I would like to thank all of you who read this series. Particularly those who review. And especially those who regularly review. You know who you are.

Yeah, the last part was dark. And I know it probably didn't appeal to everyone. But this part is closer in tone to parts 1-5.


Sarah knocked briefly on Chuck's bedroom door before entering. She found him in bed, idly watching the Jake 2.0 daytime marathon on SciFi.

He still looked rough, the neurotoxin having done a real number on his system. But the doctors were optimistic about a full recovery. In the meantime, Big Mike was giving full medical leave so Chuck could recover from his "surgery".

Chuck looked up at her entrance and smiled. "Hey." Then he sniffed, curious. "What's that smell?"

"Well," Sarah drawled, "I thought about coming over and cooking you a get-well breakfast. But deciding A) that you're sick enough already and B) that I didn't want to burn down Ellie's beautiful kitchen, I stopped to get you a breakfast burrito."

Sarah proudly held out the take out bag. Chuck snatched it away and snuck his nose into the bag, inhaling deeply and dramatically. Sarah laughed.

"Never thought I'd say it, but I'm glad to have something besides Ellie's chicken soup."

"It gets better," Sarah continued. She then produced a plastic grocery bag. "I expected Ellie to be playing Mother Goose. So I picked you up a few more goodies." Chuck eagerly reached for the bag, but Sarah swatted his hand away. "Promise me you won't tattle."

"I promise, I promise! Gimme!" Sarah handed over the bag. Chuck immediately began rooting through it, his eyes lighting up. "Oh! Milk Duds! Mountain Dew! Sweet-Tarts! Magazines!"

"One of them has a great article on the making of the next Medal of Honor game," Sarah pointed out.

"Sarah, thank you. You're the best."

Sarah shrugged. "What are girlfriends for?"

Both noticed the distinct lack of "fake" in her statement. After a beat, Chuck said:

"So, you guys found the guy who, you know…"

"Yeah. With you not working, Casey is free to handle the… interrogation."

She hoped Chuck didn't pick up on her hesitation. Truth is, Casey took the attack on Chuck nearly as bad as she did. And Casey could be incredibly unpleasant when he was… cranky. Of course, she had no sympathy for Bobby Gilliam.

"Any ideas why he did this?"

"Not yet, but we're working on it." Sarah suddenly found the floor to be incredibly fascinating. "Look, I want to say I'm sorry."

Chuck seemed genuinely confused. "About what?"

"If I hadn't made you go home, you never would have been attacked." Then, suddenly furious, "And why the hell didn't I drive you home? How could I let you travel across town that late at night? It's just asking for trouble!"

"Hey! Hold on! It isn't your fault!"

"You nearly died, Chuck. Some bad man targeted you and I could do nothing to stop it."

"It's LA, Sarah. I could just as easily been targeted by a mugger."

"But you weren't. This was someone from my world. And that world keeps trying to…" Don't get emotional, Walker. If you do, you're never gonna get through what you want to say. "I thought you were dying, Chuck. And that scared the hell out of me."

Chuck hesitated, unsure what to say. "I'm fine."

"Next time you might not be," Sarah snapped back. Jeez, Walker, don't get angry with him. He's the victim here. She took a cleansing breath, trying to gather her thoughts. "I know we've both faced imminent day before. But this time was different. This time I wasn't there to save you. And I was afraid I would never…"

Tears were starting to form. Dammit, Walker, what did I just say? Will you hurry up and spit it out before you start blubbering like a girl?

"As you've probably figured out, I'm not very good talking about… feelings… and stuff. Some of it's my agent training, some of it goes back to my childhood." A beat. "Damn, this was so much easier when I practiced in front of the mirror. And when you were unconscious."

Chuck simply stared as Sarah tried to formulate her next thought.

"Aw, fuck it," she ultimately decided. "I'm more of a 'doer' anyway."

Sarah suddenly climbed onto the bed and straddled Chuck. Before he had any idea what was happening, she planted him with the best damn kiss of his life. And in a strange moment of clarity, Chuck realized Hemingway was right. The Earth did move.

For Sarah, it was catharsis. A release of energy. In this single act, she tried to convey every emotion she held into Chuck, hoping he would understand. No, she wasn't ready to say those three little words to him. Too fearful of rejection. But maybe, just maybe, if he didn't reject this act, accepted those feelings she was trying to convey, maybe next time she could say those words he so wanted to hear. The words she desperately wanted the courage to say.

When the kiss ended, and Chuck stared up into Sarah's blue eyes, all he could murmur was, "Good talk."

"Are you okay?" Sarah breathed.

"Yeah. Fine."

"No, I mean from the toxin. Are you sore or anything?"

"Only a little. Mostly I'm just tired. Why?"

Sarah shrugged away her jacket. Then in a fluid motion, she lifted her shirt off (the blue top with little buttons Chuck liked so much). Chuck tried very hard not to stare, but having a hottie wearing nothing but blue jeans and black lace bra astride him was hard to ignore.

