A/N: And so we continue!

Thank you again to everyone still reading and reviewing and sending me messages. You're all just super. I can't say it enough.

Disclaimer: I don't own CHUCK. I really don't. I know it's surprising for everyone involved but, alas...no CHUCK.

Let's go ahead and dive into "Con Game Vegas, Part 4/6", shall we?

Chuck slung his camera bag over his shoulder as Sarah came out of the nearby restroom in the casino of the Venetian, having shucked her Jadwiga Sas disguise and most likely shoved it in what he secretly called her oversized purse. The thing was massive. But he couldn't disparage it too hard, considering how many of his things she'd fit in there over the years.

He'd called her Mary Poppins once and she'd given him a dead arm.

Chuck had taken a seat at the nearby slot machine to play a few rounds, allowing her to take her time since that was the only thing they'd seemed to have an abundance of lately. Three days had passed since Chuck first hatched his hair-brained scheme, and each day brought them closer to the con. Every little thing they accomplished meant one less task to complete. And at the end of each day, he felt his plan coming together that much more than it had the day before.

He caught Sarah's secret smile as she spotted him, and he couldn't help feeling that thrill—the very same one he felt whenever they worked a con together. There was something about the camaraderie between them, when they were in the middle of a job especially, that made him feel like he could literally do anything if only he had her beside him.

Pulling back from where he had his hand on the lever, he turned towards Sarah as she approached. "The slots, Chuck?" she asked. "Really?"

"Give it one last pull. I definitely just lost two bucks while you were in there, so…"

"Fail. I can't take you anywhere," she teased, tugging on the lever.

As the wheels inside spun, he turned to run his eyes down her outfit. She wore jeans, a white tank top and a black blazer. "Just so you know, I like you better this way."

Sarah scoffed. "I don't care which way you like me, thanks. But, uh, this is definitely more comfortable than my Jadwiga-wear. The itchy bob wig is...well, itchy. And also, who was it that decided she wears Juicy Couture? Because yech! I feel like a Polish Paris Hilton."

"That's kinda the point."

Suddenly there was a loud celebratory fanfare. Chuck spun to look at his machine as lights flashed. Sarah's pull had lined up the double cherries apparently. "Hey! You won me two hundred bucks!"

His partner paused in pulling her hair up into a bun at the back of her head and shrugged cutely, flicking her eyes to the ceiling, a grin breaking out on her face. She finished tying her hair up and they both looked down at the machine.

A small slip of paper with printed numbers slid out of the little slot with a soft hum and the machine died down again.

"What?! That's so lame!"

Sarah just laughed and leaned over his shoulder to tear the receipt off, holding it so that they could both read it.

"The whole point of winning at a slot machine is that the coins come spilling out like whoosh and get all over the floor and everyone is cheering and this is the biggest letdown of my entire life, I swear!"

"That was a little anticlimactic, wasn't it?"

"A little?! Damn!" He stood up from his stool and fixed his camera bag on his shoulder again, taking the slip from Sarah's fingers and pouting down at it.

"Well if the coin thing had happened instead, it would sorta negate the whole under the radar vibe we're going for."

Chuck looked up at her for a moment, then shrugged. "Good point. Let's go cash this stupid thing out." He turned to look at her over her shoulder as he began to lead her over to the cashier line. "Which, by the way, isn't going to be even half as fun as dumping a massive bucket of coins out on the counter."

"Oh my God, who the hell actually dumps the coins onto the counter? That's pretty asshole-ish."

Chuck just laughed. "Okay, yeah...maybe no dumping of the coins, but even just putting the bucket on the counter is more fun than sliding this flimsy little piece of friggin'...toilet paper."

That made her crack up. "Toilet paper?"

They cashed out and Chuck pocketed his one hundred dollars, silently deeming this day a definite win. It wasn't just that they'd won one hundred bucks at the slot machine. But he and Sarah had accomplished a great deal for the con.

She'd donned her Jadwiga Sas disguise and they'd gone around the city, taking a few paparazzi-esque photographs, some candid and others posed specifically to look like a typical model shoot. It had been something of an adventure, running about Vegas, trying to find places that weren't easily recognizable as being in Sin City.

