Chapter Seventeen … in which Chuck finds his footing, Sarah makes a decision, Zondra shows her tender side, Bryce gets flustered, and Casey is floored by a startling revelation.

This chapter finishes setting the stage for many chapters to come. Our characters' time on the run is just beginning, and they're about to face some of their greatest challenges yet.

Disclaimer: We don't own Chuck…

Chapter 17: Cattywampus

"Ilsa?"

His dignity took a nose dive, and John Casey—AKA 'Sugar Bear'—nearly collapsed into a puddle at her feet. The rollercoaster ride that'd been his life for the past few weeks had just geared up for its final loop-de-loop and plummet. It was an apt analogy—he felt that same plunging sensation in his stomach, the sense that he was poised at a great height, about to fall.

And—just like riding a rollercoaster—he felt an equal amount of excitement and trepidation. Had she come here to be with him … or to unload yet another life-shattering revelation that would force him to reevaluate his existence?

Ilsa wasted no time launching herself into his arms. He held her tight, feeling her heart thudding rapidly against his chest. A shiver ran through her body when he squeezed her tighter still … as if she was searching for confirmation that he was happy to see her again and he'd responded how she'd hoped he would. There was a story here—one he was anxious to hear, but all in good time. For now, he'd just savor their reunion and bask in her presence. She was back and that was all that mattered.

Then the crying started, and he had to rethink his strategy. What was it with these damned emotional women today? It was getting out of hand—especially because both Ellie and Ilsa were people he respected, and if they were in tears, he was sure there was a good reason ... even if, in this case, he had no clue what it might be. Was Ilsa crying because she was happy to see him? Because she had a devastating piece of information to impart? Because this was the last time he'd ever lay eyes on her, before she got reassigned to Antarctica to spy on penguins? How the hell was he supposed to know these things? He needed a crystal ball—and a freakin' box of tissues.

He also needed to get inside. He'd already have to edit this part of the courtyard's surveillance, and their conversation needed to stay private—this time, for personal reasons.

Casey released his grip, gently pushing Ilsa back. Her face fell—but then steadied as he grabbed her hand, pulling her toward his apartment. Once they were through the door, he walked over to the couch with Ilsa and gestured for her to sit. Tissues weren't something the Major ever had on hand, so he snagged a couple of napkins and handed them to her so she could wipe her eyes. Then he grabbed two snifter glasses and the rest of the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue he'd opened months ago. It was time to allow himself to feel again.

He poured them each three fingers and sat down on the couch next to Ilsa, waiting.

Like Ellie, Ilsa was direct. She didn't make him wait long. "I guess I should start by telling you why I'm here," she said, crumpling her napkins and setting them down on the couch next to her.

Casey grunted in the affirmative.

She drew a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "After delivering Federov to Interpol, I reported back for reassignment. I was so tired of everything by then. I was hoping for something a little more intriguing and a little less … demeaning—especially after you and I'd found each other again. I'd paid my dues and if I had to go back undercover, I wanted to make a difference while I could. I'm sure you know what I mean."

"I do," Casey said, but didn't comment further. Maybe it would've made it easier for her if he'd expounded, shared his own experiences—but that wasn't what this conversation was about, and the less he said, the more she might tell him.

"Anyway, there I was … in front of Director Brochand himself … waiting for him to come through for me after everything I'd done for the DGSE, and the man actually had the nerve to try and hand me another long-term seduction mission. This one even more untoward than the last."

Maybe Casey should've kept talking after all … because their little chat had taken a turn with which he was unprepared to cope. First he'd wound up underneath a bed while Ilsa played the ingénue for the drunken lout she was prepared to marry—and now this? He picked up his glass and knocked back a healthy gulp, then another. "Go on," he said to Ilsa, who was watching his face like it was the Weather Channel … and a tornado was moving in.

"I couldn't believe it, John." Her voice trembled. "I felt like the writing was on the wall. That this was all I was to them. Their honeypot—willing and able to do anything they asked. So I threatened to resign my post, right there on the spot."

"You—what?" Setting his glass down on the coffee table, he stared at her in disbelief. "You threatened to quit?"

She shrugged. "It wasn't really that hard of a choice. I'd been on the fence about whether or not I wanted to continue anyway—at least since the last time I saw you."

Casey fought to keep his expression blank, but inside, he was in turmoil. What did this mean—that she wanted to be with him again? That she was ready to turn her back on her career? God, having feelings was fucking exhausting. "But you're good at what you do," he said, getting up to pour himself another drink. "I didn't much like being on the receiving end of it—but you're talented, Ilsa. There had to be another way."

