DC and Dillwg Present: Secret Santa

A/N: Welcome to the second annual collaboration between David Carner and myself. This is not a continuation of Ski School. But when David asks if you are interested in doing a Christmas collaboration, you say yes. We had a lot of fun cobbling together Ski School, and we've had a lot of fun putting this one together. This one is *mostly* done, just the last few chapters to finish up, but as of now it's shaping up to be 17 chapters and an epilogue. So we'll be posting frequently-as in close to daily-in order to get this fully up by Christmas Day. Although it's a Christmas story, it does take a while to get to the Christmas (as will be apparent within the first few chapters). So, we ask for your patience.

You will see a lot of familiar faces along the way, but this is AU-so a lot of people have different jobs and responsibilities from canon. Sarah is still a CIA agent, but events force her into a "hide in plain sight" situation. Chuck, alas, is not a Nerd Herder. But he's in a much better place, at least careerwise. Casey, well it's hard to think of Casey in any role other than with the NSA (although he did make for a snarkily great ski instructor in Ski School).

Ch. 1 Coming In From The Cold

"What in the hell am I doing here?"

Sarah cast her eyes around the expanse of open ground in between the buildings. At a near instinctual level first ingrained by her father before being honed at The Farm and then being perfected into a form of art by nearly a decade of incessant field work, she simultaneously performed three tasks. She scanned for possible ambush points, or avenues of egress in case of emergency. She tracked every person walking around. Finally, every person was evaluated, assessed and assigned a threat value.

A mirthless laugh slipped from her lips. The only real threat any of these people posed was lame pick-up lines or lying to one of their professors about why they didn't have a project completed on time. Old habits die hard. For just under a decade, Sarah had been the shadowy tip of the spear wielded by Langston Graham. She was the vanguard, the centurion standing guard on Hadrian's Wall. No longer. She had been shuffled off to an ivory tower to keep her under wraps.

With one last glance around to confirm that no one was following her, that no one had any weapons stashed out of sight, Sarah set off down the sidewalk. She had memorized her route, an alternate route, as well as the quickest way to clear the area should any unexpected threat occur. Old habits die hard indeed. I really need to get a life.

}0{

(Eight Days Earlier)

Sarah sighed into the glass of vodka that she was drinking as slowly as humanly possible. All that she had to do at this point was to make sure that the video feed from the micro-camera built into the frame of her glasses was synched to the audio stream from the bug that she had planted on the target when he had entered the dive bar in Almaty, Kazakhstan. She had worn a smile that never came close to reaching her eyes as she approached the black market weapons dealer, but even the poor facsimile to a smile was unnecessary as Anton Pamchenko's eyes had never made it north of her collarbone. The man was a wretched excuse for a human being-not an unusual trait among the men she interacted with while working, and she was always working.

Her handler on her last mission, Ryker, had driven that point home. She flashed a momentary real smile as she thought of how sincerely her mentor, Roan Montgomery, had promised to keep an ear out for any chatter on Ryker's whereabouts. She trusted Roan more than anyone else at the CIA, but she hadn't trusted even him with the truth that if anyone stumbled across Ryker they would have their work cut out for them in identifying his remains.

As an arms dealer, normally Pamchenko wouldn't rate as high (or should that be low) on the scumbag scale as the wannabe baby killer Ryker had. But then Graham had gotten intel that Anton had gotten his hands on some military-grade nerve agent and was willing to sell it to the highest bidder. It was a sad commentary on her life that she even had to debate which person she had met was worse. It was an even sadder commentary that she was surprised that her orders from Graham had only been to acquire the nerve-agent, and not to also eliminate Pamchenko, the would be facilitator of genocide. She winced as more of the liquid claiming to be vodka burned its way down her throat. She was convinced that if she threw the glass against the wall that the paint would bubble and melt away.

