This story will have multiple points of view, each one depicted by the name of the character above each scene.

It should go without saying but … I don't own Chuck.

Chapter 3: Melancholy and Machinations

*** Chuck ***

Splashing cold water on my face in an effort to banish the images that were plaguing my mind, I glanced up at the man reflected in the bathroom's mirror. With his haunted eyes and sunken pallor, he was barely recognizable. It was as if the past five years of my life had reset itself and I was right back to where I'd started.

Hopelessness… that's all I saw, staring back at me.

Actually, my situation was far worse off than it had ever been after Stanford. Back then, my life had been torpedoed and I was left trying to sift through the wreckage. I'd had very few prospects and hardly any ambition to keep moving forward—but at least I had free will. Now, my life didn't even belong to me. I was an indentured servant, the property of the U.S. government, their weapon to wield when and where they saw fit. That's why they always referred to me as 'the asset,' rather than using my actual name—it was easier for them to justify treating me like an inanimate object, with no agency or rights to leverage against my wardens. Casey had even shown me the documents to prove the legality of my situation.

For the past few months—ever since I opened that cursed email—I'd been able to tolerate that life sentence for one reason, and one reason only: Sarah Walker. She was my rock, my touchstone, someone I thought would always be there to help guide me through the mazes and pitfalls her world threw my way. Someone I thought was interested in more than just protecting the secrets in my head.

Someone I thought was at least my friend.

Apparently, everything that had happened between us was just another lie in a long procession that dated back to the very beginning of our relationship—if you could even call it that. Sarah sure as hell wouldn't.

Ellie had always been a big fan of the Maya Angelou quote, "When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time." She'd said it to me enough times growing up—especially when I'd tried to convince myself that both our parents must've left us for good reasons—that the damn thing was practically emblazoned on my forehead. And God knew, Sarah had shown me who she was, with her words if not her deeds. She'd recited ad nauseum that our relationship began and ended with our cover story—that there could never be anything more between us. So, why hadn't I taken her words at face value? Sure, she'd kissed me within an inch of my life when we thought we were about to die—but that must've been just a one-off. A fluke based off of circumstance and convenience. I was the one who'd read more into it than was really there. I'd been naïve enough to think someone as amazing as she was could ever have feelings for someone like me, that all I had to do was bide my time, and she'd eventually come around.

Clearly, I'd missed that mark by a long shot—and I only had myself to blame.

But if her job was so important to her—her top priority, as she always insisted—then why, when she'd found Bryce holed up in my bedroom, would she kiss him instead of arresting him on the spot? He was a fugitive, wanted for treason. And as far as I could tell—and my flashes had never led me astray—he was also somehow mixed up with that Fulcrum group. He'd broken into the DNI and blown up billions of dollars' worth of computer equipment, software, and technology—killing a few guards in the process—and then sent a highly classified database full of all our nation's secrets to a freakin' civilian … me.

After finding out my test scores on Professor Fleming's subliminal images exam, Bryce must've known I could handle the Intersect in its entirety, which meant the data, once absorbed into my brain, would become mobile, something he could steal. If he managed to lure me away from my handlers long enough to capture me, he'd have the Intersect at his beck and call. Maybe he'd even try and sell me to the highest bidder.

He'd broken so many laws, I was sure that if Sarah would've hauled his ass in when she'd had the chance, he'd be spending the rest of his life in prison. It's what he deserved.

So … why would she kiss him instead?

Leaning against the sink, my head hanging low, I forced myself to think through all the possibilities. Only two options sprang to mind. First, she was in love with him, and that love superseded any and all of her precious CIA mandates. Or second—she was somehow in league with him.

I supposed the second option didn't necessarily preclude the first.

Had Sarah been running a slow seduction on me, keeping me dangling on the end of her hook, just biding her time until Bryce showed up, so they could deliver me to Fulcrum? Was she a double agent like Bryce appeared to be? Had she been playing me all this time?

I didn't want to believe it—I couldn't—and not just because I'd fallen in love with her. If that turned out to be the case, I couldn't imagine ever trusting anyone new in my life again. Five years later, and I still hadn't fully gotten over Bryce and Jill's betrayal. To have to endure a repeat performance … it would break me, once and for all. Maybe it already had.

Then I thought back to Sarah's face as she'd pleaded with me to listen—to try and understand.