When he turned around again, she was smiling. "Brochand actually begged for me not to quit—said it would be a shame to lose an operative with so much skill and experience. He'd shown his hand and an idea sprang to mind. I told him I would stay as long as I had my choice of assignments."

"Good for you." Casey raised his glass in a toast. "What did the bastard say?"

"He was reluctant at first, but I had nothing to lose, so I held my ground. He eventually acquiesced. So here I am, where I should've never left." She lifted her own glass in a small salute, then drained it and licked her lips in satisfaction. That was another thing he'd always loved about Ilsa—her appreciation of fine alcohol. Well, that, and her mouth … to which her tongue was currently calling all too much attention. Mesmerized, he stared—and then realized what he was doing and hastily lifted his gaze to meet hers. Her eyes were crinkled in amusement, as if she knew exactly what effect she was having on him.

"I knew I should have listened to your friend before I left, John," she said, lips curving in a smile.

Startled out of his trance, Casey sat back in his seat. "Friend? What friend?"

"You know, the tall goofy one. Your neighbor … Charles, was it?"

"Chuck?" God, all roads led to Bartowski. "What did that moron tell you?"

She gave him a chiding look. "When we'd finished cleaning up at the Grand Seville, he pulled me aside and told me that having a deep connection with someone special had a rare look to it, but that it suited me—that maybe I should try to hold on to it with both hands. I guess he saw more in me than I could see in myself at the time, but I just couldn't get that thought out of my head after I left. It was like his voice followed me everywhere I went. It was kinda creepy, now that I think about it."

Goddamn Bartowski. He was a meddling, naïve fool—but he was also right, much of the time. And in this case, he'd done Casey a solid … not that Casey was prepared to admit that to Ilsa. "Tell me about it," he said, sipping his drink. "Bartowski has that effect on a lot of people. He's like some sort of fungus that grows on you. I've been looking into finding a spray or an ointment cream to try and kill it."

Her laughter was like music to his ears. It always had been.

So Ilsa was still a spy and she was here … on his doorstep … wanting what? He was almost afraid to ask—almost.

"So you're here for the job?" he said, and braced himself for her reply.

"I chose this particular assignment because it would allow me to be near you. I'd like to try again, John. You and me." Her eyes lowered, as if she was trying to find the courage to go on. Then she looked up, hands twisting in her lap, and continued. "That is, if you still feel the same way. I know you still have your job and I have mine, but maybe we could find a way to make it work?"

Of all the crappy timing. Why now, when everything was going to hell in a handbasket? "Of course I'd like to try again, Ilsa," he said, and was gratified to see her face light with happiness. "But it's not that simple. There are things going on right now that I don't want you caught up in. Not to sound dramatic, but my life is teetering on the edge of the abyss and I don't want to drag you down with me."

The happiness faded, and for a moment he was afraid she'd just walk away—that she didn't believe him, or, worse still, that she thought he wasn't worth the effort. Instead, though, she surprised him. "That sounds serious. Maybe I can help? Or maybe we could help each other?"

He set his glass down and splayed his hands on his thighs. "How about we start out by you telling me about this assignment of yours."

She didn't hesitate. "It was the only assignment the DGSE had in the area, so I took it. Details are still pretty sparse and I have no idea if there's anything to it, but a while back we'd set up a sting in Paris to go after a bunch of lowlife arms dealers. In interrogation, one of the guys we'd apprehended let slip that he was also working with some people here in L.A. When we pressed him for more details, all he knew was that there are some rogue factions within the U.S. Intelligence community that are working hard to overthrow the government."

Oh, no. Seriously? What were the chances?

Ilsa was still talking. "They call themselves Fulcrum and are after something called 'the Cipher'—said it was a crucial component for technology they're building. Sounded like something you'd hear on the Sci-Fi Channel. The tech supposedly allows digital data to be uploaded directly into the brain to create some kind of super-soldier."

His heart in his throat, Casey got to his feet and poured a few more fingers into each of their glasses.

It was gonna be a long day and they had a lot to talk about.

OoOoOoOoO

It'd only been a few minutes since Sarah and Bryce had left for their supply run and Chuck could already feel the tension in the house ratchet up a few notches. Zondra stared at him, an apprehensive look plastered all over her beautiful face—and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why.

Did she want to chew him out for almost getting himself killed, but felt that'd be in bad form, given that he was recovering from a gunshot wound? It seemed unlikely. She didn't look all that angry—at least not at him. Before Sarah and Bryce left, that had been a different story. She'd looked like she wanted to smack Sarah—and there was some kind of weird energy going on between her and Bryce that he couldn't put his finger on. He'd thought getting kidnapped, held hostage, and shot had been perilous … but the emotional dynamics in this safe house were a freaking minefield, and he had no idea why.

