A/N: Hi, readers. Hope none of you are being affected by the horrific fires in the west, or the terrifying hurricanes in the south east. Or the huge, massive earthquake off the coast of Mexico. And I also hope none of you are DREAMers who didn't expect the current administration to strip you of your future/life/the home you've always known and belong in because you're A HUMAN BEING by doing away with DACA. Or or or or or or or ... Feeling heavy? Me, too. Everything is awful.

But guess what?

I've made this chapter especially warm and fuzzy. It was originally going to move things forward a little more, but instead, I thought I'd insert some nice things. Hope you all enjoy. Love you guys.

Disclaimer: I'm not making money from this. These aren't my characters. CHUCK doesn't belong to me.

Previously in Chuck Versus the Steampunk Chronicles:

The Inquisitor has a mole working in the IEL who also has a high-level position. W'uh oh. Chuck and Sarah have a late night discussion about the letter from Bryce they found in Ishmael Grand's possession. Now they know they have the IEL and this Inquisitor whatsit looking for the Intersect. And who knows what else? Ellie also roped Sarah into feminist stuff, ugh. (Hehe)

Read on, my friends!

Chuck watched his sister pace in front of him as he sat on the couch in her living room; back and forth, back and forth. He had a thought he might tell her to slow down, else she'd burn a hole in the rug, but it wouldn't help anything if he did. She'd give him a look and continue pacing.

Anyhow, he didn't want to be the one to interrupt her thought process. She'd always thought better on her feet, his sister.

"I don't even know why I ask you for advice on these matters," she huffed, finally stopping and swirling around to face him. She wore a simple frock with lace on the chest and sleeves, a pale green color that Devon once commented made her eyes stand out. Chuck had the misfortune of walking in on the scene in the kitchen, giving them both a flat look when they didn't break their kiss in spite of both of them knowing he stood there. He thought perhaps they did it on purpose to vex him.

And yet, deep down inside, Chuck Bartowski was supremely glad his sister had found someone so perfectly fitted to be her life partner. If anything ever happened to the toymaker, he knew his sister would have someone. And, most importantly, the Woodcombs were happy. Happier than anyone else he knew. He wanted to protect that happiness for as long as he could.

"I didn't mean it, Chuck. You don't have to look so glum." She crossed her arms and smiled down at him.

He shook himself out of his funk and chuckled. "I'm not glum. That was my thinking look."

It wasn't. And she knew it. But she moved on and he was grateful.

"What would you know about cooking? I'm the cook in the family."

"I can cook…certain things."

"Yes, you're terribly good at scrambling eggs."

"I'm practically a professional poultry, beef, and fish smoker. You've had my salmon. Tell me it isn't amazing."

She smirked and giggled. "It was amazing. But can you smoke enough salmon for upwards of one thousand mouths?"

Chuck made a show of thinking about it. "Now, that depends. How big are the mouths?"

A pin cushion immediately came flying at him, bouncing off of his nose. Luckily the thing didn't have any pins in it. But he gave her a scandalized look anyhow.

"Honestly, Ellie. We can hire Mr. Blandings. Everybody gets a pigeon sandwich!"

"Pigeon sandwiches?" This time she looked scandalized. "Chuck, the cream of the suffragette crop will be there. Wives of not just the city's legislative body, but the state's as well."

"What's wrong with them eating a pigeon sandwich?"

"The grease in those things!"

"Well, what do they want? A soft boiled egg and steak? Perhaps we can scoop the eggs out of an endangered whale and serve them that." He clapped his hands together once. "Capital idea!"

"You know, your sarcasm really isn't helping right now. I hate when you get sarcastic. Not a good feature for you."

Where had he heard that before?

And almost like she was summoned with that thought, he heard the front door open and a tentative. "Hello?"

"Oh, Sarah!" Ellie spun towards the doorway that led into the small entryway of her home. "We're in the living room. Come in."

Chuck pushed to his feet and Sarah appeared a moment later, wearing the same dress she'd worn the day he met her. When he'd woken up with her leaning over him, her face so angelic and her soft blue eyes full of vitality and light. And to think that day he'd thought he'd never see her again when that eye-catching navy blue gown had swept out of sight before he could follow her or even learn her name.

That seemed like a century ago now.

And, damn him, but this woman hadn't aged a bit. If anything, she was more beautiful now than she'd been then. And he felt ridiculous for his strange stream of thought. That had only been a few months ago. What was wrong with him?

"Good morning. I'm sorry if I'm a little late. I worked an overnight shift and I'm afraid I fell asleep in the bathtub," she finished with a giggle, pushing a stray curl out of her face and tucking it behind her ear.

Chuck shut his eyes tightly and cursed himself silently. Because Sarah Walker had just mentioned being in a bathtub and he was only human.

"Chuck!"

He jumped and spun to regard his sister. "Oh! Sorry. Uh. Morning." He turned and beamed at their guest.

"What's wrong with you?" Ellie asked, smacking his shoulder lightly, an amused smile on her face.

"I believe I broke him by talking about my bath," Sarah teased, tilting her head and smirking.

