summary: Exhausted from the events with her mother, the baby, and Ryker, Sarah takes a break and turns down Graham's next assignment. With her not there to intervene, Casey's Intersect plan is realized- Chuck is thrown into a bunker. When she learns the truth through a twist of fate, Sarah realizes all she missed out on in not taking that mission, and the gift she never got to know. Discovering the bunker has isolated Chuck and shut down the Intersect, she decides she only has one choice: to fix it. What she finds in him, and he in her, might just change both of their lives.

note: Thanks, all. Chapter two, please review! (rhymes ftw.)

disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, blushing, meatballs or mammoth admissions.

"That's me."

He looks a little confused, and Sarah realizes he probably thinks she's supposed to be here, that that's why she knows him. That she was checking he was Chuck, as any agent who hasn't met him would, rather than simply breathing the name from that folder those months ago. Like she was sent here, given orders, told to tell him something or give him something, or anything other than what she really did here.

But god, she's a little stunned right now. In fact, she's truly taken aback by his being here, completely surprised by it. Stumbling across him in a random room she randomly has access to- the assignment she'd turned down, right here. What are the chances? And what, she wonders, is he doing here? He's from Los Angeles, she remembers, that's where she would've been sent if she'd accepted the mission- how is he in D.C.? Did he get brought in, did he sign to the agency? Why was the CIA even looking for him; why was she going to be assigned as his handler? His file had only mentioned he might've had some intel, but nothing warrants this. What is it that Chuck Bartowski has that's so significant to the United States government?

She swallows again, shifts on her feet, ignores the twinge of pain from her shoulder as she tries to figure out what to say. But then a thought occurs.

"Did you say Major Casey?" she finds herself asking, and Chuck frowns, nods.

"Yeah. I mean, I haven't seen him in a while, but he's the only person who visits me here, so I figured it might be him. But it's not, it's... you." He trails off, clearly realizing he's stating the obvious, but she blinks again, stares at him.

She knows of Casey, his reputation, mostly. An assassin, lives for orders, unquestioning. But most significantly...

"Casey's NSA," she says, and Chuck frowns once more.

"Um. Yeah."

He says it so obviously, but she can't figure this out.

"This- this is a CIA base."

Chuck frowns, probably at her words and her confused, detached tone, as she tries to connect the dots.

"Yeah, it's... This is a joint op." Once more, she boggles at his words. A joint op, between the CIA and NSA? What the hell kind of operation did she pass on, here? Finally seeming to realize something's up, Chuck tilts his head, brow furrowing. "Sorry, who are you?"

Although she really shouldn't say, Sarah knows her access here will have been logged. The surveillance will have seen her, and back-up is probably already headed this way to get her out of here. There's no point in lying.

"Agent Sarah Walker." she says, somewhat hoping for recognition within him, for some reason. But he doesn't seem to know her- nothing strikes as familiar in his expression. He simply nods, takes it in his stride.

"Okay, Agent Walker. Are those files for me?" he asks, pointing to the folders still in her hands, but she shakes her head.

"No," she says right away, but she suddenly realizes: they could be. She's been sorting through files while here, sending them on to people, but she never knew the final destination. She didn't even know Chuck was here. Maybe what she's been organizing has been sent his way anyway. "At least, I don't think so."

Chuck just blinks, but then he takes a step back into the office-type room behind him.

"Okay, well, I've still got two hours of intelligence study left, so if you're here to observe, we better-"

"I'm not..." she says, instinctively, even as she follows him into the room a little, and Chuck raises an eyebrow, pausing. "I, um. I wasn't ordered, to be here, I just passed the door and I hadn't noticed it before so I tried to get in, and... it let me."

At that, Chuck gapes a little, stepping closer to her again.

"It let you in?" he asks, and she shrugs.

"Yeah, I... guess I have clearance," she tries, but he just blinks a little at that, and she knows why. This isn't just clearance. He's so protected, here, she's sure this can't just be a regular security space. Not every agent with basic clearance or even her level of it could get in; she was allowed in specifically, just her.

"Maybe- But, wait, if you weren't sent here, how did you know who I was?"

And shit, he's got her there. Despite herself, she feels her cheeks flushing at how easily he'd figured that out, seen through her. He's smart. She swallows, stepping away from him and heading to his desk.

"Can I...?" Pointing with the folders in her hands, she gestures to the desk, and he widens his eyes in acceptance, still a bit wary, she sees. As she finally sets the files down, she breathes out in relief, stretching out her bad arm, rotating the joint. "God, that's better," she mutters, and Chuck frowns suddenly.

