...after confronting some disagreeable aspects of her job our young protagonist completes the associated training as elements of Project Omaha are fine-tuned and she considers the effect it will have on her later life; later in her career she confronts the difficulties of separating reality from the cover...

Canon Reference: End of the non-canon flashback arc from the previous installments before returning to canon events toward the end of 'Tango' (Ep. 1.03)

Content: Three chapters; the first is tiny (tiny for me anyway, fewer than 1,400 words - I've written longer notes - basically saying 'time passes' and showing some of the psychological impacts of it via a ton of allegory and similes but spawned from a prior failure to explain something minor; don't ask me why it's in second person - I have no f'n idea what I'm doing...).

The other two are longish; the first of the two (6,200 words) wrapping up our detour into seduction training (the theme will come up again in the future but not to this extent) and then, finally, the second of the two (5,600 words) begins to show what this all means to the agent in Burbank with a slight rewrite of a canon scene...

A/N: Who would have guessed that the arc covering 'Tango' would have clocked in at well over 50K words (some of it actually story and not just rambling notes)? Probably the same people who would have guessed it would include a major multi-chapter sidebar exploring the awfulness that is seductions. The topic will come up again but now that we have established the rules of the road - and everyone has had a chance to shower - it won't require such an extensive exposition. Hopefully, I have made and will make something resembling a point with it all.

The last two installments were mentally exhausting for me; sorry if you felt the same. (Bad News) The mood will remain pretty dark for a few more installments but (Good News) lighten a bit relatively soon.

Disclaimers / Easter Eggs: I've neglected to say it but still not making a penny! (And I don't caaaaare!) No ownership of CHUCK, Tron, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Tomb Raider, the wit and witticism of Groucho Marx, American Girl (not the super-awesome Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers song but rather the super-creepy dolls - sorry, cute idea but they're creepy) is asserted or implied.

Oh, and I mentioned the unintentional similarities of The Facility to Nikita last time, then I recently watched Ender's Game and chortled when he was told to 'follow the green lights'...there truly is 'nothing new under the sun' (itself not new...Ecclesiastes 1:9).

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Part XII: False Pretenses


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028: Two Hundred

The Facility, Training Room, August 2001

.

You rarely spar anymore. Can't draw even more attention to yourself than you did on arrival. Maybe there's just no one left to fight.

You study and study at the tiny desk in your room, sometimes interrupted only by meals and physical training; fewer and fewer training sessions, more and more offsite missions. Procedures and protocol. Strategy and tactics. Mission specs from declassified operations and, later, from more recent operations; missions both successful and disastrous. Any scrap of information that will keep you alive. Learn from someone else's mistakes.

Roan insisted on fingerless gloves - don't show the raw, ripped and calloused evidence of your strength. He'd rather you reshape your body into something softer. Less obviously powerful. Reshape it again, differently than you have thus far. But you like it hard and sleek and strong. Your closest layer of armor within your very skin.

Gunny made his endorsement of that philosophy clear. He wants you even stronger. His contribution was a new, bigger hunk of iron - nine pounds heavier - over a quarter of your body weight - with a simple smiley face this time and a predictable phrase on the other side.

Have a nice day.

Warm up before you begin in earnest; like the rest of your seemingly endless training, practice before the real thing.

Grip it, set your feet and stand before you exhale a deep breath as you bend at the waist. Hike it like a football and then whip it forward as you stand upright with every bit of your hamstrings, ass and hips. Shoulders and arms just along for the ride. Like you - a passenger in your own life.

Let it float in front of you until gravity regains control. After a few of those, add a crank at the top, pulling it to your ear as you rise. Like trying to start that shitty lawn mower you had when you were almost fifteen.

A little over four years ago. A lifetime ago. Think of it as spy college and you're at the top of your class. Nearly ready to be unleashed upon an unsuspecting world.

You learn how to maximize your beauty and what to do when you are noticed. And how to hide it. Blend in. Not be noticed. Some of it goes along with what you learned - and know you can do - from when you were a child. Leave your indignation and disgust at the door. Wear your mask of vapid conversation, flirtatious attention and exaggerated mirth. Hide your intelligence, your purpose and your disdain. You keep what you can use and discard the rest.

Like everything else that just falls away you let the bell fall again and again. Then add the twist. Before it reaches your ear, flip your wrist and punch it to the ceiling. Letting your wrist and the hunk of iron dance around each other without colliding violently.

The attack that goes unnoticed. You were never here.

Pull, twist and punch with a powerful whipping motion until every part of your hamstrings, back, biceps and shoulders come alive.

Montgomery is true to his word. His instruction is disgusting and respectful at the same time. As much as it can be. He and his... Assistants? Colleagues? Team? ...correct gently; they know what they are asking.

You spend most days trapped in your box but you frequently get the type of 'hall pass' that Gunny once mentioned. Several days in some destination location milling among the oblivious. Awkward conversations and even more awkward instruction. Staged encounters and observations. Polite, apologetic extraction when your evaluators have seen enough.

A touch and a kiss become something repulsive but necessary. Never much beyond that, just enough to make it all seem worthless - tainted - and an icy shell begins to form around your heart. The beginnings of the armor with which Roan and his co-instructors suggest you gird yourself.

Pull. Twist. Punch. Repetition, repetition, repetition.

You wake up one morning to the noxious smell you encountered twice before. It fills the air pumped through the vents of your locked room. A wet towel does nothing to help. Only ceasing to breathe would be an option. A voice over an open intercom asks your name. Stacy Mills is not the answer he wants as he asks again and again.

He told you it was coming but hadn't discussed it since. Fair warning was obviously out of the question. This is not a drill.

Eventually you throw every name you ever had at him. It's not your fault he doesn't know the real answer when it slips out unbidden, camouflaged within the many girls and women you have been in your life. The name you haven't used since you were seven years old. You only speak it that one time. Never again as this becomes at least a daily occurrence. You may not want to be Stacy Mills but you want to be that shattered little girl even less and retreat into your own mind.

Stacy Mills. Stacy Mills. Stacy Mills. Once he is satisfied that you believe it the smell changes. Or an injection administered through a port in the wall of a mercilessly white room.

Begin again.

Meaningless repetition. You can barely feel anything anymore and Stacy Mills is just as good a name as any other.

Pause as you lock your elbow to rest with your iron companion dangling over your head in the cradle of your open palm. Breathe deep before you begin in earnest. Now pull hard to start it all again. Gravity is too slow. It is not your friend, rising or falling. You can't depend on anything - even the most fundamental laws of nature - to help you. To be there when you need it. Its all on you.

Drop it as you bend - not to the floor - swinging through your legs to begin again and pull with all your might.

A few minor missions. Things you've done before. Under CIA tutelage or that of your father. Stealth and infiltration. Acrobatic break-ins. Talking your way into places you don't belong. Sneaking in through service doors with pick pocketed keys and key cards. Flirting and conning. Things you once thought you were done with. Unlike before, you have now been shot at on four separate occasions.

Childhood mayhem amplified for a deadly world. When you laughed at the guards firing at you, you wondered if you were going mad.

Already sweating, you set the thirty-five pounds of iron on the ground so you can start the timer. Relieved briefly of your burden but not for long. You're only beginning.

...Hike. Swing. Crank. Twist. Punch. Pull. Drop. Hike...

Economy of movement, grace meets raw power. Every fiber of your being engaged in the fight. Two hundred in ten minutes means one every three seconds. Every three seconds or you're done for.

200...

199...

198...

The counter counts up but you count down. Switch hands mid-swing when your grip is nearly gone. But don't stop.

145...

144...

Never stop.

Your countdown and the counter on the wall have to converge at 100 before the five-minute mark or it's hopeless.

You separate your mind from the task. Steel yourself against the pain. The fatigue. The heat and perspiration become a nuisance. You use your training to counter your environment and visualize the room freezing over. Ice crystals spidering across the glass. That you can see your own breath. Sometimes you can feel the gooseflesh from the imaginary cold.

The five-minute mark passes without note. There is only the rhythm. The grind.

You'll be done here soon. You can feel it. Something lurking just out of view.

