A/N: When last we left Chuck and Sarah, there were some important revelations. She now believes Chuck to be innocent, but still isn't sure what to do with that information. Chuck knows things about Agent Walker, startling facts that understandably has him hesitant to trust her. How will they find a way forward?

Disclaimer: Don't own Chuck

Chapter 4

Sarah paced the floor of her office, trying to piece together a plan. So far, nobody else knew the correlation between Chuck and Bryce, and therefore the Intersect. She hadn't even been read in on what this 'Intersect' was exactly. All she knew was that it contained valuable, top secret government data. If Chuck had seen some of it and was able to retain it, they would consider that a huge security leak. Normally, she'd be the one called in to plug those sorts of leaks, but Chuck was an innocent civilian and it was her job to protect him, even if it was from her employer.

If she went to Graham, asking too many questions, he would get suspicious. He was a smart man and could put two and two together. She could use her access to the CIA/DNI databases but she'd have to tread very lightly. Searching Bryce's files would throw up an instant red flag, if they hadn't been sealed already. She could search Chuck's files, but what would that show her? She'd already seen all that the FBI, Homeland Security and NSA had on him, which wasn't much beyond what was in the paper file she'd read on the plane ride out. He was squeaky clean aside from the reports added in regards to the bombing. Then again, it wasn't what was in there, but rather what was missing.

She was a firm believer that there was no such thing as a coincidence. Bryce Larkin, spy turned rogue, went to Stanford with Chuck; a tidbit about his past that Bryce had never mentioned in their time together. Not that she was one to talk about sharing one's past. Chances were pretty high that Bryce was recruited out of Stanford, which meant there had to be a CIA recruiter working there. It made sense. Most major, prestigious universities had at least one recruiter looking to poach talent from America's best and brightest. So, if Bryce had been recruited there, then that meant that he was roommates, and supposedly good friends, with Chuck while he was an agent with the CIA. Was it just a coincidence that they roomed together? Bryce never seemed the type to make "friends" outside of the bedroom, unless that person had something he wanted. What did Chuck have that Bryce wanted? Was he ordered to get close to Chuck for some reason?

"What could Bryce possibly want from Chuck?" she asked aloud, leaning against her desk in thought. "They couldn't be more different from one another if they tried, so they would make very unlikely friends. Were they in the same major? The same class….? hmmmm." Sarah spun and slid back into her desk chair, pulling up Chuck's files on her laptop. Looking at his Stanford records, she found the expulsion paperwork that had been filed. The first thing that stood out was the date. The charges were filed, and the expulsion authorized, by the Dean on the same day, which seemed highly suspicious. Typically these matters went before an academic misconduct committee, which would hear the case and judge its merits. There was no way that was the case here.

Sarah looked over the charges, which stated that the answer key to an exam from one of his classes was found in Chuck's room. The report was submitted by a Professor G. Fleming and cited Bryce Larkin as the whistleblower. Sarah knew for a fact that Bryce was not the altruistic type, so he wouldn't have reported that sort of thing to authorities unless there was something in it for him. On top of that, if he was a CIA recruit, he wouldn't want to bring undue attention to himself. There was definitely something amiss. She jotted the professor's name down to look up later.

Scrolling down to Chuck's transcript, she looked it over and let out a low whistle. Since the beginning of his freshman year, Chuck hadn't gotten below a low A in any class he'd taken. He was near the top of his class, and had he not been expelled, he would have had all of the credits he'd need to graduate. Even if he'd failed Fleming's class, Chuck's grades were so high and he had enough classes under his belt that it wouldn't have made much of a dent. He still would have graduated with distinction. Sarah had seen the way Chuck carried his thoughts and feelings at the surface, unable to hide them even if he wanted to. The likelihood of Chuck being able to cheat his way through not only high school and the SAT, but four years at Stanford of all places, was extremely remote. If someone was smart enough to pull that off, they were likely smart enough that they could just do the work.