Had it been a part of her ruse, or had she been as devastated as she seemed by everything that had gone down in my bedroom? She'd stared at me like her heart was breaking, her blue eyes red-rimmed and glossy with unshed tears. God, she'd looked just as wrecked as I felt. The few words she'd managed to squeak out before Ellie shut her down had sounded so desperate.

I had to remind myself that she was a master of duplicity—a true artist of artifice. The federal government literally paid her to manipulate and exploit people in a variety of innovative and provocative ways. But actions didn't lie: she'd been standing in my bedroom, kissing another man. The worst man imaginable.

So why continue the act once the jig was up? Why even bother? Where did that get her?

I ran my hands through my hair until it stood on end, trying to make sense out of her uncharacteristic response, the frailty that had been apparent behind those gorgeous eyes of hers.

She must've known that getting caught kissing Bryce—essentially blowing her cover—would result in her being reassigned, maybe ruining their plans to make off with the Intersect. Was that it, or was my broken heart coloring my traitorous thoughts?

Well, whatever she'd wanted, it seemed unlikely she'd get it now. But even with her out of the picture, there'd still be Casey, Beckman, and Graham to contend with. What were their ultimate plans for me—their end game? Did I even want to know?

My head started to throb. I couldn't think about this anymore.

Drying my face with a hand towel, I yanked the door open and marched back to my bedroom—the scene of the damn crime. It was going to take more than a few minutes in the bathroom to compose myself long enough to rejoin everyone gathered around our Thanksgiving table, looking like someone other than a man whose heart had just been set on fire and stomped out with baseball cleats.

*** Sarah ***

Out in the courtyard, I stood sentinel, my back to Chuck's door, and scanned for any sign that Bryce was still in the area. I knew him, rogue or not—how he moved, where he'd hide. He wasn't here, as far as I could tell. But my intuition still prickled, telling me he hadn't gone far—and over the years, paying attention to my gut had saved my life more times than I could count.

Jesus… I couldn't believe I was actually scanning the courtyard for someone who was wanted for high treason—someone who'd just had his lips pressed to mine, instead of my knee in his back and my gun to his head. I felt sick to my stomach, disgusted. How could I have been so stupid?

No wonder Chuck had looked at me as if I'd ripped his heart out through his chest. He'd trusted me to do the right thing when he offered up his bedroom as a place for me to meet with Bryce, and I'd ended up betraying everything he believed in.

The worst part was, Chuck had—once again—been presented with an impossible situation. Bryce had obviously cornered him alone in the courtyard after returning from the Herder. And yet Chuck still had had the presence of mind to keep his cool, giving me a covert heads-up as soon as he could and the perfect opportunity to take Bryce down.

Instead of hauling Bryce back to the CIA detention center, like I should've been doing right this second, I would end up getting reassigned for my stupidity.

And when the hammer finally fell, I could hardly blame the Director for carrying out his duty. I'd blown my cover and compromised Chuck's safety. And now he was in his house, with Bryce still roaming around, and only Casey inside to protect him.

In a moment of doubt and self-loathing, I had screwed up everything.

My world blurred at the edges, but I managed to fight it back. Crying was a pointless endeavor, a waste of time and energy when it wasn't directed at a mark. It was fresh-from-the-Farm training: Tears can be an effective method of manipulation and control, if utilized appropriately. But there was no one here to see if the Ice Queen melted. No one here but me, and frankly, I was too miserable to care.

I made my way further into the courtyard, feeling as if each step away from Chuck's door was a yawning chasm threatening to swallow me whole. For a brief moment tonight, sitting around the table with Chuck's family, I'd felt like I actually belonged—like I was just a normal woman, enjoying a typical Thanksgiving dinner. But the sound of that deadbolt sliding into place had driven home the truth: Without Chuck, I was nothing more than a spy. A spy who'd fraternized with the enemy and had a lot of explaining to do.

Well, Graham and Beckman could wait their turn. Chuck should come first, right? I just wished I could drum up enough courage to confess the way I felt … not that it would matter anymore.

I'd been denying my feelings for so long, unwilling or unable to finally stake a claim to my life, lay it bare before Chuck, and see if his heart was big enough to absolve someone like me, someone who was truly broken. It was time to face the facts: I'd been hopelessly in love with him since the very beginning. I just hadn't known what to do about it. When it came to knowing my own heart—or understanding someone else's—I was a complete neophyte.

