A/N: More story. Changes.

Burying Dirt

Chapter Fifteen: Big Box Store, Little Box Casket

New.

Stolen.

The car.

Not brand new, but not the one Gabber traded her. That one, seen. Tainted. This one, a small two-door brown sedan, an automotive wallflower. Invisible. Wholly unremarkable. More shadow of a car than a car. Kinship.

Back seat. Carina's suitcase, rummaged and shut, items half-in, half-out. Nothing of interest, except perhaps to a lingerie model. One find: a picture of Chuck, tucked in the lining. One of the same as the ones on the assassin's phone, sent by Graham. Carina had come looking for Chuck.

Why not take him earlier? At the cabin, brought back-up? Why the delay, the games? No answers. Carina's behavior: bizarre, even for Carina. Changed nothing. Betrayal. She hurt Chuck. She hurt him. Was giving Chuck to Graham.

Pit of the assassin's stomach, iced over. Eyes on the road.

Back seat. Beside the suitcase, a hard-sided rifle case. Rifle. Scope. Silencer. Assassin's tool. Not state of the art, like the one she used...before. But, enough.

Eyes on the road. The assassin's. Eyes on her, Chuck's.

He had been silent, watching, puzzled, impressed, uneasy. Seeing things.

Head against the dash, she hotwired the car. Found it in a long-term parking lot. Chuck watched.

Baffled by her ability to find a gun shop willing to sell to her out the back door, under the table.

Carried the rifle to the car, box of shells. Chuck observing, still baffled, now unsure, obviously thinking. She met his eyes. A penetrating look, her and the rifle case and shells. Glanced away.

Put the rifle case in the rear. Used Carina's clothes, obscured it. Red lace panties, other colors, atop the rifle case.

New burners. Old ones smashed, pieces strewn in dumpsters.

Phone call. Father's old LA con-buddy. Slum lord. A place to stay. Not much. Not a hotel. No check-in, no surveillance. A rundown complex. Arrangements for that night.

Stop at an electronics store. Best computer there for Chuck. Not like what he built at The Buy More, the one he used…before. But, enough.

A stop in a random parking lot.

The assassin held out a new burner. "Your friend, the beard, Morgan, call him…"

A long look. "Why?"

"We need him to retrieve Omaha. Tell him where it is but not what it is. Have him bring it to us. The rear of the store. Can he do it?"

A longer look. "I suppose. He usually works now." Reluctant. "But, I don't want to put him in danger, Sarah."

She touched his hand. "Me, either. But he'll be in less danger than you or I would. A lot less danger. Maybe none at all. We have no reason to think Graham believes or suspects you hid it there. With any luck, Morgan can carry it out to us, we drive away, no one the wiser. I'm...not being...cavalier with your friend, Chuck. Our earlier plotting has to be thrown out. We have Carina in the mix now, and Graham on-location in LA...He's your friend. I'll keep him safe.

"And we have to have Omaha. You know that. We have to know why Graham is so desperate. In LA. — He never leaves Langley, much less DC. We need Omaha and then we need a place for you to work. We have that. I've arranged it. You heard the call. We've got a computer." She pushed the burner toward Chuck. Grimacing, he took it and dialed. Exhaled.

"Morg, listen, it's Chuck. I'm okay but I need your help. — I know, I know. Great to hear your voice too. Yes, Ellie...I talked to her. She knows I'm okay. Look, I can't explain. Just believe me. I need your help. Listen.

"In Big Mike's office, his bronzed donut…"

The assassin coughed, mouthed "Bronzed donut?"

Chuck waved at her. "...Yes, that, the holy of holies. It turns out that it's hollow. Twist it and it will come off the display stand. Inside it is a thumb drive. Bring it out of the rear of the store in…"

The assassin held up one finger. "...one hour. Text this number if there's a problem, but only if there's a problem. We'll...I'll be waiting. Brown sedan. No, it's not my car. I can't explain. Stop, Morgan. Just do it, okay? Can you get into Big Mike's office? Right, child's play. Shut down the store cameras, rear cameras, the cameras on the parking lot too. You know the drill. Just do it, Morgan! See you in 60."

Sarah smiled at Chuck, gentle head-shake. "It's in a metal donut?"

"Big Mike, the manager, won a contest. Free donuts for a year. The winning ticket was in a donut, sort of like Wonka's Golden Ticket…"

Sarah shrugged, lost.

"Movie. Contest. Anyway, Big Mike kept the donut. Maybe the only donut he started and did not finish. Got it bronzed somewhere, somehow. It's his good-luck piece. Keeps it in his office, on the desk. Hands off. I was curious...one day...in there doing inventory. Force-feed items. Fiddled with it. Found out it was hollow...Filed that fact away."

"Funny. You have a...curious mind, Chuck Bartowski."

"Yeah, but you mostly want my delicious body."