Scrolling further, she found the details from Professor Fleming's class, a course on subliminal imagery and recognition. Sarah's eyes grew wide at the discovery. From Chuck's description of what he'd experienced after Bryce's email, seeing the thousands of images, the realization made her shudder. The results of that midterm examination showed that Chuck had performed far better than anyone else, having recalled 98% of the subliminal images. Examining the class roster, there she saw "Bartowski, Charles I.", but further down she found it; "Larkin, Bryce D.". For Sarah, the gears were turning and she was beginning to get a sickening feeling in her stomach. Bryce had scored well on that exam, but nowhere near as well as Chuck.

Continuing her search, she looked for any other possible motives for Chuck to steal that answer key. Every fiber of her being was telling her that he didn't have anything to do with that exam key, but she needed to set that aside and explore every angle. She saw that not only did Chuck have a full academic scholarship to Stanford, he also had no outstanding charges with the university. His tuition, room and board were covered by scholarships and he even received a surplus due to other grants he had been awarded. It wasn't a lot, but certainly enough to cover additional living expenses. Sarah recalled from reading his file earlier that while he didn't have much money to speak of, he also didn't have any debts. No loans, no large expenditures and he paid off his credit cards religiously. Not the sign of somebody that was in desperate need of money. On top of that, academic misconduct of this nature would cause his financial aid to be revoked. Why would he risk his entire college career so close to graduating? It didn't make any sense. He really had nothing to gain from stealing that exam. The more likely scenario was that there was no answer key at all and Bryce framed Chuck or Bryce planted it to get Chuck in trouble. She still didn't know why.

Now that she was wholly satisfied that Chuck was innocent of the cheating allegations as well, that left Bryce and Professor Fleming. Sarah didn't believe in coincidences, so the fact that Chuck, Bryce and this Fleming were tied together through this class, likely wasn't an accident. Since looking into Bryce's files would get her in some really hot water, she decided to go down a different rabbit hole: Fleming.

A graduate of Yale, Fleming was a tenured professor in the Department of Psychology at Stanford, specializing in human memory and the subconscious. That sounded like something the CIA would definitely be interested in. As his file indicated, for the past eleven years, Dr. George Fleming was a scientist as well as a recruiter for the CIA, working out of Stanford. The lists of his recruits were above her clearance, without special approval, but there were mentions of Fleming attached to a Project Omaha, although the documents were heavily redacted. Not having access to much else, she opted to search his published bodies of work.

For a tenured professor, there were surprisingly few papers or books published under his name. What she did find were some published works that listed him as a contributor, likely while he was in grad school. The subject of one was subliminal imagery and image retention and another was on message encoding and interpretation.

It didn't take a huge leap in logic to put the pieces together. If you take government secrets, add in some subliminal imagery and a dash of message encoding, you get the makings for great science fiction. In Chuck's case, it would seem that reality was crazier than fiction. As insane as it sounded, if that was indeed what the "Intersect" actually was, and Bryce had stolen some, or all, of those encoded images and sent them to Chuck, that could very well explain how it was that Chuck knew what he did.

As hard as that concept was to wrap her head around, the harder part was the 'why'. Why did Bryce go rogue, break into a secret government facility and steal that information, only to then send it to somebody who, for all intents and purposes, he seemed to hate? He'd framed Chuck for cheating, gotten him expelled from college, and, if Ellie was to be believed, was sleeping with Chuck's girlfriend at the time.

As much as she hated to admit it, that sounded like something Bryce would do. Hindsight was a helluva teacher. She'd learned so many things about Bryce with the help of hindsight. Sarah wanted to kick herself for how foolish she felt. She let her guard down, dared to feel something and was ceremoniously tossed aside. She was thankful for it now. If she and Bryce were still together, he could have easily dragged her down with him.

It had been five years since Chuck's expulsion and there was no indication that Bryce had ever reached out to Chuck during that time. Bryce had certainly never discussed it during the time he and Sarah were together, professionally or otherwise. So, why then send this information to Chuck? Was it just another case of Bryce planting information on Chuck to implicate him in some sinister plot? If so, then why not advertise it. Graham had said that the encryption on Bryce's communication had been so good that nobody knew where the data went. Why try to drag a good man's name through the mud again, and after so long, only to mask it with encryption that nobody could crack?