It was the perfect blend of tomfoolery and business, and even though the dark cloud of how important this con was for their survival loomed over their heads, the weather had been perfect, the photoshoots fun, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Sarah Walker smile or laugh so much.

Granted, she had piles and piles and piles of clothes she was going to have to return tomorrow and the next day. They'd merely hidden the tags or angled the camera just right for the photographs so that they wouldn't be seen. And they had gotten the strangest looks from passersby.

But this was Vegas, and strange things happened twenty four seven in this heinous city. And besides, Chuck (and he had a feeling Sarah, too) couldn't care less about anything but getting the job done. And they had done just that.

Now he had thousands and thousands of photographs of Sarah on multiple thumb drives shoved in his camera bag. And he would spend tonight and tomorrow and probably the next day after that getting the pictures up on the internet, developing a fan page for Jadwiga Sas, making sure Google images had plenty of Jadwiga Sas fodder, and even creating a fan twitter and Facebook page.

Sarah's dad had seemed less than enthused about the idea of them doing a complete photoshoot and he insisted it was a waste of time. But once he saw the end result, the entire internet persona of Jadwiga Sas, Polish socialite and casino high roller, Chuck knew he would be impressed, or at least see the point of being so thorough. At any moment, Alec MacIntosh could have his assistants look her up on the internet out of curiosity if not outright suspicion. And if nothing popped up, it would be a dead giveaway.

MacIntosh would never suspect Jadwiga Sas was a fraud after Chuck was through.

As he stepped onto the elevator that would take them up to the main floor where the Venetian shops and the canal were, the conman wondered at Jack Burton's general mien in the last few days.

While Chuck was beginning to feel more comfortable about the con, and he suspected Sarah was as well if today's activities were any indication, it seemed as though Jack was getting more and more antsy, snappish, and frankly, overly sarcastic. It made Chuck glad they all had separate rooms, because being locked in a small space with that kind of negativity was enough to make a guy go apeshit.

To a certain degree, Chuck understood the older man was afraid (and maybe ashamed by extension). This plan would be an incredible risk. Forget cat and mouse—Chuck's proposal was basically tying the mouse to a string and dangling it in front of the cat, hoping that the cat wouldn't know the mouse...if the mouse had a disguise...

Even his metaphors were ridiculous.

He saw Sarah check her watch in his peripheral.

"How we doing on time?"

"Fine I guess. Are we on a schedule or something?"

"No, no," he said. "Have you heard from your dad?"

Sarah merely shook her head and said nothing more about it, grabbing his arm to pull him into the crosswalk to cross the street instead of walking south along the sidewalk back the way they had come. He followed her willingly and she let go of his arm, leading him across Las Vegas Blvd to the large pond that sat in front of Treasure Island.

Chuck couldn't help it. He crossed the sidewalk to stand by the wooden railing, leaning his hands on the thick nautical rope and peering up at the three-masted pirate ship moored there. Its black painted wood and red sails bunched and tied on the rungs of the mast looked stunning in the mid-afternoon light, against the backdrop of tropical trees and a massive boulder carved to look like a human skull.

Très pirate-y.

When Sarah stepped up beside him, he thought she would tell him they should get a move on, or make fun of him for being childish and getting caught up in the grandeur of the adventurous scene. Instead she just peered up at it silently, until he felt her shift her weight so that her shoulder brushed his.

He peeked over at her surreptitiously and saw her pretty features stricken with memories, even as she bit her lip a little unsurely. When she noticed him looking, she smiled a little. "My dad took me here once. To Vegas. Well, I mean, he was on a job and I just happened to be with him. It wasn't really a vacation, but it—it was the closest I think we ever came to one." She rubbed her arm and looked back up at the ship. "You ever see this show?"

"I, uh, I think maybe once. I was here with buddies after we turned twenty one. I think there were sirens or something? Ladies wearing almost nothing. That's all I remember."

She snorted. "Yeah, I bet."

"Well I'm pretty sure I was wasted. We all were that whole trip. So I remember very little. I do remember the sirens crashing the ship or something like that."