A lifetime set out before you in ten minute increments wondering if you'll live to see the next one.

You layer your armor yourself against them, each step toward impending doom more chilling than the last. You may never be warm again.

But the cold comes from within now rather than from without. And cold isn't cold, it's the absence of heat. The absence of pain. The absence of feeling. Things of no use to you.

When the buzzer sounds, if you were to look - if you were to care - the counter reads 212.

Each as meaningless as the last as you leave the room for your next training, your next mission.

This place has had its intended effect. You no longer plan your day, just follow the lights, do what you're told and accept the truth.

It never ends.

.


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029: Graduation Day

Bloomington, MN; Aug 23, 2001 11:05 am

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Special Agent Roan Montgomery was sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair at a too-small table on the third level of the Mall of America food court waiting for the remarkable young woman about to join the ranks of the elite among covert operatives. Women that a more sentimental man would consider with almost familial affection. But not him. Not knowing what awaited her. Knowing her likely fate. And his role in plunging her into a life she likely would not survive. Something he had thought of many who had come before.

He taught them all he knew and left it to them to apply it well. Things a man with any true emotion would rather die than impose on anyone he loved. He would likely be seeing her for the last time soon and simply hoped he had sufficiently prepared her for the world she was about to enter and hadn't damaged her too badly by doing so.

He didn't notice her approach until the small handheld device she had been sent to retrieve clattered across the surface of the table. He turned to see her smiling widely at her success, pursing her lips cheekily when he turned to look at her. She had snuck up on him despite the fact that he was expecting her. She was truly remarkable.

The target was a prototype miniaturized touchscreen device that a northern California technology company was developing. Several executives from Roark industries were in town for a trade show at the Minneapolis Convention Center and Agent Montgomery's protégé was tasked with determining which of the four men or two women was in possession of the device, gaining access to them - and to it - specifically by seducing the identified target and subsequent retrieval of the device while raising minimal suspicion. The government had little use for this specific device other than as a training opportunity. They had already reviewed the patent and design documentation and begun adapting the device for military use.

It wasn't quite the same as a matter of national security but the person responsible for losing the device was likely already fired and probably paying their own way home. As such, it had been a reasonable proxy in terms of the level of suspicion that the person responsible for transport of the device should have felt toward an unknown person. And it was his protégé's task to overcome any such suspicions and achieve her objective.

As Stacy Mills took the seat opposite him, Montgomery noted with some displeasure that she was wearing the same bargain bin business suit he had seen her in yesterday walking the convention floor. "You stayed overnight? That wasn't required." he said without attempting to hide his concern. This mission allowed for keeping up appearances with the use of knockout drugs with lingering euphoric side effects and other tricks of their trade and he knew how much she had hated the more practical elements of her training and evaluation.

"Wanted to see if I could get past it. Stop worrying, he was out cold. Double dose."

"Rather defeats the purpose." He smiled at her - hiding his relief that she wasn't unnecessarily practicing her new skills - and she just shrugged. It didn't rise to the level of a phobia, it was more of a general concern that Stacy had: being able to sleep next to a mark she was in the process of deceiving. She quite appropriately equated it to turning your back on an angry snake and she obviously felt she needed some repetition to build some sort of immunity to her concerns about such situations. "Which one was it?"

"Davis. The CFO."

"Well, that's unfortunate but even more of a success for our purposes."

"Yeah." Stacy sighed "He didn't suspect a thing. Thought he drank himself silly last night on two whole bourbon and cokes. This morning I reminded him of a meeting he mentioned just before he realized the device was missing. I even stayed to help him look for it when he realized it was gone."

"Risky. What if he'd tried to searched you?"

"Wasn't going to happen. But I hid it behind the ice machine two floors up while he was out just in case. I dumped my purse and pretended to be offended. He never thought to accuse me of anything. Shooed me out before he reported it...seemed like a good guy. Like he was a good guy."

Truthfully, only two targets were considered likely to be responsible for transporting the device. The two women and other two men created a complicated, lengthy and uncomfortable scenario for Stacy's evaluation. He was as pleased that she had shown no out of character emotion whatsoever as he was saddened that she now wore the armor they had helped her craft so well.

She had expressed a hope during mission planning that it would have been Steve Fredrickson, the Executive VP of Marketing. They knew that Fredrickson was cheating on his wife and had sold designs to rivals in the past. Knowing that losing this prototype would destroy someone's career Stacy had been much more receptive to being the instrument of Karma for someone she felt deserved it. But as Roan had said, that defeated the purpose. The ripples of their actions would often destroy the lives of others and there was no way to guarantee it would always be someone who deserved it. Destroying a good man's career and marriage instead was just another sacrifice on a slippery slope.

Bob Davis was the only one of the six who seemed to be a fundamentally decent person with no evidence of any untoward activities. For training purposes it was probably best that she had to overcome her sympathies for her target. Agent Montgomery had quickly realized that the main reason she was having some difficulty with the things she was being asked to do was that - despite the implications one could easily draw from her history - she was a fundamentally decent person.

"How do you feel about that?"

Her shrug was the very definition of indifference. "If he was really a good guy I would never have been in his room."

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.

Many of her early assessments had been only slightly more physical cons than she had pulled off when she was twelve but the nature of the assessments had escalated in physicality. The parameters were simple - her handlers would scan the room for potentials, run priority checks on them and find the man with the most to lose. One of the handlers would take a run at him to assess whether he was on the prowl or truly a reluctant target. Then Stacy went to work.

Use her training to entice him using every tool in her now extensive repertoire. Get him back to his room and simply maintain some manner of physical contact for five minutes while her team listened in - far longer than she would need to plant a listening device or knock out a real target - before making excuses to leave. One of her team was always ready to forcibly pull her out if things went unexpectedly sour but in those early assessments she never achieved the five minute mark.

Stacy had unexpectedly aborted her first several attempts at what they very clinically referred to as 'practical observation' and was so hesitant in others that Agent Montgomery had been on the verge of recommending against her continued candidacy as much out of concern for her own safety as mission success. That was until Deputy Director Graham had provided a suggestion that had met with some success in her earlier training missions.

Personas. Relatively detailed personality assessments of her chosen alias. Something she could anchor on in order to portray a character on her missions.

Graham provided them in folders even Roan was not cleared to see. The first attempt, a simple training exercise in Las Vegas, was disastrous. The pendulum swung too far in the other direction. She did not report in the next day and when one of Agent Montgomery's colleagues located her she insisted she was the woman whose cover identity she had assumed. That they did not know each other and that she had to be on her way to meet the man she had met and gone out with last night before checking into a hotel under her training alias. She explained that her reservations must have gotten mixed up because the confirmation paper work in her purse was for someone named Stacy Mills.

They initially thought she was pulling a scam on them to somehow invalidate her candidacy or at least eliminate the possibility of seduction missions. A few minutes talking to her raised entirely different concerns. Over the next day or so she seemed to regain her senses - and memories of the missing evening. One of Agent Montgomery's assistants had reported finding her sitting by herself in a hotel stairwell - not crying but certainly not in the best state of mind.

It wasn't that she had done anything horrifyingly obscene - her cover identity apparently wasn't that kind of girl. It was that she had been completely out of control. The woman she had become was intrigued by the man who was essentially a practice target. Actually interested. Actually having a good time. Actually planning and looking forward to seeing him again having forgotten (and not been told by him) that he was married.

The most crippling recollection was that the woman who was not her had actually - for a brief, shining moment - been happy. There was a part of her that didn't want to leave her cover behind.

Graham demanded blood samples and quickly reported that she had, in fact, been slipped something over the course of the evening that none of them had noticed being administered.

Although he reported some sort of date rape drug to Roan and his team, the blood samples were disposed of without testing. Graham knew what really happened. His Cipher team determined that the intensity of their coding was too dense. An agent who didn't remember she was an agent was no use to him whatsoever. Later versions were far more successful.

Her skill at languages was beneficial but not uncommon - to a lesser degree - for any agent and her athletic ability was previously unknown and therefore a pleasant surprise but Graham cited her innate ability to 'become someone else' as the primary reason for her recruitment. She had helped create the Cipher and the Cipher would help smooth over her reluctance to engage in certain aspects of her assigned missions.