Maybe that was it. Chuck was a good man. He was also a relative nobody. If you wanted to hide the most valuable secrets in the world, who could you trust them with? Certainly not a spy. Having that type of unfettered access to intelligence data would tempt even the most hardened agent; even herself perhaps. Sarah knew that Chuck scored extremely well on the subliminal image retention test based on Fleming's records. Bryce undoubtedly knew it too. Did that play into his decision? Knowing that if Chuck saw the images, he'd be able to remember them? Then what? What was Bryce's end game? Sarah felt like she was talking herself in circles.

She stood and started pacing her office again, thinking of her next steps. She really wanted to talk to Chuck some more. He might be able to shed some more light on things. With all of those secrets in his head, maybe he could fill in some of the blanks. What was Project Omaha? How was Bryce involved? Her mind continued to wander, recalling what Chuck had said about "knowing" her. Did he know her whole file? The aliases, her nickname and the fact that she was a killer. Did he see her for who she was, a monster, the spear tip of the CIA Director, his enforcer?

She had scared him, she knew, watched him cower away from her. She rolled her eyes at herself with that thought. She was practically shouting at him, so naturally he'd recoil, especially after what he'd been through. He wasn't afraid to look her in the eye though. When she'd asked him to trust her, he wasn't entirely convinced, but he didn't say 'No'. He'd looked her in the eye, likely knowing full well who and what she was, and yet he agreed to trust her, albeit tenuously.

Stepping out of her office, she walked down the hall and found Wilcox, sitting in his own office, his feet up on the edge of his desk reading through a file. When he saw her in his doorway, he jumped, putting his feet down and straightening in his chair.

"Agent Walker? H-how can I help you?" he asked, sounding a bit nervous. Sarah tried not to smirk, but there were times that she enjoyed the power she had over people, simply because of her reputation.

"Relax, Agent Wilcox. I'm not here to bust your balls. My concern is the prisoner and whatever information he knows. What you do outside of that, I couldn't care less." The man gave her an appreciative nob, relaxing slightly. "I need a room that I can interrogate the prisoner in, but not that shitty cell Decker had him in. As I'm sure you can understand, our discussions are beyond top secret, so it's imperative that the room in question be devoid of any technology. No phone, no Internet, no recording devices of any kind. I want no signals in or out of that room. Can you make that happen?" she asked, an eyebrow raised. The other agent thought for a moment, then slowly nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Decker's old office isn't being used. It's right next to yours and only shares a wall with your office, and the hallway obviously. We could clear that out and put in a table and some chairs, maybe add a signal jammer if you feel it's necessary. Then the only recording devices in there would be whatever you take in with you. Would that work?"

"Yeah, I think so. How soon can you make that happen?" she inquired.

"I'd say by tomorrow. I can have maintenance start working on it now."

"Good. Thanks. Let me know when it's ready." Wilcox nodded, picking up his phone to make a call. Sarah left his office and went back to her own to prepare.

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Chuck had had a fitful night's sleep, his nightmares and the pain of his injuries making sleep nearly impossible. Given there were no windows or clocks, he had no concept of time, which was beginning to bother him more now that he had the time to think about it. Previously, he was drugged and/or fearing for his life so knowing the time seemed less important. Whatever drugs Decker had given him were wearing off and his mind was beginning to feel clearer, sharper. It helped, too, that his pains were now mostly a dull ache as opposed to the burning pain he'd had before. He shuddered at the recollection.

A nurse tended to his bandages as a guard stood watch, tapping a baton in his hand menacingly. Chuck knew that any attempt to flee would be an exercise in futility, not to mention that he was physically too weak to do more than shuffle across the floor. Escape would require hurting, or even killing, people and he wasn't sure he could do that, even now.

After receiving a breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast and juice - a tremendous treat compared to what he'd had thus far-, he was allowed access to the restroom before being marched down a series of hallways. Arriving at their destination, a remote room at the end of a corridor, Chuck was slightly winded from the journey.