Chuck stuttered as Ellie giggled. "What? No. That—No," he denied, making a face. "That's not—I wasn't—Stop it. No. I was just thinking about how you were wearing that dress when I first met you."

And he felt a spark of satisfaction that she seemed caught rather off-guard, her blue eyes widening as she looked up at him, the smirk dying down and her lips parting. "Oh." She blushed and rubbed a hand down her front. "This old thing? I-I suppose I was."

"What are you doing here?" he heard himself ask.

Then there was a smack on his bicep and he recoiled with an "ow" as he met his sister's shocked and annoyed green eyes. "No, I—That wasn't supposed to be rude. I didn't mean it like—I just didn't know she was—" He turned back to Sarah. "I didn't know you were coming. It's a pleasant surprise, of course. And stop hitting me!" he directed at Ellie, amused.

"Well, they might treat us like peasants, brother of mine," she said, gesturing outside, "but that doesn't mean we have to act like that's what we are."

Chuck turned back to Sarah. "Oh, Lady Sarah of the California Poppies," he teased in his best upperclass British Empire accent, "Welcome to our humble abode—"

"Lord save us, I give up," he heard Ellie sigh.

"Shall I retrieve the butler, dear sister? Ring the bell? Wot?" he teased. "Perhaps we'll have some tea and sconnnes," he emphasized the British pronunciation of the word, dragging the "n" out.

Sarah laughed as Ellie crossed her arms and stared at him, doing her best not to let him see she thought he was funny, even though it was plain as day on her face.

She turned to her guest and beamed at her. "Chuck's tomfoolery aside, Sarah, may I get you some tea? Have you eaten yet?"

"I have eaten, thank you. But tea would be lovely."

"Chuck, get your—get Sarah some tea," Ellie amended, quickly. Chuck inwardly winced at the way Ellie bit her lip and blushed a little. There was excitement in the way she tried to cover up that faux pas. Like she knew her brother had a romance brewing, and with a good woman.

Chuck was glad to disappear into the kitchen as he heard the two women start up a conversation. Sarah had told him last week that it would be easier if they promoted a courtship. And he knew she was right.

A young unattached woman and a young unattached man who seemingly couldn't stop spending time together…If they were merely friends, if they tried to stick to that story, Ellie would never believe it. And then she would start wondering. Perhaps she would start judging. Sarah might get the brunt of it.

After all, it was far more believable that she should be the less interested one, and therefore would be the logical reason why they weren't together romantically.

And he knew how dysfunctional it was, how much it was wishful thinking, but Chuck wanted Ellie to continue liking Sarah. He wanted her to love her. Because someday she would find out the truth. And when that day came, Chuck needed there to be someone else in Sarah's life who knew who she was, what she'd done, and still wanted to know her. He needed Ellie to continue embracing Sarah when that day came. Because he needed Sarah to know her real identity didn't have to stop her from connecting with people, that there was good in the world, and kindness. And he needed her to know, above all else, that she deserved that kindness.

He let the leaves steep for a few minutes as he stood there, prepping a tray with cream and sugar for Ellie, setting three cups around the kettle. Then he second-guessed himself and set a fourth on the tray. Ellie had said Devon was due home any time now, and the doctor would need a good cup of black tea after doing overnight emergency visitations.

"Chuck?"

With a sigh, he lifted the tray and plastered a smile on his face, walking out of the kitchen and joining the ladies in the living room. "Yes, dear sister?" he answered.

"Oh, there's the tea. Come and sit."

"Yes, dear sister," he said solemnly, receiving a flat look. There was a slight tingle in his chest as he watched her turn and share an amused glance with Sarah.

He set the tray down on the coffee table.

Chuck noticed Ellie had taken the plush chair, leaving the love seat across from her for Sarah to sit in. There was a spot right next to Sarah open to him. Otherwise, he'd have to grab the chair from the corner of the room and pull it over, which would definitely be an obvious attempt not to sit next to Sarah, and therefore rather rude. His sister was practically a criminal he sat beside Sarah, exchanging a quick smile with her.

"I was telling Sarah we're working on recruiting women from the citrus packing industry. They're a bit of a ways inland, about two and a half hour's ride on the train. But it would be good to have unions represented."

"Uh, absolutely." Chuck decided to busy himself with passing Sarah her cup first, then Ellie, finally taking one for himself.

"Oh, Sarah…There's milk and sugar. I have honey in the kitchen, as well."

"Sarah doesn't take anything in her tea," Chuck answered easily. Both women turned to look at him. And Chuck looked at Ellie first, then at Sarah.

"He's right. I don't," Sarah said quietly. Damn everything, but he couldn't tell if the smile on her face, so full of warmth, was for Ellie's benefit or sincere.

It worked on Ellie, either way. His sister was practically a beacon of light, she seemed so thrilled by his thoughtfulness. It would've been encouraging…if any of this were real at all.

"What about your assistant? That big burly fellow who trudges around your workshop and insults you? Casey, is it? John?" Ellie asked.

Chuck turned away from Sarah and cleared his throat. "What about him? And he doesn't insult me. He's just…"

"A grump."

Ellie pointed at Sarah. "Perfect word for him. He's a grump. He looks at everyone like they've just kicked his dog."