Stacy became infinitely more effective when she had one of his carefully crafted templates for being someone other than herself. Far better able to overcome any misgivings about any particularly objectionable aspect of a mission. If it helped her overcome her objections to training scenarios, Graham and his research team had new hopes that their Cipher could influence and manipulate equally physically gifted recruits into becoming the ruthless agents he desired.

With this approach, she completed several practical observations successfully with theoretically reluctant targets. He had hoped he would not have needed to conduct that many but based on her previous failures he needed to be sure she wouldn't do anything to betray herself in a life or death situation. Absolutely sure. He wasn't taking any chances on her future safety.

Stacy embraced the approach of insulating herself within her alias for these observations and, in the last two observations and at her own suggestion, created the persona herself on the fly with the expectation that such improvisation may one day be required. Her own drive to succeed made her own cover identities almost as effective as the engineered ones.

She expressed some disgust with herself and the situation afterward but showed no weaknesses during the exercises themselves. She saved the true extent of her disgust with herself for private moments and made sure she wasn't discovered in an embarrassing state again. It was even more than Graham had hoped - such autonomous self-conditioning in an agent acting out of a dedication to duty would ensure he could leverage the hard-won training of agents who would not hesitate to do what was necessary in the field despite any misgivings.

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.

Not for the first time in his career Agent Montgomery lamented his role in this farcical play but, as always, found some solace in the fact that this desensitization may one day save her life. He hadn't been able to bring himself to do the observations himself, instead relying on the two female agents assisting him.

When she had been located after the night they lost her, Chloe had come by to let him know Stacy was OK finding him on the phone with the front desk demanding a restock of his empty mini bar having already ordered a liquid snack from room service. He had started drinking when Stacy had not reported in at 11 pm, quarterbacking the search for her from his hotel room, and if Chloe had called - instead of informing him in person - he had no reason to think he would have ever stopped. Chloe stayed with him that night, reassuring him that they were doing the right thing, as he had once convinced her, until he fell asleep.

They were slightly more critical than he tended to be but both agreed that Stacy had passed successfully and utilized the training that all three of them had provided over the past few months effectively. She was ready.

"Chloe and Kimberly agreed that you did everything perfectly last night. Congratulations Ms. Mills, that was your final training exercise on this topic."

"Oh Roan, don't start mincing words now." she started to verbally spar with her mentor and friend but was stopped short by the hollow look he met her with and continued more quietly. "But...I'm glad to hear it. Hopefully, it will be a while before it comes up again."

Agents Chloe Daniels and Kimberly Jackson had been brought in by Agent Montgomery to tutor Stacy and a few of the other recruits on some of the more unsavory aspects of finding yourself alone with a man who thought you were something you were not. They were both more conventionally recruited than Stacy and had become excellent agents with varied experiences.

To the casual observer, Chloe was a shorter version of Jessica Rabbit, all legs and breasts and even a raspy though not quite Kathleen Turner-esque voice. The similarity was even more pronounced now that she wore her hair draped over the left side of her face to hide the still slightly visible scarring on her cheek and ear. She even wore gloves whenever it was remotely wardrobe appropriate - long silk ones with formal wear and fingerless leather ones with anything approaching casual which elicited a fair number of Lara Croft comments. Although the remnants of the burns were very faint, barely visible even if you knew what to look for, she was very self conscious about her hands.

Chloe was reinstated as a deep cover agent for a short while after barely surviving a mission gone horribly wrong and had later requested a move to a technical support role. She was generally regarded as a burnout but Agent Montgomery knew that she had simply had too much asked of her. Even then, the CIA surgeons and specialists could do amazing things if properly motivated. She had effectively fooled them all into believing she would and could be capable of returning to her old role, got what she wanted out of the bargain and then engineered her exit from field work eighteen months later.

She was one of the few people Roan knew who was clever and coldly calculating enough to get what she wanted from the CIA. Her short lived agreement to return to full duty status had more to do with ensuring the agency adequately treated her injuries and minimized the scarring than any desire to do so. She maintained the charade to this day, saying she simply lost her edge. But Roan was the only person she would wink at when she did so. And she liked that Roan didn't seem to care about her scars.

Kimberly was an intriguing combination of tall and athletic with all the most striking features of the women in her African-American father's family and her still gorgeous Cambodian mother. Her father had trained her as a competitive shooter until she was in college when he became one of the few casualties of enemy action in the first Gulf War even though the nature of his service excluded him from the official count. Her mother was a dancer and actress in her youth and only somewhat reluctantly accepted and encouraged her daughter's choice when she followed in her father's footsteps passing up a chance at the US Olympic team in her preferred events; the 25 metre pistol and 50 metre rifle three positions.

She had also identified the gaps in Stacy's knowledge of popular culture. It was common practice to provide deep cover operatives with 'cultural packets' consisting of recent and well known regional history and important happenings. As Roan had described it, they were not designed to provide in depth detail but rather just enough information so operatives weren't caught flat-footed in conversations with people who shared similar backgrounds as the operative's alleged history. They also covered world events of interest to a particular target. Roan had described it as knowing enough to get a person talking and keep them talking. "People think you are a stellar conversationalist if you let them do all the talking." he had said.

But there were also what the Agency called 'reacclimation packets' that covered domestic pop culture. The intent was to bring deep cover agents back up to speed when they emerged from long-term legends. It was as much for their benefit as to not draw attention to their odd voids in knowledge of domestic current events. Kim procured packets from the past ten years and Stacy included them in her studies - focusing more on the political and social elements rather than the references to sports and entertainment. After all, on what kind of assignment would an in-depth knowledge of movies or music be necessary?

Kimberly and Stacy had already met and she doubled as Stacy's strategic mission planning instructor. She had a skill set similar to but not as extensive as Stacy's, a stellar record in every conceivable role an agent could be asked to perform and an uncanny knack for knowing when to cut her losses successfully making many unconventional tactical decisions over the years.

Twice she had spared her team and herself from sure disaster when her suspicions of blown covers and an impending double-cross had been confirmed after her abort signal had been initially regarded as premature. Both incidents caused such operational disruptions that they resulted in official reprimands. Both reprimands were later withdrawn when facts supported her decisions. It was this ability to read a situation that Roan valued most of all.

It was Chloe's mental toughness and ability to manipulate her surroundings while under extreme psychological duress and Kimberly's ability to read subtle cues that Roan sought out, not their undeniable physical attributes and skills. Roan Montgomery trusted the judgment of both of these women and they trusted him to treat their assessments fairly and appropriately. He had trained them both and felt as much responsibility for their well-being as he did for Stacy and their other new recruits.

Stacy had initially found much of their instruction to be awkward and embarrassing. At one point Kimberly had jokingly suggested that she should just kiss the hell out of her and get her over it. A few days later in a Manhattan night club where no one would bat an eyelash after a half dozen shooters each, Chloe had done it. When, after a few seconds longer than she had realized, Stacy had sputteringly attempted to tell Chloe she wasn't interested - although had a man she found attractive kissed her like that there was a good chance they would have been headed out the door - Chloe had just laughed at her. When they found a quiet moment later that night, she explained.

"Stacy, kissing is dangerous. It tends to reveal your true intentions. You can fake a lot of things but a lack of enthusiasm is just another lapse in character. It can be incredibly difficult to recover from. That meant nothing to me but it is very difficult to convincingly kiss someone without it being an intimate act. In some ways its more intimate than sex sometimes is. It needs to mean nothing to you. You either have to be the type of person that enjoys it despite the circumstances - which we both know you aren't - or you must to be able to kiss someone you are not in the least truly interested in and absolutely convince them that you are intensely interested in them. I like you girl, but I hadn't been secretly waiting for a chance to kiss you."

"Coulda fooled me."

"Well, thank you. That's exactly the point."

She had found their extremely graphic discussions a little less embarrassing thereafter and tried her best to achieve that same degree of detachment. Over time, all three had developed some degree of affection for Stacy and, when it was asked, Chloe trusted that the question Stacy had later posed to her in confidence would be addressed within their circle of trust. She had shared it with Roan last night as Stacy seduced and drugged a tech company CFO and trusted him to field it better than she currently felt she could. Unless, of course, it raised any red flags about potential risks to Stacy or agents she may work with in the future.