He was normally an intuitive person, but between Sarah, Ellie, and Zondra—the most important women in his life—Chuck felt like he needed some kind of reference manual … or maybe there was a 'How to Understand Women for Dummies' guide that could help him figure them out. They truly were from Venus and as a Martian, he didn't stand a chance. Probably they were just more emotionally evolved—but until he could level up, he needed to find a workaround.

Maybe he should just go ahead and apologize—head off trouble at the pass. It'd always worked with Ellie when she was mad at him, even when he had no idea what he'd done wrong.

Well, fortune favored the brave, or so the saying went. He opened his mouth and gave it a try. "Listen, Zondra, I'm really sorry—"

Her face clouded. "Don't, Chuck … don't you dare say another word. Not when you're the one that ended up saving my life, for God's sake. I'm the trained agent—the one, I should point out, that was tasked with your protection. I'd be dead right now if it wasn't for you. So please don't apologize to me when I'm the one that should be telling you how sorry I am that you got hurt."

So much for an apology being the magic bullet—so to speak. Now Chuck was more confused than ever. "What are you talking about? You're not the reason I got hurt."

"Of course I was." She looked at him like he was truly from another planet. "If I hadn't rushed out on that rooftop before assessing the situation, maybe Sarah and I could've taken Longshore down without any bloodshed—or at least without shedding any of your blood. It was a rookie mistake. I'm so sorry, Chuck."

Chuck shifted on the couch, uncomfortable for more reasons than his injured shoulder. "Come on, Z. The only person besides myself that's responsible for me getting hurt was that asshole Longshore. He's the one that tranqed Casey and kidnapped me. He's the one that trained his gun on Sarah and then on you. He's the one that pulled the trigger."

Her self-recriminating expression didn't change, and so he kept going, trying to make her see the situation from his perspective. "Don't you get it? You rushing out on that rooftop the way you did was one of the most badass, selfless things I've ever seen someone do. I couldn't just stand there and let Longshore get the drop on you the way he did with Casey. You're way too important to me."

At his last words, something flashed in Zondra's eyes and the temperature in the room seemed to shoot up a degree or two. Suddenly, Chuck felt utterly exposed—like a field mouse at dusk. He'd seen that look before … in Sarah's eyes right before—oh, God. No, no, no, no. Had he misunderstood how Zondra felt about him all this time? Had he done something to make her think there was more between them than friendship? One thing was for sure—Chuck needed to change subjects, and quickly, before things blew up in his face.

He rushed onward, using the most innocuous, innuendo-free words he could think of. "Look, how 'bout we just call this one even, huh? It's what teammates—what a family does for one another. You have my back and I'll have yours, okay?"

The spark in Zondra's eyes dimmed a little. Tears beaded on her lashes, threatening to spill. But she just blinked a few times and nodded, looking down at her hands, folded in her lap. "Always," she said, her voice soft.

Damn. He hated the idea of making her cry, but what was the alternative? If Zondra had feelings for him that went beyond friendship, he had to make sure not to encourage her or give her the wrong idea. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her—but letting her believe that the possibility of a relationship between them existed would be a different kind of cruelty.

If only he'd been able to be open about his relationship with Sarah from the start, they wouldn't be having this issue right now. Stupid spies, and their intrigue, and the subterfuge they had to employ rather than telling the simple truth.

He spoke lightly, ignoring the fact that he knew she was on the verge of tears—which made him feel like an ass. "Speaking of having each other's backs, maybe I can get you to help me out with a few things today."

Her head came up and she gave him a tentative smile. "Sure. What'd you have in mind?"

This was going to be embarrassing, but anything would be better than staying in the emotional no-man's-land where he'd suddenly found himself. He would've preferred Bryce's assistance, but waiting until his former roommate got back would be a dicey proposition at best. "Well, first I, uh, I'm gonna need some help getting up so I can go to the little boy's room. Ignoring nature's call for as long as I have is starting to get really uncomfortable."

"I'll bet." Zondra shot him a glance in which amusement and sympathy warred for the upper hand. "What else? You said 'a few things.'"

"I'd like to see if we can connect the big-screen TV to that computer system over there"—he gestured at the far wall—"so I can do a little work."

The sadness faded from Zondra's expression, replaced by incredulity. "Work? Are you crazy?"

"Why not? It's not as if I'm otherwise occupied."

"You're hurt, Chuck." She glared at him, her muscles tensed as if she was prepared to leap off the couch, secure the CIA's secret stash of bubble wrap, and swaddle him in it.

