You don't want me burping all night, do you? We'll call it in and then bring it back to my room."

"Agent Walker, why, when you devastated this pizza with such decisiveness, did you rank me out for trying to feed you the exact same thing on our 2nd date?"

"Because I was determined to be as difficult as possible and to make your life a living hell, Chuck, because I was pulled off an assignment I enjoyed. I feel ashamed now. I was a bitch, wasn't I?" 'Bitch? More like a demoness from hell, bound and determined to destroy a man's soul because you were inconvenienced… yeah, that's more descriptive. And all because you wanted to be there just in case Larkin called wanting a little weekend nookie or some afternoon delight. You were his bootie call girl.'

"Oh, yes. But I can understand your resentment. Being my handler is neither exotic or exciting and probably pales next to some of the things you've done."

"Chuck? Shut up." She put her hand behind his head and pulled him to her and kissed him, her tongue demanding entrance. They fell back on the bed, Sarah beneath him and he slipped his tongue in to duel with hers. The battle was on and Sarah was determined to win, taking no prisoners and conquering her foe. If he fell asleep tonight it would be from sexual exhaustion, nothing else.

His shirt went first and then her skirt, followed by his jeans and her tank top and then boxers, bra and panties. They moved up onto the bed proper and slipped under the sheets all without a word.

Afterwards, Chuck was appalled to see tears in her eyes as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. He tried to get up but her legs, already around his waist, clenched and she whispered, 'Please, please, don't move. I never want to move again. I can't move again. I've never been… it was… what the hell did you do to me?"

Chuck tried to shift his weight to his elbows certain he was too heavy for her.

"What part of 'don't move' don't you understand, Chuck? I want to stay like this as long as possible while I figure out how you made me…how I could have…what the hell did you do to me? No one has ever made me feel…"

"Sarah, I just loved you, that's all. Hasn't anyone ever just let it all go and loved you? To emphasize his point he twitched a portion of his anatomy currently held captive and she moaned and clenched her legs."

"Oh, my, I just, I, give me a couple of days to recover and let's do that again, OK?"

He laughed, please with himself and with her responses to what he did. He could spend at least an hour cataloguing her various endearments, exhortations, wildly creative threats if he stopped…and he wanted to do it again, but hardly in days.

"Days? You have got to be kidding me. Give me a few minutes to recover and then…" She kissed him to both shut him up and hurry up his recovery.

An hour later Chuck looked up at her and grinned. He caressed one erect nipple and then the other. "No 'twang', see." She giggled and rocked against him, shuddering from the sensations. When he went down on her she had an incredible orgasm and when he finally entered her it was so intense it almost hurt, but not quite.

"Sarah, I want to see if I can do something. Close your eyes and lie down on me and snuggle up. OK. Just let your mind wander and think of what you just experienced. Remember the best parts and remember the things you liked doing the most. Now, concentrate on those memories and take my hands in yours and kiss me and then hold the kiss and tell me what you feel."

"OH!" followed by a gasp. Then she squeezed his hands and slipped her tongue into his mouth, all the while tightening her lower muscles to grip him.

"Chuck, I felt – I felt –you. I mean I felt what you felt. Wow. Good thing you didn't have me do that a while ago. We'd have both been incapacitated from pleasure. I want to thank that teacher of yours a thousand times. Robin was such a fool to leave a wonderful lover like you."

"I didn't love her so it wasn't as good for her or me. I held back because I couldn't release the feelings I didn't have for her. Sounds crazy but it's true. I think she was satisfied though. I mean she never complained."

"Chuck, I hate to break this up but we need to shower and get to the Castle. We'll have other times, I promise you, sweetheart. I won't leave you no matter what. We'll go off grid if they try to separate us. I've got money and some off-the-book safe spots. And we won't have to be afraid, Chuck. Just promise me you'll stay in the damned van, please? I want more of this. I want a lifetime of this. Do what you're told, stay safe for me."

"OK, team, the clock is running. You have 70 minutes to do your thing and then get out. Casey, you and Sarah stick together so the view overlaps a bit. It'll make flashing easier. I just remembered, you got the Geiger counter, right? Didn't see it on the equipment list."

"Yeah. I never took it out after the last time. We're in. Offices first then the loading and storage areas. We're heading for the manager's office first. We'll put the spoof on his computer as #1 on the list."

By the time they were done with the office, they were 30 minutes into the mission but already 20 minutes behind the curve.

"OK, we're behind the timeline, let's start with anything behind secure doors like a vault, maybe. Thermals show no living beings, not even rats or mice and that's rare for these places. Maybe they all died? Sarah, pan your camera over the crates and let's see if we get lucky."

Thirty-five minutes later, Chuck shouted for them to stop moving. "Got a big thermal bloom behind you. I think there's a basement or underground structure and someone just opened the door. Thermals approaching your positions. Abort mission and get out. I'll meet you at the north loading dock. Do not stop for souvenirs. I count 6 thermal images behind you about 30 yards and closing and 3 coming at you from the east danger close. I'm moving now."