Although no outside observer would have been able to notice the change, Sarah went on alert when Pamchenko snapped at his bodyguard that the man had not been exposed to the VX derivative as the vials had been secured his dacha high in the hills. Apparently, Anton wasn't impressed with his hired muscle being scared of the neurotoxin, but Sarah thought that it actually showed that the bodyguard was smarter than the boss. With the information in hand on where she could acquire the nerve agent, Sarah began to quietly gather up her belongings so that she could slip out of the seedy nightclub. As the bartender was too lazy to pay any attention to his patrons, Sarah gave in to temptation and tossed the remains of her drink against the wall. She was almost disappointed that the paint didn't melt as expected. Almost.

}0{

(Six days earlier)

"What in the hell am I doing here?"

Sarah cast her glance around Director Graham's outer office as she waited to be summoned inside. No, make that the former office of the former Director Graham. She had been on a deep cover mission in Kazakhstan for two solid months before she was able to first locate and then break into the facility to steal the intel at the heart of the mission. Once she had the nerve agent in hand, she had arranged for a Special Activities Detachment team from the CIA to pick up the vial and transport across Georgia and into Ukraine, where a detachment from AMRIID was waiting. Her part done, Sarah flown from Almaty to Bucharest, then on to Vienna, before hoping a flight back to the States out of Copenhagen in order to throw off anyone who might have tried to follow her.

It was on the KLH flight when Sarah suspected that there was trouble. She had easily picked out the first air marshal. That, in and of itself, on an international flight wasn't unusual. But when she had spotted a second, then a third air marshal, she knew that something bad had happened while she was deep under cover. The flight attendants had been professional, but they were all on edge as well. But no one paid her any particular attention, aside from the creepy businessman across the aisle, whose dyed comb over was leaking down his cheek. She had seen him trying to surreptitiously look down her blouse as they had lined up for boarding. It was rotten luck that he had wound up seated across the aisle from her. When he had tried to slip his wedding ring off, only for it to get stuck before flinging off of his finger and rolling about on the floor, she let out a derisive laugh that let him know that he had no chance.

When the flight had touched down at JFK airport, that Sarah got confirmation that something, aside from the wannabe adulterer, was seriously wrong. She had powered up her burner phone, more out of a habit of playing games with the NSA than realistically expecting to have any contact from the Agency. She had picked up the burner in Kazakhstan, so the NSA would surely try to hack it as soon as the SIM chip was read to reveal the phone's country of origin.

Sarah knew that the NSA operated a "man in the middle" mini cell tower from the Admiral's Club at JFK's International Departures terminal. Every cell phone in the airport linked through the mini tower before being routed to the nearest actual cell tower located out near the car rental lots. But the hidden mini tower enabled the NSA to get full access to any phone connected to it, without letting the user know that her or his phone wasn't directly linked to a commercial wireless provider. She had only programed in contacts on the phone for the Kazakhstan Mission at the United Nations, the Kazakhstan Consulate in Manhattan, and the Kazakhstan Embassy in DC. Any important number that she would need was memorized.

Between the SIM card indicating that the phone was from Kazakhstan and the limited contacts all relating to the Kazakhstan government, the NSA was sure to snoop a little deeper. So, Sarah had written a single note on the phone in Kazakh, which she had then encoded using a simple wheel cypher. It wouldn't take the NSA long to crack it once they realized that they needed to decrypt it to Kazakh first, before translating the decrypted text to English. She smirked as she pictured the face of some NSA analyst eagerly looking at the decrypted message, only to read: Fort Meade might get the best toys, but Langley gets the better agents.

Was it petty? Yes.

Did it still make her laugh? Hell yes.

But the text message that popped up wasn't from the government of Kazakhstan, or a disgruntled NSA analyst. It was priority orders from Langley. And she was to report to the General Aviation Fixed Base Operators office. And she was to get there ten minutes ago, if not earlier. Knowing that an agent in New York would handle forwarding her luggage (not that the intel was in the checked bag anyway), Sarah strode through the terminal, noting the significantly increased police presence at the airport, to flag down the first available taxi. Waiting for her in the FBO lobby was a junior agent, who directed her outside to a waiting CIA jet, fully fueled, ready to go.