"Or ruined his candle collection…" Chuck murmured. Sarah choked a little on her tea. He bit his cheek to keep from showing amusement.

"No, no. Hold on. You aren't keeping this from me," Ellie said, pointing again, first at Chuck, then at Sarah. "Candle collection?"

Chuck cleared his throat. "Mr. Casey is a candle man, as it were. He makes his own candles. He has a very keen nose for scents—"

Ellie cut him off then, laughing so hard she had to cover her face with her hand and set her tea down with the other to keep from spilling it. "He's a candle enthusiast?" she repeated through her laughter. "Oh, this made my whole week. Who would have known?" She wiped under her eyes with her fingers. "Oh, I'm crying." And still, she laughed. "Dear sweet man. Ohhh my…"

The toymaker let himself chuckle, taking in the sight of his sister and his…well, his protector…laughing together. It was an added bonus that they were laughing at a man who seemed to make it his business to make Chuck's life a living hell on his best days.

An hour passed by, their conversation easy and light, even as Ellie outlined the route for the march. They weighed the pros and cons of telling the local patrol station about their plans in case they might count on the patrolmen to make things safer for the marchers and the citizens around the area who weren't marching. The corruptness and general nastiness of the patrol was definitely a deterrent. They most likely couldn't count on the "beasts", as Sarah had put it.

Finally, the front door opened again and they heard the booming voice of Chuck's brother-in-law, before the man himself swept into the room, his hat in one hand, briefcase in the other.

Chuck poured Devon some tea and passed it to him, accepting the hair ruffle from the man who was a few years his senior. And as they caught up, Chuck started getting the feeling that something was weighing on Doctor Woodcomb.

Perhaps it was just fatigue. Perhaps something went wrong with a patient. Devon became drawn and sullen when a patient died on the table. Chuck had learned to pick up on the signs. But his brother-in-law wouldn't bring it up in front of company. It was his genteel upbringing, in a well-endowed family, with governesses and the like.

However, Chuck also knew that some quiet time with his wife might be what the man needed. So when his sister and her husband weren't looking, he met Sarah's gaze and nodded a bit.

She nodded back and he thought she understood.

He realized she did when she spoke up. "I'm terribly sorry to do this, Ellie…Devon…I'm terribly tired from my overnight shift last night. If I don't find a bed soon, I might fall asleep on this love seat."

Devon and Chuck both leapt to their feet when she rose to stand and Chuck immediately took her gently by her arm.

He also excused himself to his sister and brother-in-law, claiming he had a lot of work to catch-up on from the days he was away from the shop. And when they stepped outside, the door shutting behind them, Chuck tightened his grip on Sarah's arm as she made to walk to the street in front of the house.

Sarah sent him a questioning look and he cleared his throat. "Would you mind coming up? I-There's something I need to ask you. Please. I know you must be tired. I'm sure you didn't just say that to get us out of there."

"Not entirely," she admitted. "But I'm perfectly alright. Lead the way."

He smiled his thanks and let go of her, leading her past the Woodcombs' door to the staircase that led up to his own lodgings. He was too lost in his own thoughts to see the green eyes lit with excitement through the window, or the swish of the lace curtain falling back into place.

Chuck had wanted—no, needed—to talk to Sarah about what had happened that night in the hotel.

The dreams he'd had since then, the bad feeling that something had happened…something he didn't remember. He'd wanted to ask her about it for a week now, and in that time he'd barely seen Sarah—and never alone.

He needed the complete truth.

So as he led Sarah up the stairs and unlocked his door to let her in first, he mulled over how exactly to broach the subject. And he continued mulling even as they stepped into his bedroom. He gestured for her to sit and she did so, on the edge of his bed.

She sat a bit reluctantly, he noticed. Was it the impropriety of this being his bedroom? Or was it his bed? Or was she nervous about whatever it was he needed to ask her?

There was no way for him to know, so he just huffed and sat beside her on the bed, looking down at his hands.

"Chuck, what is it?"

He let out a breath and turned his hands over, staring at his knuckles and the little nicks in his skin there where he'd found cuts. He remembered the sight of his hands stained in red, before Grand's death, when he'd blacked out and woke up with pain in his fists and someone's blood on his hands.

"I haven't been alone with you since we got back, and…frankly…I wasn't entirely in a good place to think about it before. But now I can't—I can't stop thinking about it…" He shook his head and flexed his hands. The pain had long since gone, but the memory was still there. Or, rather, the lack of memory.

The dreams he'd had since then, the bad feeling that something had happened…something he didn't remember.

"What can't you stop thinking about?" she asked. And when he couldn't find the right words, she leaned in close, speaking quietly. "Is it Ishmael?"

Chuck let out a soft huff, smiling bitterly, shaking his head. "No, I've…It isn't." He stole himself and turned to look into her face, studying her closely. He would need to watch for the truth in her face, he knew, because he wasn't sure he could trust her to speak the truth. Not out of spite, of course, but in an effort to protect his feelings. To keep him from being afraid.

He could handle the fear. He just needed to know what was wrong with him. What he was capable of.