Between the people who wanted to kill him, the ones who were willing to lay down their lives to protect him, and the few who believed he could actually take care of himself, Chuck was having an identity crisis. "It'll be fine. I promise," he said, ignoring the look she threw his way—which testified to her firm belief in his naiveté. "I won't be of much use to anyone with my arm the way it is, but at least I can try and look into some things—see if I can scratch up some details on that bank vault's security."

Zondra shifted on the couch, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. For the first time since she'd come into the room, Chuck looked her over closely. She'd braided her hair after her shower, and the clothes she was wearing were a little too big—maybe the shirt was Bryce's? He was pretty sure she'd slept in his room, and of course, she'd left Burbank without a change of clothes, tearing down the highway in an effort to save Chuck's life. Her feet were bare, her toes peeking out from beneath the yoga pants that he thought were likely Sarah's. The overall effect made her look far younger, and more vulnerable.

"You're amazingly talented, Chuck," she said, hugging her knees tight, "but you've just been shot. And this isn't your job. And you're not a spy. It's our job to keep you safe, and you're not making it easy."

"This may not be my job, true—but it's something far more important, Z. It's my life. I didn't choose it, but here we are anyway, and I can't just sit around and wait for things to happen to me. I've done that for far too long." He gave her a rueful grin, thinking of the years he'd wasted at the Buy More. "Even if it's too dangerous for me to meet with Jackson right now, maybe I can—I don't know … ask Sarah or Bryce to get me his notes and suss out some things on my own. Sitting here without doing anything to help really blows."

She took a deep breath and untangled her limbs. "I'll help you, Chuck, but only because I'm afraid that if I don't, you'll just find a way to get yourself into even more trouble. There's such a thing as being too noble, you know."

Before he could protest that nobility had nothing to do with it, she'd gotten to her feet and was staring down at him, hands on her hips and an assessing look on her face that reminded him of his sister—right before Ellie was about to tell him off. "I'll make you a deal. I'll help you, like you asked, but I don't want you to overdo it and I'd also like to take a look at your dressings before you even think about doing any work. I'm sure they'll need to be changed out soon."

"Deal," he said without hesitation. He wasn't looking forward to having her poke and prod at his gunshot wound, but it had to be taken care of and the sooner it was, the sooner he could sit back down and dig into the challenge of the vault's security. Not to mention, he really had to use the facilities. Asking for her help in that department was ignominious, but it wasn't like he had a choice.

"How's your pain level?" she said, tilting her head to the side.

"Let's get me to the bathroom and back, then I'll let you know." He pressed the flat of his left hand onto the couch in a prelude to swinging his legs to the floor, then sucked in air through his teeth as pain shot through his injured shoulder. "Something tells me this is gonna hurt like hell—hence the need for your help."

It was slow going at first, but once he was sitting upright, Zondra pressed herself tight against his left side as she pulled him to his feet, her arms wrapped around his waist. Chuck's knees almost buckled under his own weight, and his head swam. He leaned on Zondra harder than he'd intended, and felt her brace herself to support him. It was closer than he'd ever been to her, but he couldn't think about that right now; it was all he could do not to fall.

After a minute or so, his vision steadied, and he was able to pull away. One careful step at a time, his left hand on the wall for leverage, he made his way down the hallway to the bathroom. Zondra walked beside him, ready to catch him if he lost his balance. God, he hated feeling weak like this. The more he moved around, though, the better he'd eventually feel. Stubbornly, he kept putting one foot in front of the other, until—miracle of miracles—he made it to the bathroom door.

The next part was trickier, as his desire for privacy outweighed his need for help. He'd barely made it down the hallway—how the hell would he negotiate taking care of business behind closed doors? One thing was for sure … he wasn't taking Zondra in there with him. He'd just have to work it out.

Amusement stamped all over her face, she pushed the door open for him, gesturing inside like a hostess welcoming a guest to her party. "Here you are, Chuck. Need a hand?"

Was she trying to kill him? "No, thank you," he muttered, and limped inside. He could hear her laughing even after he managed to push the door shut behind him.

When he was done—white-faced and exhausted, but relieved—she helped him back to the couch. "Hang on while I get the med kit," she said, and went to find it.

He sat still, catching his breath and trying to assess just how crappy he felt. He'd almost finished the inventory when she came back, sat down next to him, and began unbuttoning his shirt. Gone was any hint of playfulness. This version of Zondra was all business—which was good, because after his recent revelations, the idea of having her undress him while he was virtually helpless was, to say the least, unsettling.

As if she could sense his uneasiness, she pulled back and patted his leg. "Don't worry, Chuck. I know you're bashful about this kind of thing, but it's the only way to make sure your wound stays clean and free from infection. I'll try and be quick about it."