The pilot didn't have any information for her other than the fact that they were to fly her directly to Joint Base Andrews. Sarah thought back to her briefing with Director Graham on the Kazakhstan mission. He had started the briefing while thoroughly distracted by an Eyes Only folder on his desk. He had been reading it when she had entered his office, while he pointed towards a chair without looking up from a passage in a report in the folder. Once finished reading, he had closed the folder, before looking up at her while drumming his fingers against the manila folder.

Graham had then given her an option: go forward with the briefing on the mission to Kazakhstan, or team up with Agent Bryce Larkin for a different mission. The gleam in his eyes had told Sarah all that she needed to know as to which mission Graham was more focused on. But Sarah knew of Larkin by reputation, although they had never worked together. He reportedly viewed himself as a modern day James Bond, with an emphasis on the womanizing. Sarah had shot down the Larkin mission without batting an eye. Graham knew that after the debacle with the CATS that she only worked alone. Graham hadn't been pleased with her rejection, although he wasn't surprised by it. Larkin had gone through the Farm several years after Sarah, but had scored highly in his training. Together they would have made a super spy couple. But she had repeatedly made it clear to Graham that she would only work alone. The only agent who could live up to her exacting standards in the field was herself.

Her private flight from JFK had barely taxied to a stop at Joint Base Andrews, which also appeared to be on high alert, when she was directed to board a nearby Sikorsky S-76D helicopter. Its rotors were already spooling up as she climbed aboard. The helicopter flew her directly to headquarters in Langley. By this point, she had been traveling for 20 straight hours and would have preferred the chance to grab an hour or two of sleep, or at least time to change into clean clothes. Instead, she was escorted from the helipad directly to the Director's office. The only reassurance for her had been that she had not been ordered to surrender her weapon. Although she had never experienced anything like this before, such unusual travel arrangements couldn't bode well.

The near pandemonium that she noted at headquarters was on a level not seen since the 9/11 attacks. Director Graham's long time (and long suffering) administrative assistant had instructed Sarah take a seat, before furtively glancing around and informing her that Graham had been arrested. She was shocked. Her ersatz mentor was in prison. A frisson of fear went down her spine as she wondered whether her career as Graham's Wild Card Enforcer had been entirely above board, or if she would be headed to jail as well. Just following orders wasn't the strongest defense that could be mounted when dealing with the subject of assassinations.

She was told that the President had already appointed an interim Director, who would be meeting with her shortly. She wasn't told who the Acting Director was. She hated not knowing every pertinent detail.

"You may go in now, Agent Walker." Sarah gave a terse nod to the AA before opening the door to the inner sanctum. The first thing that caught Sarah's eye was Jaime Sommers, a former legendary agent in Operations, turned State Department advisor to the President, seated at Graham's desk. However, Sarah's attention quickly turned to the man seated on the sofa near the windows that provided a panoramic view of Langley Forest. Things were certainly dire if the Director of National Intelligence, Harry Stone, was also present for this meeting.

Sarah's stomach dropped when she saw her official file on the coffee table in front of him. Jaime Sommers rose before closing the folder that she had been reviewing and carrying it over to the coffee table as well. Sarah was confused when she saw that it was not an official file. Apparently, Graham had maintained private, unofficial files as well. As she took a seat in a wing chair near the sofa, Sarah's heart turned to stone as she saw the name "Jenny Burton" on the label.

"Agent Walker," Director Stone began, "rather a lot has happened since you left for your mission." He cleared his throat. "We need to know about Operation Intersect, and what role you played in it?"

Sarah looked back and forth between the two leaders in confusion. "I had heard whispers, some wild rumors about the operation. But those in the rumor mill quickly disappeared. It sounded like some crazy sci-fi b-movie plot. But no, Graham never mentioned it to me himself." Stone's eyes bore into her own, but he stayed silent.