But what difference did any of that make now? It was too little, too late. The last thing Chuck had said to me before he'd walked into the bathroom was still ringing in my ears: There's nothing left to say, Sarah. Why would he listen to anything I said—and worse still, why would he believe me after I'd broken the trust he'd so freely given?

He wouldn't; that much was clear. And I could hardly blame him.

I sat down on the edge of the fountain and buried my head in my hands, reflecting on how desolate, how lonely, the past twenty years of my life had been. I'd spent the first ten with my dad on the grift, being whoever he'd told me to be. My childhood had been one acting gig after another, courtesy of a life of crime and an insatiable need to please my father. His 'I'm really proud of you, darling,' after a successful take was like mainlining oxygen in a vacuum. It was all I'd lived for.

Then, after Dad was arrested, I'd spent the next decade as Graham's personal Swiss Army knife, a tool for any occasion—doing his bidding, the same as my father's. I'd never had a chance to figure out who or what I wanted to be—and worse still, I hadn't thought I was missing out on anything. Just the way it had been with my dad, Graham's praise had been the only fuel I needed to keep spurring me on—that, and never wanting to slow down long enough to think about what I'd done … and was still doing. As long as I could remember, I'd been someone's marionette, manipulated by the strings of my puppeteer. It was all I knew, the only value I figured I had.

But then Budapest had happened, and everything changed. It was the first mission I'd been given once I was cleared for duty after Bryce had flown the coop. It was also the first time I'd ever been assigned a handler. At the time, I'd figured it was Graham's way of reasserting his control over me … that, and a way for me to regain his trust. Ironically, by the time the mission was over I'd lost all trust in Graham, the CIA, and humanity in general.

Holding that innocent baby girl in my arms, watching, transfixed, as she curled her tiny fingers around my larger one—wordlessly entrusting me with her safety—turned out to be a dividing fork in a long and twisted road into darkness. Before Hungary, I'd never entertained the notion of being anything other than a spy, much less a mother; it had held no allure for me whatsoever. But when I'd clutched that helpless infant against my chest while cutting a swath through a room full of heavily-armed men, my moral compass had swung due north, toward life, no matter the cost—the greater good be damned.

I'd never defied orders before, but after we were finally safe, there'd been no way I was going to deliver that baby to my one-time handler so he could fatten his pockets, standing orders or not. And although Riker currently had a burn notice on his head—an order issued by Graham when I'd finally reported back in after going off-grid long enough to hide the baby—I still felt as if Graham had rented me out for the mission like some kind of power tool: Here, take Sarah. She'll get the job done. And if not—oh well. In the back of my mind, I had to wonder if he'd sent me on that mission knowing good and well I probably wouldn't make it out alive.

But I'd survived that mission impossible—and the next assignment had turned out to be Chuck … my Waterloo, a mission full of possibilities. Now I spent my nights dreaming about holding that same little girl cradled in my arms—only lately, she tended to have big brown eyes and an adorable mop of curly blonde hair.

I'd wasted so much precious time dallying with the what-ifs, shackled to the painful memories of the things I've done, afraid to finally admit the truth—that from the first moment I'd laid eyes on Chuck, I'd been in deep trouble. Now, I'd blown any chances to realize the dream of a life spent together, no matter how fanciful it might've been. I was wide awake, the demons of my past bird-dogging my every step. The only future I could clearly see, the most probable outcome, was a nameless star fastened to the Memorial Wall at Langley and no one there to mourn my passing.

A tidal wave of grief crashed over me, annihilating all the defensive walls I'd spent years fortifying.

And for the first time in nearly two decades … I wept.

*** Chuck ***

I sank heavily onto my bed, a singularity amongst the springs and foam, staring up at my Tron poster as if it held the secrets of the universe. The longer I stared at it, the madder I got. For years, I'd schlepped that thing around—from house to house, encased in bubble wrap like it was the Holy Grail. I'd carted it from our childhood home in Encino and stuck it on every bedroom wall, wherever I'd lived—from my freshman dorm room in college, to the frat house I'd shared with Bryce, to my place here at Ellie's. That damn poster was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes and the last thing I saw when I closed them. And all because it'd been a gift from my father, a man who promised to make his kids pancakes for dinner and then never came home.

