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

A/N: Once again, mad props to michaelfmx for all of his work in beta-reading this chapter. His insights are some of the best in the Chuck-verse, as far as I'm concerned, making our collaboration feel like an art form. And thanks to Emily again, for putting up with me in general, and for catching all the silly mistakes I make with my dyslexia-addled mind. Of course, I still take full responsibility for any and all screw-ups.

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

Chapter 5: The Cost of Atonement

*** Sarah ***

Over a minute of strained silence had passed while the Director contemplated the fate of the two CIA agents under his charge. And he'd glared daggers at us the entire time.

"Major Casey. Would you please wait outside and ensure we're not disturbed by any more," Graham paused, almost gnawing on the words, "temper tantrums? I'd like a moment alone with Agents Larkin and Walker. General Beckman can always bring you up to speed at a later time, should she choose to do so."

His first words had been to dismiss Casey from the briefing? This did not bode well for things to come.

Beckman gave Graham a sidelong glance that bore all the hallmarks of skepticism and irritation. After a moment, though, she schooled her features and gave Casey a curt nod and his marching orders. The NSA agent looked less than thrilled about being told to leave his own home while matters of national security were being discussed, but complied nonetheless, stalking out the front door and slamming it behind him.

I didn't blame him for being pissed off—but for an old warhorse like Casey, orders were orders, and he'd be loath to defy one … unlike Chuck, who obviously had no qualms at all about rebelling against every king and queen in the clandestine kingdom.

I shuddered at the thought. If I allowed myself to be reassigned, who'd be around to try and keep him in line and on an even keel? That job had always fallen to me … and I'd done it gladly, with at least some semblance of success. I just prayed the Director would see reason and let me stay on this assignment, no matter how much work I had to do to repair things with Chuck and his sister.

Graham reached off-screen, grabbing a thick file folder with the Office of the Director of National Intelligence's seal stamped on the front. He waited for Beckman to do the same before he spoke.

"I'd like to start out by commending you, Agent Larkin, for having the presence of mind and steadfast determination to prevent the Intersect from falling into the hands of what now looks like a homegrown network full of radicals and extremists. Even though rebuilding the Intersect complex will come with a hefty price tag for taxpayers, if Fulcrum had obtained all of our nation's secrets, the cost could've been far greater: the very pillars on which this great nation stands."

Bryce stood a little taller, his chin up, shoulders back, and his chest jutting out. "Thank you, sir. That's very kind of you to say," he preened, not realizing how pathetic he sounded. Clearly, he wasn't giving a second thought to all the destruction he'd caused, or the pain and heartache born from the ashes.

"However," Beckman interjected, "I would like to point out that while Agent Larkin's actions could certainly be considered courageous, and may have even thwarted some of Fulcrum's long-term plans, he still needs to be held accountable for his crimes."

"My crimes?" Bryce asked, his brow furrowing in shock and disbelief.

I had to admit, it was pretty gratifying to see the proud peacock transform into a homing pigeon in zero seconds flat.

"Yes, Agent Larkin," the General continued, undaunted. "By sending the Intersect to a civilian who had no prior security clearances—much less a top-secret-level clearance—to say that you've violated federal law would be a gross mischaracterization of the facts. Need I remind you that the disclosure of classified information carries a penalty of up to ten years in prison for each offense? With the combined intelligence from the NSA and CIA contained within the Intersect database, I'm sure you can do the math."

Forget about a homing pigeon. Now, he looked more like an anglerfish—his jaw agape, eyes fixed and unblinking.

"I'm afraid the General is correct, agent," Graham said, a dire expression overtaking his countenance. "Not only that, but you blew any chance for leniency when you knowingly used the most important asset in history as a human shield when you came face-to-face with this," he looked down at his notes, "Delgado character." He was licking his thumb, flipping through what I thought might've been the after-action reports we'd filed once Bryce had escaped custody.

"S-sir, I can explain," Bryce stuttered.

The Director held up his hand, forestalling any excuses. "Then, you show up tonight—at the Intersect's home, no less—just so you could make contact with Agent Walker, compromising the asset's protective detail. And for what?—all in an effort to save your own hide." Graham shook his head in disgust. "Not only was that ill-advised, it was extremely reckless. Did it even occur to you that you may have been leading Fulcrum to the very thing they're after—the secret we're trying so desperately to protect?"