.


.

"Chloe mentioned that you have some personal concerns?"

Stacy's expression faltered for a moment in embarrassment "God, I hoped she would keep that to herself. It doesn't have anything to do with the job."

"Understood. But, as I mentioned, you've already passed this training so you don't have to worry about your concerns impacting your assessment. She only told me out of concern for you. What's on your mind?"

"Well, we...Chloe, Kimberly and I were just talking about men in general and I asked them whether - doing what we do - or rather, doing what we may have to do..." Stacy paused, put her elbows on the table, leaned forward and grasped then smoothed her hair as she placed her head in her hands. She looked back up - hands still gripping her hair near the base of her skull - and sighed before continuing "...just, is it even possible to ever have a real relationship with someone?"

"And what did they say?"

Stacy relaxed her posture somewhat but continued to lean in as she quietly answered. "Chloe said she doesn't trust men in general anymore. Doesn't think she'll trust any man ever again." Roan flinched at that slightly but didn't interrupt. "Kim said she wouldn't even entertain the idea of having a real relationship unless she was out of the agency entirely. Even then she wouldn't even consider telling a man about all the things she had done. That any man who would accept it wasn't the type of man she wanted to be with and any man she wanted to be with wasn't the type of man who would accept it."

"Hmph..." he grunted quietly before muttering "I don't care to belong to any club that will have me as a member."

"How's that?"

"Groucho Marx? No? You kids today..." he smiled and theatrically shook his head in mock disbelief, and Stacy was pleased to see that he was back to enjoying their ongoing banter about their age differences before elaborating "...just a clever comment from a clever man meant in jest. But it also translates to this idea that some people see themselves as so defective in some way that they think anyone who is interested in them must be equally defective to even feel that way. Their own insecurities manifested in suspicion of anyone foolish enough to see past their flaws. Anyone foolish enough to care for them."

At this he leaned forward a bit and found her hand across the table. Small, comforting gestures between the two of them had become commonplace and accepted. Sometimes it surprised Stacy that she really did trust this man who had been tasked with teaching her how to deal with some of the ugliest realities of their profession.

"Many - shockingly many - men are shallow, jealous, Neanderthals on some level who don't even reveal their failings until they are forced to confront even the slightest disturbance to what they think is 'the way thinks should be'. Both Chloe and Kimberly are right in their suspicion that it would take a very special person to accept some of the things you may be asked to do. But please remember that if you meet someone who cannot accept it, that is a reflection on them, not on you. Never forget that you are an incredible woman in many, many ways beyond your outer beauty. And even that you still haven't fully accepted. Anyone who doesn't see that is a fool. Kimberly - and Groucho - have it backwards: any man who wouldn't want to be with you because of anything you have bravely done in defense of others is a man who doesn't deserve you."

She looked down and smiled as he told her this and began blushing furiously at his compliments. As he released her hand she cheekily asked "Is that your professional opinion? Or the opinion of a proud Papa?"

Her snarky wit was one of the things Roan loved about her. As was her ability to see things from multiple perspectives. The only thing he wished was different was that she trusted her perceptions of everything and everyone around her - but didn't think nearly high enough of herself. He briefly wondered where she would have ended up if someone had seen and acted on her vast potential before the Deputy Director of the CIA had done so. He realized that he did say all those things because of his affection for her - very much like a reassuring parent he supposed - but he also objectively knew that they were all true.

So he chose to answer her half-joking question as seriously as possible, trying harder than he should have to not to get choked up, when he calmly looked her in the eye and said simply "Both".

He could tell that she absorbed all of the intent behind that single word as she looked away and tried to minimize the affect that recent events might have on future events "Well, it's not as though I've really done a ridiculous amount of really horrible things - even counting my time at school - no worse than any other girl who went through a wild phase in college - so maybe it won't be so bad..."

"Stacy." he interrupted "You can't let yourself think of it that way. Like its a box you can keep filling and one day close the lid and lock it all away as long as it doesn't overflow. It never stops. Doing things you'd rather not do. You'll understand why certain things are necessary...maybe even convince yourself that you are indifferent about it because you understand the logic behind it but at the end of the day - when you're alone with your thoughts - it's you who has done them. A little or a lot, it never stops."

"I know." she sighed and then saw his disbelieving look "I do, I know. But...when does it get to be too much?"

"I'm afraid you won't know until you know." His own box had overflowed long ago.

Stacy still wanted to know how her life - if her life - her real life - could fit into this world. She thought back to Keith and their dance lessons. She now understood much of his reluctance to answer her questions in any kind of detail but she still considered him her first mentor. A man who admitted having someone in his life that he wanted more with. Had they tried to find time together? Was she a civilian or another spy? Did she know about his secret life or not? It was a train of thought that pulled a very personal question along behind it. She didn't know if it would ever come up in her own future but she wanted to know if it was possible.

So she asked.

"Roan? Have you ever been in love?"

She could tell the question caught him off guard as he hesitated to answer. Finally he offered "It's hard to say, honestly. Seeing someone for a few days at a time in between missions that last a few days to several months... sometimes back-to-back missions... often times both of you knowing you'll have to cheat on them to at least some extent...more so if you're fool enough to convince yourself that any degree is acceptable... It doesn't really nurture a relationship."

"What if it's another agent? Does that make it any easier?"

He wasn't sure if it was Chloe's revelations about trust or those of another woman he tried not to think about too often that drove his next comments. "I would advise against it. Another agent will have all the same concerns that you have. This life is all-consuming. It has to be in order to be successful at it. You have dedicated yourself to something at the exclusion of all else."

"But surely another agent would understand that. Wouldn't hold it against you, right?"

"Possibly. But you asked about love not each person turning a blind eye to what the other has done. Love is acceptance. And many cannot accept themselves much less a partner just as flawed as them. One agent might be willing to try to leave this life but two being on the same page at the same time? I've never seen it happen. That level of commitment..." and sense of being farther and farther from normal - deeper and deeper into the darkness - deceiving yourself more and more - he thought but did not say "...makes it hard to walk away. Hard to ever pretend to be a real person again."

Stacy realized immediately that she hadn't said anything about leaving the spy life and took a blind shot as to who would and would not do what. "And she wouldn't walk away?"

Roan smiled sadly at his protégé's uncanny powers of observation before answering quietly "Well, first it was me who was too full of himself. Then, when I was ready - or thought I was - no. She wouldn't. Not for me."

They sat in silence for a few moments before Roan offered almost as though talking to himself "I'm extremely proud of her just so you know. She's a very driven woman. Incredibly smart. Much like you." They shared a smile at that. "She's military intelligence - not like us - so maybe some of the realities of our world factored into it as she rose through the ranks and opened her eyes wider. Learned more about me. Maybe too much."

He remembered the day she had recommended him for training her own agents in Infiltration and Inducement. He could tell by her emphasis when she said they should all benefit from what he was 'best at' that she had learned some of his secrets - seen at least some portion of his file. Something she had said she would never do but apparently had and had not been able to unsee.

"Anyway..." he said exaggeratedly as he pushed his chair back, clapped his hands to his knees and stood "...There's nothing edible here, especially the corn dogs." and he nodded toward the brightly colored establishment offering the offending food product. He offered his arm and an alternate dining option with a smile "I could take you to American Girl Cafe...maybe get you a miniature Stacy doll..."

"Because that's not creepy at all..." she returned his smile as she took his arm. They both walked away from the food court ignoring the accusing glares and accompanying implications of those paying more attention to the beautiful young woman in the slightly rumpled suit and the distinguished man more than twice her age than they had any right to. Roan anticipated Stacy's question of whether they were all thinking he was her father or lover and headed it off with small talk.

Somewhere along the way the implication that he could think of her that way had become more than unsavory to him. He would say it was a paternal feeling he had for all the men and women he trained if he didn't consider himself completely unfit for such a role. No true parent would send this young woman into the dangerous world he knew was awaiting her and pretend he had a right to consider her a daughter.

