A/N This chapter's a short one. In canon the last segment of this episode was all about her unpacking, and Devon's fears about the crew at the new Buy More, none of which apply here. So this chapter fills in some of the blank space between Sarah's "Get some clothes on" and them walking into Castle in the next scene. Part of it is because the story has started talking to me, as I'd hoped, and I need to start laying some of the groundwork for later events now. I see this season as being more about Sarah and her development. Last season I put Chuck into balance, now it's her turn.

"You can call me Greta."

"I'm afraid we're going to have to mingle."

"Telescope, give me a sitrep!"

"You call that perfection?"

Sarah leaned her head against the window, staring at the clouds. Vast and shapeless, she used to hate clouds, especially when looking at them from above like this. Blocking her view of the world below, a world of lines and right angles, farms and streets and all the works of man laid out like a map or a puzzle. She was good at puzzles, and she found maps comforting.

She'd come to like clouds more, since she met Chuck. They had funny animal shapes in them, like his hair. Or they could. Unpredictable, they could be anything. Just like her.

Not tonight. Tonight they were barely visible, dark hills, the kind enemy agents liked to hide behind. Her hands were moving in her lap. Round and round and round she goes…

"Hey, partner," said Carina cheerfully, wobbling up the aisle even though the plane was quite steady. "Peso for your thoughts."

Like anyone could think with Carina around. She looked away from the window to frown at her friend. "A peso?"

"Seems to be about all they're worth." She fell into the neighboring chair. "I said to myself, Carina–"

"You talk to yourself in the third person?"

Carina snorted. "Like I'm going to let all of me go to waste on you lot. Anyway, as I was saying before you rudely interrupted, I said 'Carina, your bestie over there looks ready to practice her parachuting without a parachute. Offering her one of these fine mojitos you just made'–what a lovely word, mo-hee-toe. Anyway… where was I?"

Sarah turned back to the window, not that Carina was one to take a hint. "Drunk off your ass at thirty thousand feet. You do know that those things are three times as potent at high altitude?"

Carina took three sips in one. "So I've heard. Your friend Hannah is just a font of useless airplane trivia."

Not so useless. Sarah and Hannah had bonded over a bar in first class as Hannah was on her way to Paris to clean out her desk, just before the mission Sarah was on had gone sideways as usual. Hannah now ran the LA office with an iron fist, keeping the real agents in line and adhering to protocol. She could really use Hannah now, not a Carina being even more Carina than usual. "Did you take your pill?"

"Yes, Mother. And I'm only offering half a peso for those thoughts now."

She'd have given them away free if it meant she'd stop thinking them. Not that she knew what they were, exactly. They were lost in the clouds, waiting until just the right moment to strike. She kept a careful watch as her hands twisted in her lap. Round and round and round they go… "Did you really mean what you said back there?"

"I don't suppose you could try to be just a little more specific? There's a lot of back there back there, unless you're talking about my perfection, in which case I've got just exactly enough back there." She settled even more perfectly into her seat, took another three sips.

"Did you really think I would shoot through you, just to bring down a bad guy?"

Carina shrugged. "Sure. I would have."

"You would?"

"Sure. Whatever it takes to get the job done. Not that we needed anything like that today. We were up against a pro, so we didn't have to." Pros knew when to cut their losses, when to kill their hostages and when to push them away. Amateur kidnappers are the worst. Suddenly Carina started to giggle.

Sarah could use a bit of humor in her life right now. "What's so funny?"

"I just figured out what you're so upset about," said Carina as she laughed. She waved her hand back and forth between them. "You and me. We came out of the closet together back in Milan!"

Sarah sighed. Not humor to anyone except Carina. "You got me."

"That's what she said!" Carina shook with a sudden convulsion of laughter."Crap, now you made me spill my drink."She started brushing at the glop, making it worse.

"Probably for the best," stated Sarah, watching the reflection in the window. It wasn't pretty. "This way most of it stays outside you."

"Like I want to reek of mint and lime when we go report to the General."

"So change."

"Like I want to wear ostrich feathers when we go report to the General."

Sarah started bonking her head against the glass. "All your clothes have ostrich feathers on them?"

"It's the next big thing!"

Sarah sighed again. "There's a small laundry aft. You have to go past the bedroom, so you've probably never seen it. You'll just have to prance around in your underwear until your clothes are done."

"What makes you think–?"

No, of course she wasn't. Suddenly she was really, really tired of Carina's antics. "Then stay back there, then."

"Fine, jeez, I'm going, Miss pooty-porper," said Carina, getting up from her seat. "See if I try and cheer you up ever again."

Sarah watched her go. "You promise?"

Morgan stopped by table seven. "Good evening, Colonel, Alex. What brings you around here?"