To Chuck's relief, Zondra only unbuttoned about half the buttons—just enough to slip his shirt off his right shoulder. When he looked down to see the damage for the first time, he couldn't believe the amount of bruising that wasn't covered by the dressing. He was black and blue everywhere. But once she removed the bandages, he could taste the rainbow as well as an encore performance of this morning's breakfast. Not only was he black and blue, but every other color in the spectrum. He was a walking Picasso.

When Chuck glanced back up, he expected Zondra to look as horrified as he felt. Instead, she met his gaze, her eyes soft with compassion. Without a word, she cleaned his wound with the kind of meticulous care he'd only expect from Sarah, Ellie, or even his own mother, back when she'd been around. His comfort was so obviously at the forefront of her mind, her touch gentle and loving. And when she reapplied the dressing, she constantly checked to see if she was hurting him, as if any flinch from him would cause her pain.

While he was grateful for her solicitousness, each time she touched him he became more certain that she had feelings for him that went well beyond friendship. The coup de grâce was when she finished buttoning up his shirt. She smiled at him as she ran a hand through his hair that sent a shiver down his spine—and not in a good way. It was way too intimate for Chuck's tastes, now that he was officially a kept man.

Danger, Will Robinson! was all he could think. Danger! No matter how much he valued Zondra's friendship, he belonged to Sarah and no one else. Those were her curls, he could even hear Sarah say. And Chuck was loyal to a fault. He'd never betray that trust.

Great. Now he'd have to speak with Sarah about all of this, as much as it pained him to think about how that particular conversation would go. Sarah and Zondra had just renewed their friendship; the last thing he wanted was to play a role in screwing that up. Not to mention, they all had to live together now. This was a recipe for disaster.

"Thanks," he said, sliding away from Zondra and settling himself back on the pillows Bryce had propped up behind him. "You're the best."

It was the most innocent response he could manage—but somehow she looked even more pleased than if he'd expressed his undying love for her. When was he gonna learn?

Will Robinson was toast.

OoOoOoOoO

Sarah and Bryce's supply run was an uneventful and almost entirely silent affair, each of them lost in their own heads as they procured everything they needed at Trader Joe's, a drugstore, and an office supply store. Sarah wasn't sure what Bryce was thinking about, but she could make a good guess. He'd looked just as troubled as she'd been by Zondra's overprotective, defensive attitude towards Chuck.

It wasn't as if Sarah disagreed with Zondra's assessment of the situation—or her desire to keep Chuck safe. The more people looking out for his well-being, the better. No, what had Sarah's panties in a twist was the judgmental attitude Zondra'd shot her way when discussing their next course of action. Not only was it uncalled for, it served to highlight all of the insecurities that'd plagued Sarah ever since first meeting Chuck—that somehow she wouldn't be good enough, or fast enough, or smart enough, and in the end, would lose him to the void as she'd almost done on numerous occasions now. The nightmare from this morning was still haunting her, and she didn't need to be kicked while she was down—especially by a friend.

The worst part was that Sarah had played a key role in creating this situation—one in which Zondra thought it wasn't over the line to demonstrate a proprietary attitude toward Chuck's safety. If Z knew that Sarah and Chuck were together, there was no way she would've been so cavalier about going head to head with Sarah about what to do next. And there certainly was no way Z would be looking at him with such fierce tenderness … as if, given the right circumstances, he might be hers.

Keeping Sarah's relationship with Chuck secret had once served a purpose, but now it was unnecessary and becoming intolerable. In hindsight, she should've just told Zondra the whole truth when they were standing outside of Casey's apartment, but Chuck's life had been in the balance and Sarah's emotions in a death spiral. Claiming her turf had been the last thing on her mind.

It was painfully clear that the status quo needed to change, and she wasn't looking forward to that conversation. Coming clean with Zondra could cause a rift not only in their renewed friendship, but also in the group dynamics they'd all be living under for some time to come.

The real kicker to this whole mess was that just over a month ago, Zondra had confessed to still being in love with Bryce. And Bryce's feelings for Zondra were becoming more and more evident with each of his lingering looks and his somber mood when his glances weren't reciprocated. What was Z's deal? Did she still care for Bryce—and if so, what was she doing, looking at Chuck as if she wanted to gobble him up like a hot fudge sundae? As for Bryce, if he'd been lugging around a torch for Zondra since their days at the Farm, why had he waited so long to act on it—and why didn't he say something, instead of casting lovesick stares in Zondra's direction like a heartsick teenager?