Chuck got behind the wheel of the van and started driving towards the north loading dock. He got the van up to 60 mph and was only a hundred yards from his objective when the RPG rocket struck the rear wheel of the van, flipping it on its side. His air bag deployed and stunned him for a few precious seconds until it deflated. He undid his seat belt and fell to the other side of the van, now the floor. Frantically, he kicked out the shattered windshield and rolled out onto the tarmac.

He scuttled on his belly about 10 yards away from the burning van and took out his M1911 and charged it. There were two men in civilian clothes approaching the van at a run. They were armed with pistols and the RPG launcher. Thinking the situation through he realized he couldn't take them out, even hit them at this range. He needed to get closer. He screwed on the big silencer and waited. They'd come to him.

"Casey, I can't raise Chuck. His comm's down and I heard an explosion. Did you hear it?" She was running with Casey toward the loading dock. Chuck should be there with the van, waiting for them.

"Yeah, RPG then a secondary like a gas tank. Don't worry, he's OK. He has to be. He stayed in the damned van. He's supposed to be safe in the van." They'd been suckered in like new agents. The forwarding location was the hive. Underground. No one saw it until Chuck saw the thermal bloom of the entrance opening.

They were almost to the open doors now. Running full out and dodging the occasional burst of gunfire.

"Hey, here's one from the van. Looks like he's toast. Got thrown clear but I think he's dead from the way he's laying there and his neck all bent like that. Search him and I'll cover you."

He decided the talking one would go first unless the quiet one made out his deception. He had the big .45 ready to fire as soon as they were close enough that even he couldn't miss. He took a deep breath and started to moan and cry out, as if in sever pain.

"He's alive, barely." The closest one was bending over to check him out, weapon pointed at his chest. "He's really messed up if all that blubbering is any…" The |phhht| of the silencer interrupted his speech and he fell to his knees holding his throat. Chuck had seen the vest.

His partner had been behind him and hadn't seen Chuck fire. When the Fulcrum agent fell to his knees Chuck sat up and fired at the other enemy agent, hitting him in the vest with all remaining rounds. The impact knocked him down but he was alive. Chuck reloaded and then unscrewed the silencer using the dead man's shirt to keep from burning himself. He wanted them to hear him. His comm was out and he figured his teammates would hear his cannon and come running.

The Fulcrum agent rolled over on his side and tried to fire at Chuck but he'd moved behind the agent and was kneeling down inches from him, waiting for him to regain consciousness. He sat up and looked around until the hot muzzle of Chuck's 45 seared his cheek.

"How many more of you are there and how did you find us? You have 3 seconds to answer or I'll blow off your nose." It sounded ridiculous to Chuck and he laughed. It was the first thing that came into his mind. The guy did have a big nose.

Apparently the slightly maniacal laughter convinced the Fulcrum agent he would lose his nose so he started babbling. Loudly. Chuck looked up at the sound of an approaching vehicle. He knelt down behind the enemy agent using him as a shield. "Your friends better have sense or you're dead. But first I'll shoot off that big honker of yours."

The big truck swung sideways between him and the van. He slid around keeping his new best friend between him and the truck.

"Get in the damned truck, numb nuts. Bad guys are coming. Bring him and let's go."

Chuck just shook his head. Casey would never understand. He stood up and told the Fulcrum agent "This is your lucky day, dude, I don't get to kill you. Remember that the next time you decide to betray your country." He started to turn when the agent went for another weapon under his vest. Chuck turned and shot him in the face. "Dumb ass. You could have gone home tonight."

He walked towards the van. He didn't have any place in the spy world, that was clear.

Sarah looked at Casey in horror. "He just shot a prisoner. In cold blood. My God, what have we done to him?" Casey just shook his head. He'd seen the sudden move and approved of Bartowski's actions. Well, he wouldn't have shot him in the face at such close range.

"He did what he had to do, Walker. The guy made a move on him. He did the right thing."

Chuck hopped into the bed of the truck and sat back against the cab. He'd stayed in the van. And look what happened. Damned if he did and damned if he didn't.

Sarah got out of the cab and motioned for Chuck to get in. She didn't look him in the eye.

Sarah got back in and Chuck jumped in and slammed the door. "Stay in the van, Chuck. Riiight."

He reached over and took her hand in his and leaned over and said quietly, "You OK? No injuries?" She just nodded and leaned against him, squeezing his hand. He couldn't see her tears. He leaned against her, resting his face on her head and closed his eyes. He'd killed another human. No, two human beings.

Sarah felt the first drops of moisture trickle down her forehead. She squeezed Chuck's hand and turned her face towards his and murmured so Casey couldn't hear "I love you, Chuck Bartowski for who you are, not what you are." Another squeeze of her hand and they knew they'd be all right again.

Since the van was toast, Chuck rode to San Pedro with Sarah in her Porsche. By prior agreement, Casey took the back door, maintaining watch.

"I'll bet you're tired, Sarah. All that running around on just a fruit plate and a pizza couldn't have provided much in the way of energy." He remembered her digs at breakfast.