"I remember some of West's men falling upon us, attacking us. We were outnumbered. And I saw one of them on top of you, his hand around your throat. I kept hearing you cry out for me, you needed my help." He squinted and pressed the bridge of his nose as he remembered the pain that had split through his head. "There was anger and then…How do I even explain this?"

"Try," she urged, her fist twisting in her skirt. He stared at her knuckles, so white as she squeezed.

"There was pain. My head, it…It ached something awful. You were there. My knuckles were cracked, painful, there was blood on my hands. And I was sweating profusely. I don't know what happened. But something happened."

Sarah opened her mouth to speak, looking away from him. Pointedly looking away from him, and he reached over to wrap his hand around hers.

"Please tell me what happened, Sarah. What you saw me do. I saw the look on your face when you spoke to me. You were shocked. Upset. What did you see? What did I do, Sarah?" He knew he was begging, and he couldn't make himself feel shame for letting her see him beg. He needed to know.

And a look of understanding came over her. She met his gaze, her eyes so very blue in the light streaming in from his window. "I'm sorry, Chuck. I didn't want you to dwell on it just then, because—because I needed you to focus on getting out of the hotel alive."

"I understand," he said, quickly, sincerely, squeezing her hand on her skirt. "But you'll tell me now?"

She nodded and he felt the overwhelming urge to kiss her. He wouldn't. He wouldn't even begin to dream it would be welcome. Especially not at this moment, when they sat on his bed, alone in his home. Alone in his room.

"I've never seen you so angry, Chuck. Like you were…possessed. There was so much rage and yet…your eyes weren't the same eyes I—" She didn't finish the sentence, looking away, down at her lap. She pulled her hand out from his and wrapped her fingers in the sleeve of his jacket, still not looking at him. "Almost as though I was watching someone else…" She paused and he urged her on.

"What'd I do?"

"You beat the daylights out of all of them. The man who had me pinned?" He nodded. "You bodily lifted him off of me with an otherworldly amount of strength and slammed him into the wall repeatedly. And then you dropped him to the ground and pounded your fists into his face over and over and over…And you didn't stop until I wrenched you off of him. Even then you didn't stop until I slapped you."

Cold hard fear washed over him and he reached over to grab her arm, desperation making him breathless. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" He knew he was letting her see everything. The way he cared for her was most likely written all over his face. But if she didn't know now, she wasn't as observant as her career required her to be. He was terrible at hiding his emotions. He knew he was. And there was nothing he could do about it, try as he might.

"No," she breathed. And he felt his heart drop a little as she quickly diverted her eyes. He let go of her and folded his hands in his lap, staring down at them. "I think you flashed out of anger. To protect me. Maybe because I called your name. Because I needed your help."

A chill went through him. "Do you think it—it's possible that the Intersect is…" He swallowed, his mouth dry. "Could the Intersect be so deeply ingrained in me that it's fused itself with my…my emotions? I mean, that I flash in anger to protect people I…care about?" Those last two words made him wince inwardly.

"I don't know, Chuck." She sighed. "But the fact that you don't remember that flash isn't good. It means you have no control over what you're doing. And if you don't have control…"

"The Intersect does."

"That's right. And I don't trust the Intersect." Sarah paused, leaning close. "Do you?"

"Not even slightly."

"Exactly."

Chuck slumped forward and buried his face in his hands. "What if I flash like that and—What if I kill someone?" He looked up at her quickly. "I didn't murder those men in the hallway, did I? They were still alive?"

"They were alive when we left them, yes…"

And he didn't pick up on the half-truth of her answer, as relieved as he was. "Good. But…Next time, I might. Next time, I might kill someone." It hurt to say it. It made everything in him ache. But he knew it was true. "I'm dangerous."

"You aren't dangerous, Chuck," she said quickly, grabbing his collar and yanking on it so that he had to look at her, eyes wide in surprise at her forcefulness. "This isn't you. The Intersect might be dangerous, but you are not the Intersect."

"I am the Intersect," he said, meeting her hard blue eyes. "It's inside of me. What if I reach a point where I'm more…it than I am me?" He felt himself spiraling but he couldn't stop it. His hands were shaking. "And I don't know what I'm doing anymore? I can't control my actions? I'm—I'm a machine. A weapon." He looked up at Sarah. "That's what the government wants, isn't it? That was why they created this. To keep their secrets inside of a killing machine? Someone without conscience, without humanity?"

"Chuck, stop."

"I'm going to—"

"Stop!"

His face was cupped in her hands and his voice died in his throat, stunned by the cool feeling of her strong hands against his cheeks, her fingers curled around his jaw, her stunningly harsh features so close to his. His eyelids fluttered and then he met her gaze solidly, unable to look away.

"As long as you have the Intersect, Chuck Bartowski, it will not be inside of a killing machine. No matter what happens, who you are isn't going to change. If they wanted someone without conscience and humanity, then they'll be sorely disappointed if they ever find out you have it."

He was speechless as he stared at her, watching her eyes soften. And he couldn't help it—what with the way his heart was swimming at her words—but his gaze lowered to her lips. And when he met her eyes again, he watched her follow suit.