Sarah grinned, surprised by the unexpected playfulness, his and hers. The assassin was often funereal, rarely funny, fun.

"I want it too," she said. "All of you." Leaned in, stole a kiss.

For as long as I can have you, all of me, this new I in me, whoever she is, all for you.

ooOoo

One hour later. Chuck checked his watch.

No text from Morgan.

Behind The Buy More. Big Box. Store. Engine idling.

Waiting for Morgan.

Nerd Herders, parked, white, black and red array. Employee cars, a few. Nothing stirred.

Chuck. Palms wiped on pants legs. Whistling softly, tunelessly. Passenger seat.

Sarah, driver's seat. Window down, looking at the rear of the store.

No text but no Morgan.

Five minutes.

Ten.

"Stay in the car, Chuck. I'm going to peek inside. Gun beneath her jacket.

Silently through the rear doors into the storage room, repair area.

Morgan in a chair in a cage-like center area. Surrounded by electronics, parts. Sargasso sea of plastic and wire. And a woman. Gun out, trained on Morgan.

"Where were you going? And what do you have in your pocket?"

Morgan, weak smile. "Oh, you want to play a guessing game? Like Lord of the Rings? I mean The Hobbit?"

Woman smacked Morgan with her other hand, open.

"Ouch! Hey!"

Around the cage, silent. Silent. Assassin's gun out, in hand. — Don't react, Morgan.

He sees her but manages no reaction. Finger to her lips, through the cage door. Handle of the gun down hard. Sharp strike downward, woman's neck. The woman crumpled.

Morgan stared, mouth open.

Words. "Vicki Vale?"

He stood up. Scared still. "Are you with Chuck?"

"Yes, Morgan, I'm with Chuck. Bronze donut." Stuffed the gun back in the top of her pants, beneath the jacket.

Stepped past the woman. A sigh of relief. "Good." He stepped even with Sarah, looking down, fishing in his pocket. "Let's get this thumb drive to Chuck."

"— No, it goes to me." Low voice. Who?

A man. Gun on Morgan, silencer, near the swinging door to the sales floor, hand against it, still moving slightly. Two strides toward Morgan, only a few feet between them. The intent in the man's eyes. A hardness. A narrowing. No time to get to her gun. She threw herself between Morgan and the gun.

Shield.

A muffled shot, a crack.

Morgan beneath her. On top of the unconscious woman. Self-inventory. No wound.

"Sarah!" Chuck's voice. The sound of metal on concrete.

His hands on her, rolling her over. "Sarah, please God, no. Sarah!"

He sees her face, her eyes. Pulls her up. "I'm okay, Chuck. But Morgan…?"

"I'm okay." Morgan's voice. "She broke my fall." Sits up beside the unconscious woman. "I'm okay. He missed."

Chuck pointed at a long piece of metal on the floor. He was wide-eyed, frazzled. "I helped. Went around the store and came in the front. Saw this loose in the BeastMaster display. I saw this guy, unauthorized personnel going into the storage room. One-armed swing was enough..."

Chuck's hand out. Morgan took it, stood.

"We need to get out of here, now." The assassin. She bent down, quickly frisked the unconscious man. Found his pass case, phone.

They ran out of the rear door. "Get in the back, Morgan, scoot the suitcase out of the way," the assassin ordered, reaching, the driver's door handle.

Morgan. "Hey, there are loose panties back here…"

Felt herself caught, behind. Turned, Chuck's enveloping embrace.

"You...you...in front of him...to save him...Morgan, my friend...I saw it. I hit that guy as he fired. Thank you, thank you, Sarah. — And never, ever do that again. I can't...I just can't..." An anguished look, squeezed her hard, sudden. Eyes averted. Released her, round the front of the car.

The assassin, Sarah, the assassin shook herself, disoriented, overwhelmed. Warmed. I did that.

Got in. Everyone in.

Tires screeching, away. "Tell me how to get to Ellie's, Chuck, now!"

ooOoo

Forty-eight minutes later.

They were all there: the really nice smile, the smile's sister, the smile's sister's husband, the beard. And the assassin.

A dingy apartment. Ratty furniture. Holes and lumps. Lamps without shades. Naked bulbs. Beds without sheets. Naked mattresses.

Car parked outside at a distance.

Chuck, Ellie, Devon, Morgan. They were all there. All with her. Facing her. Looking frightened and confused.

What have I done?

All looking at her. Feel naked.

Ellie finally spoke. "So tell us who you are again, what's going on…" Ellie, holding one of Chuck's hands, refused to let go. She was staring at the rifle case in Sarah's hands. Little box. Coffin.

No words. Chuck started to answer, shell box in his other hand.

Words, two. Cut him off. "I'm Sarah,"...the assassin...Sarah said.

A/N: In the thick of the second arc now. Thanks for reading! Drop me a comment, please. Big box at the bottom.