He watched as she climbed over the rope and in a graceful sweep of her legs, she landed on the wooden plank-like path on the other side. He followed suit, a little less gracefully, but thankfully Sarah seemed a little wrapped up in reminiscing and didn't notice. If she had, she was kind in ignoring it.

"It was different when I was little. Treasure Island was more of an adventure-y place for kids. A family resort. Which didn't make much sense in Las Vegas, so I guess I get why they changed it to be more adultish." She leaned her elbows on the rock railing and fixed her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose as he joined her. "But the show was so cool. We were here for three nights and I swear, every night I escaped and ran all the way over here to stand on that bridge right there to see the show."

"What was the show?" Chuck asked, afraid that if he asked much more than that, it would break the spell. It wasn't often that Sarah shared things. Since their heart to heart last Christmas in Buffalo, only the smallest, sparsest scenes of her past had been shared. Even then it was a rarity. He didn't begrudge her for it, not even in the slightest. But he would grab onto these candid moments, cling to them, store them away so that he could revisit them later in his mind. Because they were precious to him. There was nothing that proved her trust in him more than when she talked to him like this.

"There were two ships, one was British navy and the other was a pirate ship. And they were on either side of the bridge. They had this amazing dialogue between the captains. You know, 'Surrender, Commodore!' and 'Never!'" He almost laughed as she made a cute little snarling growl. "And then there's this epic battle between the ships. I would always make sure to stand on the bridge because it was like the cannonballs were shooting right over your head. Explosions and water spraying into your face and guys falling out of the crow's nest, hanging from the rigging by their ankle. And swinging from deck to deck and sword fights. Sailors falling into the water. Eventually the pirates won every time, but the fighting was different every night."

"Wait, wait...The pirates won?"

"Mhm," she said, beaming.

"That's kind of cool…"

"Isn't it? Maybe I liked it because it was further validation for what me and dad did to make money." That made them both laugh. "But it was also just...cool. I thought they were so brave."

"You watched it with your dad?"

She shook her head and turned so that she could lean back against the rock and peer up at him. "Nah, just me. He did most of his gambling at night, so I just walked down here alone."

"How old were you?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "Eight or nine. Mmm, maybe ten. I can't really remember. The years kinda blend together in my mind."

Chuck didn't voice it, but he couldn't help but feel a little protective. Obviously it hadn't harmed Sarah any to walk down the strip to watch the Treasure Island battle by herself because she was here now, alive, perfectly fine—general circumstances at present aside. But it was just further evidence that Jack Burton, or whatever the guy's name was then, had been a horribly negligent father. To leave your child, a little girl, alone in the hotel while you went off to gamble...and then to not care when she walked around Las Vegas at night by herself. How often was little Sarah—or whoever she was then—in danger of being kidnapped or…?

He almost shivered in the warm desert sun at the thought of how things could have gone horribly wrong. They hadn't, and he was infinitely glad for it. But Sarah must have been a brave little girl, adventuring off on her own, amidst the untrustworthy, drunken crowds of the Vegas strip at night. Venturing off to see pirates destroy a British naval vessel and then going back on her own when it was done.

Little Chuck would never have done that unless he had Ellie with him.

"A few months later, I stole a book about pirates and even told Dad I wanted to be one when I grew up."

"Ha! What'd he say to that?"

"Don't really remember," she said with a shrug. And then she paused and pursed her lips a little sheepishly. "Actually, I do. He told me pirates were too proud. And that made them get caught twice as easy as con artists."

"That kinda makes sense."

"Mhm. I still wanted to be a pirate, even after that. To get out of those stupid foster care facilities with the shit food and early bed time. I could just walk onto a ship and sail off into the sunset. And rob rich people blind. Send them a message that I'm not to be trifled with." She jokingly growled the last bit, a pretty little amused smile on her face.

"I don't think you quite got over that part," he said, receiving a giggle and a punch to his shoulder.

He laughed and staggered away a few feet before moving back to join her at the railing again. "Seems like a good dream, though. Freedom and all that."