But he wouldn't be the one to do it. As much as his body wanted to lean in, close the distance…

And then she lowered her hands and turned away completely. "Everything will be alright, Chuck. I'm protecting you," she rushed out. And he felt the wall between them again. Damn it.

Damn it damn it damn it.

His chest ached even more as she pushed up from the bed and ran a hand down her frock. "I should head home and get some sleep. Are you going to the workshop today?"

"No, I'm—I'm working from here," he said, noticing how she was looking everywhere but at him. His hands were still shaking, fear was still prickling at him, making his toes and fingers tingle in the worst way. He wanted to scream.

He didn't want to be alone.

He was afraid to be alone now. He was ashamed of himself for it.

So he let her walk away, following her through his home to his front door and opening it for her. He was afraid to be alone with himself, afraid to think about what would happen if something made him angry again and he flashed. What would happen if Sarah wasn't there to knock him out of it? Would it be like Jekyll and Hyde? The novel had intrigued him, even excited the inventor in him, when he was a teenager and read it for the first time. But Hyde had eventually overpowered Jekyll, hadn't he?

What if he started waking up in the morning finding his murder weapons in bed with him, his clothes caked in someone's blood? The Intersect might have him going into people's homes and killing them.

How would he even look at himself in the mirror?

He held the door tightly, willing himself to stop shaking, and he smiled at Sarah. "When, uh…When will I see you again?" he asked, clearing his throat when he heard the quiver in his voice.

"Soon," was her only answer. "I'm always around."

Because she had to be. And they both knew that, didn't they?

He didn't want her to leave.

And then she did, moving down the staircase, and he had to shut the door behind her. Chuck waited there, pressing his forehead to the door.

He shouldn't have asked her.

He should've just let it go.

Because now that he knew what the Intersect was capable of, now that he knew the Intersect could demolish his control over his own actions, he would be living in fear.

Chuck walked back through his foyer to his bedroom and eventually to his desk in a fog, pulling his chair out and sitting down, staring at the drawings of new toys he would build, toys he'd thought he could market to adults for a change. But he couldn't get his brain to switch over to this. These drawings looked juvenile and trivial to him now.

Hopelessness and anguish came over him, a yearning for the way his life had been before all of this, and then there was a surge of anger at the unfairness of everything that had happened to him and he swept his hand over his desk, knocking the papers onto the floor. He covered his face, breathing hard.

It was then that there was a knock on his door.

He heard it distantly…through the fog.

Chuck shook his head and stood up, pushing his hands through his hair to make himself look a bit more presentable. And then he shrugged out of his jacket, knowing his tantrum hadn gotten ink on it, and he hung it on the rack beside the door. He'd see later if Ellie could help him keep it from staining.

He swung the door open and froze.

Sarah stood there. She didn't seem to know what to say. And he felt a little lost as he looked at her. Why had she come back?

She let out a huff, shook her head minutely, and looked up at him, meeting his gaze steadily. Then there was a small smile, soft and open. Beautiful.

"I saw some drawings on your desk. And I was wondering if you might…need a second opinion," she said, twisting her lips to the side.

Chuck was overwhelmed. He felt like doing so many things at once, most of them ending with holding her in his arms. She was just…

She was everything.

And she had no idea.

Shaking his head, he felt himself beaming. And then he ducked his head and stepped back, opening his door wider for her to come inside. And when she did, he shut it behind her, gesturing towards his bedroom.

It was only when he followed her into his room that he realized the mess he'd left. He blushed with shame, his grin dying on his face. "Oh. I, uh…"

He rushed over and started trying to swipe up the drawings. He wouldn't do her the disservice of trying to explain how it happened. She was brilliant, she was observant, and she had a heart, contrary to what she might think. She knew how his papers ended up on the floor.

Chuck felt her presence beside him then, and he glanced up to see her kneeling there, helping him gather up the drawings.

"Thank you," he said. And he stood to his full height, knocking the stack against the desk a few times to straighten them out. She did the same with hers and set them down.

"What's this?" she asked, picking up the one at the top of the pile.

She was distracting him, he knew. And he was grateful. There were no words for how grateful he was.

Sarah Walker sat down on his bed then as he turned his desk chair towards her and sat in it. He talked about the inventions, the prototypes, the models he was working on. She listened intently, asking questions, seemingly interested. And even if her interest wasn't sincere, she was here. And the Intersect ended up being pushed far from the forefront of his mind.

Eventually, he let his voice fade off as her eyelids shut, her body draped over his bed, her overnight shift at the Aviator's Timepiece finally catching up to her.

Chuck knew he was playing with fire as he crept close to her and knelt at her feet, untying her boots and slipping them off. It took him awhile to build up the courage, but he eventually slid his arms underneath her and lifted her from his bed, managing to pull the duvet and sheets down and depositing her back on the mattress.

Covering her up again, Chuck lingered a little longer than he needed to. She was just so stunning. Breathtaking, even.

He finally stood again and went to his window, drawing the curtains shut to make the room darker for her to sleep easier, and he went back to his desk, lighting a candle so that he could continue his work, comforted to no end by the presence of the woman sleeping a few feet away from him.