My mom had abandoned us without a single word. My dad had followed suit shortly thereafter. Bryce had betrayed me, in the worst way imaginable. And Jill had cheated on me with someone I'd thought would always have my back—until the day he decided it made a better target. But Ellie and Morgan … they'd always stuck by my side. Through thick and thin, they were constant reminders that there was still good left in the world. I'd promised myself I wouldn't let myself become bitter, like a certain burly NSA agent—that I'd keep trusting people despite ample evidence to the contrary. Human beings were inherently good. It was my mantra. Something I believed in. I had to think that way, for my sake as well as others'.

I was sure Sarah thought I was naïve. A dreamer. Sometimes she got this pitying look on her face—eyebrows up, lips pursed—as if she was a millisecond away from patting me on the head like a little kid who still believed in the Easter Bunny. But I wasn't naïve—how could I be, after the trajectory my life had taken? I just chose to see the good in people, to be kind and hope karma would play itself out accordingly.

That's why I had trusted Sarah—with my safety, if not my heart. Her job was to protect me. And yet there she'd stood, making out with a traitor, two feet from where I sat.

What a freaking mess.

Our cover was blown. Smashed. Pulverized. Even if I were inclined to forgive Sarah, Ellie would never let me hear the end of it—not to mention, I had to come up with some explanation for how Bryce Larkin, of all people, had been standing in the middle of my bedroom rather than lying six feet beneath it. Or maybe that could be the bosses' problem. I could plead total ignorance. The alternative—telling Ellie that I was the one who'd let Bryce in—wasn't an option.

"Happy Thanksgiving," I mumbled glumly, tugging at a loose thread on my comforter. The quilt promptly began to unravel—much like my life.

With perfect timing, the bedroom door swung open and hit the wall with a resounding thud. Casey loomed in the doorway, filling its frame. "What the hell's going on, Bartowski? What did you do this time?" His presumption set my teeth on edge—as did his perpetual tirade. "Walker just stormed out of here looking like she was about to hurl a sidewalk pizza."

"Maybe she tried some of Anna's green bean casserole," I said, tugging harder on the thread. The last thing I wanted right now was Casey horning in on my misery.

He took a menacing step closer. "What could you have possibly done to drive away someone being paid to be your girlfriend?"

Ouch… that one hurt.

I sighed, then got to my feet. Facing Casey alone was bad enough without doing it sitting down. "Short version: When I went out to get the marshmallows, Bryce was there, waiting for me in the alley. He said he needed to speak with Sarah, alone. He mentioned that Fulcrum was after the Intersect … after me. I know I shouldn't have told him how to get in," I said, preemptively addressing any snide comments he might make. "But I did, anyway. Like a dumbass, I went along with his plan and told Sarah to meet him in my bedroom. Then, Ellie walked in on the two of them."

"And?" Casey said, after a strangled pause, twirling a meaty forefinger for me to get on with it.

"Let's just say they weren't engaged in a friendly fireside chat. They were"—I couldn't help but squirm a little bit—"kissing," I finally managed. "Ellie went thermonuclear and kicked them both out. Bryce slithered away through the window. Sarah said … whatever she said. Summary: Bryce is still out there, Sarah's cover is screwed six ways from Sunday, Ellie's supremely pissed, and Thanksgiving sucks. The end."

Casey's eyes narrowed. Then he stalked across the floor to the Morgan Door, peering out. After a few moments of intense scrutiny, he grunted and spun back around. "Don't beat yourself up too much, kid. He would've gotten in anyway, if that's what he wanted. You just made it easier for him. Like I told you … on his own, he's a very dangerous man. With Walker—let's just say they made quite the team. Perfect. Almost unstoppable."

God, he could be such an insensitive prick when he wanted to be. "Yes. Thank you for that, Casey. Apparently, they still make quite the team, as I was just unfortunate enough to witness. But I appreciate your concern. What are we going to do?"

"We?" Casey scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. "Let's get one thing straight, numb-nuts—there is no we. There's only me telling you to 'jump' and you asking 'how high.' And right now I'm telling you to march your scrawny ass back out there and do damage control while I go clean up the mess you made. Are we clear?"

Me?