"Well, I have to keep my girlish figure to keep my manly man, don't I?" Two could play the game.

Chuck was quiet for a while. Thinking. Deep thoughts. His eyes closed and she thought he might be dozing off. After all, he'd had a big day and had performed admirably for her, several times, and then the mess at the terminal. She felt wired but cold. She rolled down the window and felt the warm night air merging with the cold air in her car.

"Chuck, Chuck, damn it, Chuck, don't do this to me. Come back to me, please." She was in a panic, swerving and changing lanes until she pulled off in the breakdown lane. Chuck slumped over towards her, his seat belt keeping him upright. She felt his face. The skin was ice cold. She didn't know what to do so she slapped him across the face and the screamed at him to come back, not to leave her.

Casey pulled up behind them in the big suburban and ran up to the passenger door thinking one of them had been wounded and not told anyone.

"Walker, what the hell?" He could see her slapping a sleeping Bartowski and screaming at him not to leave her.

'He was standing in his high mountain pass feeling the cold from the winds and the crunching snow under his boots. His ice axe dangled from one wrist and he adjusted his goggles enjoying the scene as the sun's terminator line raced across the glacier that melted into the lake in the valley below. Slowly and carefully he started his descent carefully picking out the path across the glacier to the waiting tree line. From there he would be able to see home. He could hear someone calling his name, begging him to return. Return to what? He was going home.'

"Chuck, don't do this to us." She was as close to being hysterical as Casey had ever seen. He felt Chuck's face and jerked his hand back. It was cold as ice. Was he dead? There was a small trickle of blood from on of his nostrils, the result of a slap to bring him back. Back from where?

Chuck sat up and took a huge breath, then another. He began to shiver and there was ice on his hands and in his hair. Casey just stared, shocked. He had no idea what was going on.

"Damn you, Chuck Bartowski, don't you leave me." She was holding him around the chest and had heard the 2 huge inhalations and now started sobbing uncontrollably. Not a good sign for a spy to loose it over another teammate.

Chuck put his arms around her and croaked, "S-s-sorry, S-Sarah. I didn't mean to go. Just shock of being a killer. Won't happen again." He hugged her and his tears froze on his icy face. Casey just stared at his two teammates then went back to the suburban and found a bottle of whiskey in his personal stash. He found a coffee mug under the seat and filled it with the liquor.

"Here, Chuck, drink this. What you don't drink, she does. You both need to pull it together. We'll find a motel and check into the citadel in the morning. On second thought, Sarah, don't drink any of that. You have to drive. Are you able?"

She turned in her seat and started the car. She wiped away her tears and nodded. "Ready when you are, Major."

They checked into a motel near the citadel's location. Casey wanted one room but Sarah told him no and that was the end of the discussion. Chuck was quiet and seemed unfocused. Sarah was clearly worried and scared and annoyed with him. They agreed to meet at 10am for breakfast.

"Chuck, get undressed and come to bed, honey. We're both really tired and I just want to feel you around me, warm and alive, not frozen and dead. You promised not to do that Chuck, you promised me. I almost lost you twice tonight and we're just getting started with each other in life."

Chuck felt like such a shit. He hadn't even known he'd slipped across. Must have been stress that triggered it. It wasn't supposed to be involuntary. He stripped off everything and walked in and took a shower. He had blood on him from his two kills. Two humans murdered. Sarah slipped in and wrapped her arms around him.

"Hey, it's OK, Chuck. We're OK. You just had a human reaction to taking a life. It's who you are, human, and you're a better man than any I've met. Now, please dry off and let's go to bed. Please, baby, please, you need to rest and I need to be wrapped around you."

Chuck didn't even bother with boxers, just crawled into bed and held out his arms to Sarah. She smiled a slow smile and then lay down beside him, her back to his chest, and she pulled his arms around her and held him tightly to her as he slipped a thigh between hers and started to speak to her in quiet simple words.

"I didn't know I'd slipped across. I didn't do it deliberately. I think it was a reaction to the shootings. I killed those men because they were between you and me, no other reason. Not for country, not for team but because they were in my way and you were in trouble. So I guess if it's not love it's a magnificent obsession I've got going here. So just sleep, Sarah. I'm not leaving." He kissed her neck and nuzzled it. She could feel the tension leak from her with each breath on her neck. It would be all right.

Morning came all to soon for her and she reached over to find her warm partner and instead found the bed empty. Just as she was getting out of bed the room door opened and Chuck walked in with two cups of coffee and some doughnuts.

He opened his and poured in sugar and stirred it. He looked at her and she realized they'd made love, killed people and made promises and oaths to one another and he didn't know how she took her coffee. She only knew about his because she'd just watched him. Details they needed to fill in for each other when things calmed down. Little details like what they were going to do when the brass found out they were lovers and tried to end it. She knew Casey would be fine with it as long as it didn't get in the way of their missions.

Chuck was amazed at the Citadel. Three stories, one above ground for admin and 'public' face, the other two with ranges, commissary, a dormitory, a large parking garage and motor pool, a full communications set up and a detention section with better security than FT Knox.

