Title: Discovering Omaha 6/?

Author: dettiot

Rating: T

Summary: For Chuck, it's a chance encounter. For Sarah, it's a mission. But what happens when the spy remembers she's also a woman and the man realizes he could be a spy?

Author's Note: This chapter represents a turning point for the story; from here on out, there's gonna be a lot happening. So buckle your seat belts!

XXX

He was having a dream. There was warm sunshine and margaritas and soft music coming from an iPod stereo dock. He was on a beach, watching the ocean pound in the distance as someone with soft hands was applying sunscreen all over his back.

Hands that felt familiar. Hands that he had held, hands that had been balled into fists and aimed at his face.

With a soft groan, Chuck woke up. It was Sunday, his one day off. It was an hour before his alarm was scheduled to go off. And he had been dreaming about Sarah.

He pulled his pillow over his head. He had a full day ahead of him: breakfast, some weight lifting, shower. An hour of extra studying, trying to stay caught up with everything he was learning. His weekly call to Ellie, some time online to talk with Morgan and send another email to Bryce. Then, at two, sparring with Sarah. Agent Walker. His instructor.

It was only his desire not to wake up his roommate, who was very grumpy in the mornings, that kept him from groaning again. Because his life was so ridiculous right now.

He was part of a secret government project run by two of the most secretive organizations on the planet. He was actually discovering that he had the instincts and intelligence to be a pretty good spy, for the most part. And he was falling for one of his instructors, who happened to be beautiful, smart, incredibly talented and a spy to boot.

Oh, yeah, totally normal. He was surprised there wasn't a TV show based on his life.

Chuck pushed the pillow away and sat up, rubbing a hand over his hair. If he was awake, he might as well get his day started. He could fit in a run before breakfast this way.

Quietly, he got dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. Shoving his feet into his sneakers, he picked up his room key and his ID and slid them in his pocket. Within a few moments, he had left the barracks and was at the track.

He breathed deeply, the cool air helping to wake him up. For October, the sun was already warm, and there was almost no humidity. This was what he had missed in Virginia. He had found that running wasn't so bad in California.

The track was deserted; for the most part, everyone took advantage of the chance to sleep in on Sundays. He took a few moments to stretch, then started jogging around the track, enjoying the chance to go slow and let his mind drift.

For the last six weeks, he had been working his ass off. It was like his four years at Stanford had been distilled and concentrated into six weeks of intense work and extreme stress. He hadn't known he was capable of working this hard, but he was. He had put all of himself into his training, and . . . and he was succeeding.

Chuck wasn't an arrogant guy. He knew that there were people who were better than him at computers, at being a spy, anything. But somehow, he had moved to the top of the class.

He grinned and shook his head. Chuck Bartowski, real spy. Who'd have thunk it?

Feeling warmed up, he accelerated into an easy run. Pumping his arms, he felt a rush at knowing what he could do. He could run and jump and leap, climb a chain-link fence and not kill himself getting down. He could defend himself, hide when he needed to, and get past someone without giving them a clue to his movements.

His first week at Project Omaha had been hell. He'd been lost, confused, unsure of himself. He had thrown himself into his studies in order to distract himself from Sarah. The beautiful, intriguing woman he had met in Mexico was a CIA agent. He had thought she liked him, but she had only talked to him in order to learn more about him for the CIA.

To say he felt crushed was putting it mildly. He'd felt more alive with her than with anyone else, the connection between them forming almost instantly. Not even Jill had been so easy to talk to, so easy to like. And when he had kissed Sarah, he had felt a spark that made the whole world seem brighter.

Finding out that it was all a mission had made him feel embarrassed. He could barely stand to look at her, knowing that she had only kissed him for her job. It must have been so degrading for her to kiss some strange, nerdy guy. So while he had improved in his other classes, in Sarah's class he'd barely been able to keep up. It was all he could do to get through her class without turning bright red and babbling out his apologies for how he had acted. She tried to help him, but he just wasn't able to concentrate and improve. Not until their one-on-one session.

That session had changed everything. When she had flipped him onto the mat, he felt as if his heart had gotten a jumpstart. Sarah wasn't the robot she acted like during the classes she taught. She was a real woman, the one she had been in Mexico when they had walked on the beach. He liked her. He wanted to get to know her better. Sure, he wanted even more-she was beautiful and smart and completely amazing. But he was lucky that she had become his friend.