Sommers carried on the conversation. "Between hardware and manhours, over two billion dollars was sunk into that project. Graham had you tapped on a short list of agents for the initial download. He had a note in the file that he was going to assign you to the operation along with Agent Bryce Larkin. Needless to say, despite the massive expenditures, Graham kept a lot of information about the operation off of the books." Sommers joined Director Stone in staring at Sarah.

"Three days ago the facility was blown up. By Bryce Larkin." Sarah let out an involuntary gasp. Sommers smirked. "Yes, your partner to be. He was killed by the NSA, but only after the facility was totally destroyed."

"A building destroyed, injured guards and a dead CIA agent were more than even Langston Graham could keep under wraps. That alone would have been enough to sink Graham's career." Director Stone was clearly furious with Graham. She wasn't sure how she could be on the hook for Bryce's actions as she had declined to partner up with him, but she didn't let down her guard. She'd be damned if she was railroaded into taking some of the blame for Bryce's conduct.

"A few hours after the building was destroyed, information was supplied to the CIA IG and to the ODNI with details of a number of illegal actions taken by Graham," Sommers looked closely at Sarah, tapping on the Jenny Burton file, "including the illegal conscription of a minor." Sarah quickly cut her eyes to the floor. "We soon…discovered… Graham's private files, including details on the activities of his Enforcers." Jaime Sommers leaned forward to close both Sarah's official and unofficial folders. "We have an unusual situation with you. Graham orchestrated your father's arrest and your 'recruitment' while you were still a child. These actions weren't directed at me, but I still want to put a bullet in the bastards head for what he did to you." Sarah remained immobile and silent. "But, we need to know about your involvement in Operation Intersect. Everything."

Sarah was stunned. What in the hell has Graham dragged me into? I wasn't ever briefed on the mission. I was never involved in the mission. Now they are looking at me to prove my own innocence. Fantastic. Careers had been destroyed for less. "Directors, I had no involvement in the operation. At all. I have literally just returned from a several week long assignment in Kazakhstan. When I came into this office eight weeks ago, Director Graham had offered me an alternative. He said that he wanted to partner me up with Agent Larkin. Personally, I suspect that Director Graham had envisioned the two of us as the spy version of the Dream Team."

Sarah crossed her ankles and rested her hands in her lap. "But he never mentioned Operation Intersect, at that time or any other time. As I said earlier, the only time I heard about it was gossip here in Headquarters. But I have spent very little time at Headquarters, and even none spent gossiping. All Director Graham said to me was that there was an opportunity to team up with Agent Larkin, with the innuendo being that it was a big opportunity."

Acting Director Sommers looked closely at Sarah. "Are you saying that you declined the opportunity?" Sarah looked directly at her, locking eyes with her. Sarah noticed the small smile that played on Acting Director Sommers lips…if Sarah had to describe it, it was pride one agent had with another.

"Yes, Director. I work alone. Graham knows that. I get the missions done every time, so I may get…or may have gotten, a little more leeway than other field agents. If you've read my file, you know that I was part of the 'CAT Squad'. That betrayal ended any interest in anything other than solo work." Director Stone snorted in derision. "Team Squad. What juvenile idiot came up with that moniker? The redundancy alone shows how sexist and immature the name was."

Sarah merely nodded in agreement. "Regardless, we were betrayed by another member of the team. After that, I told Graham that I only would work alone from there out. I meant it then, and I mean it now. The only person I trust is myself." She stared down at her hands clasped in her lap, realizing how alone that both sounded and felt.

Acting Director Sommers spoke up, "So, you never teamed up with Larkin, and you were never briefed on the operation? That tracks. We spotted a note from Graham to 'bring in Sarah', but nothing to show that you were ever brought aboard."