"You think this is something, Chuck, wait until you see a Fortress." Chuck could only imagine what that must be like.

The NSA strike team commander came over and introduced himself to Chuck. He'd been the commander at Stockton and commented on how Chuck seemed to have recovered nicely. He also made a comment about his sexy 'cave mate' and Casey was waiting for the explosion but Chuck just glanced at the man and smiled. "You'll never know just how right you are, Commander. Smart, too." Chuck walked away and the Commander looked at Casey and shrugged. Casey just grinned and made no comment.

Chuck found Sarah in the commissary drinking coffee but looking at some want-ads.

"Hey, babe, looking for a job?" She glanced up at him and smiled their private smile.

"No, looking for a house or apartment for us. I am not staying here. They want to separate us. I told you they would. Bullshit, Chuck. So not going to happen. Team Intersect calls the shots here. We're independent. So I'm being independent. Want to come looking for apartments?"

"Sarah, I'll get bored then unfocused and then you'll be cold again. So, no. I'll stay here and get some practice in on the range. I have a gut feeling we'll need to be on our toes."

She knew he was kidding but she didn't like it. "Fine, but don't complain if it's all frou-frou with pink and mauve everywhere."

He gave her a quick kiss. "I trust you with my life Sara, colors are incidentals."

"Walker, secure."

"Graham, secure. Sarah, we need you to come to DC for a briefing and then on to Paris to debrief one of your deep cover assets. He has vital information regarding American and European targets of the Islamic Jihad. He only trusts you, Sarah. Your tickets are already issued and we'll expect you here tomorrow for a briefing."

"But Director, we have an operation on the books and I can't leave my asset. You know how vital this is to internal security."

"Agent Walker. Catch the damned plane. I'll have the operation put on hold until you return."

Three hours later a disgruntled Agent Walker boarded her flight for DC. She was not a happy camper.

Chuck had spent a restless night without Sarah. He kept reaching over to find her and falling out of the small single bed.

Disgusted, he was drinking coffee and reviewing the 'daily dump' of intel from the NSA network at 4am when he noted a hit on Robin Thorne.

Facial recognition software had tagged a photo of Thorne crossing the border from Mexico into the US the previous morning. Chuck accessed the file and pulled up the original uncropped photograph from the Customs/Border Patrol security camera. He enlarged and enhanced the car and loaded the California license plate into the DMV data base.

He enlarged and enhanced the driver of the vehicle and then loaded the grainy partial picture into the recognition software and went to get another cup of coffee. He knew it would take a while to match the photograph since it was only a partial. The sun visor had been down on the vehicle, partially obscuring the face.

The vehicle ID came back from the DMV. The vehicle was registered to Bruce L. Thorne, Jr. of San Diego. He next checked the white pages hoping to hit a phone but came up blank. Damned cell phones. He knew from a flash on Robin's file that she was single.

Chuck went on reviewing the 'dump' and flashed on a routine traffic stop and arrest for a foreign national with diplomatic immunity. The man was a money launderer for the Bernelli cartel in Milan, Italy, with links to Cosa Nostra and an American east coast crime family. Not exactly Tony Soprano but he forwarded the info up the line to the NSA analysis unit for handling.

He found Casey in the commissary drinking his umpteenth cup of coffee. "Hey, guess what was in the 'dump' this morning? Robin Thorne's picture as she crossed into the US from Mexico in a car driven by her husband, Bruce L. Thorne, Jr. of San Diego. I've loaded a partial into the facial recognition software. Maybe we could pay them a visit? San Diego's not that far."

Casey mulled it over. "Let me have what you got after the hit on the driver. Maybe we can pick her up and she'll lead us to Duncan or Stone. I don't like losing agents."

By 3pm the facial recognition software had pulled up 11 possible matches from the government files. Two were females and he immediately discarded them. Chuck paged through the remaining file image matches until he hit – Bryce Larkin.

Casey and the NSA strike commander were reviewing options after finding a floor plan for the 'Thorne' residence. It was in a cracker box development of cookie-cutter tract homes and the plans were available at the developer's website.

The strike team would enter the domicile from front and rear simultaneously. Chuck would stay in the truck running the mission clock and surveillance.

"Casey, bad things happen when I stay in the truck."

"Stay in the damned truck, Chuck. Walker would flay me alive if anything happened to you now."

"You're probably using me as RPG bait. I thought you were my friend. I need asbestos jammies if I'm going to run with this crowd. Look what happened the last time. And the time before that. And the time before that."

"Chuck, stay in the truck."

Sarah Walker's plane landed at Orly Airport in Paris.

"Casey, thermal imaging shows one human in the kitchen, immobile. No other thermal images. Wait, image is moving into rear of dwelling. Yeah, bathroom break according to the floor plan."

The teams entered on a radio signal and located and secured Marissa Stone. She was zip-tied and taken into the kitchen.

Chuck was setting up the recording devices for the interrogation when a sledge hammer shattered the window behind him and someone tossed in a gas grenade. He tried to warn the team but he was overcome by the powerful nerve agent within the first second.