"Just wanted to know," she murmured. "Now lay back. I promise to be gentle."

Sarah leaned forward and kissed him. Softly, gently. Savoring this, a "real" kiss. One that wasn't for cover, or chaste, but rather one where she truly gave herself to him.

Then suddenly she bolted upright, a thought occurring to her. She reached for her jacket, fished around inside a pocket. "Crap! Before we get too serious, I should get this…" She retrieved…

A small device. About the size of a digital tape recorder. Certainly not what Chuck expected. Off his curious look—

"Casey doesn't need to know."

Sarah flipped on the device that would effectively jam Casey's surveillance equipment and set it on the nightstand. She then turned back to Chuck and fixed him with a steady gaze. Cupping his face in her hands she said, "I want to be perfectly clear. This is not for a mission. This is not part of our cover. This is me, going after what I want, which happens to be you. Understood?"

Chuck nodded dumbly, his mind on the verge of short-circuiting.

"Good. Now let's get your pants off."


To Be Continued... Right Now


"Glenlivet double on the rocks for the gentleman, Amber Bock for the lady."

Casey and Sarah thanked the waitress for the drinks. Soon as they regained their privacy, Casey turned to Sarah and said:

"You're a fucking moron."

"Bite me, Casey."

If he was gonna chew her out, Sarah thought the least he could do was take her to a better bar. This place wasn't a dive, but not for a lack of effort.

"Isn't it Thing One they teach you in Spook School? Emotional attachments are bad. Especially when it comes to the assets you're assigned to protect."

"Please, like you've never developed an attachment. Never fallen in love."

"You're right. I have. Know what? Still was a bad idea." Casey took a sip off his scotch. "Don't fool yourself, Walker. You don't belong here any more than I do. No matter what sweet lil sister tells you."

"I like these people, Casey."

"And you think I don't? Bartowski's a decent kid, much as I razz on him. And his sister makes a mean veal parmesan. But this isn't our life. We're spies, Walker. We don't get a spouse, two kids, and a white picket fence. We sacrifice those desires so other people can have them."

"Yeah, so you've told me."

Sarah drained half her beer in one swill. Casey carefully analyzed her.

"Funny thing, ya know. For an hour this morning the only thing the surveillance taps in Bartowski's home picked up was static."

Sarah shot him a look. Don't fucking broach this topic.

Casey groaned. "I'll say again, you're a fucking moron."

"You know, in the world of Central Intelligence, it isn't unheard of for its employees to have families, to have lives."

"Yeah, know what they're called? Analysts. They spend their days in their little cubicles at Langley researching news footage from East Bumfuckistan trying to gauge whether El Presidente is grotesquely fat or suffering from diabetes. Deep cover operatives don't get that luxury."

Sarah finished off her beer and signaled to the waitress for another.

"This will only lead to problems," Casey stated flatly.

"How so? My priority is to protect the asset. Now I have added incentive to do so."

"And what happens if you fail, huh? What happens if the next guy actually manages to kill Chuck?"

"Not gonna happen."

"You don't know that. Walker, I know you. Seen a dozen agents just like you. Spotty upbringing, emotionally damaged. Get too attached to an assignment, to an asset, something goes bad. Wind up in a fleabag motel room with a bottle of whiskey and a loaded Sig Sauer, wondering if you should leave Room Service a note apologizing for the blood and brain matter stains you leave on the carpet."

Sarah hid her eyes. She wouldn't give Casey the satisfaction.

"You should ask for reassignment."

"No."

"I should ask that you be reassigned. If for no other reason than to save you from yourself."

Sarah's eyes shot up, horrified. If he made the request, her career would be over. Then he said:

"But I won't. Even though I'd rather the three of us not wind up dead, which is the way it's probably gonna go down. Frankly, I'd feel like shit ruining the career of the CIA's rising star." Casey leaned in and said strongly, "But watch yourself, Walker. The first whiff I get that your affections for Chuck are compromising your job integrity, clouding your judgment, I will make the request. So you better keep your ass, and more importantly, your head in line."

Casey leaned back, took another sip of scotch. "Unofficially, I wish you the best of luck."

Sarah couldn't hide the surprise that flashed across her features. Casey merely held up his glass in salute.

"I really do love him," she said.

Casey waived her off. "Please, keep it to yourself. I hate throwing up good scotch."

Sarah grinned. Couldn't resist the urge to screw with him. "He's a great lay."

"I'm not listening."

"Extremely attentive. And he instinctively knew where to touch me."

"Stop it."

"And he's waaaaay bigger than you might think."

"Do you want me to riddle you with bullet holes?"

"Seriously, I thought I was gonna have to wrap a Hefty bag around him for a condom."

"Now you're just being facetious."

"It'd been sooo long since I'd had multiple orgasms."

A beat. "Okay, I'm listening."

END OF PART