They had coffee together some mornings and ran together occasionally. One Saturday night, when the Omaha compound had emptied out due to almost everyone going into Sacramento for a night of leave, they had eaten in the dining hall together, sharing jokes and talking.

Best of all, they spent time together every Sunday. It wasn't exactly a date, not with the sparring. But in a sports bra and tight workout pants, dripping with sweat, she was even more beautiful. He'd take getting his ass kicked if he got to see that.

She kept nagging at him to stop holding back, to attack her. But he wouldn't do that. He refused to be offensive. His first goal was to avoid a physical conflict; if that failed, he let his opponent tire themselves out until they got sloppy enough for him to get away.

"That works for hand-to-hand," Sarah had said during their session last week. "But when it's guns or knives or another kind of weapon, you can't wait for them to get tired." She had looked at him, her eyes the blue of a summer sky. "You'll have to attack, Chuck."

He hadn't answered her. But he knew that he couldn't do that. He couldn't kill someone. He'd rely on his wits to get away before it came to that. Even if it meant he'd be killed.

Chuck glanced at his watch and realized he had been running for over a half hour. He slowed down, dropping to a walk in order to cool down.

Sarah admitted that he had become extremely proficient at self-defense. That he had the endurance to outlast most opponents he'd face. Added with the improvements to the rest of his skills, Chuck knew he had put to rest the questions raised by the doubters who thought he couldn't cut it in the field. It was almost dizzying, realizing that he was one of the guys that everyone was watching.

After all . . . he was just Chuck. He still sucked at languages and he was still ungainly. While the other recruits usually spent their Sundays sleeping and socializing, he was trying to carve out time for extra studying and talking to his sister. When he got tired of studying, he watched bad sci-fi movies in the common room. For some reason, people let him change the channel on the TV, without mocking him. It was all so new to him, this feeling that he mattered. He tried not to let it go to his head, because . . . because who knew how long this would last?

Whispers had started going around that there was some kind of top-secret project being worked on by the Project Omaha scientists, and that pretty soon a recruit would be picked for this experiment-the best all-around recruit. He had heard some people say he'd be the pick, but he wasn't so sure. If it turned out that someone else got it, he didn't want to suffer the jeers and pity from the other recruits. He wasn't going to become arrogant, like that jerk Nick who made everything into a competition.

No, he wanted to stay himself. Even if that meant he wasn't the best recruit for the secret experiment. Even if Sarah would only ever be his friend, as painful as that was. He'd come this far without losing himself. He'd make it through as Charles Irving Bartowski.

XXX

Chuck tapped his foot, waiting for the guy ahead of him to finish his phone call. He checked his watch, then let out a breath. The recruit finished his call and stepped out of the booth, leaving it for Chuck with a nod. He nodded back, then practically dove into the booth and dialed Ellie's cell phone. It rang four times, and then his sister's clear voice rang out like a bell.

"Chuck!"

He couldn't help smiling at her enthusiasm. "Hi, sis."

"How are you doing? How's work?"

Chuck took a deep breath. Lying to Ellie was something he hated to do. He knew the lies kept her safe, not to mention he was legally bound to keep the truth from her thanks to the pages of confidentiality agreements he'd signed at his induction. And . . . and he wasn't sure if she'd like knowing that he was a CIA agent. He thought she wouldn't see it as he saw it: a way to help people, to make the world safe. She'd be too worried about his safety to understand that.

"Work is good," he said, hoping his voice didn't give him away. "It's complicated stuff, but I'm working on some really interesting computers, like these supercomputers that practically think for themselves." Ellie had never been very interested in computers, and if she thought he was going to start babbling about teraflops and I/O architecture, she'd change the subject.

She didn't disappoint him. "That sounds great. Do you like the people you work with?"

He grinned. "Yeah, they're not bad . . . there's nobody that comes close to Morgan or Bryce, but there's a few guys I hang out with a bit."

"Mmm-hmm," Ellie said. "Just guys, though?"

"And that was not at all subtle," he said, laughing.

Ellie laughed, too. "I'm your sister. If I try to be subtle, you don't get it."

"I'm not the only one. Remember when I was trying to find out for Morgan if you liked him, and you had no idea what I was talking about?"

"That's because you were so vague, I thought you were trying to stay out after curfew, Chuck. Not set me up with your best friend." He could practically hear the smile in her voice.

"You sound good, Ellie," he said. "Better than you have been."

Ellie sighed. "Yeah . . . I'm getting there. Devon and I . . . we're taking things slowly."