The guard pushed him into the room, causing Chuck to stumble, bumping into the table in the center of the room, producing a loud screech of metal on concrete. The large, angry man "helped" Chuck into a chair and removed one handcuff to thread it through the large eye bolt in the center of the table. Clapping the cuff back on his wrist, Chuck winced, shifting in his seat and rotating his injured shoulder, which had been tweaked while being manhandled. The guard only offered him a scowl before leaving and slamming the door behind him.

Alone, Chuck examined his surroundings, such as they were. The room was larger than the other interrogation rooms he'd been in so far, but just as stark. There was only his chair, the table he was chained to and the chair opposite him. The walls were barren, there were no windows and no cameras. Those last facts worried him more than a little. Whatever went on in this room, people didn't want others to know about. He almost chuckled at the absurdity. What could they possibly do to him that would be worse than what he'd already endured? A recollection of some of Agent Walker's exploits made his blood run cold, causing him to audibly gulp.

He only waited for a short while before he heard the door unlock and the knob turn. He just barely made out the voice of Agent Walker, dismissing the guard, which surprised Chuck. On second thought, it shouldn't have been much of a surprise. Even if Chuck had wanted to try an escape, he knew Agent Walker's skills; he wouldn't stand a chance in hell.

After watching the guard depart, she finally stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "Good morning, Chuck. Is it alright if I call you Chuck?" she asked, hesitantly. Chuck was surprised by both the hesitancy and the asking. He could scarcely imagine a situation in which Agent Walker, the "Ice Queen", would show hesitancy toward anything, let alone him. Secondly, she could call him whatever she liked and there was nothing he could really do about it; he wasn't in a position to make demands.

"Chuck's fine. Thanks," he said, nodding his head in appreciation. "And uh… thanks for the breakfast. I assume you had something to do with that. The break from the cold, runny oatmeal was very much appreciated." He watched her smile, what seemed like a genuine smile, and nodded at him in response.

"You're welcome." She stopped and stared at the table, her brow furrowing in aggravation. Chuck swallowed thickly out of instinct. She reached into the pocket of her blazer and pulled out a set of keys. She quickly, but carefully, unlocked his handcuffs and tucked them, and the keys, into her blazer pocket. "I hope that's better. I don't think we'll be needing those."

"Thanks," he replied, flashing her a smile as he rubbed at his wrists.

"How are you feeling? Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like crap." Chuck was speechless for a moment, blinking as he thought of how to answer. He figured he'd look like crap, given all that had been done to him. He then saw that realization register on the agent's face as she winced. "Sorry. I just meant that you look like you haven't slept. Are you not sleeping? Is anyone approaching you at night?" she asked, her posture straightening as if preparing to get into a fighting stance.

"No. No, t-to both. I haven't slept much but nobody has bothered me," he admitted.

"What's keeping you awake?" she asked, slipping into the chair across from him, resting her forearms on the table and intertwining her fingers. Chuck averted his gaze to the table, feeling a bit embarrassed to admit the truth of the matter. He had apparently stalled long enough that she answered for him.

"I'll see if the doctor can get you some Prazosin. It might help you sleep," she offered, sounding sympathetic. The medication she mentioned caused him to recall a page from her file; a psychological evaluation. He had found those most intriguing, giving a glimpse into the thoughts of the stoic agent. She had been prescribed the same medication in an effort to stave off nightmares attributed to PTSD, relating directly to the things she'd seen and done while on the job. That sobering bit of information about Agent Walker had only added to the growing feeling that she wasn't as cold and inhuman as her persona led people to believe. People without a conscience didn't have nightmares about the things they did.

"Does it help you sleep?" he asked before he could think to stop himself. He could see her eyes widen slightly, undoubtedly surprised by his knowledge. Her eyes flicked to her hands for a brief moment before returned to meet his gaze. Her shield, or mask, was back up, though she didn't look angry.