Conversation turned to whether she had any information on her next assignment. Before her trip to Minnesota, Gunny had invited her topside for one last hike and a toast to her good fortune with what he called the 'good stuff'. He had put a good word in for her with Special Operations Group. She had no idea how rare both actions were for him.

Most male agents did a turn in SOG's Special Activities Division to get some combat experience. As much as the idea frightened her, Stacy was intrigued and a little indignant about the fact that women were not assigned to such rotations. She told him she would consider it and Roan had offered his own advice. That it was usually combined with the missions she had trained for and offered little down time.

When she and Gunny had returned from their last walk, the Town Car that had brought her was waiting. Harrison had returned with a large envelope full of documents and credit cards and a bag packed with all the clothing and necessities that a woman named Margo Wilcox would need on her upcoming assessment abroad and - with another sealed envelope of documents - that a woman named Sarah Walker would need upon her return. Gunny offered to fetch her bag that she hadn't even remembered bringing.

She told him it wouldn't be necessary. There wasn't anything she brought with her that she would be needing. She was as done with The Facility as it was with her.

She refrained from hugging him as she left and simply said goodbye. Finding her unadorned military cap on the back seat was a welcome surprise. As was looking inside of it to find the crudely drawn single chevron of a private first class. His way of saying she was no longer a recruit and worthy of his respect.

As she and Roan walked and talked in generalities, she grew visibly as excited - in her own guarded way - as any of the little girls in the American Girl store he had passed this morning when he asked her about her next destination.

"They're sending me to Paris!" she said as gleefully as he had ever seen her. She was finally going to see more of the larger world than what she had seen on brief training missions. "For four days. We're supposed to scout a few locations and apparently there's a final evaluation of some kind but we aren't supposed to get the mission details until the day of. Still, after all this it's just good to be so near the end."

Agent Montgomery felt a sudden protective rush of anger against the ruthless agent he had once known who was now the Deputy Director of the CIA for choosing that location to complete her indoctrination into their mad world. The so-called City of Love. Given the topics of their earlier conversation he almost laughed at the irony. More famously known as the City of Light. He doubts she will ever consider it as either. Every agent save the borderline unhinged remembers the where and the when of this last assessment vividly.

And somewhere in Paris will be the location burned into her mind.

He wanted to tell her. And it wasn't even protocol that prevented him from doing so. She had already been through so much these past four months he just couldn't bring himself to pile on more bad news. He also weighed whether it would be better if she had time to prepare herself mentally or if she would just beat herself up for those few remaining days of what little is left of her innocence.

He wondered if all his work had been in vain and Paris might be the thing that finally breaks her or gets her killed. This is why he quit before. The damage he had done to this beautiful young woman, and apparently to the two women who came before her that he had recruited to help perpetuate the cycle, was pressing down on him.

And there were dozens of others. The men were as arrogant as he had been but they were generally in far less danger than their female counterparts. They would likely live and learn from a badly played hand. His female recruits were the ones who kept him up at night. His collection of American girls - more than half torn, tattered and burned and the rest hollowed out inside. He felt the sudden need for a Martini or three despite the early hour.

She had been right, it was what he was best at. Such a pompous ass early in his career, destroying lives for his own amusement and pleasure never considering the emotional carnage and even violent retribution left in his wake. And it had ultimately been the undoing of any happiness he could have hoped for himself. He had started training agents as though he could somehow prove that his own behavior had been justified. Extensions of him and his arrogance. Until he learned of a few he had lost.

All of his girls - there was nothing he could do about the situation they found themselves in. Nothing he could do to stop the machine. All he could hope for was that he could teach them something that would be the difference between them learning to live with what they had done or losing that option forever.

He would do it as long as he could stand it. As long as amazing women like the ones he had met over the past few months were asked to entertain such dangerous tactics he would teach them all he could. It was what he was best at. His gift had become his penance.

"Well, Miss Almost-Agent..." he said low enough that only she could hear as the masterful actor in him took over "...let's see if we can find something edible, shall we."

He guided her toward the exit so they could leave for a more elegant location for their last supper - and to delay their meal until a slightly more respectable hour for his beverages of choice.

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030: Sweet Suffering

Bartowski / Woodcomb / Bartowski Residence; Kitchen

Sun Oct 7, 2007 7:08 pm

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"But you want me to butt out. I get it. It's none of my business." Ellie Bartowski just wanted her brother to finally find the happiness he deserved. He had finally shown signs of doing something more than meandering through life still dragging the ghosts of Stanford and Jill Roberts behind him. She just wished he would talk to her like he used to.

"No! No, no, no, no, I'm not saying that! I'm not saying that. I...I-"

But what was he saying? This was his sister. The woman he had confided nearly everything in when he was growing up. The one who had sacrificed so much to keep him with her as she entered into college rather than moving on with her life with plans to meet again one day when things settled down. Who had been so incredibly proud of him when he had received that scholarship based on a high school teacher's recommendation. He could still remember her canceling her date for the evening to celebrate with him after hiding herself away in her bedroom for a few minutes. She had returned having clearly been crying with slightly red eyes but a beaming smile on her a fresh face and wearing much more comfortable, less revealing clothes.

She had sacrificed so much of a normal teenage life for him - to keep him in a good school district and off the radar of anyone who thought they knew better about raising him to be a good man. And then she did it all again for him after the disaster at Stanford. Kept him afloat and really only gently prodded him to consider waking up from his doldrums to reclaim his life. Now that the entire US intelligence community had seemingly converged upon him, he thought maybe he was ready for something bigger. Something important. And now he had to hide in plain sight, in the same comfortable but unchallenging job while, for the first time in his life, he hid the most important things happening to him from the most important woman in his life and hoped he was the good man she had tried to raise.

He had already put her off once, describing the situation as complicated. The situation between himself and the stunning CIA agent protecting him that Ellie believed to be... dating him? No, that was absurd despite being the preferred CIA / NSA cover story. But they had been spending quite a lot of time together. Not all of it mired in intelligence reviews and bomb defusals and ritzy art auctions with a particularly beautiful but deadly arms smuggler in attendance.

So maybe complicated was pretty accurate. But some of the other words he had used to describe Sarah Walker had likely clouded the issue. Agile was true. Sarah made cats and gymnasts seem awkward and clumsy. Exhausting? That was more a byproduct of the situation. He actually felt quite relaxed with her sometimes.

It was just that Ellie seemed so hurt that he didn't - couldn't - confide in her. He really wanted to find a way to let her back in and settled on a secret fear grounded in a secret hope.

"I just don't want to create a false sense of excitement for a relationship that seems doomed."

"Why is it doomed?" he almost smiled at his sister's well practiced method of getting to the root of the issue. Oh, how he wished he could ask her real advice but settled for a vague expression of his secret fears. Five years wasted at a Burbank Buy-More when he could have found some way to complete his degree. Or, if Stanford blocked that, revive some of the same innovative projects that had resulted in the scholarship they had given him in the first place. Find a tech firm - all he had to do was throw a rock - and start knocking on doors until someone - anyone - gave him a chance.

But he hadn't done any of that. And he knew it wasn't that easy but he hadn't even really tried. Why would someone as amazing and driven and capable and smart as Sarah think he wasn't a waste of her time? So the answer - to why his interest in the gorgeous super spy was doomed - was an easy one to articulate.

"Because she's not into me."

"Uh, trust me. I have seen the way that that girl looks at you and she is into you." It was so dismissive of what his sister obviously believed to be his poor read on the situation. Like there was something so incredibly casually obvious that he was missing. Ellie often had much better insight into such things which is why it was so hard not to include her in these recent changes to his life. But thoughts of what this might mean caused an ember of hope to glow inside his chest.

"Really?" He had always trusted Ellie's opinion on these things. Even on his birthday it was likely that, had he given any of the women Ellie had invited a real chance, one of them would have looked past his apparent failings. Maybe that one who knew Bryce actually was a little interested if the name of his former friend hadn't sent him down an unrecoverable death spiral. Maybe Ellie knew more than he did; she was the brain surgeon - or well on her way to being the brain surgeon - of the family. Maybe it was time for him to wake up and listen?