Bryce had the good grace not to belabor the Director's point. "Of course you're right, sir. All I can say is, at the time, I felt as if extraordinary circumstances called for drastic measures. Nevertheless, I take full responsibility for my actions. If I'm to be brought in to face charges—then so be it."

The Director lingered for a moment before responding.

"No. I don't think so, agent. At least, not at this time. I think I'll give you one shot at redeeming yourself, instead. Since Fulcrum still thinks you're in possession of the Intersect, I have a twofold mission of penance and perdition in mind for you. And I'll go ahead and warn you—it will be extremely dangerous, but we'll consider it time served should you prevail."

The barely-concealed smirk on Bryce's face was as disheartening as it was sickening. I'd seen that look before—too many times not to recognize it for what it was. Under a practiced, self-effacing guise, the proud peacock was back in full bloom. I wouldn't be surprised if he started strutting around Casey's living room, shaking his damn tail feathers.

Either oblivious to or unfazed by Bryce's inner swagger, Graham continued, "At the first light of day, I want you to blaze a trail out of Burbank so daring and overt, I'll hear about it in the national tabloids. After that cavalier stunt you pulled with the Intersect at the detention facility, we need to do some serious damage control and draw attention away from the asset. The best way to do that is for you to make Delgado and his cohorts think you've become desperate and careless in your attempt to flee the area. Once you make it to the outskirts of the city and confirm they've taken the bait, you can start using countermeasures. Go completely dark once you've shaken any tails. We'll continue leaving digital footprints along the way to confuse and mask your route—at least, until you reach your final destination and the second leg of your mission."

I had to admit, the plan was actually pretty good. One I might've even come up with myself. Draw attention away from Chuck and his family by giving Fulcrum a tangible target with a backstory they already believed.

"And where would that final destination be, sir?" Bryce asked, brimming with anticipation.

My hands started to tremble as the Director gave me—not Bryce—an appraising look before he continued. The whole time I'd been listening to Bryce receive his orders, I'd had a sneaking suspicion that my luck was about to run out. I had too much blood on my hands to be granted clemency. Before meeting Chuck, I'd been poison personified in a scantily-clad package. Now I could add betraying the trust of the best man I'd ever known to the weight of my red ledger.

My retribution came harsh and swift, in the form of Graham's next decree.

"You and Agent Walker are to make your way to San Francisco proper, where you'll receive further instructions upon your arrival. I'll forward lodging details and preliminary mission specs to your inboxes as soon as I have them."

The fear that had been thrumming through my body rose in my throat. "I'm being reassigned?"

If that was the case, my decision, while not an easy one to make, would be clear—and based on following my heart, for a change. I'd turn in my badge before being partnered with Bryce Larkin again. Even if Chuck wanted nothing to do with me anymore, I could still keep a watchful eye on him, even if it was from a distance. "Please, sir, if I may—"

"Enough!" Graham yelled, slamming his hand down on his desk hard enough to make me flinch. "Agent Walker, let me be blunt. You should be grateful I haven't recalled you back to Langley for a permanent desk assignment after blowing your cover. Not that I can blame you entirely for losing your way. I never should've left you babysitting that imbecile for as long as I did. Your many … talents," the leer in Graham's voice curdled my stomach, "were bound to languish in such domestic squalor. But the fact remains, Agent Larkin needs a partner he can trust and the Andersons' success rate, reinforced with the cover story I ordered the asset to tell his sister, made this reassignment a foregone conclusion."

"We do make quite the team." Bryce gave me a grin just this side of lascivious.

I gritted my teeth, fighting the urge to rip his fucking heads off. That wouldn't help Chuck, so I'd play the game—but honestly, no matter how many undercover missions I'd successfully completed, it had never been harder to camouflage my feelings.

"Now's not the time, Agent Larkin," Beckman admonished, thumbing through her own copy of the files. At least someone saw his behavior for what it was—inappropriate, out of line, and verging on harassment. "This is a serious matter that shouldn't be taken lightly. There's been ECHELON chatter coming out of an FBI field office in downtown San Francisco. Our analyst believe it's a high-ranking female special agent, maybe even the SAIC, asking questions about an encrypted microchip containing top-secret information. The chatter's been centered around the data on the chip. It supposedly contains intel that could compromise a lot of our deep-cover operatives, including yourselves—which, of course, we need to be mindful of. Whoever's been talking has also mentioned the Intersect database in connection with the chip. That's sent up a red flag that maybe this Fulcrum entity is involved in some way."