My jaw dropped. How in the hell was any of this my fault?

Before I could rebuke Mr. It-Puts-The-Lotion-On-Its-Skin, he'd already retreated down the hallway, leaving me standing in his wake.

Typical.

My anger simmered, intensified, and then ignited, becoming a full-on conflagration of uncontrollable rage. Once again, I'd been relegated to the back seat, told to stay put while the adults in the room handled the situation. I wasn't part of a team—I was just their secret weapon, unworthy of respect or gratitude. To them, I was nothing more than a walking hard drive with extremely long legs. Not once had anyone ever recognized any of my unpaid contributions, the sacrifices I'd been forced to make. Hell, I'd saved countless lives—including Sarah's and Casey's—in the past few months, alone, without a single acknowledgement.

I felt like a kicked puppy, constantly being chastised by my abusive handlers, forced to attend obedience school for their misbehavior, rather than my own. Sit. Stay. Roll over. Beg for your freakin' life. I was sick to death of being treated like a second-class citizen, trampled on by virtually everyone around me.

I'd been forsaken by so many—my mom and dad, Bryce and Jill, my own damn country, for shit's sake. Now Sarah had decided to join forces with the not-so-exclusive band of deserters and backstabbers. It was all too much. I was at the end of my damn rope. All any of them ever saw in me was some loser with a slide rule and pocket protector—the Head Nerd of the Herd. I was just some helpless weakling, unworthy of their time, much less their consideration.

I guess I couldn't blame them for underestimating me. I'd hidden my light under a basket for the last five years. It was what I'd resigned myself to after Stanford had crushed my spirit. There was no one who knew what I was really capable of—those times I'd held the fate of large corporations, sometimes even governments, in the palm of my hand, just one keystroke or click away from total annihilation. Sure, I had never followed through by causing any real damage, but that was due to restraint, not a lack of ability … or opportunity. I'd eventually forced myself to give it up, to kick the habit, as it were. Back then, I'd had too much to lose if I'd gotten caught. But what did I have to lose now? They'd taken away virtually everything I had to give.

Maybe it was time to go swimming again, to take back a little of what had been stolen. It was the perfect setup, after all. Their opinions of me were already set in stone.

They held all the cards, but perhaps I could deal myself back into The Great Game. They'd never suspect a thing.

I walked over and drew the blinds, then shook the mouse to awaken my desktop … and the sleeper. Damage control had just taken on a whole new meaning.

*** Sarah ***

I was startled from my misery by the sound of the door to Chuck's apartment clicking open. I lifted my head and scrubbed at my bloodshot eyes, hoping against hope that Chuck had come out to find me. I was both petrified and anxious to talk to him again, to try and explain what'd happened and what a colossal mistake I'd made.

My hopes were dashed when Casey shut the door behind him and stepped out into the courtyard, alone. "Nice work, CIA." His face and tone bore a level of derision that exceeded even his surly standards. Obviously, he'd been brought up to speed about what had happened—and he was royally pissed.

Crap. "I—"

"Save it, Walker." He stepped past me, pulling his gun from the shoulder holster hidden inside his jacket. "Where in the hell is Larkin?"

"Gone," I said, mortified that I was the reason he was loose and still a threat.

Casey shook his head, heaving a disappointed sigh. "That's twice you've let your boy-toy rabbit when you had a chance to take the shot. You got something you need to tell me … partner?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but for the second time today, I was at a total loss. What could I possibly say in my defense?

The NSA agent just grunted, knowing he had me dead to rights. "Call it in from my place. I'll sweep the area."

He disappeared down the alleyway, and I edged towards the door of his apartment, careful to keep a watchful eye on the Bartowskis' living room windows. The last thing I needed right now was Ellie suspecting me of trying to break into Casey's place on top of everything else.

I took a step closer—and froze. Someone was inside the apartment. I could see their shadow cast against the blinds.

Scratch that—Bryce was inside. Who else could it be?

Slipping off my shoes, I carefully pushed the front door open and stepped over the threshold, praying Casey oiled his hinges as religiously as he did his guns. No worries there; not a single squeak. After attaching a silencer to my gun, I eased around the corner, my footsteps whisper-soft. I could see Bryce hunched over Casey's computer, typing away. I couldn't tell what he was doing—his back was facing me—but I could see his Glock lying next to the keyboard.