Chuck nodded, even though Ellie wouldn't see it. At the end of the summer, Ellie and Devon had broken up briefly, apparently due to Devon's unfortunate Abercrombie modeling stint. Although Devon had pretty quickly seen the error of his ways and begged for another chance, Ellie was still hurting from his actions.

He spoke softly. "I'm sorry, El, bringing up . . . well, you know."

"No, no, it's okay," she said. "It-it's good to talk about it. And there's been no signs of Devon the Douchebag. It's hard not to worry about getting hurt, but I'm managing with it."

"Yeah?" Chuck asked, hoping that she wasn't just trying to reassure him.

"I really am." Ellie's voice was determined, and he was reminded of her at fourteen, putting Band-Aids on his scraped knees and telling him that someday, she'd do this for lots of people.

It made him think of the days when he knew he could tell her anything, and she'd give him advice or sympathy or whatever he needed. Maybe now was the right time to talk about something he'd wanted to tell her.

"There . . . there is actually someone . . ."

"There is?" He could imagine Ellie sitting up, her eyes going wide. "Someone you like?"

"Yeah . . ." he said, letting his voice trail off. Ellie had been urging him to start dating again in their weekly phone calls-in fact, she'd been urging him to do that since graduation. She didn't know about the Sarah he had met on spring break, and he wasn't about to tell her the whole story. "She works in the same place I do, but in a totally different department."

"So she's not a nerd?" If anything, Ellie sounded more excited. She had claimed that with all their shared interests, he would eventually run out of things to talk about with Jill. He had disagreed, but now with Sarah . . . maybe Ellie was a little right.

"Thanks, sis," he said.

"You know what I mean. Tell me more about her. What's her name? What's she like?"

He swallowed, letting himself really think about Sarah. "Her name's Sarah. She's . . . she's amazing."

"Awww!" Ellie sighed. "And she likes you, too?"

Chuck shrugged. "Maybe? I don't know. We're friends . . . but we really haven't spent any time together outside of work."

"You should ask her out," Ellie suggested. "Get to know each other better. It's time for you to get back out there."

"Yeah . . . I don't know. I mean, we're really good as friends. That doesn't mean she's interested in anything more," Chuck said, holding on to the phone tighter. Just the thought of asking Sarah out made giant butterflies appear in his stomach.

"No one's allowed to sell my brother short, not even him," Ellie said. "If you don't ask her out, you'll never know. You shouldn't pass up the chance at something great just because you're a bit scared."

"Oh, I think that's a great reason, El," he said, trying to make a joke out of it.

"No, it's not," she said firmly. "You ask her out, Chuck Bartowski, or I won't go ahead and have dinner with Morgan tonight."

Chuck felt his eyes bug out. "You-you and Morgan-you're-?"

"Of course not, Chuck! It's just . . . I miss you. I thought having dinner with Morgan would help. And . . . and he's not so bad," she said.

Considering that Ellie had always barely put up with Morgan, this was a big step. And the fact that she was spending time with Morgan because she missed him . . .

"I miss you, too, Ellie," he said softly. He wished he could stay on the phone longer, but he knew he had to go. "I have to get going, El, but I hope you have a good time, and-and don't miss me, okay? You've got a great life, being a doctor and saving people, and there's all your friends, and hey, Devon's never gonna be a jerk again, and he'll spend the rest of his life making you happy and wanting you to have a million babies with him, and you're gonna be great."

"You're my brother," she said, sounding a little teary. "Of course I miss you. And you've got a great life, too, you know."

Chuck smiled a little. "I know. I'll talk to you next Sunday. I love you."

"I love you, too, Chuck. Oh, and there's no way I'm having a million babies. Three, at the most."

He laughed. "Okay, Ellie. Bye."

Chuck hung up the phone and stepped out of the phone booth. He jogged towards the cafeteria, feeling an extra spring in his step. Maybe Ellie was right. Maybe, once Project Omaha wrapped up, he could ask Sarah out. Do things the right way for once. After all, he was nearly a spy, and if she wasn't his instructor any more, there wouldn't be anything wrong with them dating, would there?

He hoped not. Because now that the idea was in his head . . . he really wanted to have a date with Sarah.

XXX

When he stepped into the classroom, a smile on his face, Chuck noticed three differences from normal. There was a target pinned to the wall, featuring the outline of a human body. There was a selection of wickedly sharp-looking knives on a table set about ten feet in front of the target. And Sarah looked very, very nervous.

"Hi, Chuck," she said, standing in the middle of the room, her hands clasped in front of her.

