A/N So what is the terrible secret that Beckman is talking about here? I'm looking into the number on the briefcase, maybe that's a clue. It looks like 70403 to me. There's not a lot to Shaw's first appearance here, but I'm trying to fill it out a bit.

Thanks to Zettel for his thoughts on the final scene.

"Where is Agent Carmichael?"

"Nothing will go wrong."

"That won't hold him long."

"No. Not really."

Chuck stood staring at the gold case, as if X-ray vision was one of the skills in the Intersect. Apparently it wasn't, as he approached the table, sat, and reached for the catches. General Beckman hit her override, opening a channel to the screen in Casey's living room whether he wanted it or not.

Normally she wouldn't spend her valuable time on such minutiae, wouldn't hit them over the head with the knowledge that they could be and sometimes were under surveillance. It undermined trust. If they couldn't be trusted with the materials that fell into their hands they wouldn't have been on the team. But this day, this time, was not normal, and she had orders of her own.

"Don't touch it, Agent Bartowski."

If he was startled by her sudden appearance, or her directive, he didn't show it, at least not as extremely as he used to. He looked back at his team, and Beckman watched the situation slide out of her control with that look. Her sudden unexplained presence hinted at secrets, and they didn't like secrets. Chuck turned back, gesturing at the case. "I was thinking that maybe if I looked at it I could flash."

Proactive, as usual. In this case that was not what the Powers That Be wanted, which annoyed General Beckman considerably, since she was used to being one of those powers. Today, she, like they, was getting her nose rubbed in it. "No, thank you," she said, trying to be gentle about it since it wasn't his fault. "All Ineed to know is that it's back in safe hands. Colonel Casey will stay with it until a team arrives to secure it. That is all." She terminated the connection before the debacle got any worse.

On the other side of her desk a man sat, watching the whole confrontation on a repeater screen. Beckman couldn't say she liked him, he certainly hadn't given her any cause to do so. By taking even partial control of her team away from her he done just the opposite, but she recognized that as her own pride and territoriality speaking, and did her best to suppress the emotion. She'd failed, with Bartowski, and the CIA had seen an opportunity to get their foot back in the door, after Graham's death.

Unfortunately it was a left foot, rather than a right one. A bit clumsy, off-putting, and not quite true. Like the thing with the lighter. Every time he flipped that thing open and struck it, a little alarm went off in her head, even though no alarms went off in her office. She knew some of his history, though, enough that she was able to put the behavior into the 'nervous twitch' category. If she tried to do anything more than that, the Powers That Be that had had saddled her with him would see it mostly as her jealous defensiveness. He had his due authority, and she had to respect that.

The man with the lighter stood up and headed toward the door, his intentions unstated, but she knew he was going to claim the case and its contents, for whatever reason. She didn't know what the disc was, either. If it was above Casey's pay grade it was also above her own, not that she'd told him that. She tried again. "We–" meaning you "–can't keep this a secret anymore, it's too dangerous." Just the little bit that they'd shown her, that he'd shown her, made that abundantly clear. "We need to tell them, they need to be prepared." Not that any team could be prepared for what was soon going to be coming their way, if his analysis was correct. "Shaw, please."

The man called Shaw paused at her door, the knob in his hand, and raised a finger to his lips. He didn't bother with any of the human touches–a raised brow, quirked lips, a whispered 'shhh'–just that finger, then he let himself out.

Chuck was walking through the courtyard, absently picking up random trash and sticking it in a box, as he pondered Beckman's strange behavior. There wasn't much to ponder, and his main conclusion so far was that he didn't have enough data, but that didn't stop the computer in his head from spinning out alternative scenarios. He'd just have to gather more intel and narrow the field.

Sarah came out and stood by, watching him. "You did good work today." A 'today' that had started yesterday, run into last night and then this morning. A long day for all of them. Shoot-outs were easy, paperwork was not. Intelligence, in order to be intelligence and not simply a collection of events, had to be understood in a way that allowed for connections to other intelligence, and the agents on the scene had to do the first part of that understanding. In most cases, that meant describing the situation, the sequence of events, clearly, without coloring the record with their own basic assumptions. A lot of their training went into that skill, seeing what was in front of them, not the interpretation most people would automatically impose upon it. The analysts took it from there.

Sarah preferred the shoot-outs, the chases. Concrete problems with concrete solutions. While she recognized the importance of what they did, in many ways more important than what she did, she couldn't imagine what it must be like living in an analyst's head. She suddenly wondered if Chuck did. Probably not, the Intersect seemed to do exactly the opposite of what analysts did–what was the opposite of analyst, anyway, and was there anyone else who did it for a living?–but maybe… something…her mind bogged down in the unfamiliar thoughts and moved on. Just tired.

Thinking about Beckman reminded Chuck of other concerns. "I managed not to kill anyone with my staff this time." He pulled the burnt length of the tiki-torch out of the pool, and tossed it toward the garbage bins, also without killing anyone.

