To my readers from the Television Without Pity "Chuck Fanfiction" forum - I put a little shout-out to some of you guys in here. See if you can pick up on it!

Sarah's dreams were not pleasant.

In her restless mind, she was on a mission. For some reason, Chuck was out of the car. Again.

It was a very bad thing that Chuck was out of the car, because there were men with large guns, and they were firing them in their general direction.

"Chuck!" she yelled over the gunfire. "I'm going to distract them. As soon as they take their attention off you, I want you to run!"

"No way, Sarah! I'm not leaving you alone!"

"CHUCK! I can handle this!"

She pulled a flash-bang grenade off her belt – since when do I carry flash-bangs? She pulled the pin, and threw it, waiting for the pop.

As soon as it went off, she was shouting for Chuck to get out of there. "Go, Chuck, go!" she yelled.

And Chuck went – in the wrong direction, right into the hail of bullets.

"NOOOOO!" she screamed –

And sat bolt upright.

The sun was streaming in, she could smell something cooking – and she was on a couch, covered with a UCLA blanket. Where the hell was she?

That question was answered quickly enough when Ellie Bartowski came running in to the room. "Sarah?" she said. "I heard you scream just now… are you all right?"

She was on the couch in the Bartowskis' living room. She must have fallen asleep here last night while they were watching Sarah Connor Chronicles – and if she'd managed to fall asleep during that show, she must have been exhausted.

"Yeah, just a bad dream," Sarah replied. "Uh, what time is it?"

"It's just after 8:00. Chuck left for work about an hour ago. He said you had today off?"

Sarah nodded wearily, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. "Yeah."

"Okay," Ellie replied. "Well, if you want breakfast, there's coffee made, and pancakes in the kitchen… feel free to help yourself."

"CHUCK!"

Chuck's head whipped around to see Morgan running toward him full tilt.

"Morgan?"

"Chuck, you gotta help me!"

"Morgan, what is going on?"

Morgan said nothing, just grabbed Chuck's arm and dragged him over toward the portable audio section. "Right over there!"

Chuck looked. "I see a customer who appears to be pissed, probably because he isn't being helped with his potentially high-priced iPod purchase," he said, giving Morgan a what-the-hell-is-your-problem glance.

"Chuck, he's a little person!" Morgan whined. "And he's angry!"

"Okay, so he's like four feet tall," Chuck replied. "But he's still looking at an eighty gig video iPod. Why aren't you trying to make the sale?"

"Goddammit, what the hell are the two of you doing?" a voice boomed from behind them. The two whipped around as Big Mike strode up behind them.

Then he saw. "Whoa," he said, his voice getting much quieter. "That is a very angry midget right there."

Chuck's eyes widened. "Big Mike, you know it's politically incorrect to call them mid-"

His train of thought was interrupted as his upper arm was grabbed by what felt like a vice grips and he was dragged across the store to the home theatre lounge.

"What the hell, Casey?!"

"Walker stayed in your apartment last night. Nothing was said about that beforehand."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "She fell asleep while we were watching TV, Casey," he replied. "You know, she was tired, she fell asleep on the couch. We were on a 'date', you know, for that thing you're always on us to maintain, our cover?"

"And so you thought it was okay for her to just spend the night sleeping on your couch?!"

"Yeah, I thought it would be a bad idea for her to wake up and drive home, tired as she was, because I have a little bit of these things known as 'common sense' and 'intelligence'."

"Yeah, you're sharp as a marble, Bartowski."

With one last glare, Casey stalked off, leaving Chuck to stare after him in disbelief.

"I don't even know why I bother sometimes."

When Chuck got home at 4:30, the first thing he noticed was that Sarah's car was still parked out front. "That's… odd…" he mused to himself.

As he opened the door of the apartment, he heard the laughter of two women – Ellie and Sarah. "Hello?" he called out as he entered.

"We're in the kitchen, Chuck!" Ellie responded.

He walked into the kitchen – and, oh God, they were looking at a photo album. Oh God, worse yet, it was the GREEN photo album.

Chuck froze in the doorway to the kitchen. "Ellie…" he croaked.

"Yes, Chuck?" she said, looking up at him and smiling sweetly.

"I hate you so much sometimes."

She got up from the table, and walked over to Chuck. She kissed him on the cheek and said, "Oh, but Chuck, if it weren't for your big sister, who would show your girlfriend the pictures of little naked two-year-old Chuck sitting on a gigantic stuffed dog?"

Chuck just sort of growled at her. Ellie laughed and went into the living room.

Chuck sat down at the kitchen table across from Sarah. "So," he began.

She looked up from the photo album, a small smirk on her lips.

"Is this what my taxpayer dollars are paying for?" Chuck cracked. "Because, if so, I want a bigger refund next year."

Sarah didn't say anything, just slightly stuck her tongue out at him.

"Real mature, Sarah, real mature."

"And YOU are starting to sound like John Casey," she shot back.

Chuck gasped in mock horror. "Evil woman! How dare you! Get out of my house!"

Sarah stood up and walked behind Chuck. "I don't think I have to," she replied. "This is your sister's apartment, and she invited me."

She had placed her right hand on his right shoulder, found a rather vicious knot from his home theatre lounge encounter with Casey, and had begun to rub it.