Graham sat back in his chair, his head hanging low. When he looked up, he seemed haggard, worn out by the sheer weight of his office. "I won't leave you on this assignment forever," he finally said. "Suss out what you can, while you're there. Get me actionable intelligence while giving the asset some much-needed cover. Keep Fulcrum confused, disoriented, and in the dark. Do what you do best. But be ready to cut and run at a moment's notice. At some point, I'll need both of you back at Langley before the beta Intersect goes live, to perform some tests."

My ears perked up as my heart plummeted.

If I quit, Bryce and whoever Graham chose as my replacement couldn't be trusted to do what was in Chuck's best interest. Bryce would always look out for himself, first and foremost, and had a way of coercing others into following his lead. I'd be immune to such tactics and could ensure the Intersect's bullseye remained squarely on Bryce's back—not Chuck's.

But the deciding factor came down to knowing ahead of time when the new Intersect was about to be activated. That would give me the precious time I needed to plan ahead. Instead of heading back to Langley when the time came, I'd grab Chuck, take him off grid, even if I had to do it against his will.

His safety was the only thing that mattered to me anymore.

"You'll be the tip of the spear. And I expect you both to get me results," Graham finished, solidifying my heart-wrenching decision. "Are we clear, agents?" He steepled his fingers, waiting for our assent.

"Yes, sir," Bryce said, snapping to attention.

"Yes, sir," I echoed, far more tentatively.

Graham eyed me once more before he cut the feed, leaving his side of the screen blank. Beckman gave me a grim, flat smile. "Godspeed, Agent Walker," she said. "It's been an honor." And with that, she was gone too.

Oblivious to the venom coursing through my veins, Bryce thought it'd be safe to poke a stick at the agitated scorpion. He threw his arms open wide and stepped towards me, with the same mischievous grin that'd been the catalyst for this whole fiasco. "Larkin and Walker. Back together again."

In a silver flash, my knife was out of its scabbard and at his throat. Bryce sucked in a sharp breath and held it, not saying another word.

Smart man.

"Let's get something straight," I seethed, my voice coated with just as much steel as my blade. "We're not together. Hell—we were never together. I can't stand the thought of being in the same room as you, much less being partnered with you again. Just so there's no confusion, I'll never forgive you for what you've done. I was happy here. You are by far the biggest mistake I've ever made. The only reason I'm going along with this abhorrent assignment is that you'll serve a purpose in keeping the heat off of Chuck and his family. Trust me, Bryce," I pressed my knife harder against his neck, leaning in, "you'll want to maintain that status quo as long as you can, otherwise there's no telling what I'll do. You mean absolutely nothing to me. I've had menstrual cramps I wanted to remember more than you."

Given the look of fear etched across his face, I'd driven home my point. But just in case, I made sure to nick his neck with a flick of my wrist before I pulled back—just enough to draw a few drops of blood.

"Get a burner from Casey before you leave and be ready when I call," I said, then spun on my heel and marched out the door.

The Major was leaning against the wall, smoking a cigar, probably to give himself an excuse for standing there. When he saw me, he straightened, his eyebrows rising. "So?" he asked.

I swallowed hard. "Reassigned." The word left my mouth reluctantly, as if saying it out loud finally made it real. "Graham's partnered me with Bryce again. Our job is to make a massive stink heading out of town to divert attention away from Chuck and keep Fulcrum off-kilter for a while."

He looked me up and down, his eyes settling on my face—which, I was sure, wore a bleak expression. It was either that or burst into tears, and I wasn't about to do that in front of Casey. "I take it this isn't the news you were hoping for?"

Even though I knew it was a terrible idea, I wanted to confess everything—that I was hopelessly compromised and the thought of leaving Chuck alone and unprotected, coupled with the fact that I'd be partnered with Bryce again, was tearing me apart—but, with the courtyard's surveillance monitoring my every move, I just gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Orders," I said, speaking a language I knew he'd understand. "Just do me a favor and look after him."

His eyes narrowed and his mouth opened, as if to speak—but I suddenly found myself unable to deal with any more circumspection. Chuck had been right—there was nothing left to say.

"Take care of yourself, John," I managed, and walked away for the last time, knowing I was leaving Echo Park and everything I cherished far behind me.