Unarmed, my ass.

I cleared my throat, leveling my gun.

He spun around, weapon in hand. My anger and the sight of his readied fist were all I needed to react.

Thwat… thwat… thwat… Three shots, center mass. Bryce went down in a heap, unconscious or dead, it was hard to say. He didn't appear to be bleeding out—a point of contradiction for a man who'd just been hit several times in the chest at close range. I kicked the gun out of his hand and knelt beside him, ripping open his shirt.

Of course the bastard was wearing a vest. I hadn't really expected anything else; just like his gun, he'd come prepared. Rummaging in my purse for zip-ties, I rolled him over and secured his hands behind his back and then his feet to his hands. There—hog-tied like the pig he was.

The front door clicked shut a moment before I heard Casey's footfalls. "Well, I guess it wasn't a total loss. Third time's the charm, eh, Walker." Casey stood next to me, a satisfied smirk on his face. "I have to admit, after speaking with Bartowski, I thought the next time I caught you and Larkin together, you'd have him tied up—but not like this."

God, could this get any worse? "Listen, Casey…" I began, only to be cut off.

"Not now, Walker." He angled his chin toward my ex. "He's about to wake up."

Sure enough, Bryce began to stir. He rolled onto his side amid a coughing fit, gasping for breath. When he finally got it under control, his eyes widened and he glared up at me. "What the hell, Sarah," he said, his voice coated with sandpaper. "You shot me!"

Casey's reflexive grunt was somehow … gleeful?

I nudged Bryce with my foot. "Don't push your luck, Bryce, or the next one's aimed at your head. We'll deal with you in a second."

He craned his neck further, an arrogant smile crooking his lips. "Come on, Sarah. You don't have it in you to kill me. How did you know I was wearing a vest, anyway?"

I simply raised an eyebrow.

Bryce's mouth fell open and stayed that way. It was not an attractive look.

"I like your style, Walker," Casey said, with a maniacal grin. "Come on. Let's get him strapped to a chair and then I'll go and grab the kid. We need to call this in and I'd like to have him here to vet whatever Larkin says."

With my partner covering me, I cut Bryce loose and re-zip-tied him to the chair that Casey liberated from his kitchen table set. "Don't try anything," I warned as I wrenched the straps down.

Bryce rolled his eyes. "Casey's got a gun to my head. You took my weapon and my chest feels like it's on fire. What am I going to try?"

Casey shoved Bryce's head forward with the tip of his gun. "Stop your whining, ya pansy." He looked over at me, trepidation in his eyes. "Is there gonna be a problem if I leave you here alone with your boy-toy while I go snatch up the better man?"

Damn. Even Casey knew the score…

Swallowing a bite of humble pie, I directed my vehemence at the appropriate target. "Trust me, Casey. If he so much as opens his mouth before you get back, I'll kick his fucking teeth in."

By the pleased look on Casey's face and sheer look of horror on Bryce's, they knew it wasn't an empty threat.

*** Chuck ***

I leaned in towards the screen, my fingertips tap-dancing in perfect synchronicity with the command prompts that opened and closed in tandem with my thoughts. My time at the Buy More had only served to enhance the bag of tricks I had at my disposal. I'd seen it all during my time working in that hellhole, everything from the decrepit to the truly wicked. Casey's surveillance system and communications array didn't stand a chance pitted against my Nerd-Fu. They were mine to command within seconds of interfacing with his router. I sliced through the NSA protocols and encryption like gossamer, without even having to resort to the dark web—a place where my alias was still revered—where we were all legion. I even had time to code in a few backdoors, should they ever try and lock me out. They'd have to comb through a million lines of code, one by one, to know that the fail-safes were there.

Frankly, I was a little disappointed. I'd been expecting more of a challenge in dealing with the Major's idea of cybersecurity. I guess he'd forgotten to read my college transcripts when he'd taken on this assignment.

As I was plugging in my phone to upload some remote applications, I started formulating a long-term plan to deal with the CIA and NSA mainframes. They wouldn't be so easy to crack. I'd have to do a lot of research and reconnect with some of my old pals on the Deep Net. Luckily, the currency there was still high-valued illicit software, and I had plenty stored in my treasure-trove to barter with.