It was all so juvenile—not to mention infuriating—and only confirmed Sarah's suspicions that most agents, while competent with espionage and intrigue, were emotionally stunted to a debilitating degree. They'd never fully developed the skill set to empathize or achieve real intimacy with another person. Sarah included herself in that group; if it wasn't for Chuck's patience and compassion, she'd still be a babe in the woods herself.

As she and Bryce stepped back through the door of the safe house, she resigned herself to telling Zondra about everything the first chance she got and letting the chips fall where they might. Hopefully their friendship could withstand the painful truth. It was a far cry better than the charade they'd been playing of late.

They took their shopping bags into the kitchen and then came back into the living room. When she looked over at Chuck, she was surprised to find him tapping away on a keyboard, totally in the zone. Windows opened and closed on the big-screen TV in a blur. Zondra sat next to the other two monitors in the corner, diligently scanning the recordings of past surveillance feeds, searching for anything out of the ordinary.

Stepping to the side of the couch, Sarah cleared her throat. Chuck's hands froze over the keyboard. He looked up, saw her, and smiled.

"Hey, Sarah. Didn't hear you guys come back in."

Aaaand that was why he needed to have someone with him, even when his shoulder healed. "Can't say that that's a reassuring thought, Chuck," Sarah said, frowning at him. "What the heck are you doing, anyway? You know you shouldn't be using that arm at all, right?"

Zondra stood up and stretched, then moved over to the loveseat. "I told him the same thing. but he wouldn't let up. Maybe he'll listen to you."

"Come on, guys. Cut me some slack, would ya?" He widened his smile to include Zondra and Bryce. "Besides, I've got good news. I've already figured out how to crack the bank's vault and I was just starting to work on the perimeter security when you guys came in. I've got a few ideas on that front too, but I'd like to see if you can get me Jackson's notes to see if there's anything I might've missed."

A shocked silence fell over the room. Bryce was the first to break it. "No way. I know you're good, but that's impossible, Chuck. We've only been gone for about an hour and Jackson's been working on the bank's security for over a month. He says it's nearly impenetrable during daytime hours and downright impossible at night."

"And he'd be right … well, sort of." Chuck gave all of them a one-shouldered shrug that somehow managed to convey both humility and a terrifying sense of confidence. "I, uh, I'd be glad to explain it to you."

This, right here, was one of the many reasons that Sarah loved him as much as she did. He was so brilliant and creative—but also humble. He might be the Piranha … and the Intersect … but at heart, Chuck was just an unpretentious guy who thought about the good of those around him rather than seeking the limelight for himself. He could take over the world if he had the slightest inclination—but all he wanted to do was make the people around him happy. It was the most attractive quality she'd ever found in another human being and she felt privileged to have recognized it before it was too late.

"Okay, Chuck," she said, sitting down next to him. "You've got our attention. Let's see what you have in mind."

OoOoOoOoO

Zondra was reeling. From the jubilant, self-assured look radiating across Chuck's face, she was sure he'd done it. He'd figured out how to break into the bank's vault—and, more than that, he'd come up with a plan. Somehow, between the time she'd changed his dressing to the moment Bryce and Sarah had come through the door, he'd accomplished more than an FBI analyst had managed in over four weeks. She had a tremendous amount of faith in his abilities, but this went well beyond what she'd imagined he could do.

"Here. Take a look," Chuck said, his fingers flying over the keyboard. "This should give you some insight into what I have in mind."

The image on the TV screen shifted, replaced in rapid succession by power grid schematics of San Francisco. Those gave way to blueprints of the bank's building and vault specifications, along with a string of letters and numbers that meant little to Zondra, but were doubtless significant.

"Those—" Bryce said in disbelief, gesturing at the screen. "How the hell did you get them?"

A smile spread across Chuck's face. "You helped."

"I helped? How? By shopping at Trader Joe's?" The incredulity in Bryce's voice was clear. "If I'd known that buying frozen pizza and orange juice would pave the way for securing that"—he pointed at the screen again—"I would've done it long ago."

"Well, your credentials helped, anyhow. And of course, the CIA's got resources that aren't available to the general public. I just needed to gain access to them—which your computer conveniently allowed me to do. It's all there … if you know where to look." Chuck flipped through the schematics and blueprints again, settling on the specifications of the vault itself.

Bryce sunk into a chair across from the couch, his legs crossed at the ankles. "You hacked my computer? I guess I had that one coming."

"It was my pleasure—especially after discovering your password," Chuck said with a smirk. "Fuzzyduck347, Bryce? Really?"

For the first time ever, Zondra saw Bryce blush. He ducked his head, mumbling to the carpet, "It was my favorite stuffed animal when I was little, okay?"