}o{

She was in the dark.

Candlelight flickered on the ceiling as she blinked her eyes open. She squirmed in the comforting warmth in which she was currently enshrouded. There was something familiar about it. A scent…

Chuck?

Sarah frowned and squirmed again, craning her neck to look down her body. She immediately saw him sitting at his desk, a compass in hand as he drew something.

She was a little confused, but still she took the time to take him in.

His hair was ruffled, shirtsleeves rolled up, the top two buttons undone, no tie. He was barefoot. His tongue was poking out between his lips and his eyes were narrowed in the soft candlelight as he concentrated.

The con woman realized then what must have happened. He was telling her about his projects, his drawings—her ploy to distract him from the reality of the Intersect and what it was capable of doing to him—and she must have fallen asleep. She didn't remember climbing under the covers, which meant he'd put her there.

She opted not to think too hard on that.

"Ah, you're awake," he said quietly, and she focused on his face again. She pushed up to her elbows, tucking her hair behind her ear and finally sitting all the way up as she covered her yawn daintily with her hand.

"How long was I asleep?" she asked, yawning again. This time, she didn't cover it, letting her jaw pop.

Chuck didn't seem to mind as he checked his pocket watch.

"Only two and a half hours."

Sarah snorted inwardly, just barely keeping her blush at bay. Because she had seen Ellie watch out the window as Chuck and his lady friend went up to his lodgings. And she knew Ellie would be watching to see how long Sarah stayed.

She didn't blame the woman for it. She was human, and curious, and wanted her brother's happiness.

But that also meant she'd know how long Sarah stayed with Chuck. And God, Ellie would be incredibly naive if she didn't assume they were involved in extramarital relations.

Ellie didn't seem like the sort of woman who'd hold that against Chuck or Sarah. If anything, it meant she'd expect things to progress a lot quicker between the younger couple, and that wasn't a good thing.

Not in the long run.

Sarah couldn't make herself bring that up with Chuck. Not after she'd just had an amazing two and a half hour sleep in his bed. She was rather shameless on the topic usually, but when all was said and done, Chuck was altogether…different.

"Do you feel better?" he asked.

"Do you?"

They both knew what she meant. She wouldn't parse words with him. And she knew he'd figured out by now why she'd come back after she left.

She was a coward, escaping from his presence when she'd felt the undeniable magnetism between them. His lips had been so enticing, and she'd been so close to…And then she'd run away.

But she couldn't let him be alone today. Not after she told him what the Intersect had done to him a week ago in the hotel. Not when he came to the realization that the Intersect posed a threat to his autonomy, that he was capable of violence without him even having a say in it.

She'd seen as he said goodbye that he needed her to stay. She'd seen him fight valiantly to keep her from seeing the way his hands shook.

And it had killed her inside. Of course she'd run away from the pain. That was what she always did.

But then she'd stopped at the bottom of the stairs, standing there for far too long. Because she knew she owed him better. She couldn't leave him alone like that. She couldn't dump something that terrifying into his lap with the awful implications of what the future might hold for him, and then leave him by himself.

So she'd come back.

She didn't regret it.

"I do," he said with a nod. She appreciated him not trying to pretend with her. They were both on the same page, like always. "In the end, the Intersect is in my head and I have to make do. Maybe there's a way to control it better. I just have to…find it."

"We'll find it together," she said.

His eyes were soft in the dim light, much too soft. So she finally stood up from the bed, breaking his gaze and smoothing her hand down her dress.

That was when she realized she wasn't wearing her boots. She wiggled her toes and turned to look for them, spotting them tucked neatly against the bedpost on the floor. She knew she hadn't put herself to bed, and that she hadn't taken her own boots off. Which meant he'd done it.

And damn her, she couldn't stop imagining him doing it. Carefully untying them, slipping them off of her feet, setting them on the floor and scooting them under the bed.

Sarah swallowed thickly and went to sit on the end of the mattress, picking up her boots and stepping into them one by one, focusing on lacing them up again.

"You know, I think I'll scrap the propellors on this one," he mumbled quietly, and she wasn't sure if he was addressing her or talking to himself.

"Which one?" she finally asked, standing up and walking a bit closer. Not too close. Because he'd taken her boots off of her feet, gently enough, carefully enough that she hadn't been woken up in spite of how light of a sleeper she always was. The care he must have put into it… She just couldn't get it out of her mind. With that, she moved back another inch, slowly, without him noticing.

"I thought if I put propellors on top of this dirigible, it might create some lift. You know, if I can fix a motor small enough. But I don't know how safe propellors would be for a child's toy." He pushed the sketches towards her.

"Ah…I can imagine the sort of damage a rambunctious child might do with a toy that has propellors that actually work." She smirked and fixed her skirt a bit, then glanced at the door. "I think I will head back. Ellie gave me quite a bit of work to do."

She hummed in amusement when Chuck winced, pushing up from his seat at his desk and straightening his shirt. "About that…If you don't want to—I mean, she's rather pushy about this, I know. And you truly don't have to do any of this."