I heard my phone ping, alerting me it had finished with the upload. Unfortunately, I also heard tapping at my bedroom window, alerting me that I'd never be free of the government's grasp unless I took matters into my own hands. I didn't have the time or energy to be worried over the presence of an unannounced visitor. If it was Bryce, intent on killing or capturing me, the jackass wouldn't bother to knock.

I unplugged the cable to my phone, shoved it in my pocket, and hit the hotkeys to reset my system, purging all traces of what I'd been doing.

Hoisting myself to my feet, I strode over to the Morgan Door and pulled up the blinds to find Casey standing outside my window.

"We need your help," Casey said, after I opened it—ambiguous as always.

Unbelievable. "And we would be…?"

"We, Bartowski. Me and Walker. Larkin's at my place with his ass strapped to a chair. We need you there during his interrogation to corroborate anything that comes out of his lying cakehole."

"So I guess you were the one that ended up capturing him, huh?" I asked, envisioning that as the most likely explanation after tonight's escapades. "Figures."

Casey's face actually softened. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. "Not everything's what it looks like, kid." And then his face shifted back to the cynical curmudgeon I'd come to know and hate. "Now get your ass in gear. With Larkin all tied up, there's no telling what Walker might do to take advantage of their … alone time."

"Did you just insinuate…?" But I was too late. The Major (pain in my ass) had already done a perfect about-face and marched back to his place.

I let out a heavy sigh and stepped out into the courtyard, trudging along, counting each cobblestone that led to Casey's apartment. I needed a little time to psych myself up before I had to face the perfect, unstoppable, spy couple again.

With my eyes glued to the floor, I edged my way into Casey's living room, afraid to look up, and afraid not to. But when I finally chanced a glance, Sarah was standing in front of Bryce with a two-fisted grip on her gun, which was pointed directly at his groin. From the look on Bryce's face, he believed she'd pull the trigger at any second if he so much as breathed the wrong way.

Casey had once told me what I'd thought at the time were tall tales about Graham's Wildcard Enforcer—the infamous Ice Queen. And after some of my flashes about her, I would admit there were times over the last few months that I'd thought I'd caught a glimpse—Sarah's flaming soufflé and my impromptu helicopter lesson sprang to mind.

Nothing could have prepared me for who or what I saw standing there. It felt as if sheets of pure malevolence were rolling off of Sarah in waves. Her eyes were almost inhuman, or maybe inhumane was a better word. They flashed with a certainty that Bryce's life—or maybe just his love life—was balanced on a razor's edge.

Sarah must've realized I was standing there with my mouth hanging open. She snapped out of whatever trance she was under, looked over at me … and transformed. Like Häagen-Dazs in a microwave, her shoulders slumped and her eyes softened, a look of contrition coloring her features—the same look she'd given me earlier in my bedroom. The sudden change was beyond jarring. When she lowered her gun, it was as if the room itself let out a palpable sigh of relief. She opened her mouth like she was about to say something, but Bryce beat her to the punch.

"Hey, Chuck," he said, his voice a nervous twitch. "I'd shake your hand, but as you can see, I'm a little tied up at the moment. A bit of Walker's handiwork."

Casey cleared his throat and I turned to glower at him. "If you say it, I swear to God—"

The NSA agent shook his head. "I'm a man of few words, Bartowski. Won't waste any more on you. Now stop your bellyaching so we can call this in."

A/N: First off, thanks so much to all of you who took the time to review and comment on the first few chapters of this story. I haven't had the opportunity to respond to everyone individually, but please be assured that I'm reading—and appreciating—every comment. I didn't anticipate that this reposted story would garner such a response … but I'm really glad it has!

A/N #2: When I finished writing this chapter, I realized it was mostly rooted in internal monologue, without a lot of action—but hopefully it's given you a glimpse into what our main characters are thinking and feeling. With the changes I have in mind, there had to be some kind of severe upheaval within both of their minds and hearts—a catalyst to force three years' worth of will they/won't they to come to a head. I'm not saying it will be quick, but certainly quicker than that!

A/N #3: If you would, please continue leaving your comments and suggestions. Whenever I read them, I feel as if the energy I pour into this fic is more than well-spent … and they spur me on to write whenever I can spare the time. Also, don't forget to hit that Follow and Favorite button. Your support and feedback mean the world to me!

Take care,

SmatterChoo…