"Are you hurt?" he asks, looking and sounding so sweetly concerned, and she shrugs with her good arm.

"I was, on a mission a few weeks ago. That's why I was assigned to this base, while I recover."

"Oh," Chuck says yet again, still looking somewhat bewildered and uncomfortable, and she sighs, a strange tug in her chest to just tell the truth, with him. She might as well own up to it.

Resting against the desk lightly, she eyes him. Tries to figure out how to approach this- and how he might take it.

"Was there a CIA Agent here, on this assignment with you?" she asks, and Chuck tenses suddenly, eyes hardening a little.

"Never here," he begins. "But when they first found me, yes, Agent Jones. She, uh, she came into the Buy More where I worked, asked me out. Once they figured out what had happened with the intel I was sent, she and Casey brought me in here. I haven't seen her since."

Sarah frowns at that, at the idea of this Agent Jones just up and leaving.
"Really?"

"Yeah," he shrugs. "I figured, it's a CIA base, but I still have an NSA handler, that's the joint op thing, right?"

"No," Sarah finds herself saying, shaking her head. "That's not how it should work. Handlers handle, they don't just bring you in and leave you."

He frowns a little, something curious in his eyes. A little like hurt.

"Well, Jones did... Not that it's done much help, me being here, I- I think both agencies are getting mad at me."

Once more, she frowns at that, whatever he's not saying, but she folds her arms across her chest as best she can. Something within him makes her want to be open, honest, and she swallows.

"Well, in answer to your question, I know who you are because I was supposed to be your handler." Chuck's eyebrows raise, and dammit, she feels her cheeks flushing a little again. "I was supposed to find you in LA. But I'd just come off a... a tough assignment, and I needed a break, so I passed on it."

The man before her gapes a little at that.

"Oh," he says once more, a little distantly this time, and she clears her throat in slight discomfort, shifting on her feet.

"I, um, I should probably go, since I'm not supposed to be here," she says with a wince, something in her making her want to flee, but another part insisting she says more. "I'm sorry that Agent Jones left," she offers, but Chuck shrugs.

"Don't be. She wasn't very nice, she just brought me here, she was gonna tell my family I was dead. I'm kinda happier she's not around, I guess. And- and at first being here was okay, the intelligence worked fine but I think now it's just... Well, being stuck underground isn't exactly conducive to good work."

She frowns at his sudden frustration, so unlike his previously upbeat demeanor, but before she can say more a beeping noise sounds out, a quiet alarm.

"Agent Walker," says a voice, booming through an intercom, and she sighs as she hears Graham. They've evidently spotted her being here, seen her getting in or been alerted by the security logs or something, and she knows she's gonna be in some kind of trouble. Chuck winces at the noises, running a hand through his hair.

"I hope they don't chew you out too bad."

Picking up her files once more and heading past him, back out into the hall, she shrugs.

"I'll be fine," she says, because she's sure she will anyway, but she can't help but wonder if Chuck will. Chuck, stuck here, away from his home and his loved ones, so visibly tired, confused over whatever happened with his handler. Alone. "I'm sorry, again, Chuck."

He merely smiles a little sadly at her words, and heads back into his office. Taking a deep breath, she heads back to the entrance, and awaits her fate.

She should be concerned, confused, worried, even, about how her boss will react to her getting in here, how her actions will go down. What professional repercussions she might face.

But, actually, all she can think is just one thing. She needs to fix this.

Well, that was weird, Chuck thinks, as he stands in his hallway, looking at the now-closed door, behind which Agent Sarah Walker just left. Agent Sarah Walker, who was supposed to be his handler. Who was supposed to be the one who found him in LA, after the scariest few days of his life, plagued by weird flashes of knowledge, raging headaches, and an email from an old once-friend. She was supposed to be the one who brought him in here. To the bunker.

But she didn't. Agent Jones did. He never learned her first name- her real name, that is.

She'd introduced herself as Lana. A cute brunette with bangs, she looked the startling spitting image of Jill. He supposes now that was deliberate. She'd walked up to the Nerd Herd desk with a broken cell phone, a simple fix, and she'd smiled a bit and laughed and stuck around long enough (after a customer and one of Harry Tang's rants had interrupted them) to ask him out rather determinedly. Chuck had been... confused. She was nice enough, sure, but to him, she'd been like every other basic customer interaction. He felt no connection to her, really, no pull, and he'd had all intention of never calling her to set up the date.