OoOoOoOoO

I made my way back to my hotel on autopilot, my whole world crashing down around me. My hands were still shaking and the massive lump in my throat made it hard to swallow.

I wasn't going to be around anymore to help keep Chuck safe. That task would fall to my replacement, whoever they might be. Another woman would be the obvious choice to take my place. A cover girlfriend who'd have a legitimate reason to be around him at all times. Knowing Graham, she'd probably be some buxom brunette specializing in seduction, manipulation, and control. And being reassigned with Bryce—that would be the final death blow once Chuck found out.

Was this all I was now—Graham's accomplice who'd conspired to destroy a wonderful man's beautiful heart? The same man who captivated me in every way. The only man I would ever love.

That wasn't hyperbole. It was what I knew in my heart to be true. People like me didn't get second chances at finding someone as special as Chuck. It was the kind of connection that transcended time and space. I'd been such a fool for denying my feelings for him all this time, and now it was too late.

As I walked through the door, my stomach revolted, and I barely made it to the bathroom before I lost my dinner. When I emerged, I stared at myself in the vanity's mirror.

A vagrant spy, unworthy of love. That's all I saw. And now, that's all I'd ever be.

I brushed my teeth and washed my face in an effort to pull myself together. Checking the time, I drew in a shuddering breath, made my way over to my suitcase, and started packing. Each movement was like trudging through a vat of cold molasses, as if my limbs were weighted down by some kind of super-gravity.

As I zipped the suitcase closed, my cell phone chirped, signaling an incoming text message. Surprisingly, it turned out to be from Casey, telling me I should check my email.

I opened my laptop and logged in. Anything to postpone the inevitable.

The subject line read 'CIB's Bedroom: Thursday, Nov. 22nd, 2007.' I opened the email, not at all prepared for what I found. In the body, Casey had written, "A little going-away present for the best partner I ever had. Stay safe, Walker." Then below that, "P.S. I'm getting too old for this shit. Hell, I might even start forgetting the little things, like changing the access codes. Maybe you should check in from time to time. I'll do what I can to keep the kid upright and in one piece. That's all I can promise. The rest is up to you."

What the hell?

As I examined the email more closely, I realized there was an mp4 attached. When I double-clicked the file, it opened and began to play. Holding my breath, I saw footage of Ellie sitting alone on Chuck's bed, right as he stepped through the Morgan Door.

I enlarged the window and turned up the sound, hearing Ellie tell Chuck they needed to talk in a tone that left him little to no choice in the matter. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to contain the guilt I felt at putting both of them in this situation. Ellie was bound to hate me even more than she already did, once Chuck regurgitated Graham's mountain of preapproved lies.

Why had Casey sent me this torturous email? Was it some kind of sadistic joke? Gritting my teeth, I watched as Chuck sank down heavily onto the bed next to his sister.

"Chuck," Ellie began, taking his hands in hers, "I'm so confused, I don't even know where to start. How is Bryce alive? What was he doing in your bedroom? How does he know Sarah, and most importantly, why was she kissing him? Do you know what the hell's going on?"

Chuck drew a deep breath, as if steeling himself, before he answered. "Honestly, sis? I can say I'm just as confused as you are by what we witnessed earlier tonight. I'm still trying to wrap my brain around it."

That damn heroic idiot. He was still refusing to toe the Company line. Neither Graham nor Beckman would put up with that for much longer. He was already hanging by the thinnest of threads.

"It just doesn't make any sense," Ellie groused, freeing a hand to comb through Chuck's mess of curls. "I was absolutely sure Sarah was smitten with you. I saw it in her eyes. It only happened when she thought no one else was looking—especially you. But I know what I saw. That girl was a goner."

I bit down on my lower lip, fighting as hard as I could to hold it together. Had my feelings been that transparent—or was Ellie just that perceptive?

"I don't know, sis," Chuck countered, sounding just as perplexed. "If that was the case, she's obviously had a change of heart. My guess is that Bryce is actually Bruce—Sarah's ex from D.C. she told me about on our first date."

He shrugged, with a 'what can you do?' look. "Small world, huh?"

The sardonic grin that followed was like getting smacked across the face. I was willing to bet he was comparing what had happened between me and Bryce with Bryce and Jill's betrayal at Stanford. And all because of that stupid kiss. I didn't think it was possible to feel any worse than I already did—but as it turned out, there was always a lower rung to which I could fall.