"It's none of my business." How could she think that he wouldn't want her advice? And it hurt him to think that his dismissiveness hurt her even as dangerous as her questions might be.

"Okay, no. Okay, fine. What the hell. What do you, what do you want to ask me about Sarah?"

"Really?" God, her excitement was as frightening as how suddenly she could go from angry to happy. He only hoped that he could find a way to answer whatever she asked. He and Sarah had worked out a few vague answers to appease such questions without providing much, if any, verifiable details. It came easily to Sarah, just like every other technique on which she had been trained. Sometimes he was so tempted to abandon all restraint when the hummingbird flitted into his vision and let the Intersect reveal some of the truth of her to him but he respected both her and Casey too much to ever do something like that deliberately.

"You better hurry up. This offer will not last."

"Okay. Do you like her?" Chuck's sister asked him pointedly and deliberately, enunciating each word separately. And the answer he had been refusing to acknowledge, even to himself, became crystal clear.

"Yeah." and she instantly squealed with delight as only Ellie could do. "Da-da-da- no, no, unnecessary excitements."

"Sorry. Sorry."

"What else?"

"That's it."

"That's it?"

"Yeah. Chuck, that's it. I don't need to know the intimate details, okay? As long as you're happy, that's enough for me. And I don't... I don't want to nag you about your future and your job. I don't want to be the sister that just pesters you into oblivion."

"No, no, no, no, you're...you're not a pest."

"I just know what an incredible guy Charles Bartowski is and and sometimes I'm not so sure that he knows it."

Always his biggest fan. Ellie truly was the most amazing person and he should have known she wouldn't have wanted to dig around in his insecurities. She just wanted him to be happy. He wished he could tell her everything but maybe he wouldn't have to and could still benefit from her insight. And if there were ever anything real to share about his own happiness he could give her that well-earned return on all her worry and concern over the years without putting everyone in danger.

"How do you feel about a brother-sister hug situation right now?"

"I'm open to it."

She had always been his lifeline and she was no fool so, logic dictated, that if she saw something between him and Sarah it wasn't completely outside the realm of possibility.

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Bartowski / Woodcomb / Bartowski Residence; Courtyard

Sun Oct 7, 2007 7:22 pm

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"So...going to be hanging around for a while?"

Sarah and Morgan had walked awkwardly into the courtyard nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. And she had her arms full so she let him ring the doorbell. Only he didn't. His hand just hovered over it as he asked his unexpected question.

"Umm...looks like it? Why?"

"Well, Chuck's kinda on pins and needles around you. Which may not be an uncommon thing you've seen from other guys but... Maybe you should make it clear if you're only gonna be here for a little while..."

She wasn't sure how to answer that - who knew what the future would bring for a spy like her? But he had already pressed the doorbell. She heard it chime and Chuck call out "I'll get it!"

She put her best unaffected face on but wasn't sure what Morgan was getting at as he spoke first in greeting to Chuck. "I thought we had plans tonight, you know? What is she doing here?"

"What, uh, what gave you that impression?" Chuck seemed delighted to see her which made Morgan's strangeness clear to her. Morgan was trying to protect him. He was extremely distrustful of her and extremely wary of any damage she might do. She would have to find a way to assure him or he was going to be constantly interjecting. Not only damaging their cover but stealing times like this evening away from her.

Morgan made some rambling non-sensical response that managed to get him in the door for dinner - which may have been his sole purpose all along given the quality of Ellie's cooking - as Chuck offered an apologetic "what're you gonna do" look on behalf of his best friend.

And, before she knew it, he was leaning in for a kiss but regrettably kept it small and chaste. At least PDA wasn't entirely off the table and maybe he would have been more bold if he hadn't steered away from her injured lip at the last instant.

"You okay?" he asked with a gesture to his own face, mirroring her minor injury.

"Uh, occupational hazard. She got in a lucky kick." Sarah offered a cocky grin and received one of complete adoration in return. He thinks she is immortal - or infalable - when she is anything but either.

If she hadn't wasted her advantage disarming the Argentinian woman, she wouldn't have started the fight at such a disadvantage. Sarah hadn't expected the other woman to be quite so proficient but she supposed one doesn't rise to leader of a small but notorious criminal enterprise without some degree of skill. She was small and slippery, the opposite of what she had been trained to be most effective against, and it took a few exchanges to feel out her style and regain the upper hand. She was sure the woman had thought Sarah was truly overmatched but saw the flicker in her eyes when she realized, despite the appearance of scoring a few damaging blows or the seeming advantage of being armed with a knife against Sarah's handcuffs doubling as brass knuckles, she had been toyed with. But that first shot to the lip had almost made Sarah lose her cool.

"Do you have some kinda aversion to doctors?"

"It's not that bad, Chuck." She resisted the urge to pull back as he lightly held her chin and urged her gently to raise it to the light for a better look. She didn't like this kind of care and attention - it made her feel vulnerable and she hated that. But his expression held no trace of any kind of judgment or disappointment - only genuine concern. And he then made it clear that he didn't see her as weak, he was just concerned that she might be hurt.

"Sorry, that's not what I was getting at. I'm not questioning you...I mean I am concerned about your lip but more concerned that you don't know what you're walking into." And at her puzzled look he continued. "It looks like it hurt but if you say its not bad then I'll take your word for it."

"Buuuuuuuut?"

"Buuuuuuuut..." he mimicked "...you're about to have a medical professional tell you whether she agrees with you or not. And just a little warning - she won't."

Right on cue Ellie made her way from the kitchen. "Chuck, let the poor girl in. Hi, Sarah! Hi, oh my god. What happened?"

She furrowed her brow at Chuck's "told you so" expression before turning to greet Ellie. "Oh, it's nothing. Occupational hazard. Scooter was yelling something from the dining room and I looked back as I opened the freezer door. It's really heavy and I wasn't paying attention. It must look awful."

"Oh, no, sweetie. Just, let's get you patched up. It'll just take a second.

Sarah raised her eyebrows at Chuck as he gave her a knowing shrug and Ellie dragged her by the hand into the bathroom.

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Bartowski / Woodcomb / Bartowski Residence; Bathroom

Sun Oct 7, 2007 7:25 pm

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"...Just let me grab my implements of destruction..." Ellie said as she retrieved a few supplies from the linen closet and, as she located the missing topical ointment from the medicine cabinet, said over her shoulder "...were your ears burning too?"

"Wha-?" Sarah started to ask as Ellie continued.

"I mean Chuck and I were just talking about you and...turn to the light and look up for me..." Ellie pressed an alcohol swab to Sarah's cut lip and the cold sting was a sensation she recognized as something she should wince at. So she did and Ellie seemed none the wiser.

"What was he saying? Something about my tendency to bump into stuff?"

"...that doesn't look too bad...I, um, I shouldn't say anything at all but Chuck...he really likes you. Not that it's because of how you look. Or not just that. He's just really worried about letting himself like you too much. I'll leave it at that."

The sensation was the opposite of the cold sting of the alcohol swab and she was powerless to stop the flushed feeling at Ellie's revealing comments, even as she continued.

"I like you too. I'm glad Chuck introduced us - he's never brought a girl home to meet me before. Even in college."

Wait. That would have been useful information in formulating their cover. Although Ellie had asked him to invite her over the first time. He hadn't mentioned there being anything odd or unusual about it. And tonight had been entirely his idea. He was either taking advantage of the cover - and considering her frustration at him committing to the physical affection part of the show, that seemed unlikely - or just wanted to see her. It was an even more intimate abuse of the cover and she wasn't sure she objected all that much. It was tactically solid. More solid than his previous aversions to introducing girlfriends and she couldn't help buy wonder how much of it was strategic and how much was real even as she smooth played their cover relationship.

"I don't know, Ellie. I've had some bad experiences and I just don't want to hurt him because I'm so messed up. I didn't plan on jumping into something so close to my last...relationship."

"That's all I ask Sarah. Not to promise that you won't hurt him...just the fact that you're afraid that you will hurt him is enough for me. But this isn't just some rebound thing, is it? I mean, you do like him right?"