"Yes, I do." She smiled. "I know I'm nothing but a con artist, but I can still appreciate how imperative equality is. In all of its forms."

Chuck looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he pulled his lips between his teeth and nodded, smiling down at his feet. "Well, uh, let me walk you home."

"No, no. You also have work to do. And I don't live far."

"True, you don't. Well, let me walk you out then."

That she agreed to, and together they strolled through his home, out of the front door and down the stairs. She noticed he slowed their pace quite a bit as they wandered around towards the front of the Woodcomb residence, stopping at the fence and turning to face one another.

Sarah smiled up at him, but then a bit of movement caught her eye and she surreptitiously cast her glance over his shoulder towards the house. She spotted fingers curled around the curtain at the front window, and a bit of dark hair, a sliver of Chuck's sister's face.

Then she looked back up at Chuck and made a face. "Ellie is definitely watching us."

"Is she?"

"Mmm, peeking out from the front window."

He smirked a bit. "Careful. She can read lips."

Sarah pulled her gaze from the window and gave him a dubious look. "Can she really?"

"Yes." He chuckled, shifting to the side to block her from being watched by his sister, she thought.

"She should work for the government," she said in amusement.

Chuck laughed outright and then moved in to wrap his arms around her, hugging her close. She let Ellie see her slide her arms affectionately over his shoulders to hug him back. And she let herself enjoy for just a moment, shutting her eyes.

And then he turned his head and his lips pressed against the spot right at the corner of her own lips. So close. So very close. And she nearly let go of every last thread of resistance and decency to pull him into a proper kiss.

She held fast instead, and when he stepped away from her, breathing a gentle, "Thank you", she knew how much those two words were supposed to convey. She'd gone back to spend time with him, to make sure he wasn't alone. And he knew full well. It was kindness, she knew. She'd shown him kindness. And as warmed as he seemed by it, as glad as she was that she'd been a help to him, she reminded herself that there wasn't a person on this God forsaken earth who wouldn't have gone back.

He was that special.

Sarah forced herself to turn on her heel and make her way towards her home, feeling Chuck's eyes on her as she walked. All she wanted to do was run. Behind closed doors, she could swoon, she could touch the soft skin next to her lips where he'd kissed her, she could let her guard down…

Instead of running, she walked calmly. Until finally she took a quick glance over her shoulder and saw that he was walking back, his hands in his pockets. She spun to face forward again when she saw him start to turn to look at her.

And she kept her eyes up front for the rest of the way, even when she was very much out of sight of the Woodcomb/Bartowski residence.

There was trouble brewing.

She knew she was in trouble.

But there was something else in the air. Something that made her think things were far from over.

In fact, she thought with a shiver, she feared it was just beginning.

}o{

"Why does he wear a mask?"

A quiet "shh!" wafted through the crowd.

"It's a legitimate question."

"Shush!"

"Have you ever seen him?"

"He only appears to a chosen few. Nobody has seen him."

Bryce Larkin kept his head down, lifting a hand to scratch the beard at his jaw, pulling his hat lower over his forehead.

The room became eerily silent then, the whispers around him dying down, conversations stalling. He cast a glance up at the stage that had remained empty even after the alleged meeting time. It had taken him weeks, but he'd eventually found a way to get into a meeting.

It started with a murder in Boston. Bryce had gone into a pawn shop with an old watch fob he'd found, trying to get enough money to book travel to Texas. And the store owner had been dead on the floor, his throat cut ear to ear. When Bryce had stepped outside, he'd spotted a short figure in a black cloak walking quickly down the empty street.

He'd followed the culprit for a good mile and a half, then watched them duck into an alleyway. When he'd peeked inside the window beside the door he'd seen her enter through, she'd removed her cloak and hat, revealing a middle aged woman in slacks and a waistcoat. And as she unbuttoned the waistcoat, he'd seen a chain with a cross fall out and drape over her gray blouse.

She'd cleaned her hands. And then she'd prayed, kneeling beside the small cot, the cross clutched between clasped hands.

In Company with Christ, Who died and now lives. May they rejoice in Your kingdom, where all tears are wiped away.

The words came back. Those men, the ones who'd tried to kill him in France…

The Inquisitor, they'd said. He knew everything, they'd said. About the Intersect, even. How? Bryce wasn't certain. But his best guess was that someone this Inquisitor fellow had in his pocket was working high up in the Imperial Espionage League. Someone who knew about the Intersect.

If this apparent crime ring leader who ruled with some sort of fanatical religious creed thought Bryce was the Intersect, that meant the IEL still weren't onto Chuck. That had been what kept him going since that day he barely escaped with his life.

Let everyone think Bryce Larkin had the Intersect. Let the government, the bounty hunters, and this Inquisitor enigma all come after him. Good.

But that meant he couldn't go to Chuck. Or anywhere near Chuck.

His plans went out the window when he saw the murderess praying at her bedside. Because the eeriness of her simple lodgings, the emptiness of it, the fact that she'd just murdered someone for no apparent reason and knelt to pray about it told him this woman was connected with the men who'd tried to kill him in France.

Were those men close to the Inquisitor? Or was he preaching to all followers about Bryce Larkin the Intersect?