"Look, Chuck." Ellie's voice was gentle and soothing. "I know you're hurting, and I'm sure you're even more shaken up than I am. I really loved Sarah. It's like I lost a sister."

God! Could this get any worse?

"I just need you to answer one question," she went on.

Despite my misery, I leaned in, morbidly curious. What, in Ellie's mind, would supersede everything else?

"Right now?" Chuck asked, sounding exasperated.

"Yes, now," she said, equally put out. "How bad are we talking, here? I know you really liked her. I could see it in your eyes, too. But were you in love with her?"

Chuck scrubbed his hands over his face, blowing out a sigh before he answered. "What do you want me to say, El? That, as crazy as it sounds, I was absolutely certain she was the one—the soulmate I'd been searching for my whole life? That I'd dreamed of one day maybe even calling her my wife—the mother of my children? That I wanted nothing more than for us to grow old together? If that's what you're asking, then God, yes. Guilty as charged. And I still love her. I'm sure I always will, no matter what happens. It'll be carved on my freakin' headstone: 'Here lies Charles Irving Bartowski, the idiot who loved Sarah Walker till his dying breath.'"

Wife?

Mother?

Growing old together?

Oh, God!

I stopped breathing. Stopped thinking. I just froze, staring at the screen as air rushed into my lungs, the breath so quick and sharp, I felt lightheaded. Gooseflesh covered my heated skin.

He still loved me—even after everything I'd done?

I didn't understand how it was possible. He was such a gift, and I'd almost thrown it all away.

I was still struggling to process all that I'd heard, when I saw Chuck deflate. "But what difference does any of that make? She's probably gone off somewhere with Bryce and his perfect hair, to live a life filled with action and adventure. And if that makes her happy, who am I to begrudge her? That's all I've ever wanted—for her to be happy."

Ellie sighed, burying her face in his shoulder. "I'm just so angry that this is happening to you, again. I'm afraid you're gonna lose yourself, like you did after Stanford—sleepwalking for days on end—forgetting about what's important. All the things that make you so special. Please, Chuck … promise me. Don't let that happen. Don't let that … woman," I could tell Ellie was struggling to keep a civil tongue, "derail you from the wonderful man you've become."

Chuck shifted to wrap his arms around her. "Don't worry, El. I promise I won't let this be like after I lost Jill. As hard as I'm fighting to ward off the images of the woman I love kissing my archenemy—Sarah's still the only person who's been able to make me believe I could have anything I wanted, as long as I stayed true to myself. She's given me the will to start fighting for what I deserve. That's just one of the many reasons why I'll always be thankful she came into my life when she did. I'll always love her for giving me that gift..."

He happened to look up at the surveillance camera, his eyes glossy.

"Even if it was a parting gift," he finished.

And then the video paused, capturing his face in a moment of absolute candor, framing the pure essence of the wonderful man I'd fallen so hard for.

I replayed the recording over and over, memorizing every word … every nuance. Tears flowing down my face, I paced around my room until I found myself staring aimlessly out of the window, taking in the cityscape below. Watching the hustle and bustle of the citizens I was sworn to protect, I made a decision that could alter the course of so many lives, the greater good be damned.

I replied to Casey's email, letting him know I felt the same way about him as he did for me. It wasn't just lip-service, either. He was by far the best damn partner anyone could ever hope to have. I also gave him a heads-up, letting him know what I planned to do and asking for his help. I called it a professional courtesy, but I'm sure he'd recognize it for what it really was.

A Hail Mary.

*** Chuck ***

After my emotionally-charged talk with Ellie, I abandoned any hope of linking up with The Magi, searching instead for the sandman hiding in the cracks of my bedroom ceiling. In the wee hours of the morning, I finally drifted off to sleep. But my dreams never really took hold. They were trapped in the netherworld, lingering somewhere between my subconscious and the waking nightmare my life had become.

As I tossed and turned, my restlessness bordering on perpetual insomnia, a hand clamped down over my mouth, muffling the scream that threatened to rise in my throat. My eyes snapped open.

A dark-clad figure loomed over me, probably hell-bent on my demise.

Because … Chuck's life.