Casey radioed Chuck for an update on intel and he didn't respond. Cursing his asset who was probably fooling around with his iPod instead of doing his job, Casey sent out two of the strike team members to bring him in to observe the interrogation.

Marissa Stone hadn't said a word up until then. "Too bad about Chuck, Casey. He was kinda cute in a dorky kind of way but Robin said he was dynamite in the sack. Well, after she's done with him, those days will be over." She laughed at the expression on Casey's face just as the strike team radioed back about the attack and the missing asset.

"See, told you. Too late to help him, Casey. Unless he joins us, he's dead. Not a fast death, either. Robin and Bryce have something special planned for him because of all the trouble he's caused Fulcrum. For his sake, I hope he turns, otherwise, she'll skin him."

Casey pulled out his GPS tracker but it showed that Chuck was still in the van. That meant they'd found the watch and wallet transponders. He was lost to them.

The sodium pentathol and scopalomine cocktail used for interrogations proved useless. She'd been trained to resist and they'd lost a valuable hour and a half on the Fulcrum agents who had Chuck. It took 45 minutes for her to become lucid enough to speak something other than nonsense.

"Marissa, you said they'd skin Chuck alive if he didn't turn? Well, I'm not going to do the same to you if you don't tell me where they've taken him." His tone was very pleasant and Marissa suddenly began doubting the wisdom of joining Fulcrum. "No, that's entirely too messy and time consuming. No. I think something less physical is called for.

Casey hated what he had to do but it was necessary. The third finger in Chuck's 3-finger philosophy.

Forty-five minutes later they had the location of the meat packing plant where Larkin and Thorne had taken Chuck. It was less than 10 minutes away and that meant they'd had Chuck for more than two hours.

He pulled the remnants of the plastic bag off Marissa's head and told the sobbing and gasping Fulcrum traitor, "If he's dead, you die. You'll die the same way, only slower, I promise you."

Meat Packing Plant

San Diego, CA

Chuck hung by his wrists from a meat hook in a walk-in freezer. The floor was covered with a large puddle of blood and Robin Thorne was talking quietly to her former lover and asset.

"I hated every minute I had to spend with you. [another stroke] Every time we had sex it was all I could do to keep from puking. [another] You were a disgusting lover. [another] No wonder every woman you ever had left you. [another] Inadequate, [slice] clumsy, [slash] a disgusting excuse for a man. [slice] Why did you make me love you, you bastard!" Tears steamed down her cheeks, spittle sprayed with each stroke of the wire hanger.

She swung the coat hanger whip and another huge welt appeared, cutting into the skin of earlier strikes. The bright feral gleam of madness sparkled in her eyes. Gone were the tears, lost in some inner conflict between sanity and madness.

"This wire coat hanger is an effective 'skin splitter', don't you think, lover? I can see some muscle and also patches of skin are just hanging off. I wish I could show you this, Bartowski. A work of art." She giggled and hit him again. She was ready to start on his chest and then her little razor blades would make sure he never satisfied another woman. Those moments of bliss were hers alone.

Bryce Larkin walked into the freezer and looked at his former 'best friend'. "Ah, Chuck, look what's become of you. You should have joined us. Power, women, money, position, all yours in the new Order. You should have said 'yes', Chuck."

"I never asked him, honey. He'd just say no, anyway." She giggled again.

"Oh, Christ. You never asked him? Do you have a death wish? He needs to join Fulcrum. My God, clean him up and I'll talk to him. He'll listen."

Bryce looked forward to ridding himself of this insane woman as soon as his need for her was over. She'd become obsessed with Chuck Bartowski, loving him one moment and crying for her lost love and then cackling over how she was going to love taking him apart, literally. He would enjoy putting this rabid dog down when the time came. How the Agency shrinks missed this one was a mystery to him.

Robin picked up a bucket and sluiced the contents over Chuck's back. He screamed and arched his back and then lost consciousness for the first time.

'What the hell was in that?" Bryce was livid. They were wasting valuable time on this.

"Oops, guess I picked up some pickling brine by mistake." She giggled and watched the blood trickle down his legs, adding to the puddle already formed.

"Come with me. We need to report this to home base. Besides, your pizza's here and if we don't get ours, the boys will hog it all."

Bryce sent one of his thugs down to 'keep Chuck company' with instructions to concentrate on the face and stomach. No broken bones other than the face. They didn't have the time or facilities to deal with broken ribs and collapsed lungs.

Chuck pulled himself up by the chain on his handcuffs and grabbed the tang of the hook he was suspended from. He inched his almost numb fingers up the tang and then threw himself off the hook, landing on his hands and knees. He looked around for his clothes but heard someone coming down the hall and ran to wall beside the door.

When the Fulcrum agent walked into the freezer, Chuck crushed his skull with a frozen leg of lamb. He didn't like lamb but he loved this one.

He bent down, trying not to sob out loud from the pain in his back and took the dead man's pistol and 2 magazines. He rifled through his pockets and found a key ring and after many tries, Chuck removed his cuffs. The pain caused by the blood rushing through into his hands almost made him cry but at least the numbness was fading.