"Yeah. Freedom. I lost my book, though, and part of me hated my dad for it."

"Why?"

"I thought he burned it or threw it away. There was no other explanation. It was on my cot in the hotel room where I left it one morning and when I got home it was gone. He said the housekeeping lady did it but I know he did. Never really understood why he did it. Some power trip thing maybe. Because I looked up to these unknown pirates who were legendary figures instead of a deadbeat dad conman. I dunno. But I hated him for it." She shrugged and they were silent for a few minutes.

Chuck wasn't quite sure what he could say that wouldn't sound forced. Why would Jack take Sarah's pirate book from her? It was cruel and strange. Something he didn't really understand...but Jack Burton didn't seem to do things in an understandable way.

"He's terrified."

Sarah was facing the ship again, her eyes running over the sleek lines of the masts, the railing, the hull...And he could see the worry in her face.

"And it's a little scary for me, because ever since I can remember, he's never been scared. Nothing's ever scared him. Or...I don't know, maybe some things did and he was just good at hiding it. He can't hide it now though. He's really and truly scared of this MacIntosh guy. And I don't blame him. I mean, the guy owns the soul of this whole city. He has the ability to lock down the city to keep one man, a pretty smart man, inside of it. It's like MacIntosh has built an invisible wall around Las Vegas and everyone can leave but my dad."

"Force field," Chuck said under his breath.

"What?"

"Uh...nothing. Nothing." He leaned a little closer. "Do you think this plan of ours is a little too…"

"Nuts? Maybe. But it's the sort of thing Dad is usually gung-ho about, kinda like how I am. The fact that he's not this time just further proves my point. It's almost like he thinks this is the end."

Chuck blinked. The end.

"I feel how I always do before a con, though. Excited and a little nervous and just...filled with adrenaline and...The only way I can think to describe it is that there's this burning flame right here," she laid her palm flat over her belly button, "and, you know, tingles. It's such a great feeling. The best feeling in the world. You know the feeling?" She met his gaze steadily.

Suddenly, Chuck Bartowski wanted nothing more than to swan dive over the rocks in front of him and crash into the cold water. Could she have made that sound any more sensual?

Lord help me.

"Yeah, uh...I know that feeling." He swallowed thickly and looked away, hiding behind his sunglasses.

"I can't wrap my head around the chance that this mission could go wrong. Maybe that's my fault. Maybe I'm thinking too much like this is nothing but another job, when in reality it's a rescue mission. I mean, we're doing this to save my dad's life, to give him back his freedom. It's a little…"

"Intense," Chuck muttered.

"Yeah."

"I think you have to think of this as just another job, though. At least a little." She looked up at him inquisitively, raising an eyebrow over her aviators. "You're the best con artist there is. Nerves of freaking steel. You can pull off just about anything, too. It's because you're confident, you know what you're capable of. A con doesn't make you nervous or scared because it's just a con. You've got it down to a science." Sarah smirked a little and he knew he'd just stroked her ego a little. Which was his intention, really. "If you dwell too much on what's at stake, you'll just be like your dad. Terrified. When you're constantly thinking of what can go wrong, you'll forget how to do things...right. I guess. You get what I'm saying?"

She nodded. "I do."

"Think we should go back before he thinks we were kidnapped?"

Sarah snorted. "He isn't worried about that. All the times he left me somewhere by accident, and sometimes on purpose, explaining himself when he finally found me again by saying 'I knew you could take care of yourself'...He isn't worried about me getting kidnapped except that he needs me to get out of here."

They walked along down the sidewalk again, leaving the pirate ship and Sarah's bridge behind without looking back even once.

"I don't think that's true," Chuck said as she came up beside him.

"No offense, Chuck, but you don't know him."

"Maybe you don't either. Didn't you say it's been years since you saw him?" He wondered then if he should have been so candid. But when she didn't seem too peeved at his words, he let the tension go in his shoulders.

"Yeah. But I still know what he's capable of. Or I guess...what he isn't capable of. It's the nature of the lifestyle."

"What, selfishness?"