But something didn't fit. The hand—it was soft, smelling of vanilla and maybe a hint of jasmine. Surely someone who'd intended to kill or capture me wouldn't have taken the time to put on floral-scented moisturizer first.

I tried to compensate as best as I could, shaking my head to clear out the cobwebs while allowing my eyes time to adjust. When the murky veil finally lifted, a pair of dazzling azure eyes came into sharp focus, despite the gloom of the room.

"It's okay, Chuck. It's just me," Sarah whispered, removing her hand as she sat down on the edge of my bed.

"Sarah?" She was the last person I expected to see, much less wake up to. "What's going on—is it a mission?"

She looked down and shook her head. "No, Chuck. It's not a mission."

Then came the last words any man wants to hear.

"We need to talk."

I struggled to sit up, preparing for the worst. Obviously the mental torture I'd sustained earlier tonight required an extra helping before the damn butt-crack of dawn. "Yeah, sure. What's up?" I managed, sounding every bit as confused as I felt. I was still angry, sure—but some small part of me couldn't help but be happy to see her.

"Not here." Her eyes darted to the side, the slight cock of her head toward the cameras reminding me that Big Brother was always watching.

"Right." I couldn't help the sarcasm that crept into my voice. "I keep forgetting about the Truman Show fanboy who's determined to chronicle every moment of my life."

She had the decency to flinch. "No. That's not an issue, Chuck. I asked Casey to shut down the surveillance for the night. He decided to run diagnostics on his system, instead, after what happened with Beckman and Graham earlier. Still, I'd rather err on the side of caution ... and I don't want to wake up Devon or Ellie."

I stared at her, stunned into silence. A 'talk' with no surveillance, at—I glanced over at the clock on my nightstand—4:13 a.m.? What the hell was going on? "Okay," I said with a touch of trepidation. "Just give me a second."

I tossed off the covers and plodded over to my dresser to grab a hoodie and some sweats. We might be in Southern California, but in late November, it was still cold as shit outside.

"Um," Sarah murmured, her eyes wide. She was staring at me—specifically, at my midsection. A rosy blush colored her cheeks, clearly visible even in this dimly-lit room. It was one of the few times I'd seen her without her spy mask firmly in place.

I looked down and blanched. Jesus H. Christ! Here I was, standing in front of the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, and even they were riding dangerously low. I'd forgotten I'd kept shedding layers as I tried to fall asleep.

Just when I was about to twist my body into a human-sized pretzel in order to conceal my bits and pieces, an impossible thought tickled its way through the back of my mind. Was Sarah Walker—the gorgeous, enigmatic, badass, super-spy—checking me out?

Before tonight, when I'd decided to exhume the Piranha and start fighting back against a governmental juggernaut, the thought that Sarah might find me attractive would've been beyond preposterous. As far as I'd been concerned, she was so far out of my league we weren't even playing the same damn game. But the adrenaline I remembered surging through my veins as I hacked into Casey's system hadn't entirely faded. It felt really good to wield that power again—to start taking back some control over my life. It was a natural high that gave me confidence—the kind of confidence I hadn't felt in years … if ever.

Well, I might as well roll with it. Fortune favors the bold, as they say. What did I have to lose at this point?

"Hey, Sarah?"

"Mmmhmm?" she answered, still staring at—was that my hipbone?

"My eyes are up here."

She straightened, stiff as a board, arms straight down by her sides, and began to stammer. "Of course they are. I know that. You had a... I just... Uh… Maybe I should… Or you should… Yeah… I'll just … um, wait…" She jerked a thumb towards the Morgan Door. "While you…" Her head was now on a swivel, looking anywhere but in my direction.

As she made a mad dash to scramble through the window, the toe of her boot caught the edge of the sill, almost causing her to do a face-plant in the bushes. "You okay?" I called after her, sounding amused despite myself.

"Fine," she grumbled, still not looking back as she brushed the dirt off her knees. "Just make sure to leave your phone and watch before you come out." She stood, let out a huff, squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and promptly stomped further into the courtyard.

What the frak? She was really, really flustered, more agitated than I'd ever seen her—even after the not-a-bomb incident.

Mystified by her out-of-character behavior, I finished dressing, grabbed a jacket, and clambered out the window as well, where I found Sarah wringing her hands, pacing back and forth in front of the fountain. She was a nocked arrow and her nervousness was doing nothing to alleviate my mounting concerns. I couldn't help but remember Graham's ominous words before abruptly dismissing me from the briefing: "The asset is no longer needed." I couldn't fathom Sarah being the arbiter of such an injustice, but I never imagined she'd kiss my sworn enemy in my bedroom either.