But Ellie had encouraged him, Morgan too, both of them boosting his pretty much nonexistent ego enough to get him at least a little positive about the date. They'd gone to an Italian place he was fond of in Echo Park. She'd complained about the meatballs and the service in a rather discomfiting way, but she'd smiled again, asked him questions about his life, his past, interactions with women. After his rather disastrous birthday party not long before, Ellie had drilled no mentions of Jill into him, so he'd skirted the question. Lana had pushed, and Chuck had gotten a little antsy, annoyed, until she must've seen that and backed off. They'd headed to The Echo after, but when she came on bizarrely strong on the dancefloor he'd headed back out to the street and tried to put an end to things, saying it just wasn't working.

She'd dragged him to an alley, pulled a gun, said her real name was Jones and she worked for the CIA, and told him to tell her everything he knew about Bryce Larkin.

Then Casey had shown up, a stranger in a suit with a matching pistol, and things got a bit crazy from then on.

Jones had managed to take out Casey's men, disable his car, and they'd raced to a rooftop. It was there that Jones started getting more and more angry, threatening his family, innocents, saying he'd be responsible for all their deaths and pain if he didn't tell her the truth about Bryce Larkin. The problem was, Chuck didn't have a clue what the hell the truth was himself. Before she had a chance to shoot him, Casey had appeared, and Jones gained a different target, at least. More guns were pointed, more weird knowledge was gleaned to Chuck, and when Casey had heard his mutterings about a bomb, the Major had changed his focus to stopping it. They'd raced across town, ran through a fountain, and he'd defused the bomb in spite of both Jones and Casey's strong objections. He got no thanks for saving their lives and the entirety of Downtown LA's too, and then Casey and Jones had started arguing about who 'got him'. Chuck. Who and what agency got to bundle him away and throw him on a plane to somewhere, and in a bunker somewhere. Jones had made a quip about just telling his "pretty little sister" that he'd died, that nobody would even miss him, and Chuck had seen red.

He'd argued, protested, tried to refuse and point out just how important he had to be, the one person remembering all the government's secrets. He'd told them they needed him. But such confidence had clearly been misplaced- Casey had growled, and Jones had threatened to hurt Ellie if Chuck didn't back down. At that, he really had no choice.

It's been months, now, down here, with just intermittent visits from Casey and nobody else. Analysts drop off intel every morning, but they're silent, handing files over in the doorway, while he stands back and tries to make conversation. It's rare anyone even acknowledges him, though he supposes that makes sense, since nobody is supposed to even see him. One guy, an older analyst named Larry, usually says good morning, and Chuck asks how he's doing- and that's the extent of the friendships he's managed to make. One lone person, in a bunker of thousands. It's not really his fault; he's heavily guarded, through three levels of security at just his door alone. He has minimal contact from everyone, including Casey, and perhaps most significantly, he has strictly no ability to leave. Ever.

Every day, like clockwork, he wakes up, showers, gets the intel package and goes across the hall to his office, and works until 5:30pm. He finishes, walks back to his living quarters, eats dinner at some point, and indulges in the one personal item request the agencies had granted him: video games. He sometimes plays alone, but often sneakily plays with Morgan (or, he thinks it's sneaky, since nobody has actually called him on it and he thinks he's probably not supposed to be the Frodo to his best friend's Samwise while stuck in a government bunker). Sometimes he watches the restricted news channels the TV is tuned to, too, or listens to the lone music station on the device. And then he falls asleep, and he wakes up and does it all again. Every single day, in, out, work, sleep.

He does get a call to Ellie every other week, the only joy or spontaneity he really has in this life, but it's chock full of lies about his fake job here in D.C., the one that supposedly stole him from his sister overnight without so much as a goodbye.

And that was it until now. Every day the same, every routine identical.

Until today.

When Agent Sarah Walker had stumbled in, a little wide-eyed, recognizing him, knowing his name. Today, things changed.

He can't help but wonder why she turned the assignment to him down. He didn't think spies got to do that- although, before a few months ago, he's not even sure he thought spies were real at all. But now he knows they are. They live in his head, literally at all times. Information about every single one of them is bundled up in there and activated whatever which way the computer wants. Although even that isn't working right now- and Chuck doesn't know why the analysts are surprised about that, frankly. He lives underground, he hasn't been outside in months, he hasn't smelled fresh air, felt a breeze, seen the sun, since that final day in Los Angeles. He's been taken from everyone he loves, and everyone who loves him, and forced into a monotonous routine that's taken any impulsivity or fun out of his life. He misses so fucking much about life in Burbank. He even misses the Buy More- and that's how he knows he's feeling bad.