"He makes me feel..." and she struggled for a moment to complete the sentence. So many things came to mind. Beautiful was first. Truly beautiful. The way he looked at her in complete wonderment was overwhelming sometimes. And it wasn't just creepy staring, it was during her awkward moments. When she said something everyone else she had ever known would roll their eyes at he smiled and seemed to know every bit of the thought behind what she said. He just got her. The her that she kept hidden away. It scared the hell out of her and made her feel more human than she had in a long, long time.

Only then did she realize that she had taken far too long to complete the sentence. That Ellie was sure to have caught on that she was completely mental. Incapable of reflecting that light back to Chuck so intensely.

And then she realized...she had completed her thought.

He makes me feel.

And that Ellie was smiling uncontrollably at whatever was involuntarily showing on her face.

"Okay. I think we're all set here. It wont need stitches if you keep this on it. And you're just as pretty as ever even with a split lip. Let's go see what the boys have gotten into. You should file a report against that place if that door is unsafe..."

As they walked back out to the living room, Sarah puzzled over what it all meant. Chuck wanting to be with her bit not taking obvious advantage. Ellie suddenly so protective of her in addition to her own brother.

"What are you two doing to my television?"

"C'mon, El. Halo is way better on the big screen. Besides you wouldn't want us to leave you out here all alone, would you?" Morgan's presumptuousness knew no bounds but Chuck had a knowing grin as Sarah met his eyes and he actually winked at her behind Morgan's back.

He really likes me.

"Well, you could just leave Sarah in here with me. I could tell her all kinds of stories about young Charles Bar-"

Chuck darted behind his sister and snaked a hand over her mouth as his elbow and other arm trapped her arms. "Pay no attention to my somewhat delusional sister. She makes up such fanciful stories about me."

Sarah couldn't help but smile as Chuck's sister winked conspiratorially around her brother's hand and Chuck jumped back in feigned disgust.

"Eww...El? Did you lick my hand?"

Sarah felt something else now. Maybe what Chuck had intended. She felt included.

And she felt herself laugh at the continued banter between the two siblings who now seemed ten years younger than their actual selves.

He really likes me... And so does she.

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Bartowski / Woodcomb / Bartowski Residence

Sun Oct 7, 2007 10:45 pm

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Chuck and Morgan had played video games briefly until Chuck had set Morgan up on some sort of network game against other players and joined her and Ellie over their wine. He artfully blocked Ellie's half-hearted attempts to tell embarrassing childhood stories - which often contained the interesting and embarrassing nugget in the "and then there was the time" preambles which Chuck was unable to prevent - while coaching Morgan from the dining table. Ellie had more stories than she could count and the wine and company had been excellent.

Her face hurt from smiling so much as Chuck took her aside to say goodnight. Morgan was grazing in the kitchen as Ellie packed up leftovers and Sarah got the distinct impression that Chuck's sister was running interference and, as she stood to leave, she gave voice to one of her regrets from the evening.

"I'm sorry we didn't get to dance. Especially after you took the time to learn."

"Probably for the best." Chuck deflected modestly. "I could use a little work."

"Really? Because you caused quite a buzz with your performance."

"Yeah...trust me, it wasn't anything to write home about." It would probably be a good idea to clue Sarah in, just in case Ellie or Awesome ever mentioned his botched tango instruction since he had told them he had danced the dance, but for now he was enjoying the idea that Sarah thought there had been something impressive about his bumbling through the evening. Maybe he would learn and surprise her someday.

"Your dance partner seemed quite taken with you...stalking you at work and everything..."

"Wha-...La Ciudad?" He was so easy. And at least he didn't call her Malena...

"What sort of alias is that anyway? 'The City'?"

"Actually, it's because she was from a wealthy family in the city but started hanging out with one of the gangs from one of the shadier..." he paused at her quirked eyebrow "...never mind. Not important."

"Hmm. She was pretty."

"Oh. Yeah...I guess so. As psychopathic killers go." And again she reacted unexpectedly, this time with a blank, far off look. "What?"

"Nothing." she lied. Was she really all that different? One a brunette Argentinian arms smuggler. Her, a blonde CIA agent. Both beautiful and deadly. Just because she was backed by a government rather than the shadowy head of a criminal enterprise?

"I'm just glad it all worked out..." she replied flatly, before regaining her footing and offering a flirtatious smile. "...except my dance."

"Someday, Ms. Walker. Right?"

"Sure." And her wistful tone was even more unexpected than her previous reactions. He knew she was saying more than she was saying with words but could not keep track of all the emotions he saw swirling beneath her calm outer demeanor as she even more wistfully half-whispered, as though telling a secret "Someday."

The way their eyes were locked was dangerous and Chuck raised his voice slightly as he looked away. "Morgan? Can you tidy up the consoles?" and almost as part of the same thought but in a lower voice that almost gave her a chill "I'll walk you to your car..."

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Bartowski / Woodcomb / Bartowski Residence; Courtyard

Sunday, Oct 7, 2007 10:50 pm

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Sarah stepped out into the courtyard with Chuck and tried to turn the conversation back to the cold comfort of professionalism. She was so very proud of him but didn't want to gush over him. After all, this was his first experience with any field operation and, while he had handled himself as well as could be expected given that his involvement was far greater than they had anticipated, she didn't want him to become so confident as to become careless and end up getting himself hurt.

Finally free to speak she said what she had been waiting all night to say. "Congratulations on your first mission. You did really good, Chuck."

"Stop it. I'm not really a spy." came the expectedly modest reply. "Your computer ended up in the head of a guy who only knows how to fix them."

She needn't have worried; it wasn't false modesty. He can't see it.

He can't see it at all.

Sarah tried to spell it out for him as much as she dared. "You survived a near death experience under the threat of torture and apprehended one of the world's most elusive killers. I'm not sure what you think spies do exactly, but most of us would consider that a pretty good day."

"Okay, sure, so today I helped take down a major international arms dealer. But tomorrow...tomorrow, I still gotta go clock in at Buy More." He suddenly found that he wanted to be more than his existence in what had become his refuge from the world. As much for the woman inside the apartment - and maybe, in another world, someone as amazing as the woman in front of him - as for himself. "I mean, what's the good in being a hero if nobody knows about it?"

Wasn't that usually the case? How many people that she had sacrificed so much to save even knew she existed? Sarah stopped him and he turned to face her with his back to his shared apartment. She reached up to touch his cheek, to make sure she had his full attention and got lost for a moment in his soulful eyes. He was so much more than he realized and his eyes held none of the arrogance or hardness she had grown so accustomed to seeing looking back at her from other men she had encountered.

"You know..." she emphasized. If nothing else he needed to understand that he was more than he had convinced himself he was over these past five directionless years. And although it may have been ill-advised to encourage his particular brand of selfless courage she wanted him to know that she understood it too. So she added softly "...and so do I."

Chuck smiled at that as she slowly withdrew her hand hoping he didn't consciously realize her small concession of letting her ring finger drag lightly along the light stubble on his jaw as she did so. She could see in his smile that he finally understood that she was proud of him. That seemed to be enough. Enough for both of them as Ellie's observations, his own realizations, and Sarah's praise combined to embolden him.

"You know, if we were really dating this would be the part where I'd be forced to kiss you goodnight."

Sarah smiled as he caught her off guard. She hadn't expected to consider this part of a cover relationship to be a benefit but found that her pulse was quickening and she felt slightly flushed. It may not be entirely real but there's some room to work with and she found that this light teasing between them was just dangerous enough to keep them both delightfully off balance. So she played along. "Forced? Would it be so bad?"

Chuck smiled back. "I'm sure I could suffer through it."

"Me too." she quietly replied as he saw her glance quickly over his shoulder toward the apartment window.

"My sister is watching us, isn't she?"

"Mmm-hmm." she hummed without taking her eyes off his.

Chuck muttered under his breath "Worst. Spy. Ever." to which Sarah gave him a cheeky look, dipping her chin, grinning widely and looking up pointedly at him with her eyebrows raised.