He dragged the body over to the rack beside where he'd been hanging and "hung' the dead man from a hook through his torso. 'Good luck getting down from there'.

Chuck heard Bryce and Thorne coming down the corridor and hid beside the door, a plan forming in his pain-racked mind.

He quickly unscrewed the light bulb and stood against the side a few feet from the door. Everything depended on them walking into the freezer.

Bryce walked in with Thorne and he called for his agent. The light in the back of the large freezer compartment was on and they could see a body hanging from a hook.

"What the hell?" Larkin exclaimed and both of them rushed into the freezer while Chuck slipped through the opening and slammed the door, locking the lack with a large meat hook hanging from a rack.

Larkin and Thorne drew their weapons and Chuck laughed as the muffled reports stopped after they realized the 12 inch thick insulated door stopped their attempts to shoot out the lock. Chuck went to the small wire-grilled window and tapped on it with the muzzle of his pistol. Both of them began shooting at the small window and Chuck just laughed. He reached over and moved the temperature control to 'flash-freeze' and set the temperature to the lowest it would go –160F.

Larkin and Thorne heard the compressor pumps start to cycle and then the air filled with white smoky mist as the temperature plunged.

Chuck laughed and shouted to Robin, "Stay cool, Robin." Still laughing he made his way down the corridor towards the sound of voices. He didn't know or care why they didn't respond to the earlier gunfire. He used the wall to support himself and the yellow wall looked like someone had tried to paint a red stripe across its width. Bloody handprints were spaced periodically as Chuck leaned against the wall while taking a break to clear his head.

He came to the entrance to the break room. The heavy fire door was closed and that explained the lack of reaction to the gunfire. He glanced in through the square glass window and counted 3 Fulcrum agents eating pizza. Well, he could do this. A piece of cake.

He pushed the door open and stepped in. He imagined Sarah's coaching about stance and the need to squeeze not 'twang' the trigger. He laughed and shot two of the agents in the back and the third caught the remaining rounds in the magazine.

Chuck walked in and took a slice of pizza. Crap, olives. Sarah hates olives on her pizza. He threw the slice down and went to find a way out. He was sick to his stomach, dizzy, and he didn't trust himself to walk very damned far. And he was so sleepy.

He left behind a puddle of blood that mingled with the smaller puddles dripping from the Fulcrum agents' bodies.

He hugged the wall as if it could support him and hold him up until help came. They had to come to him because he was too tired to go to them. He didn't know who 'them' were but he remembered a big guy always snarling at him. But he was a friend.

Chuck could see his breath and he was getting so cold. He slid down the wall into a sitting position and remembered he needed to leave her a note. It was important to blonde hair and blue eyes and … shit, he couldn't remember what he meant to do. Oh, yeah. A note. He dipped his finger in a puddle of red stuff and wrote a junior high note. I luv SW.

He was so cold and the ice axe hanging from his left wrist felt so heavy.

The strike team blew the loading dock doors and rushed down the closest corridor towards what they hoped was the office area in the front of the plant. They searched the offices and then moved down a corridor that had a heavy mist-like fog billowing around their ankles on the floor. Casey spotted the freezer door with the meat hook locking it shut.

He signaled the two point strikers to take position and he removed the hook and swung open the door. The two strikers didn't advance. Casey looked around the door and found two frozen ice statues, a screaming Bryce Larkin holding a pistol and a terrified Robin Thorne, her face frozen in a macabre leer, a hand frozen to Larkin's shoulder.

He glanced at the temperature control and dialed it back to 0F. He saw a body hanging from a meat hook by its torso and prayed it wasn't Chuck.

The strike team continued up the corridor towards a lighted section of hallway. Casey and the strike team commander were securing the frozen bodies, well, trying to.

"I misjudged that boy, Major. He's no one's boytoy, is he?" He chuckled then grew silent. "Oh, shit. Look at that pool of blood. Your man's hurt bad, Major. Let's hurry up and find him."

One of the point men reported back to the commander that they'd found 3 dead Fulcrum agents in a lunchroom facility and blood all over the corridor walls. It looked like a bloodbath in there. Everything was coated with a thin layer of ice. They hurried to join the main body.

Casey grimaced as he saw the intermittent stripe of blood and occasional bloody handprint of the wall. The stripe was getting more irregular as if the 'paint' supply was running out on the painter's brush or roller. He glanced into the lunchroom and confirmed 3 dead Fulcrum agents, all covered with a layer of ice. The cold mist still swirled around the team's ankles giving the corridor an eerie feel to it.

They saw the loading dock where they'd entered 30 or so yards ahead. One of the point men signaled a halt and then the other one came back to the two officers.

"Commander, you aren't going to believe this shit. Come take a look at this. I think, I mean, hell I don't know. It looks like Bartowski but he's… he's in ice. "

The body of Chuck Bartowski was leaning against the corridor wall encased in crystal clear ice at least 3 inches thick at its thinness point. It looked like he'd fallen asleep, a slight smile on his face and then fallen over onto his side. The head cams picked up everything including Bartowski's nearly shredded back. Casey looked down and saw where his finger was frozen to something he'd written. He grimaced. 'Yeah, Chuck, you sure did.'