And so, amongst all that, the Intersect stopped working. What he's named 'flashes', the computer activating, happened fewer and farther between, until recently when they've just stalled entirely. It's like his brain has just given up. He tried to ask if any scientists knew anything, if he could meet with someone to figure things out, if they might suggest changing things to help the precious government computer in his head. But he's had no luck. Everything has been the same, and everything has been getting worse.

Until Agent Sarah Walker just showed up.

No matter whether she was supposed to be here, supposed to bring him in, supposed to handle him more than Jones was (because she just disappeared off somewhere) no matter that, just her being here has meant Chuck's had the most exciting day of his life since his birthday a few months back. And considering that was the day he inadvertently downloaded a government supercomputer into his brain, today is infinitely better.

He wonders, idly, if Agent Walker would've done something differently. Maybe he wouldn't have ended up here. Or maybe he would have, but she would stop by every now and then like Major Casey does- handling him. From her reaction, he doesn't think things would quite be the exact same as they are now.

But he can't get lost in maybes and dreams.

And he's got more files to stare at until his eyes ache and his temples burn, in spite of the Intersect not working.

And so he sighs, shakes his head at the surprising twist to the day, and heads back into his office, for the same thing as always.

"I was allowed access, Graham." she insists, but her boss narrows his eyes, ready to argue with her again.

As she'd expected, the moment she'd left that mysteriously secret room with Chuck Bartowski inside, a guard had been waiting at the door. He'd escorted her upstairs, thankfully not bodily moving her because her arm is already hurting like a bitch as it is. But then she'd been driven to the DNI, and told to meet with the Deputy Director.

After almost a half hour, now, it feels like they're going in circles. First there was the spiel about sticking to doing her job in the bunker, then the ramble about protocol, and now they're on security- like she didn't easily pass all those security checks as if she were meant to be there.

"It was a leftover error from when I first placed you on the assignment," he repeats, and she rolls her eyes at the tired words again. She was allowed into that place for a reason, and it wasn't just a bureaucratic error. Someone, somewhere, probably Graham himself, retained her access clearance for Chuck's rooms, and that must have happened for a reason. "Sarah, you turned down this assignment, it's not your mission anymore."

Sighing, she folds her arms across her chest, ignores the twinge in her shoulder as she does so.

"I know," she admits, nodding just to appeal to the slightly more rational side of her boss. The side she knows treats her well because she's his protégée, his best. She leans in, looks at him deliberately. "What is this, Graham? What happened with Agent Jones, and why are you letting the NSA run an op out of a CIA base?"

Graham frowns at her, shakes his head.

"I can't read you in." She opens her mouth to argue but he quickly raises a hand. "But, I will tell you that Agent Jones requested reassignment not long after Bartowski was moved here. As it's a joint operation between both agencies, an arrangement was made to keep him here, with CIA resources, and have the NSA consult."

"Jones was supposed to be Chuck's handler," Sarah repeats, since that's truly what's confusing her here. An asset being brought to a bunker is not that unusual. An asset she has inexplicable access to- more odd, definitely, but she's one of Graham's best. It's less surprising for her to have access than some random junior agent. But an asset whose handler abandons them, and isn't replaced? She doesn't know what the hell is with that. "You don't just leave your asset, any agent knows that. You handle them, and/or you burn them. That's literally the job description."

Graham shrugs.

"Bartowski didn't take particularly well to being brought in here. You and I both know Casey's a burnout, I don't think the guy's ever smiled in his life, so he was always tough enough on the kid. But Jones played the honeypot, asked him out, and when things got tight halfway through the date she revealed who she was. She got... antagonistic, and Bartowski didn't take the betrayal well. He became difficult as assets do, but at the time, he was still yielding enough intelligence that letting Jones move on wasn't a bad idea. Reading another agent in on an operation this deep takes time, and her departure got the immediate conflict out of the way. We thought leaving Chuck alone would give him a clearer head."

Sarah frowns, trying not to scoff at the blindness of the CIA. She could've seen this coming a mile away.
"But it didn't."

"...No."

Even the admission is a mammoth thing, to Sarah. She can't help but shrug. It's so obvious to her.