"Yes. Selfishness. And he's one of the best in the business. That doesn't mean he doesn't care about me. I know he does. And I know he's grateful that I'm here helping him. But when push comes to shove, he's a survivor."

"So are you, but you're not selfish."

Her only answer to that was a snort, and they spent the rest of the journey back to The Lucky Hotel in companionable and thoughtful silence.

}o{

Sarah hadn't been able to trust herself to be in the room with Chuck when he made the phone calls necessary to let Alec MacIntosh know to prepare for Jadwiga Sas' arrival at the Georgian hotel resort casino in four days. His Polish accent was deemed good enough to make the call, but she'd had to really work with him. Accents weren't Chuck's forte, to say the least, but he could usually work himself up to being decent at it if he practiced hard enough. And he had, much to her father's apparent annoyance.

The more steps they took in cementing the plan, the more worrisome her father's behavior became. Chuck had been very patient about it, actively keeping his mouth shut when she knew he ached to say something sarcastic to Jack. But it seemed even Chuck Bartowski had his limits. He tended to prefer company when he was doing his work, so that he could take short breaks for trivial chatter or discussing the mission. Her father had responded bitingly enough, and frequently enough, that Chuck excused himself and took his work to his own hotel room. For the next few days, he stayed in his room to work, rather than convening in Sarah's room where all three of them had been working before.

It pissed her off, the way Jack and Chuck were at odds. It was a hostile working environment for her, but more than that, it meant her team wasn't on the same page. She only knew what Chuck was working on because he came to her room late at night and filled her in then, when her dad had already retired to his own room to sleep.

She couldn't blame Chuck, though, because by removing himself from the situation he was making the possibility of a huge blow out less likely. And she appreciated that. But more than anything, she had to get to the bottom of the problem with her father. He was becoming a liability. To this rescue mission and to himself. To all of them, really.

So while Chuck sat in his own room calling MacIntosh's "people" to set up the meet, she walked down the hall to her father's room and knocked on the door.

He opened it and smirked. "Hiya, darlin'. Just in time for lunch. I was gonna order a club. Want somethin'? I could double the order and get some ice cream, like old times." He left the door open and walked further into his room, around the bed and to the phone, which he picked up to order lunch.

"I'm not all that hungry. Maybe just a fruit bowl." She shut the door behind her and he gave her a dubious look.

"Since when are you not hungry for ice cream? And the club has bacon, darlin'. Bacon." He put the phone down then, because she must have been wearing her pensiveness on her face, and he must have recognized it. "Now what's this? What's going on here? Did the schnook say somethin' to you?"

"Okay, Dad, that's it right there. Well...one of the its. You seriously need to cool it with Chuck."

"There's nothin' wrong with me and Chuck."

She scoffed and crossed her arms. "That's a load of bullshit, Dad, and you know it. You've scared him off to his own room now and I barely even know what he's working on half the time!"

That made Jack Burton snort to himself. "With his tail between his legs, huh? That ain't my problem."

"On the contrary, it's very much your problem. You've been a total asshole and I'm so done. This whole stupid, piece of crap act you've got going on. Everything he says, you've got something snappier to say in return. Like you're in fucking middle school or something." He opened his mouth and she cut him off. "If you were about to say 'he started it', I'm gonna go ahead and cut you off, because that's not helping your case even a little."

Her father almost pouted at that.

"What's all this about? Just tell me. None of this hiding behind being a sarcastic jerk stuff. That may have worked on Chuck, but it's not working on me. So spit it out. What's up?"

"Nothing's up. I'm fine. That kid is just—"

"What? He's just what? He's my partner, Dad. And right now, he's your partner, too. He's been doing a hell of a lot of work to help you. We're not doing this for our health, you know. It's all for you. To get you out of Vegas, to give you your freedom back. Everything Chuck is doing is to get you out of Mac's crosshairs. And you're repaying him by being an ungrateful jerk!"

He just stared at her for a few moments, then he smirked again and nodded. "You're hungry. I can tell. You get mean when you're hungry. Lemme just call for those sandwiches." He picked up the phone again and she stomped around the bed, grabbed it from him, and slammed the handset back into the cradle.