Twelve hours later John Casey was pacing around the morgue at Burbank Hospital. They'd brought the body back to Burbank for a number of reasons, none of which made a lot of sense but Casey had insisted. "I brought you home, Chuck. Ellie will be here and Sarah and all the people from the BuyMore. You won't be alone, Chuck."

Now the body was gone and all that remained was a bloody puddle of melt water. Security cameras showed that no entered or left the morgue, no one approached the NSA guards and no tampered with the body. The ice melted and it was gone.

"Walker, secure."

"Graham, secure. Agent Walker, finish your debriefing by 6pm local time. A plane is waiting for you at Orly. Come home, Sarah."

Sarah boarded the executive jet and was the only passenger. As soon as she was aboard and seated the plane took off.

The plane landed at Reagan International in DC, refueled, and continued on to LAX. Sarah tried reaching Casey but her call went to voicemail. When she called Chuck's phone it rang without answer.

When the plane landed at LAX she was met by two strike team members in plain clothes and driven to Burbank Hospital. Neither of them would answer her questions.

Burbank Memorial Hospital

Burbank, CA

"You're telling me that I have to sign these papers in order to be told about my brother's activities? John, we're neighbors, you work at the BuyMore with Chuck until he got a new job. You can't be serious?" Ellie Bartowski was getting extremely pissed off. First she'd been summoned to the Chief of Medical Staff's office and told she was on immediate leave at full pay until further notice. Then she was met by John Casey as she walked out of the Chief's office and 'led' to this conference room where men in dark suits and dark glasses stood outside the doors.

"Yes, Dr. Bartowski, that's exactly what I'm telling you. Those papers are copies of Non-Disclosure agreements, a contract with the CIA to provide medical services at a premium to selected agents at this hospital and lastly a copy of the Official Secrets Act and all it's amendments. Dr. Bartowski, Ellie, please sign those forms."

There was something about his tone of voice, the way his eyes kept shifting between her and the clock that made her extremely uneasy. Exasperated, she signed the forms.

John Casey pushed something in his ear and nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Bartowski. I have to meet and escort someone else to this meeting and she's just arrived. Please be patient."

John went to the elevators just as Sarah Walker got off. He greeted her with a tense smile and took her by the elbow and led her to the conference room. She entered and saw a small dark-haired woman sitting at the conference table surrounded by government forms. She was wearing blue scrubs and had the required stethoscope around her neck.

"Sarah, this is Chuck's sister, Dr. Eleanor Bartowski. Ellie, this is…" he got no further because Sarah Walker screamed out the word 'No' in one long syllable and then seemed to run out of air and collapsed bonelessly to the floor.

"Hey, Sarah, I'm Ellie Bartowski, Chuck's sister. Can you sit up? Sarah, John told me that Chuck's dead. I know you two were, I don't know, lovers, partners, boy/girl friend, and from your reaction I know you loved him very much. I'm so sorry for our loss. He showed me a video of the scene. Sarah, I don't think you should see it, not right now. I don't think I'll ever sleep soundly again. My little brother a spy."

"Casey tells me you're Chuck's 'handler' but I can tell you're more than that. Much more. Can you talk about it? I was dragooned into the damned CIA so I guess I have clearance to hear about the 'life and times of Chuck Bartowski, spy'."

They talked for nearly 3 hours and then Ellie told Sarah to get her things and stay in Chuck's room until things calmed down. She just shook her head. "Not for a bit. I'll keep it in mind. I have a video to see and a job to quit. I can't do this any more, Ellie. Oh, how am I going to go on without him?" The crying lasted almost another hour.

"Sarah, you're sure you want to see this? It's, it's graphic. And Dr. Bartowski, you don't have to see it again."

"Yes, I do. I want Sarah to have support and to answer some questions. It's OK, John. I'm OK. Thanks but leave us alone for a bit, please?"

The video was a compilation of the various helmet cams used by the strike team. Someone had done a good job of editing and cutting and pasting because it flowed evenly.

First they showed the takedown of Marissa Stone and the truck Chuck was in. The voice-over mentioned a nerve agent and how he hadn't had time to warn the team before he was taken. His watch, wallet and cell phone were lying on the ground. "They couldn't find him because he'd left his transponder behind. The watch and wallet all have GPS transponders so we know where he is. The bastards took them off him."

Then the scene switched to an exterior shot of the meat packing plant and two uniformed men running away from a large metal garage door that then blew up and the team rushed in through the smoke.

The next section showed the team moving down the corridor to a meat locker or freezer that had been locked with a meat hook. The door opened and there stood Bryce Larkin, open mouthed scream forever unheard and Chuck's first handler and supposed 'lover', Robin Thorne. "Good move, Chuck. Freeze the bastards solid. Payback is a bitch, isn't it, you bastards. See the 3rd guy on the meat hook? Chuck took him down then hung him up. Cool." Ellie looked at Sarah and wondered if this had been such a good idea. She seemed to be delighted with her brother's destruction of those people.