Casey cast his gaze around the restaurant. "Just taking my daughter out to dinner. Wanted to see what kind of a ship you ruin here, Grimes."

Another dating test. "I trust the service has been satisfactory so far," he said at his most assistant-managerial. He wasn't going to snap his fingers and demand the best for them, every guest deserved and got the best at his restaurant, but just standing here a few extra moments wouldn't hurt anything.

Casey's "Can't complain" seemed at odds with Alex' "It's fine, Morgan", but only to people who didn't know Casey. "Your wait staff is certainly efficient," he continued. "You sure they're not all CIA plants on some kind of covert assignment?"

Morgan snapped his fingers. "Busted." Alex laughed, always a pleasure to hear. "Wait a minute. 'CIA plants'? Why CIA plants?"

Casey smirked. "Because obviously, numb-nuts, if they were NSA plants they'd be the management." He looked Morgan up and down.

Morgan ran his hands over the lapels of his jacket nervously. "Well, I'd, uh, I'd better get going. Other guests to say hello to. Wouldn't want to give the wrong impression."

Alex smiled and nodded. She was out with her dad, seeing Morgan too was a bonus. "It's okay, Morgan, we'll talk later."

Her fond gaze made Morgan smile, but only as long as it took him to catch Casey's not-so-fond glower. "Yeah, 'Morgan'. What she said."

Sarah stood in the door of the little sleeping compartment. She looks so different when she's asleep. Like a girl, not an agent. She also looked cold, all scrunched up under a sheet. The alcohol in her system kept her warm for a while, but not now.

Sarah got her friend a blanket, watched as she spread out under it, no longer so cold. That's better.

Morgan did another walk-through, as the evening got later and the guests started to dwindle. It all still looked perfect, though. If a busload of nuns from Peoria suddenly pulled up in his parking lot, he'd be ready for them. Not that he had a parking lot, but still…Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Colonel John Casey. Not that he knew what that meant, but he knew Casey didn't smoke a pipe. Just can't admit I'm good at something, can you, dad?

As he made his rounds toward his office, he heard a noise, followed by an 'oops', followed by a 'here, let me get you a new one'.

"What was that all about?" said someone male.

He turned back to the floor. One of the busboys was walking away, but he was more concerned with his guests, few enough at this hour. Most of them were looking at one of the other tables, so Morgan looked too. The woman was staring at the bread as if it had aliens in it, while the man stared at his soda. The straw still had the little bit of paper on the end, and Morgan knew he'd been drinking from it just a minute ago.

They signaled for their bill.

What the hell?

Sarah's key didn't unlock the door.

Good. That meant Chuck was sticking to the new security protocols. Leaving the key in the knob, she pressed the button for the doorbell, but no bell sounded. Instead a panel popped open on the door, with a screen, showing a textbox and a virtual keypad. Words formed above the textbox.

Green eggs and ham.

She liked puzzles but this one was just too, too easy. She typed in 'Sam I am' and the door unlocked. Inside the door she pressed her hand against a decorative mirror, deactivating the tranq gas emitters that would have knocked everyone out if uzi-toting terrorists had somehow forced her to open the door. A thermal grid showed only two heat sources in the house, one large one in the bedroom and one small one…in the kitchen? She put her bag down, reached behind her for her gun.

The house wasn't completely dark, of course, light from the street came in, carefully shifted three inches over by the refracting glass in the windows. She edged around the furniture, around the counter, and–oh.

Not a terrorist. Her husband had bought a new little crockpot, and put some dinner in it for her. She lifted the lid and sniffed. She took the handy-dandy spoon and sampled. Ham, potato, cream sauce, onion. Wonderful.

Breakfast.

Right now she knew what she needed and dinner was not it. She replaced the lid and turned off the pot, then went straight to her bed and the most wonderful man in the world. As she slid in next to him, his arm went around her and his fingers tapped the familiar pattern.

Green, she tapped back. Just like the eggs, or was it the eggs and the ham that were green, she could never remember. Comfortable against her husband's warmth she had a fleeting thought about her suitcase, still sitting by the door, unfinished business.

Finish it tomorrow.

A/N2 I had some ideas while PMing with ygbsm (I respond to all comments left, hint, hint) about the structure of the story, and how I might need to make some changes. In the season 3 of Chuck there was a great story that just needed a little polishing by me to make it shine. In S4 the individual episodes are pretty good, but the overall story of the season is missing. I started thinking of the season as a collection of pearls, strung badly. My thought is to restring the pearls, put the episodes in a different order, perhaps. It's not my preferred method, we all know I'd rather face the challenge of rewriting each episode as it came, but S4 is really 2 seasons in one, and I'm thinking they could stand to be better integrated. So some of the back eleven will be interspersed with the front thirteen, to make the takedown of Volkoff and redemption of Mary a better story.

Wish me luck, please.