"It does help... some," she admitted, nodding her head. "I don't use it as often as I probably should, but when I'm not on assignment, I use it." Chuck was quite surprised that she volunteered that information. To show weakness, especially to your prisoner, he assumed went against everything she was taught. Rather than grill her on that fact, he simply nodded his understanding. Agent Walker took in a cleansing breath, trying to shake her uneasiness.

"So, I made sure that this room is free of surveillance or listening devices. That means we can speak freely in this room." Chuck nodded his understanding and continued to listen patiently. "I want to talk more about Bryce and his email. More specifically, the things you saw." Agent Walker paused to gauge his reaction, but he nodded his head in acknowledgement. "Does the name 'Project Omaha' mean anything to you?"

Chuck's vision went askew as an image of a heavily redacted document came into view, interlaced with random images. It only lasted for an instant before his focus returned. When it did, he saw a gaping Agent Walker staring back at him.

"Are… are you OK? Did you…" she trailed off, wordlessly pointing at his head. Chuck looked up at his eyebrows, as if he could see what she was pointing at. Rolling his eyes at himself, he turned his focus back to the woman across the table.

"Why? Did I… did I do something?" he asked hesitantly, trying to gauge her reaction.

"You… you had this strange look, almost like… like you were about to fall asleep sitting there, your eyes fluttering and starting to roll back in your head, and then you woke up. It only lasted for a second but…" she trailed off, still staring at him curiously.

"Great," he groaned. "I'm going to have to try and control that somehow."

"Does… does it hurt? What does it feel like?" she asked, wincing slightly. Chuck thought for a moment, wondering if her questions were out of her own curiosity or to gather research data for the scientists that created the thing in his head. She appeared to be legitimately concerned and he offered a response.

"That one, not so much. There wasn't that much information to it, I guess. It's kind of like… standing up too fast and your vision gets a little blurry, then I see images, videos or documents flash through my mind. Most of the ones I've had have been small and they don't really hurt much. The really big ones, or the ones that come in rapid succession, those feel like my head is about to split open," he said, looking away from her.

"That was what happened the first day I met you, isn't it? When we thought you had a seizure. That was a big… flash?" she asked hesitantly. Chuck nodded in response, not meeting her gaze. "Can I ask what you 'flashed' on?"

Chuck looked up to hold her gaze this time. She was good at keeping up a mask, hiding what her true emotions were, but he found that her eyes were very expressive. He could sense apprehension there, a fear almost. That was surprising, knowing who this woman was. He had doubted she feared anything, yet he could see it in her eyes. She had already admitted that she knew he had information on her and asked that he look past it. That was not an easy task, given all he'd learned. Still, she had looked over his file, learned almost everything there was to know about him, and yet she seemed to be willing to look past that. Perhaps he could do the same.

Having to answer honestly felt akin to confessing he'd read her diary; learning all her innermost secrets. He doubted that was truly the case though. There had to be much more to this woman than the accumulated reports and documents, but she seemed to be fearful of what he'd seen in them. Sheepishly, he dropped his gaze to the table for a moment before lifting it again to look at her. "It was you."

"M… me? I-I caused that?" Agent Walker tried to steel her reaction, composing herself to show as little emotion as possible. "Was it something I said or did or.." she trailed off, her brow furrowed in concern, or perhaps just concentration.

"Your ring," Chuck replied, gesturing to her hand. Sarah held her right hand up and examined the ring in surprise. "I recognized it from a surveillance video taken in Minsk. You raised your hand to shoot the security camera and the ring was clearly visible."

Sarah stared at the ring on her hand, looking lost in her thoughts. "I bought this at a street market in Martinique. I was following someone and bought it to maintain my cover as a tourist out shopping," she confessed with a far off look on her face. "I liked it, so I kept it." Pulling herself from her thoughts she looked back at Chuck. "That was it? Just the ring and that security footage caused you that much pain?"

"No. No, that was just the catalyst, I guess you could say. It started a chain reaction, one report or document, even a picture, leading to another and another. There was… there was a lot." Sarah nodded her understanding, ducking her head to look at the table. She was silent for a moment before she spoke again.