"Doesn't surprise me. You've always had a knack for using ordinary things in unconventional ways," said Sarah, for whom quarterstaves were ordinary things. "That's your strength. Your ability to use anything, even your own feelings, and accomplish your objective. Not the skills." Not quite the message she wanted to send. She was there to guard his heart, he'd put her there himself. "Look at last night. Agent Bartowski won that, not Agent Carmichael. You might not have flashed but you did your job. You got to Karl, you talked him down. If it weren't for your emotions he would have killed Carina."

"You can't give me all the credit," said Chuck. "I just supplied the words. You said them. You had to have the emotions, too, not just me. If you hadn't meant it, it wouldn't have worked."

Sarah grimaced. "Do me a favor, don't tell Carina," she said. "She's pretty big on the whole 'no feelings' thing, in case you didn't notice. I'd never hear the end of it."

"I haven't seen her all morning. Don't see her, can't tell her." Which sort of implied he might tell Carina if he saw her, not an impression he wanted to leave Sarah with. "Don't worry, partner," said Agent Carmichael. "I got your back."

"Good to know," said Sarah. Where was Carina? They all had their cleanup chores, Casey was moving Jeff and Lester right now, but she'd just vanished. "You're on your own with the courtyard. Beckman told us to take the rest of the day for recovery. I'll see you at work tomorrow." She walked by him, away from him, keeping a careful distance at all times.

Chuck found that distance agreeable. He couldn't protect her from herself if he allowed her to get too close. Other parts he didn't so readily agree with, and he lowered his box. "This is stupid." He got out his phone and pressed the contact for the roommate whose party this had been, but no one picked up. "Morgan? Dude, I'm all alone cleaning up your mess. This better have been worth it buddy."

Yes. Yes it was.

That afternoon found Chuck alone in Castle, since 'take the rest of the day off' really meant 'keep a rotating skeleton crew on duty' while everyone else got some shut-eye, and it was his turn. He heard the sound of Carina's boots and turned to see her enter the room, looking annoyingly fresh and relaxed. Where the hell had she been all this time, and did he really want to know? "You're off?"

"Yup." More than ready to vacation the thought of Karl Stromberg out of her mind. Find herself another man, hopefully someone worth remembering. "St. Tropez. Sound appealing?"

He shrugged, not rising to her bait. "Incredibly. But, you know–" he waved a hand to include the whole base "–duty, assignment. General's orders. So I guess I'll stay here, at least for now."

"Still batting zero with you, aren't I? I guess that makes this more than a little appropriate." She handed him a flash drive. "Here. A little going-away present. You should take a look at it, or to be more precise, a listen, since the guy is pretty boring."

"Okay," said Chuck doubtfully, taking the drive. How boring did a guy have to be for Carina to find him dull?

She took advantage of the proximity to run a hand up his arm. "Jag kommer sakna dig, kompis."

Chuck flashed, translating the sentence in his head instantly, and almost replying in the same language. In his attempt to keep from opening his mouth he must have merely looked confused.

"It means 'I'll miss you' in Swedish," said Carina, with a smile.

I know. "Oh," said Chuck, choking a bit as his English came back. "Well, I'll–we'll miss you too."

She sauntered off toward the stairs. "Some of you more than others, I'm guessing."

Chuck wasted no time thinking about it, instead considering the drive in his hand. Why did she give it to him? They weren't exactly friends, and what made her giving it to him appropriate? For a second he thought about calling Sarah, but she'd taken first shift and he didn't want to disturb her now for any reason. Reluctantly, he plugged it in, and a file played automatically.

A man sat cross-legged on a cabinet, unmoving as clouds filled the air. Chuck looked at himself, his posture, with surprise. He'd almost killed himself trying to sit like that in yoga class, way back when. He leaned closer to the speaker and heard something in the background. He toggled the volume to its highest setting. Sarah's voice.

"…Love can be a source of strength, not a weakness. It isn't just for suckers. You've made me a better spy, a real woman. Thank you for that." The voice paused briefly, before continuing in a softer tone. "But being a real girl means having to choose, doesn't it? To make choices that no spy ever does. I wish I had known that, when you asked me to guard your heart, but I didn't know what you were asking at the time. Maybe you didn't either. It certainly didn't seem like I had a choice, and maybe I didn't then, but I do now and I find myself already…I don't know the word, if there is a word."

On the screen, the clouds of gas stopped rising. Sarah must have reached the gas canister and shut it off. Her voice was louder, too. Firmer.

"You were everything I ever wanted, as a spy, but spies are very small things. Now I have so many things I want and I can't have them all. I want Agent Bartowski for the world, but that means I can't have Chuck Bartowski for myself. Is that stupid, or what? Chuck? Chuck?"

He stopped the playback, and pulled the drive. No, Sarah, it's not stupid. He felt exactly the same about her. That's just life.

A/N2 Canon separated Chuck and Sarah very artificially. The story of this season does depend on that separation, but I hope I've managed to achieve it more organically. They are keeping their distance to protect each other, refraining from anything too intimate until their situations have stabilized.

I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.