"And far be it for me to judge." Chuck's lips twitched, mirth lighting his eyes.

"He may not be judging, but I am." From where she stood next to Bryce's chair, Sarah nudged the other agent's foot with hers. "Big bad Bryce Larkin, conquering the world with his fuzzy duck. Who would've thought?"

Bryce shot her an unmistakably dirty look. "Like Walker said, you've got our attention, Chuck. Keep talking."

Chuck flexed his fingers, clearly in his element. "The fuzzy duckling aside, gaining access to all those resources let me see exactly what we were up against. Whatever we do, we obviously can't go in blind. So I looked through everything I could find … and then I did some more digging. There's an after-hours cleaning service that has access to the bank—but not the vault. We'll need to get our hands on one of their keycards. I'll leave that part of the mission up to you guys. Then we'll obviously need to find a reason to cancel the service for the night. Maybe we can tell them the carpets are being cleaned or the place is being fumigated. Anything that'll justify canceling the service. Once again … that's up to you. The bank's outside doors have magnetic locks that are all tied into the alarm system. With just a swipe from one of their keycards, we can disarm the perimeter security and we're in."

"Simple, yet elegant." One side of her mouth rising in a smile, Sarah sat down at Chuck's feet. "I like it."

"You'll loop in surveillance footage from a previous night, I assume," Zondra said.

"Of course. That won't be a problem." Chuck shot her a grin.

"I imagine not," Bryce said, glancing back at him. "But that only gets us inside the bank—not the vault. I take it you have a plan for that too?"

"Of course I do." The amusement on Chuck's face morphed into the look of concentration he wore whenever he took on a technological problem. Zondra loved seeing how his mind worked; his thought process was unlike that of anyone she'd ever met. "I've figured out how to trick the vault's system using a couple of simple scripts I wrote back in my Stanford days. The complexity of the vault's security turned out to be its biggest vulnerability."

"Complexity?" Sarah said, her eyebrows knitting. "That sounds rather ominous, Chuck."

"You're right—and in most cases, it would be." The light from the windows filtered onto Chuck's face, giving his eyes an amber glow. He looked, Zondra thought, more energized than she'd seen him before—injured shoulder notwithstanding. Here, with the inner workings of city power grids and near-impenetrable bank vaults at his disposal, he seemed more at home than he'd ever been at the Buy More. If Bryce hadn't derailed his education and career, maybe this was how Chuck would look all the time.

Of course, if Bryce hadn't done that, Zondra might never have met Chuck—but that was a metaphysical problem that was definitely above her pay grade.

"This system's a real beast," Chuck went on, as happily as if he was detailing plans for a picnic. "It'll be tricky in the best of situations, catastrophic in the worst. And it uses a digital time lock that prevents opening the vault until it reaches a preset time—in this case, during banking hours. Even when the correct protocols are followed, the vault doors won't open outside of that window."

For the life of her, Zondra couldn't see what he was so happy about. "So this has to be done during banking hours? How does that help us? The place'll be crawling with people."

It seemed like an excellent point to her, but Chuck's smile didn't fade. "Patience, young padawan," he said—a Star Wars reference to which her inner nerd thrilled. "All of the systems are networked. The authentication server, the timer, the facial recognition software—everything. And that's its single point of failure too—one in which we can exploit."

"Facial recognition software?" Bryce said, his mouth settling into a displeased line that Zondra knew all too well. "Jackson never mentioned that."

"Maybe he didn't realize. Like I said, the vault's design's really complex. It takes a while to figure out all of the fail-safes." Chuck sounded charitable—kindly glossing over the fact that Jackson had had well over a month to figure all of this out. But then, that was Chuck, kind to everyone—even when they didn't deserve it.

"Fair enough," Bryce said, drumming his fingers on his knee again.

"Every step of opening the vault doors requires a two-person authentication method. The manager and assistant manager of the bank are the only ones in the system that're authorized to open them. There's also an audited internal log of all attempts to gain entry."

"That far Jackson got," Bryce said. "Where does the facial recognition software come in?"

"The vault has a two-door system too, instead of the traditional approach of using single-door. The first door has two keypads that uses a ten-digit code on each. As soon as you get past the first door, there's a second door and two cameras that run facial recognition software. These cameras will detect each person's face, and if that person is authorized, they'll each get a one-time passcode on their cell phone which will serve as the passcode for the second door."

"And if they're not authorized?" Sarah said warily.

Chuck gave another one-shouldered shrug. "The first door will slam shut, lock automatically, and they'll be trapped inside until the authorities arrive."