Director Stone cleared his throat. "Agent Walker it is no secret that you are one of the most accomplished and most decorated officers ever to come through the CIA. It's not hyperbole to say that our nation is safer due to your contributions." He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his thighs as he looked at Sarah closely. "Within a day or two there will be congressional hearings starting on both Project Intersect and some of Graham's illegal conduct that led to his arrest. We at the ODNI are in damage control at the moment. Having you around might lead to questions that we don't want asked."

He held up a hand to forestall the questions that Sarah was primed to ask. "We don't want to lose you. Three Intelligence Stars before you are thirty? That's once in a generation talent. Given the manner of your recruitment we would understand if you no longer wished to work for the CIA, no matter how badly you are needed." Sommers turned to address her. "You are the best we have. And everything in your file, well your files, shows that your career will likely result in Station Chief postings at some of our most important missions. Most likely in the not so distant future. As long as you stay off the radar of the Intelligence committees."

Stone leaned back against the sofa. "What Acting Director Sommers and I are proposing is that you get bumped to a GS-15 pay scale and take a fully paid sabbatical to get a masters degree at Stanford in languages. The advanced study would assist you in the field, while also keeping you out of sight of the Beltway investigations. The CIA would cover tuition, room, board and some ancillary expenses."

Sommers picked up the thread from there. "Sarah, we know that you received your degree from Harvard while with the agency. This would be similar, yet different. We have a relationship with Stanford, so you could start classes at the beginning of the term this coming Tuesday. Unlike with Harvard, you would not undertake any missions while in school. The degree would be legitimate. You put in the work, you get your degree in your name…or at least Sarah Walker's name. You would get credit for time in service while in school, as well as continue to draw a full salary."

"Once you're finished with your degree, we can reconvene to discuss you continuing on with the Agency." The two directors assessed Sarah, who maintained eye contact, but kept her mouth shut.

Director Stone resumed the conversation. "I realize that this isn't much time, and it's a major decision. As I mentioned, classes start six days from today. We have made arrangements for an apartment next to campus, assuming that you agree with this suggestion. Let us know tomorrow what your decision is. If you agree to this plan, that would give you the weekend to pack, Monday to travel and settle in. That will be all."

Sarah gave a terse nod to her two bosses and exited the room in a fog. The 'suggestion' was hardly that. She could agree to it, or she would likely be dismissed. She was good enough that they wanted her to stay on, but she was also enough of a liability that they would cut her loose in order to avoid a showdown with Congress. She was used to going from mission to mission. Now she was looking at an 18 month stretch without any mission. But that would also mean 18 months without any more kills being added to her tally...and taxed against her soul.

Friday morning found her back at the DCI's office agreeing to go to grad school. Why the hell not? Do my time and maybe get a posting as Deputy Chief of Station somewhere. After leaving the meeting with the two directors confirming her acceptance of the Stanford offer, Sarah had sought out her old mentor, Roan Montgomery. He had been out of the field for years, but he was wired into the gossip in headquarters. She needed information, and he was sure to have it.

She found him in his office, a knowing smirk on his face. "Ah, Sarah, I was hoping you'd drop by. How about you and I have a small going away party?"

Sarah looked down at her watch and then back Roan. "It's ten AM," she told him.

He made a "tsk" sound. "That means I've already missed my nine AM martini," he replied, shaking his head sadly. Sarah laughed, offered Roan her arm, and he took it, the two heading toward her vehicle. A ten minute drive later found the two of them at their favorite hole in the wall restaurant, away from most of those in the government.

"Good morning, Sheila," Roan said to the waitress, who was smiling at him. "Is anything on the menu as appetizing as you?" Sheila lightly whacked Roan on the shoulder as Sarah rolled her eyes. "I'll have my normal." He looked over at Sarah. "Breakfast or lunch?"

"Give me the best cheeseburger in DC," Sarah told Sheila. "I'm going away for awhile." Sheila nodded, wrote down the order, and then placed her hand on Sarah's shoulders and squeezed it.