It was the same look that had intoxicated him that first morning on the beach. He just smiled in response to her implication before saying "So...we are going to be forced to do this?" in a faux exasperated tone. But his smile belied his words as he took a step closer to her and surprised both Sarah and himself by boldly but gently moving his hands to her hips.

She looked up into his warm hazel eyes - they were a rich, dark brown in the dim light of the courtyard - and smiled back. "Seems so...Now, you do know this is just for the cover? Don't get handsy, Bartowski."

"Ms. Walker, I am ever the gentleman." he softly breathed as he slowly pulled her slightly closer and lowered his head, tilting slightly to the right while still looking her directly in the eye.

"I'm sure you are..." and she smiled mischievously. She half-closed her eyes and whispered "...but I make no such claims."

He felt her right hand slowly snake it's way inside his left arm, briefly flattening against his chest to feel the warmth of him and his rapidly accelerating heartbeat before continuing up and behind his neck. Her fingers laced through his hair before fisting hard as she closed her eyes, rose slightly on her tiptoes and pulled his lips down to hers but stopping just short where her open mouth slowly and softly touched and closed around his upper lip in contrast to the firm grip holding him in place.

She managed not to wince at the pain in her split lip from the earlier fight as she pressed her lips and the tiniest bit of her tongue harder against his lips the second time. He loosened his grip to allow her other hand up to his neck where she had moved both hands to the sides of his face with the tips of her middle fingers resting delicately on the pulse points just under his jaw.

Their previous kisses had been mere pecks but Chuck could hear the certainty of his sister's advice and, knowing he was playing with fire, the alternative hypothesis became the null and he decided to test what he suddenly dared to believe might be true.

She had been the initiator for the first two kisses but now that both his arms were free Chuck tightened his grip around Sarah's waist keeping his hands as low on her back as he could without moving too low - lightly caressing the lowest curve of her spine was far more erotic to both of them than brutishly moving further down.

He hugged her closer -his huge hands spanning nearly her entire waist slid up her sides leaving trails of cool fire as he embraced her tightly - pulling her up onto her toes and straightening a bit pressing their hips together. He was acutely aware of every point of contact between their bodies but focused on softly kissing her injured lower lip.

She had never been kissed so gently.

Sarah's involuntary reaction was to gasp at his sudden confidence and to open her mouth slightly. Not to be outdone, she lightly traced his upper lip with her tongue with her lower lip still trapped between his. She wasn't pushing to deepen the kiss just tasting his lip and enjoying the fact that her gentle teasing had the obvious and intended effect on Chuck's anatomy.

She smiled at that sensation, pressing firmly against him, as she rocked back down to her heels. Chuck let out a small whimper and reluctantly loosened his grip to allow her retreat and she made one last strike - kissing his lower lip hard and sucking gently and erotically with just enough force that she lightly tugged on it as she pulled away.

Chuck stood for a few seconds with his mouth agape as he overcame his shock at the intimate contact and smiled as he heard his sister squeal with delight, then the squeal fade as she abandoned her post at the window. "You're apparently very convincing."

Sarah had been wanting to do that since the first night on the beach. It was everything she had hoped for and more. But the unfamiliar and unsettling feelings it had brought on - her racing pulse, the inability to catch her breath, the flush of warmth and the fluttering in her chest - suddenly made her feel a need to gain some distance. To diffuse the situation. To run away. So she dismissed all those feelings and tried to make light of it with the type of sarcastic remark she only felt comfortable making with him "Well, I have training."

She smiled back but it faded as Chuck's smile fell and he uttered "Right."

Sarah cautiously moved her left hand back to the side of his face with his chin still lowered. She immediately wanted to tell him not to go there and that she didn't mean it that way and any number of reassuring comments. But to do so would imply that there was a connection between them that she was not willing to give voice to. That it wasn't an act. Or at least wasn't just an act. Instead the best she could offer was "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, no. I started it. Don't be sorry. That was amazing. Cover kiss or not."

She dropped her hand, grazing it down his arm on its way to grasp his and pressed her lips together into an unreadable line not knowing what to say. She had lost herself in the moment. It was amazing and she ruined it with a careless comment.

She reluctantly let go of his hand as they wordlessly said goodnight. He watched her eyes intently for any sign that their kiss had been what he had hoped or at least more than he feared - that he hadn't just experienced what always happens when you play with fire - but her mask was well practiced. Finally, knowing this was just a part of his life now and that she was just making the best of a bad situation, he offered a small smile as she turned to walk away. Once seated in her car Sarah let out a long breath and threw her head back against the headrest.

She couldn't do this to herself. Or to him. Especially to him. It wasn't fair. If they were going to continue to involve Chuck in field operations, even in a limited capacity, she owed it to him to be at the top of her game not mooning over him like a giddy schoolgirl.

And Morgan - of all people - was right. She might not be here tomorrow. It would have to be dire circumstances for her to kiss him like that again. And she wouldn't press him on the PDA thing. I like you, do you like me? Such a simple question. But she couldn't keep giving such dangerously honest answers. Especially since she likely would be called away at some point and leave Morgan and Ellie to pick up the pieces.

She didn't know why he affected her so much, why it hurt so badly to see him deflate after their kiss. She was absolutely sure he realized it was real for a fleeting moment then doubted himself and wondered if it was not. But then her words poisoned everything.

Now as far as he was concerned he realized it was fake and kicked himself for briefly wondering if it was real. She hated herself for destroying something so beautiful.

She did have training. She had been warned.

But Chuck was not trained and was such a sensitive soul; yet somehow something about him made her almost completely transparent to him despite a lifetime of training. She either had an overinflated opinion of her ability to deceive or he was just looking so much harder than anyone else had ever cared to. If he ever trusted what he so clearly saw she was done for. She was going to have to be much more careful. Rely on the training to protect her. To protect him.

She was the one who knew how dangerous kissing could be.

...you must to be able to kiss someone you are not in the least truly interested in and absolutely convince them that you are intensely interested in them...

She had just never been taught how to do the opposite.

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END OF LINE


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A/N2: Unfortunately, that is the type of thing that will have to pass for fluff for a while. I told you I wouldn't go off the canon track but I think slip-ups were likely to happen (and will). I, like you, just always wanted them to kiss in that scene. They established a minor subplot around PDA and maintaining a cover, they have managed it before 'the incident' (a particular supply closet incident - which will have its day - comes to mind) and she always felt more than she let on and there are two tiny pecks in the episode so... why not? Here they just 'over corrected'...

Raise your hand if you think Ellie could have sat across the table from Sarah and stiffed her need to doctor her injury. I see no hands. And I cannot possibly get enough sisterly Ellie / Sarah scenes. I think the actual siblings' hug scene is underrated and often forgotten. Ellie is not a nag! (Well, at least not an insufferable one.) She just loves her brother and wants him to be happy. I'm not a big fan of early Morgan but hopefully having similar protectiveness is a somewhat endearing insight into why early Morgan is kind of a dick to Sarah sometimes. And I had a whole backstory in my brain for 'The City' (seriously?) but you'll have to extrapolate it from Chuck's few comments.

I also really wanted to have an established mentoring relationship between Sarah and Roan for later scenes - more than just a guy whose 'class' she took. I hope my portrayal of what a super agent might be called upon to do wasn't too reprehensible - I, for one, would be sympathetic and appreciative of an agent who made such a sacrifice to prevent some sort of calamity or save someone's life rather than want to berate or belittle them. When I say it is extremely unlikely that such valuable resources would be utilized in such a way I mean it and have no intention of contriving such situations... for Sarah. My hands are tied in a few other cases which is part of why I spent so much time on it.

I am also aware that my interpretation (or rather my complete rearrangement) of the timing of what most will correctly guess is Sarah's impending red test is inconsistent with canon but I find the canon date (2005) inconsistent with a reputation as Graham's enforcer (so there!) - falling as it does somewhere near the transition from her CAT days to first teaming with Bryce. I refuse to believe that Graham's Enforcer used Nerf guns, water balloons and rubber knives to that point; obvious canon ramifications will be addressed at the appropriate time.

Even without the side track of seduction training I was surprised how much 'Tango' had to offer. Up next (Finally)... Carina!