"I wouldn't even think keeping Chuck in a bunker would have been the best idea..." she leads, but then she fakes a light smirk. "But hey, I turned it down, so..."

Graham leans in, looks curious. She's got him.

"Why do you say that?"

She shrugs again, pretends to not quite have a grip on her thoughts. Really, since the minute she'd met the man earlier today, she'd had it figured out. What, if she had taken that mission, she would've done, meeting Chuck, handling him, figuring out what approach to take long-term. Things would be so different to how they are now, she knows it.

"Even two minutes with Chuck told me how personable he is. He likes to meet people, to talk. I remember his file referenced him living with his sister, who raised him. It explicitly noted how he'd stayed in the same place for five years after his college expulsion. You removed him from his comfort zone, and his support network, his family, and put him in a bunker, alone, and expected him to be fine with it."

Graham frowns at that.
"It's procedure for many an asset, you know that."

"But Chuck isn't just any asset," she tries, and sure enough Graham nods.

"He's not. And maybe you're right. But we're here, now, Chuck is no longer in Burbank with his family, and we're spending money on an operation going nowhere, that you turned down."

"I know." She nods, but she steels herself, leans in. "Let me back in."

Graham blinks, looking surprised, though she has to wonder quite why. Did he think she was sitting happily through this meeting for no reason, no endgame?

No, the whole way here, being escorted and led to the DNI, hell, the moment she'd heard Graham's voice boom through the intercom, Sarah had been figuring this out. Working out what to do, thinking of all the things Chuck had told her, Agent Jones leaving, the bunker not being conducive to his work... The way he'd suddenly switched when he'd told her about Jones' plan to tell his family he was dead, god, the guy who lived with his sister and had done for years... It would've crushed the woman, probably. And Sarah, knowing that she herself should've been his handler, knowing even just from a brief conversation with this man that she would've done things differently, never would've immediately suggested a bunker and just left him in it alone, without a handler... she'd decided to fix it. Decided she wants in.

"Sarah, you already said no." Graham says, but she shakes her head.

"This operation has already changed so much since that day. Then, it was just potential handling of an asset. Now you have a man stuck in a bunker, away from his friends and family, yielding you no new information." She sets her hands on his desk, leans in. "I'm your best agent for a reason- I'm not just good, you know that. I can fix things. Let me fix this."

"You'll work with Chuck?" Graham asks, even sounding a little derisive, like such work is beneath her and she should know it, and Sarah has to hold back her sudden temper. He has no idea what she's thinking, what she wants, what she views as a worthy assignment. He has no idea that she knows Chuck is so obviously not just a simple asset, not an easy ride. To scoff at her choosing this, wanting this, just insults her- and more importantly, it insults the man stuck in this bunker through no fault of his own.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she nods.

"I still have three more weeks of recovery in the base and out of the field anyway, you know that. If you read me in, if you let me work with Chuck, and nothing changes in these three weeks, I'll go back to field missions and Chuck stays here, no change." She swallows at the statement, the idea of racing around the world as she just has, questioning her job, her life, the 'good' she might not be doing after all. And the idea of leaving Chuck here, leaving him to be alone fading away the way he already has in two months, that leaves her feeling a little sick. But she's confident she can do something, yield something, with him. She has to. "I know reading me in is a risk, but you know you can trust me. Come on, Graham."

She watches as he sits, watching her, unmoved and unblinking for what feels like hours, and she gives back the same in return. Turning down this assignment makes her the reason Chuck is stuck here, the CIA is shut out of their own operation, and that bright person from those photos has faded to the washed out man in that bunker. The man still so desperately upbeat and personable, friendly and open, even while his surroundings are so against him. Sarah can't fathom why, but she somehow knows she needs to do this. She won't feel right letting this pass unchanged.

And, thankfully, after a while Graham nods, sighs, leans back in his chair.

"Three weeks with no change, and you're out." He promises, and Sarah holds back a triumphant grin. Graham runs a hand over his head. "I knew I kept you on that security access for a reason."

She smirks at the admission- so simple, as she knew it would be. To some degree, he wanted this. And now she needs to prove him right to trust her with Chuck. Nodding, she leans in, eager to learn, and he nods.

"It's called The Intersect..."

note: Surprise, two POVs! Also, the eagle-eyed of you might've noticed the extended summary at the top of this chapter. If you scrolled right past it, well, you know it anyway now- here's our story. Please review!