"We're gonna miss you around here, sweetie," Sheila told her. She glanced over at Roan. "Now I have no idea who's gonna keep that one in check." Roan blew a kiss at Sheila, who shook her head and walked off with a smile.

"So," Roan began, picking up a napkin, unfolding it, and placing it in his lap. "First, you made the absolute right choice in not teaming with Larkin. That would have been an absolute disaster." Sarah shook her head, thankful she dodged that bullet. "After that foul up, the DNI immediately ordered a sweeping investigation." Roan grinned as he fidgeted with his utensils. "That decision was aided, in no small part, by an anonymous source."

"An anonymous source was the downfall of Graham?" Sarah asked, a little shocked that is what it took to bring him down.

"Well, that and Peter Franks," Roan added, grinning.

"Wait, Graham's administrative assistant?" Sarah asked, sitting up and grinning. She thought a second, narrowed her eyes and looked across the way at her smirking mentor. "What did you do?"

"I don't know what you mean, Sarah," Roan replied as Sheila brought them their food. Roan thanked her, and after she walked away, he began to prepare his eggs. "I don't know why you think that a man I had to hear from for years about Graham's verbal and mental abuse would have me involved in any way with Peter singing like a canary and spilling some of Graham's darkest secrets."

Sarah grinned as she ate her burger, trying not to both moan at how good it was, and realize this was the last time she would eat here in some time. She thought about all the stories Roan had told her about Peter. How Graham had thought the man so browbeaten that he had become complacent about discussing unauthorized operations in the man's presence. Roan always insisted that Graham's arrogance when it came to his assistant would be his downfall.

"So who is the anonymous source?"

"I truly have no idea," Roan claimed with a Mona Lisa smile. "And more importantly, neither does the DNI." Sarah stopped chewing thinking about that. "Whoever it was, they covered their tracks well…perfectly if I'm honest."

"So, what now?"

"Well, it appears the DNI is closely monitoring the CIA IG investigation," Roan told her, taking a sip of his drink. "Oh," he said, his eyes lighting up. "That investigation…" he trailed off grinning. Sarah couldn't help but grin at the man. "It has already unearthed a veritable treasure trove of information about the countless illegal activities that Graham had perpetrated."

"Roan," she began, then stopped, not sure how to ask what she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Roan reached over and laid his hand over hers. "Sarah, every hit you carried out was a properly sanctioned mission. Every one." Sarah slumped in relief. Roan pulled his hand back, a soft smile on his face. "Now, I need to tell you the bad part, the reason you have to 'disappear'."

"I'm just glad it's not the normal CIA way of 'disappearing'," Sarah groused.

Roan couldn't help but chuckle. "My sources informed me that much was found on one Sarah Walker." Sarah winced. "It includes how Graham orchestrated everything, from the arrest of Jack Burton in order to conscript Jenny Burton when she was just 17, up to black bag jobs inside the United States."

"Am I ever coming back?" she asked him, certain that she knew the answer.

"I don't know," Roan admitted after an interminable pause. "They are at a loss as to what to do with you, my dear." Sarah nodded. "You are an amazing agent, and I'm not just saying that because you're my favorite." Sarah placed a hand to her chest as if to say, "who, me?" making Roan chuckle.

"But, you were recruited under duress, and while still a minor. You had taken part in missions, without your knowledge, admittedly, which were designed to set back operations being carried out by other agencies, both domestic and international, within the intelligence community." He paused. "And you knowingly participated in operations within the continental United States."

Sarah looked away at that one. She was a CIA officer, she knew better, but when Graham gave orders … "However, you are also the top agent within the NCS, with three Intelligence Stars to your name." Roan spread his hands. "It's one of those situations that every answer might be the right one, and they all are possibly the wrong one."

"So, I'm screwed?"