"Hey," he said, taking another look around. "No sparring today?"

"No, not today. I . . . I thought we'd see how you could handle a weapon." She bit her lower lip for a moment, then smiled weakly. "It's like I said-eventually, you're going to have to learn how to use these things."

"I didn't realize 'eventually' meant this soon," he said, frowning a little. Sarah just shrugged her shoulders and walked over to the table of knives. She picked up one, and just like that, the knife was buried in the center of the target's head.

"Oh my God," Chuck said, feeling a rush of nerves. "That . . . that was awesome, and-really scary. Terrifying, in fact. How did you learn to do that?"

Sarah stared at the target for a moment, then looked at him. "I learned before I was a spy."

He tilted his head as her words sunk in. Sarah didn't talk much about her past. In fact, he wasn't sure she had told him anything about her life before joining the CIA. She had to be rattled in some way to let that detail slip.

As if sensing what she had given away, Sarah became all business. "Give it a try, Chuck." She gestured towards the knives, then walked over to the target to remove the knife she had thrown.

He slowly moved towards the table, noticing how the light glinted off the blades. They looked . . . deadly. All those years of being told to not play with knives, to be careful, and even though the knife trick in Aliens had always looked so cool, he had never wanted to try it himself. But Sarah was standing there, looking at him, waiting for him to pick up one of these dangerous-looking weapons.

"I . . . I don't know about this," he said hesitantly, looking at Sarah.

"Chuck . . . it's like I said last week," she said, her voice soft. "A spy doesn't just use hand-to-hand combat. There's guns and knives and the weapons you make out of everyday objects."

He stared at her. "Everyday objects?"

She shrugged. "Yeah. A fork, a broomstick, a vase-anything that you can use to distract your opponent, to get the upper hand." She looked at him and tried for a smile. "It's part of the job."

He took an involuntary step back, and Sarah's smile, already uncertain, died completely. She took a breath and walked over to him. She lifted up his hand and pressed the knife she had used into his palm. "Just hold it. Don't think about it-listen to me."

It felt so wrong to be holding a knife. To think about using this to hurt someone, to cut them open and see their blood-

Chuck closed his eyes, trying to control his breath.

"A knife is a weapon," she said softly. "A tool. Just like your mind or your body. You have a choice, when faced with a dangerous situation. What tool will I use to solve this problem? Almost all of the time, it'll be your mind. Sometimes, it will be your body. And once in a while . . . you'll use a knife or a gun. It's not always clear which tool is the best one. A weapon is usually the fastest one. The easiest. But it doesn't have to be the one you pick in those situations."

He opened his eyes, gazing down at her and trying to understand what she was saying. Her face was serious, her eyes locked on his face. He swallowed. If she wasn't talking to him about learning to kill someone, this would seem very, very intimate.

Sarah paused, looking lost for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was even softer. "Chuck, if there's no way out . . . it-it's not wrong to use a weapon to defend yourself. Not if you'll save other people. Not if it means the difference between life and death."

"I . . . I don't know about this, Sarah," he repeated, feeling his palms get slick with sweat. "I-I was never one of those boys to pull wings off butterflies or burn a bug with a magnifying glass. I was the kid who got picked on when I was growing up and-and I'm not a bully. And I get faint at the sight of blood and needles make me want to pass out . . ."

She waited for him to slow down before speaking. "This isn't about being a bully. This is just another way to protect yourself. The CIA won't send an agent out in the field who can't protect himself." She sounded like she was getting upset, her words coming faster. "Other people out there, they don't think like you do. They won't hesitate to shoot someone in order to get what they're after. You can't outthink a bullet, Chuck."

He felt his heart racing. All this time, he had thought that he was becoming a spy. That it was about learning how to appear inconspicuous, knowing how to think fast, serving his country and protecting people. But . . . but there was more to it. There was a bigger world, beyond Project Omaha, a world where there was people who would kill him.

The knife slid out of his hand and hit the floor. In a flash, Sarah had picked it up and advanced on him, not letting him look away. "You can do this, Chuck. You can learn how to throw a knife and shoot a gun, and once you can do that, you'll be ready for anything according to the CIA."

Her voice gentled a little. "Someday, that weapon might be all that stands between you and some madman who's going to destroy the world. If you don't know how to throw a knife at him, then it won't matter how smart you are. I know that you don't want to know how, but . . . but you have to know, Chuck. If only so that someday you could save the world."