As if reading her mind, Sarah took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Ellie, you just don't understand. This is our life. Was our life. Chuck never wanted to hurt anyone, Ellie. He was a kind and gentle man who had to make some hard decisions. He was the best one for the job. At least Larkin got that right."

"I hope that bitch Thorne suffered. She was like a sister to me. I thought she loved my brother. He did too. He told me she knew he didn't love her but she didn't care. And then one morning, she was gone."

Sarah backed up the video and then followed the team up the corridor. She sobbed but kept it together when she saw the red stripe and bloody handprints that marked Chuck's progress down the corridor.

The scene switched to the lunch room and the three dead Fulcrum agents covered in ice. The mist seemed thicker here. "Good shot group, Chuck. I taught you well."

Then the view changed to the corridor again and a huge sparkling ice pile. When the helmet cam got closer Sarah cried out and grabbed Ellie for support. There was her Chuck, her future, her love, dead, encased in ice. The last scene was of a frozen finger trailing a frozen blood trail from a pathetic message 'I luv SW'.

6 Months Later

Burbank, CA

Sarah Walker was reviewing intel digests and watching the clock. Since her resignation from the CIA, the NSA expressed an interest in her continuing on as an officer in their analysis division in Los Angeles. She jumped at the chance since it kept her in the loop with Casey and his new team and also because she could now stay with her new best friend and 'sister', Ellie Bartowski.

Ellie and Devon had split, permanently. Devon would not understand Ellie's position on Chuck and Sarah. As far as he was concerned her brother's death in a car accident in Mexico without possibility of recovering the body was sad but not an event that should affect their marriage plans. Ellie threw his awesome ass out after tucking his engagement ring into his shirt pocket.

Sarah felt guilty and responsible for the break-up but Ellie just flat out told her to shut up that she deserved someone like her brother and she was going to wait until someone who would give up everything for her came along. That ended any consideration of Sarah moving on.

The phone rang and she answered with the usual monotone that seemed to be required of all government gnomes. "This is Miss Walker."

"Sarah, honey, it's Ellie. Can you please come home, right now? I have something to discuss and it's critical. Please, Sarah?"

Ellie never called. Ever. But the one time she called she remembered protocol and gave the safe word, 'honey' and ended with her name. Sarah looked at the clock and smiled. She could leave anytime she wanted and no one would ever say 'boo' to her. Beckman had put out the word, 'Walker is dipped in the Blood of the Lamb. Mess with her, mess with me.'

She unlocked the apartment door, went in and immediately relocked it and threw the deadbolt. She could remember when Chuck lived here. They never locked the door. Now Ellie lived in an almost siege-state. The world would never again be the safe place it once was.

"Hey, Ellie, I'm here. What's wrong? You look like…I don't know. I've never seen you look like this. Talk to me, sis."

"I got a phone call – from Tibet – from Chuck's old teacher and boss. She says she's going to call back but had to speak with Sarah Walker on a private matter. Why would she want to speak with you? Do you even know Ahn –Zhu?"

"Chuck just said she was some really old lady who taught him massage and some weird spiritual stuff. He… he gave me a massage using what he'd learned and it was fabulous."

She sat down at the kitchen table and stirred her coffee. The massage. The beginning of Chuck and Sarah. God, how she missed him.

"Is that what he told you? Hmph. He practically lived there. He studied everything she taught him and he just sucked up the knowledge. I met her, Sarah. She didn't look a day over 40 with long black hair and a body to die for. I knew she and Chuck were sleeping together but I didn't care. His grades were so-so until he met her. Then he never got less than an A. It was like she lit a match under his mind. He was always smart, just lazy."

"She called him her 'Undisciplined Scholar'. How's that for an accurate description?"

"Ellie, Chuck told me she was at least 70 or 80. Did he lie?"

"No. She told me the same thing. Just said she believed in the Disciplines and led a clean life. She also told me her parents were still alive and that her grandmother lived to be almost 180 years old. I just wrote her off as an Eastern Mystic with a large imagination."

"That is, until her phone call. Sarah, I'm so afraid to believe what she said. I don't want any more heartbreak. I just can't take another disappointment in my life right now."

"What did she say? It must have been something for you to call me."

Just then the phone rang. Ellie just handed it to Sarah and stared.

"Hello, this is Sarah Walker."

"Ah, Agent Walker, so nice to speak with the woman who brought such happiness to my Undisciplined Scholar. I have a question for you. Do you still love Charles Bartowski?"

"What kind of joke is this? He's dead. But of course I still love him. I'm human. I'll always love my Chuck, always. Why are you being so cruel to me, to us? What did Ellie or I ever do to you?"

"Please Agent Walker, just three other questions. Do you still have that naughty little iridescent lime green bikini? Do you still hate olives on your pizza? And now do you believe him when he tells you bad things happen when he stays in the damned truck?"

The phone dropped from her nerveless fingers and she fainted for the second time in her life.

P/N2: Thoughts?