Proceeding with extreme caution, I cleared my throat to announce my presence.

She looked up, her eyes narrowed. I nodded toward the entrance to the courtyard, figuring if my bedroom was taboo for whatever talk we were about to have, sitting by the fountain wouldn't be much better. She rose, matching my stride as we walked through the gates of Echo Park.

By mutual agreement, we turned left, in the direction of the park, neither of us saying a word. I stole furtive glances at her, trying to figure out why she was here, but she was as stoic as ever. What could she have to say that necessitated waking me up in the middle of the night and spiriting me out of my house? My imagination ran wild, conjuring all kinds of scenarios, each one worse than the next. Maybe the new Intersect had been completed ahead of schedule and this was the last walk I'd ever take.

Just as I was imagining the worst, Sarah's hand brushed mine. Judging by the startled look on her face, it was a complete accident, but it set my heart pounding, nonetheless. I edged away from her to hide my reaction, wishing she didn't affect me so deeply, especially when she was likely about to say—or do—something that would make my life even more complicated than it already was.

Assuming I had a life left to live.

We rounded the corner to the park. The air smelled of sage and brickellbush, giving off the deceptively pleasant scent of stuffing—much like Thanksgiving had, before everything went to hell. But the playground looked different at night, sinister somehow. The last time we'd come here, a couple of weeks ago, some teens had been tossing a Frisbee on the lawn that sprawled in front of the swings and slides. A little boy had chased a beagle around his parents' picnic blanket, clutching a chocolate ice cream cone in one hand and the dog's leash in the other.

Tonight, the park was deserted, the only sounds the wind rustling through the cottonwood trees and the creak of the empty swings. It looked like a horror movie set, complete with owls hooting somewhere in the distance and shadows winding their way through the snarl of trees. As paranoid as I felt right now, each one seemed as if it could be an assassin lurking in the darkness, waiting for Sarah to lure me off the sidewalk and away from the warm glow of the streetlights, so they could put a bullet in my head and drag my limp body off into the night. Ellie would never see me again. Would never know what had happened to me. She'd think I'd left her, just like our parents …

Sarah cleared her throat, startling me out of my morose reverie and bringing me back to the present with a thump. I stole a sideways glance at her; she was looking at me, one eyebrow raised.

I was being ridiculous. Sarah wouldn't need to tempt me into the park so government assassins could do me in. She was perfectly capable of doing me in herself, if that was what she had in mind.

And … I'd officially freaked myself out. I'd come out here with her of my own free will. It was too late to run, and who was I kidding—she'd catch me if I did. Whatever she had in mind—nefarious or relatively innocuous—I'd walked right into it. There was nothing to do but see this through.

I followed her into the deserted park, my heartbeat thudding in my ears. She sat down on one of the swings and I followed suit, their chains rattling under our weight. Sarah opened her mouth a few times, as if trying to speak, but wound up staring at the ground, watching the dry leaves blow between her feet—total horror movie vibes. Eventually, I decided that if one of us was going to break the silence, it would have to be me.

"So," I said at last, forcing a jocularity I didn't feel, "you gonna tell me what this is all about, or do I have to guess? To be honest, I thought you'd be off with Bryce by now, sipping Mai Tais in Jakarta, or assassinating Afghani warlords, or whatever it is you kids do for fun."

I was aiming to sound nonchalant, to lighten the mood, hopefully counterbalancing the weighty conversation we were about to have. But apparently I failed miserably, because Sarah looked over at me, her bottom lip quivering.

Then she broke down and started to cry.

A/N #2: Wow! I've been completely blown away by all of your thoughtful and thorough reviews. This community really is the best in fandom at keeping the spirit of why we all watched the show alive. Please keep it up. I read every last one and they're like a siren song, driving me back to the keyboard. And please don't forget to hit that Follow and Favorite button—it means a lot.

A/N #3: As a final note, and for those who've asked, we're just about out of the angst shit-storm I created. I really wasn't trying to drag it out, but some emotional dues needed to be paid. I'm not saying we'll ever be in a totally angst-free zone, but nothing like the first five chapters of this story.

Take care,

SmatterChoo…