Roan was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, there was no humor in his voice. It was more of a weariness of seeing the political machine at work…again. "Hearings have already been scheduled by the Intelligence Committees for both the House and Senate over the failed mission." Sarah sat let out a breath and he watched her shoulders slump. He knew this would hurt her, but this was their relationship, the truth. "The DNI is not in the position to handle the PR headache if the story behind the near mythical Ice Queen were to come to light."

"They care more about Elsa than me, huh?" Sarah said, trying to make light of the situation. A Disney joke? When am I going to remember that I'm not funny? Roan shook his head, a grin on his face. "They want to keep you, Sarah, make no mistake about that. They want you as an active agent, but right now…" he spread his hands. "Right now, you need to stay out of the cross-hairs of Congress. There would be righteous indignation on both sides of the aisle over Graham's conduct regarding your treatment. Some of it might even be genuine." He paused. "But for now, keep your head low."

"Got it. Keep quiet, trust no one," Sarah said, nodding, accepting her fate. "I told Director Sommers that I only work alone."

"No, you're not alone, just in another part of the country," Roan disagreed. "Go, be a college student, have some fun. Lord knows you earned it." He started to go back to his eggs.

"I have no idea how to do that, I was never taught that in any class by the CIA or my Dad," Sarah told him.

He paused. She was right. He was going to have to do something about that. She took a bite of her burger and nearly slumped in enjoyment. A grin came to his face. He might even know the person that could do something about her lack of having fun.

}0{

While getting her travel documents and admission records for Stanford, she received strict instructions not to discuss her CIA past with anyone outside of the acting DCI, the DNI or the DDO. Sarah had successfully fought back a smirk at the instructions. Who am I going to tell? My mother who I have barely seen in 20 years? My conman father who is god knows where carrying out his latest grift? Carina? She only was focused on where to find the next mission or next party, which for her were rarely mutually exclusive.

So, she found herself enrolled in classes for Languages, although she would be able to change the program to one of her own choosing should she wish. The unspoken order from the DNI was clear: stay busy, stay quiet and (most importantly) stay away from Washington, D.C.

}0{

Sarah found herself on a bustling college campus thousands of miles away from both headquarters and the apartment in McLean, Virginia that the Company had secured for her once she started with Clandestine Services nearly a decade before. The Company had now secured another apartment for her. This one was just off campus from Stanford, and far more chic than the one she where she "lived" for so many years in McLean. She was surrounded by undergrads who weren't much younger than her chronologically. But the differences in experience between her and the undergrad population was an insurmountable gulf.

Her master's level classes would at least be a more diverse age group. She had requested, and received, a shallow dive background on each of her professors and classmates. Some classmates had come straight from college after getting their bachelor's degrees. Others had started their master's studies after a stint at one profession or another. Sarah fell slightly on the younger end of the age spectrum, but still her work at the CIA made for a significantly different (and classified) background from that of her classmates.

Sarah glanced at her tablet, comparing the map of the university to the satellite photographs that she had committed to memory the night before. She knew it was overkill, but for so long her life had been mission preparation. She didn't know what to make of life as a grad student, so she treated it as a mission. It's a sad statement that the only life that I know is that of an agent.

She shifted the straps of her backpack and set off across campus, ready to blend in, be a ghost. That she knew how to do. She was alone, but she was good at it, hell, she was the best.

A/N2: We know what you are thinking-5900 words and we couldn't even get a cameo by Chuck? Tune in tomorrow. Also, I wanted to thank Joe Watkins for inadvertently giving me the idea for this story. When he ended his excellent Home for Christmas story, he'd made a tongue in cheek reference to Valentine's Day. He and I exchanged some PMs where I tortured him with a different variation of this story. While this story and Home for Christmas don't have too much in common, his tale led to the idea for this story. Then David stepped in and turned a concept into a story that's been a lot of fun to bring to life.

Given the time constraints, I didn't have my friend michaelfmx do his great work as a beta, so any mistakes, typos, grammatical errors, etc. are all on me.