And what about the Intersect posed such a threat to this man's movement? He remembered the threat on the lips of the Frenchman he'd killed. They were everywhere. Their numbers were growing.

Bryce spent an entire day watching the entrance to the woman's home, and when she left it in the middle of the next night, he quietly stalked after her. If she meant to kill again, he would have to stop her. But it had been a meeting. And that meeting had led him to other meetings.

He managed to infiltrate the meetings, pawned his fob elsewhere for a cross which he kept in his pocket just in case. He memorized the Bible verses they used—dark, prophetic verses about being lifted up and saved by the Inquisitor.

The nuns who'd raised him in the orphanage had never said the things he heard in those small meetings, they'd never prayed the way these people prayed.

It wasn't until he found a way to get to one of the secret underground meetings, a big one that brought people from the entire eastern coast of the Empire, that he was able to see this for what it was.

It was a cult.

But it wasn't like the cults he'd seen in his years as an agent. Those had been easy to thwart, small numbers, all of them aware that their ideals, their movement, would end at some point. Those cults did end. IBoMaD and IEL combined forces with patrol to do away with many of them. Bryce had stopped some of them himself. Singlehandedly.

This was different.

This was something he assumed IEL and IBoMaD had no clue about. These people were loyal. And most of all, they were silent. They slid amongst everyday people, living their lives, seemingly existing peacefully with others—and when they found themselves in meetings to praise the Inquisitor, the hatred he heard directed toward their fellow man was vicious, targeted, sickening.

And the man they worshipped—this Inquisitor—had an official with high clearance who was feeding him dangerous information about the government, about the IEL. The Inquisitor knew about the Intersect. Wanted the Intersect gone—dead.

Agent Larkin felt the room get colder, the dim lights flickering overhead. Some looked up, a few shifted their weight uneasily, but Bryce kept his eyes on the stage.

A mist was crawling up the steps, beginning to slither along the wood, expanding, weaving up. It was menacing. It was terrifying. He didn't know where it was coming from.

"There!" a woman nearby whispered. "Look!"

"Is he here?"

"Is it him?"

"Praise the Inquisitor!"

Bryce fought back a violent shiver, clenching his fists in his coat pocket.

The mist covered the entire stage then, a wall of it obscuring the entire from of the room. And then he saw a cloaked figure standing there—a dark spot that became clearer by the second. Tall. Frightening.

Bryce felt the terror in the air around him. These people were following blindly, and yet they were full of terror at the same time. Was it fear or loyalty? How did one man create this much fear?

The cloaked figure stepped forward as the mist slowly faded. God, but the room was frigid now.

And Bryce knew he was looking at the Inquisitor. The hood was lowered over a face that was obscured by a mask. And he couldn't see the man's eyes—try as he might. Did he have eyes?

Bryce shook himself. Of course he did.

And then he was chilled even further as everyone around me sunk to their knees and bowed. He quickly followed suit, lowering himself to the ground, flattening his torso against the ground and keeping his head down.

"Rise."

The voice was quiet, unsettling in its power. Deep, commanding, dripping with authority.

Everyone climbed up to their feet again and the Inquisitor lifted his arms, palms out towards the crowd.

"The end is near."

There were murmurs of agreement throughout the crowd.

"God has not put us here to judge. We are not judges. But the filth is everywhere. You all see it, don't you? Rags with putrid human beings coddled inside, strewn about the streets. Begging. Begging!" he hissed. "You all see it."

More murmurs of agreement.

"Houses full of whores, where men go to feast on sin. Disease spreading in the streets. London, Paris, Berlin, Dubai, Rio, New York…Here in Tallahassee…We are not judges, no. We are executioners. We're here to purge this earth before God performs the ultimate purge."

Bryce swallowed thickly, keeping his eyes glued to the creamy white mask that covered the Inquisitor's face. He tried best he could to keep from shivering. He couldn't let anyone see how disgusted and afraid he was.

"We will be saved. And a new world will be ours."

The murmurs were louder this time.

"But we must continue to rid this world of its sinners. The sacrifice will be great. Innocents will perish so that we may prevail. And when we do, no one will stop this great force. We are God's army."

The voices in the crowd became louder.

"But for now we must stay below ground. We must hide in plain sight. Until our numbers are so great that no army, no weapon, can stop us. A great war is approaching. We are its guardians."

Bryce surreptitiously glanced around at the others. Their shoulders straightened, faces creased in determination. He could see how important they felt. This creature was giving them a feeling of importance, a sense of duty. The agent was sure none of these people had ever felt like their existence was even acknowledged before this Inquisitor came along. Now their existence wasn't just acknowledged, they were made to believe they were necessary in this movement. It didn't matter that they were being called upon to murder and desecrate the sanctity of human life. They belonged for once.

This was much, much worse than he'd thought.

It was more dangerous than any weapon he'd ever seen.

It was even more dangerous than the Intersect.

He couldn't hide anymore.

He couldn't keep running.

Something had to be done.

A/N: Bryce is on a mission! And the gang we all know and love have a mission of their own coming up soon!

Please review! Thanks, buddies. The adventure continues soon!

-SC