"I said I wanted a fruit bowl, not a sandwich, first of all, and second of all, you're deflecting. You aren't listening to me and I need you to. Please, Dad." Suddenly she felt like the parent, on the verge of grounding her child for insubordination. But then he pressed his lips together, held up his hands defensively, and took a step back.

"Okay, darlin'. Sorry. I'm listening."

Sarah sat on the bed tiredly and ran her hands over her hair. "I know you didn't want Chuck involved in this because you don't trust him. I didn't even want him getting involved, but he found me anyways, and now he's involved and there's nothing I can do about it now." Except freaking apologizing to him for leaving in the first place, which I still haven't done.

"We could always tie him up and stick him in the closet 'til we're done."

"No, Dad, we can't." She gave him a flat look, completely unamused, even though his cheeky smile told her he thought she would be. "This is a three-person job. Chuck's covering my ass in there because if you show your face, we're all sunk. And you are the getaway guy. The driver. And get off Chuck's back for God's sake, because without him, we would never have even gotten this far."

"Yeah, we would have. We would have done just fine without all his...gizmos and gadgmos or whatever."

"Gadgets?"

"Tomato tomahto." He waved her away and frowned at the floor. "You know, there's something to be said for using your brain and nothin' else to get the job done."

"Yeah, sure," she agreed. "But sometimes you need more than that." He seemed annoyed by her suggestion and things slowly started clicking into place in her mind. "I know this is a worse situation than you've been in before, Dad. Nobody's ever trapped you like this, where you can't get out on your own. That's really shitty. I-I know…" She swallowed thickly, trying to push back the residual shame and fear and anger from all those years ago. "I know the feeling. Trust me, I do. But sometimes you just have to admit it when you need someone's help."

"What do you mean, admit it? I called you, didn't I? What else do you want from me? Okay, I admit it. I needed your help."

"I needed your help," she wanted to say, but that would have to wait for another time. That was a wound that would have to be dealt with later, when there weren't more pressing matters at hand.

"And you need Chuck's help," she said instead.

Jack shook his head, a little petulantly in her opinion. And she rolled her eyes.

"If you'd just stop acting like a child and pay attention, you'd see that the guy is in his room right now, risking his own freedom, risking his own safety, to help you win back yours," she said, feeling a bit of a lump in her chest. "Do you even know how big that is?"

Her father uncrossed his arms and stuck his hands in his pocket. "I didn't ask him to come here."

"Neither did I. In fact, I did my best to make sure he didn't come here. But he did. He's here. And he's doing a hell of a lot more than you are. And you're the one who's really at risk here. So maybe try to stop getting your panties in a twist over it and just accept his help," she snapped.

That made him chuckle a bit.

Sarah rolled her eyes again. "Dad, I'm serious. I can't do this anymore. I can't have my team being at each other's throats anymore."

"We aren't at each other's throats."

"Yeah, only because Chuck's completely removed himself from the equation. So tell me what's wrong. You hate my partner. I get it. You need to move past it now. But that's not the only thing. What else is it?"

He shrugged and she glared. It must have lasted a full minute or more before he finally lowered his eyes and sighed, seemingly resigned. "I'm just worried about you, darlin'."

"About me? I'm not the one with Alec MacIntosh gunning for me."

"It's this whole partner thing. It's gonna get you into trouble. That's how people get arrested. That's how people end up dead."

Sarah shook her head. He wasn't telling the whole truth. She knew him better than he thought. He'd taught her how to read people a long time ago, and she could read him just as well as she could read anyone else now. There was more to this than he was willing to admit.

"Chuck's done nothing but keep me alive ever since we started working together, Dad. And vice versa. That's the whole point of having a partner." He squinted at her silently, then seemed all the more surly afterwards.

"Yeah, well...You spend enough time with Inspector Gadget over there and you won't know how to use your own head, your own hands. And then what happens when he bugs out on you, leaves you alone to fend for yourself? When you're completely dependent on him and he splits? You'll be stuck."

I'm the one who left. She frowned at herself.

"Says the man who is literally trapped in this city by Alec MacIntosh's invisible force field."

"Force field?"