"Sarah, I don't understand-why are you doing this?" He felt his body shaking, his forehead wet with sweat. Why was she pushing him? She had said from the beginning that he needed to be more offensive, but she hadn't forced him. She had let him stay defensive, showing him how to be more effective. And now, all of a sudden, she wanted him to become Rambo?

"I have to, Chuck-you need to be ready for anything," she said. Even to his ears, her explanation sounded forced.

He shook his head, refusing to accept that. "Then why spring this on me? Why not talk to me first?" He searched her face, trying as always to figure out what she was thinking. "Friends don't scare their friends to death with scary knives!"

"And friends don't let their friends die!" Sarah said, her voice bouncing off the walls of the classroom. "I won't let you die, Chuck. Do you hear me? You need to learn how to do this, so you won't die."

Chuck stared at her in shock. She was panting, red-faced, her hair slipping out of her ponytail. She was beautiful and strong, like some kind of Valkyrie, and she didn't want him to die. He'd never seen such fierceness, such utter protection, directed at him. Not even Ellie had ever been so determined to keep him safe.

Did this mean . . . ?

Sarah turned away from him, putting a few feet between them. The line of her shoulders and back, normally so solid and firm, were shaking. He took a few steps towards her, watching as she tried to control herself. He'd never seen her show this much emotion. He'd never seen her hurting.

Slowly, he reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder. She took a deep breath, and the trembling started to ease.

"It's okay, Sarah," he said softly.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice small. "I . . . I shouldn't have acted like this." She turned to face him, his hand sliding to rest on her upper arm. She looked calmer, but some emotion was still visible beneath the surface. "I should have talked to you first."

"It's okay," he repeated. "I-I'm just glad you're not mad at me, or ready to kick my ass." He looked at her and found himself saying what was on his mind. "I'm glad that you care about me not dying."

She gave him a weak, lopsided, but beautiful smile. "Of course I care."

Chuck felt his heart beat double-time. He wanted to kiss her. More than that, he wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight and keep her safe. But it was the wrong time to be thinking that, and she was just his friend.

He moved his hand away from her and shifted his feet. "Yeah . . . yeah, right. Because you're my friend."

She nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Friends. That's all they were. The sooner he realized what a gift it was to be her friend, the better off he'd be. But that might be harder than learning how to throw a knife.

"So . . . so show me how to do this." He gestured towards the table of knives.

"We don't have to do this today," she said. "If you're not sure . . ."

"I'm not sure," he said, looking down at her. "I don't want to know how to do this. I know you can teach me, and I might even be able to hit what I aim for, but knowing how to use a gun or throw knives, it's the last thing I want to learn. But-but you're right. Even if I never shoot someone, I need to know how. Because I have to think about other people, about protecting them. I have to think about more than just myself, and I want to help people and keep them safe, and since I'm not exactly imposing, I . . . I guess I need to know how to use a weapon."

He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. And he was scared at the thought of using these things. Of becoming the kind of man who could hurt someone, even for a good reason like protecting someone else. But Sarah wanted him to stay alive, and she wanted to help him. Maybe . . . maybe it wouldn't be all bad. Learning to throw a knife didn't mean he had to do it out in the field. As long as he didn't die, the CIA probably wouldn't care how he did his job. And if learning how to use weapons made Sarah less worried about him . . . he'd at least try.

Sarah searched his face for a long moment. He gazed back at her, soaking in her concern. It felt so good to have someone care about him. He knew when it came to Sarah Walker, the signals weren't always so clear. But he was pretty sure she did care about him. It was probably just as a friend. But for now, he had knives to learn how to throw.

She gave him a small smile. "Let's get started." She lead him over towards the table and started teaching him how to throw knives.

End, Chapter 6

XXX

Author's Note Two: I hope no one kills me for having Sarah convince Chuck to learn how to use weapons. If you're worried about what's going on, I hope this sample from chapter 7 relieves you a little.

He was . . . he was special to her. He helped her laugh, made her open up about things she had rarely talked about. He was so talented and focused, yet also empathetic and kind. She'd never seen anyone who could balance such different traits so effortlessly. What was more, he had a life outside of being a spy. He had a sister he was devoted to, a best friend he was always talking about, and he still had his sci fi movies and comic books and indie music. She didn't understand any of those things: having family to care about, enjoying something beyond well-sharpened knives or an air conditioned hotel room.

He made it all look so easy. She . . . she was hoping they'd have time for him to show her how he did it. Maybe once Omaha was done, and before she went into deep cover, they might . . .