Chuck felt the pressure on his shoulder, and it actually felt really good, if a little painful.

"Ooookay," he sighed. "You don't have to leave."

Sarah smiled triumphantly. "That's right," she said. "Don't ever argue with me, because you will lose every time."

Chuck cocked his head slightly. "Now, wait a second. I don't think that's necessarily true."

Sarah stopped rubbing his shoulders. "Yes, Chuck, yes it is."

He turned his head to the right to try to face her. "No, I really think you're wrong."

That was quite enough of that. She brought her face down level with his. "Chuck. I. Will. Always. Win."

It was then that she realized just how close she'd gotten to his face. She was – maybe – two inches away from him. The tips of their noses were practically touching. It would be no effort at all to cause, say, accidental contact between our lips, she thought to herself as she grew almost hypnotized by the seemingly bottomless pools of his brown eyes.

"Are you so sure about that?" he said softly, snapping her out of her reverie. She backed away a little as he said, "Because I think I just won."

She stood up slowly and backed away a little bit. She took a deep breath.

Chuck had never seen such a confused look on Sarah Walker's face as he did just then. "Sarah?" he asked. "Are you still there?"

Sarah let out her breath and snapped back to the present. "Yeah," she breathed.

Deciding that action would be better than nothing, she grabbed his hand and practically dragged him out of his chair. "Come on," she said. "Let's go somewhere!"

"It's Tuesday afternoon," Chuck responded. "What did you have in mind?"

"No idea!"

Sarah's idea of going somewhere had apparently been to get on the Red Line and ride it to the end of the line. Now, they were wandering around in North Hollywood.

"I never knew the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences was right here," Sarah said as they headed south on Lankershim. "Aren't they the ones that do the Emmys?"

"Indeed they are," Chuck said. "Although I'm glad The Sopranos is done, they can't hog the awards any- oooh, Starbucks!"

"What?"

Chuck was already several steps ahead of Sarah. "Are you kidding me?" she asked, as she jogged briefly to catch up. "You're going to go pay five bucks for some fat-filled, sugar-filled, calorie-filled coffee drink?"

He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her. "Says the government employee who drives a fifteen-miles-to-the-gallon Porsche Boxster," he shot back.

Sarah held up her hands. "Okay, I deserved that one."

"Hah!" Chuck shot back. "I win again!"

Sarah just smiled and didn't say anything, because she had realized that Chuck was about to experience a certain amount of heartbreak.

When the light at Magnolia turned green, Chuck dashed across the street, walked up to the door of the Starbucks – and stopped dead in his tracks.

Sarah just smiled and shook her head as Chuck read the sign on the door, a note of horror in his voice.

"On Tuesday, February 26th, 2008, all Starbucks stores will be closed for training purposes from 5:30 PM until 8:30 PM. We apologize for the inconvenience, and hope that you will return to our store soon."

He turned around and looked at Sarah. "This is total bullshit."

She just smiled and didn't say anything. "Seriously!" he began to rant. "If Buy More did this, there would be chaos! Mass panic! Rioting in the streets!"

"Perhaps that would be the case in Second Life cities," Sarah said, a slightly mocking tone in her voice. "But I think normal life would go on."

Chuck didn't seem to hear her, though, as his eyes appeared to have glazed over. He just stood there for a moment, staring across the street at the Academy building – and then, snapped back to reality.

"Jorge Verdugo," he whispered.

"What?" Sarah asked. "Did you have a flash?"

"Jorge Verdugo, code name El Tigre," he repeated. "Venezuelan terrorist-for-hire. He's done jobs for Al Qaeda, FARC, even the Ku Klux Klan – and he's walking westbound on Magnolia Boulevard right now."

Sarah's head whipped around – just in time to catch Verdugo getting into a taxi on the opposite corner of Magnolia and Lankershim. "Dammit," she hissed.

Pulling out her cell phone, she speed-dialed Director Graham. "Graham, line secure," she heard after a moment of rings, pops, and hisses.

"This is Walker, line secure," she replied. "The Intersect has posidented Jorge Verdugo, Venezuelan terrorist, in North Hollywood."

Graham didn't say anything for a moment. She heard the tapping of a keyboard, and then, "Alright, we've got intelligence that says he's in Los Angeles for a meet with members of Mara Salvatrucha. He's supposed to meet with them on Friday night at a club called the Viper Room. We need you and the Intersect there to see if he flashes on any high-profile members of MS-13."

"Copy that," Sarah replied, and disconnected.

"Alright, Chuck, here's the deal," she said, turning to him. "Verdugo's in town to meet with MS-13. They want us at the meet to see if you flash on any high-profile members of the organization."

"Oh, that sounds like fun," Chuck replied sarcastically. "When and where?"

"Friday night, the Viper Room."

Chuck brightened noticeably. "Oh, hey! Jack Johnson's playing the Viper Room on Friday night!"

"Jack who?"

Director Graham picked up the phone and dialed. A moment later, the other end answered.

"Beckman, secure."

"Moab Project is a go."

Author's note: the events of this chapter immediately precede the events of the story "The Star-Spangled Intersect".

To find out what happens from this point forward, and what exactly the "Moab Project" refers to, I would recommend reading "The Star-Spangled Intersect" before moving on to the next chapter.

Happy trails!