"So you know all about me, then? You've seen my file, all the things that I've done?" Her tone was almost a challenge as if she were now on the defensive. Chuck's eyes grew wide, coupled with a healthy dose of fear. Angering a trained assassin while locked in a room within a secret government bunker was not a good career move. Chuck opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the right words.

"It's true I've… I've seen a lot of your file, but I would never presume to believe that I 'know' you or that it defines who you are. Just like I'm more than … than the sum of what's written about me, I have to assume the same is true for you. I find that a person's actions are the best test of who they are as a person. So far, you've gotten me away from that psychopath, got me medical attention, clothes and food. While I'll admit you can be a little… intense at times, you've shown compassion, which is more than what I've come to expect from my stay here. So, I'm inclined to take what I've seen in your files with a grain of salt."

Any anger or malice she held in her countenance before was now gone, her expression unreadable. Breaking eye contact for a moment, her gaze settled on her hands as she fidgeted with her fingers. "And Project Omaha? What did you get from that?" she asked calmly, as if trying to keep her feelings in check. Chuck considered her for a moment before he replied.

"Not a lot. Some documents, all heavily redacted. From what I could tell it was a military project, trying to make a super soldier of sorts. There's not much information there. I'd say more Sharpie than anything else. Whatever that project was, they didn't want people to read about it," he said with a shrug.

"OK. So, tell me what you know of Professor George Fleming," she requested, folding her hands together on top of the table.

"Professor Fleming? From Stanford? Why do you need to-" Chuck stopped mid-sentence, closing his eyes and groaning as if he'd just stepped in something.

"What is it? Did you flash?" Sarah rushed out.

"No," he said, waving off her question. "No, that's not it. I'm beginning to piece some things together. I just feel pretty stupid is all."

"Why do you say that?" Chuck looked at her for a long moment.

"You already know the answer to that, don't you?" he asked. She didn't respond but simply held his gaze and waited. Chuck sighed in resignation before continuing.

"Fleming, his class I took at Stanford, the one they accused me of cheating on. They're all connected to this, aren't they? That class, the test we took was a cover to see how well people could retain subliminal images. Fleming is one of you, isn't he? This thing in my head, is it part of this 'Project Omaha'?" he questioned, pointing at his head.

"To be honest, I'm not sure. I can't gain access to the Project Omaha files either. As for Fleming, he's a CIA scientist and recruiter working out of the Stanford campus. As you guessed, that test was designed to identify candidates who have a high retention capacity for subliminal images. Out of all of his classes, all of the people who have taken that test, you scored higher than any other candidate. Much higher."

"Does that mean they wanted to recruit or conscript me, whatever you wanna call it?"

"It would seem that way. That was, until the allegations were brought against you."

"Bryce," he spat, shaking his head in anger. Agent Walker nodded, her lips pulled into a thin line.

"Yes." Opening her mouth to continue, she quickly closed it again, sitting up straight. Chuck noticed the confused look on her face but waited as she seemed to be piecing something together. After a long moment he finally broke the silence, the anticipation nearly driving him mad.

"What is it?" Agent Walker blinked, shaking herself from her thoughts before turning to meet his gaze.

"If they wanted to recruit you, then why the hell would they deliberately frame you for cheating and get you kicked out? That makes absolutely no sense. If anything, you'd think they'd fast-track you because of it. Unless…" Chuck's eyes grew wide with realization, much the same as the agent's.

"Unless they were trying to keep me from getting recruited," he added. "But … why? I don't understand."

"Maybe he was trying to protect you? Bryce was working for the CIA at the time, and if you were friends, perhaps he had reservations about this 'Project Omaha' and what it might mean for you if you were pulled into it."

"Wait. 'At the time'? He's not a CIA agent any longer? I thought that you and he were… that you two-" Chuck let the words die on his lips, dropping his gaze in embarrassment at revealing his knowledge of their 'partnership'. When she didn't respond, Chuck lifted his gaze, hesitant to meet hers. While her face was stoic, he could see a cloudiness in her eyes, their normal blue turning almost gray.