"Nothing," she snapped moodily, crossing her arms. "All I'm saying is you can't tell me what's going to happen to me if Chuck abandons me, because I'm not the one in trouble right now. You are. And guess what? You got into trouble because you were alone."

"It was bad luck, that's all. Even guys with...computers and tech and shit like that can get unlucky. Maybe it hasn't happened to...RoboCon Charlie yet," he snarked, "but it will. You mark my words."

And there it was.

"Dad, you're not just scared of MacIntosh, are you?" she asked, standing up from the bed and stepping a little closer. "You're scared that the tech world is slowly bumping you out of the con game. That's why you've been so bitter about Chuck. That's why you've been treating him like crap."

"Oh, come on. There isn't a thing in the world that could get me out of the con game. There'll always be a place for a guy like me." He tapped his temple and glared at her. "I've got more wit in this noggin than ten of your tech nerds combined. I can talk myself out of anything. Just look at how I got out of Mac's casino."

"Yeah, barely. You almost died in there. As it is, you got beaten to a pulp!"

"But I got out! I'm alive."

"Nevertheless, I don't see why you're taking it out on Chuck. He's trying to help you."

"Yeah, well...if you think he's doing that for me, you're crazy, girlie."

"What the hell are you talking about? Of course he's doing it for you. He's been in there all hours of the day making sure Jadwiga Sas exists in every possible way on every Internet site and piece of social media that exists to keep us from being caught. He's forging identification and a driver's license for you, and—Why are you smirking? Stop smirking! It's seriously annoying trying to talk to someone when they just smirk at you the whole time," she barked.

He held up his hands in defense again. "Sorry. Not smirking."

"Look, forget why Chuck is helping. He is helping. And you really need to get past this childish grudge you have against the tech part of our profession and focus on what you have to do for this mission to go down the way it should. That includes treating Chuck like a human. You don't have to respect him if it pains you that much...but you do have to treat him with respect."

Her dad merely sighed and shrugged. "I'll do my damndest."

"I seriously doubt that."

He chuckled again. "As long as you admit that the con game is a hell of a lot more fun when you're doing it all on your own."

"Of course it's more rewarding on one level," she admitted. "But on every other level, it isn't just about the technology. It's about having that safety net. Knowing there's somebody else there, knowing precautions have been taken, knowing for sure that you've done everything possible to make sure a job doesn't go south. And that's what Chuck is for. That's what he's damn good at. And by the time we're through with this, you'll see it."

"I seriously doubt that," he mimicked.

"You won't have any choice, Dad." She'd learned that very early on in her partnership with Chuck. He was just good to have around. His knack with technology included.

"So you say." He sighed. "Fine. Tell the schnook he can stop hiding from me. I'll try to be nicer. I won't bite."

"You better not." She didn't like the way her father looked at her at that particular moment, like he was seeing something she didn't want him to see. And she had no idea what that something was, but she felt vulnerable suddenly. And she wanted to go back to her room to work on the disguises some more.

"Can I order lunch now that I've been thoroughly chewed out? No pun intended."

Sarah snorted. "Yeah. Go ahead."

"Right, two clubs." She glared and he snapped his fingers. "Damn it. I meant a club and a fruit bowl."

She smirked, knowing he was pulling her leg. "Get a club for Chuck, too. I'm going to go check on him and see how the phone calls are going."

"Yeah, well...I'll get him a club, but I'm not getting him one with bacon."

"Dad…"

"I'm just teasin', darlin', pull in the claws."

She watched him pick up the phone and she turned to leave, feeling significantly better about the team and the prospects of Chuck and her dad being able to put their differences behind them. But she was also feeling particularly unsettled about something else, something she couldn't quite put her finger on at the moment.

It was unimportant, and she'd figure it out later. For now, she had to make sure Chuck was on track.

She had to make sure they had a date with the Georgian in a few days' time.

A/N: Oh guuuuuuuurl, you tell dat man who the boss is. 'Cause it ain't him.

I just want to say, writing Sarah biting her dad's head off was one of the most enjoyable scenes I've written. It felt so good. Mmm.

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