"I'm sorry I asked," Sarah said with an exaggerated shudder. It was only partially an act; not many people knew it, but Walker was claustrophobic as hell. She and Zondra had spent some time trapped in an underground tunnel during a mission; Sarah had done her best to shrug off how much being confined like that bugged her, but Zondra knew her well enough to see through her pretenses. "So what's your workaround, then?"

"We spoof the IP address and digital footprint of the authentication server. I'll need Jackson's help on site to tie into the network while I work remotely. Since the manager and assistant manager are the only ones who're authorized to open the vault, we'll need to temporarily replace their images and phone numbers with yours and Zondra's."

Bryce's eyes shot to Zondra for the first time since he and Sarah had come back to the safe house from their shopping expedition. She hated that she was wearing his shirt, but it had been clean, and available. She could've asked Sarah if she could borrow something, but she'd been in a hurry to shower and had just grabbed something out of Bryce's closet. When she'd first walked into the living room to join everyone for breakfast, she'd felt Bryce's eyes on her—and when she'd glanced over at him, his lips had quirked upward in amusement … and something more. He liked seeing her in his shirt, she was sure of it.

She needed to go shopping, and soon.

"Why put Zondra at risk?" Bryce said, looking back at Chuck. "I can do this."

Zondra opened her mouth to protest—she was a CIA agent, not a hothouse flower—but Chuck beat her to it. "I'm sure you could, buddy, but both the manager and assistant manager are women … and their identities are hard-coded into the read-only memory of the system. You're pretty hot, Bryce, but not that hot."

Wait a minute. Chuck thought she was hot? He'd basically said as much, hadn't he? What was she supposed to do with that piece of information?

Crossing his arms across his chest, Bryce sighed. "Fine."

"Don't sulk," Walker said, looking entertained. "I'm sure Chuck will come up for a job for you too. With or without your fuzzy duckling. Did it have a name, by the way?"

Bryce shot her a glance that could've leveled a city. "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

She shook her head. "Nope."

Bryce sank lower in his chair, eyes at half-mast. "Go on, Chuck, by all means. What's next?"

"Well, just so you understand—the whole system will need to be offline for this all to work, but I can arrange for that to happen. We won't have a lot of time … but it should be enough."

"For you to knock the system offline—" Sarah began.

"I'll have to hack into the city grid and cut power to the whole block. That, and the ISP's local hub so the system can't phone home. Those schematics should come in handy, huh? Plus, when the system switches to its backup generator, we'll have a few seconds to run my scripts. They'll allow me to run any program—in this case, the vault's system authentication protocol—with any date and time I specify. It'll trick the system into thinking it's AM instead of PM and voila, the bank's open for business."

Zondra stared at him, sitting there on the couch with his arm in a brand-new sling and an unmistakable glint in his eyes. "Who would have thought you could come up with something like this, Chuck? It's positively diabolical."

"Nah. Just … thorough." He flipped through to an image of the deposit box itself. "The two of you should be able to get into the safety deposit box once you're inside—or at least, I think so. From what I can see here, it's got a dual custody lever lock on it. Can you two open that?" he asked, turning to Sarah, then Zondra.

"Yes," they said in chorus.

"Fantastic. It should all go smoothly … and when we're done and the system comes back online, a cleanup script will execute itself that eliminates all traces that we were ever there." Chuck sat back, a look of satisfaction marking his features.

"Rizzo's right—this is diabolical." His fingers drumming on his knee, Bryce leaned forward, eyes fixed on Chuck's face. "How sure are you that it'll work?"

Chuck ran his good hand through his hair. "Oh ... at least ninety-five percent."

Maybe he was kidding; maybe he wasn't. With Chuck, Zondra sometimes found it hard to tell. But one thing was for sure … their odds of getting the information they needed had just gotten ninety-five percent better.

She turned to Sarah, then Bryce. Both looked stunned, impressed—and eager.

It was time to get their hands dirty … again.

A/N: Emily and I would like to thank all of you who have chimed in to let us know what you think and feel about our efforts. Your thoughts and ideas not only fuel our imagination but our desire to come up with more innovative ways to hold your interest. We're also having a lot of fun bouncing around the ideas that some of you have shared with us. They might not have been put into play instantly but trust us—we're listening. We can only hope we're up to the task.

A/N #2: The next chapter is shaping up to be a real white-knuckle ride, in our opinion. It's always satisfying to build up to a part in the story where everything unfolds—Sarah and Zondra on a mission together with Jackson; Chuck and Bryce providing backup on comms from the safe house; Casey and Ilsa reading each other in while dealing with Beckman. No pressure … right? Still, it should be a blast trying to pull it off.

As always, thanks for reading.