"I'm sorry. Your personal affairs… I-I mean your personal relationships, partnerships, are none of my business," he back peddled, only seeming to stick his foot further into his mouth. "It makes perfect sense though. Bryce always got the good ones." Chuck clamped his mouth shut, wincing as he closed his eyes in mortification. When he looked again, some of the cloudiness in her eyes was gone and a half smile graced her lips.

"That's kind of you to say, Chuck, but Bryce and I haven't been partners for some time. A few months ago, he went underground, disappeared, without so much as a word. That is, until the night he sent you that email. Just beforehand, he broke into a secret government research facility, stole a highly classified database and blew up the computer that housed it. In his escape, he killed a security guard and wounded several others. At some point, he managed to send that database to you without anyone being able to trace it."

Chuck sat stunned, his mouth slightly agape as he listened to the story unfold. "So Bryce… he went rogue? Turned against his country?"

"It would appear so."

"And the database… that's the information in my head?" he asked for clarification, Agent Walker nodding her affirmation. "But… but … why send it to me? I'm a nobody. I'm a washout, working at a dead end job at a big box store. What the hell am I supposed to do with this database?" he asked, his voice increasing in pitch.

"First, you're not a washout," she stated forcefully. "What happened to you … it would seem that there were forces conspiring against you. Things that were beyond your control."

"While that may be, despite the reasons for what Bryce and others did, it was my choices, my reactions, that caused my downward spiral. I … I gave up. I retreated back to what I knew was safe, what was easy. I washed myself out. I've had a lot of time to think about this recently, and as hard as it may be to accept, I have to own up to that. But now this… this stuff in my head. I'm never leaving here, am I? They'll harvest whatever usefulness they can from me and then I'll permanently disappear. That's how this works, right?" he asked, his voice wavering. Agent Walker sat back in her chair and blew out a long breath.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I won't lie to you, in most cases where we interrogate information from a prisoner, or use up an asset, once they give up what we need their future is… precarious. Depending on how great their risk to national security is, they either spend their days in prison or they're silenced. You…..your situation is unique, to say the least. Unlike those examples I mentioned, you didn't do anything wrong. You're not a criminal or an enemy of the state, so the standard prisoner or asset rules don't apply. Well.. they shouldn't at least." With that, she stood up and began to pace the room, chewing on her thumbnail.

"I may be naïve about a lot of things, but even I know how dangerous I am. The kind of information I have in my head, what if the wrong people found out? If they could get information out of me, who knows what kind of damage they could do to the country." Agent Walker nodded in agreement, stopping in her tracks. She transitioned from chewing on her thumbnail to now chewing on the inside of her cheek, deep in thought.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, she turned to look at Chuck, the crease in her brow flattening out. "I need to do some more investigating. I still don't know who to trust with this information, so I need to tread carefully. In the meantime, I've secured you a different room. It's still a cell, but hopefully a little more accommodating than what you've had in the past. I want you to focus on recovering, getting stronger. I don't know what lies ahead of us, but you're going to need to be prepared."

Chuck nodded his understanding, but his look of concern was evident. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Agent Walker, no matter what happens, I want to thank you for … for listening, for believing me when nobody else would."

She scoffed, shaking her head. "Don't give me too much credit. There were times when I had my doubts-"

"And yet you still listened. When all the evidence, when everything you've been trained to do was telling you that I was guilty, you still took the time to really listen. So, thank you." Agent Walker blinked several times, speechless. Chuck thought he could make out a hint of a blush on her cheeks, but just as quickly it dissipated. She swallowed thickly and stood straighter, that mask of hers settling back into place.

"Let's get you back to your room. I've got a lot of work to do."

A/N2: It would seem that things are progressing, trust is building between them. The big problem now is who can they trust beyond themselves?

Thanks for all that have followed along and taken the time to leave a review or send a PM. I appreciate hearing from all of you. I hope you can find it in yourself to keep those messages coming.

Stay safe and be well.

JW