A/N (1) Previously on Chuck versus The Journey: Casey's call destroyed Sarah's declaration of love before she could even begin and at the same time ended a day full of love.

It's still the same old story,
A fight for love and glory,
A case of do or die.
The world will always welcome lovers
As time goes by.
"As Time Goes By" (Herman Hupfeld)

Chapter 37: Sarah vs. The General

Chuck and Sarah decided with heavy hearts that showering together would postpone the meeting with Casey for about two hours. Give or take, depending on the giving and taking that would take place.

They snickeringly pointed out to each other what possibilities the luxurious bathroom, including the built-in, heated, whirlpool, offered. As they drifted closer to put some of those ideas into practice, Sarah placed a finger between their lips about to kiss and – albeit as unhappy as a squirrel realizing in the winter that it forgot where it had hidden the nuts – sobered Chuck up.

"Chuck, if we don't show up on time, Casey and Carina will look for us."

That was a bit too much for Chuck to envision. Either of them walking in while the honeymoon suite was serving as seventh heaven severely damped his mood.

"I was hoping so hard that we could write a How-To book as soon as we're through with all the opportunities such a large bathroom offers, something like the Showa-sutra," he complained, masking his disappointment behind humor.

"Hoping so hard," Sarah repeated with playful regret, "I noticed."

She was barely able to keep from grinning and twisted her mouth in both directions several times as she felt genuine sympathy for his situation. Under other circumstances, she would take care of it and leave no sheet unturned to do so, but she knew either or both of their colleagues would show up, and she surely would prefer to eschew such a moment.

So Sarah could convince Chuck to quickly hop into the shower without someone who soaped his back to give her more time to prep up for the big dance they had to attend that night.

Shortly later, Chuck found himself alone with Casey in his room, and they were going over what transpired during the day, or better: What did not.

"I had another quick message from the General reminding us not to risk the Intersect tonight and to continue keeping a low profile," Casey smirked. "But I learned today how loud keeping a low profile can be."

Chuck blushed at the indication of how noisy they had been. Rooms 101 and 203, both looking out to the seaside, apparently were close enough that their vigorous activities did not go unnoticed. Surveillance equipment had been totally unnecessary to catch how the two had spent the day. He winced. "Casey, as for that-"

He was confronted with a broad grin that only had the cigar lacking.

"Respect, Bartowski. I think it was about time that Walker's strawberry cake got properly glazed."

"See, that's exactly what I wanted to discuss," Chuck began, but Casey interrupted while raising both hands in an imploring way.

"That's exactly what you're not going to discuss with me if you know what's good for you," Casey advised, making clear that a detailed discussion of the various dessert-innuendos he made in the first place was as unwelcome as an enemy grenade in a Marine dugout.

"You don't think I was going to moot my love life with you? What I wanted to discuss, as you probably have not forgotten, that I'm just an asset, and it is strictly No-No for a handler-"

Casey brushed it away gruffly. If he had had a cigar, he would have waved it around almost bonhomously.

"You guys are OK with me. Sarah is the best partner I ever had, and you're not at all the idiot I thought you'd be. So as long as you spare me munching off each other's faces in my presence, you are safe with me."

"Thank you, Casey, thank you so much-"

Casey broke in before Chuck, Chesty Puller may forbid, possibly would go as far as hugging him.

"Can it, Bartowski. But since you gave your lady a bit of time to recover, will you watch the monitors for a while? I'm going down for a steak before I have to listen to your verbal fornication for all of that disgusting romantic dance night downstairs."

Chuck readily agreed. He walked into the bathroom and left the door ajar. He exhaled with relief as he splashed a bit of cold water on his cheeks and temples.

That went easier than I expected, he thought. Probably Sarah was right that he's a big papa bear.

•••••••••••••••••••

Chuck heard the lock clicking, but he didn't notice the door opening, closing again, and neither someone entering the room. Someone masterful at moving silently had stepped in. Still, he knew who but kept his eyes on the monitors.

"Hello, hot stuff," he said, without turning around.

"Is that the way you greet Casey nowadays? Is there anything you want to confess?" Sarah asked from the door, arms akimbo.

She felt marvelous in speaking these words. Like a whole lot of other things, she was a master at chit-chat and small talk, but it solely had been one skill in her box of tools. With Chuck, the banter and flirting were natural. It made no difference that the words as such had been spoken by countless other people before and would be spoken long after her time. These were their moments, and as irrelevant, cheesy, or goofy such back-and-forth dialogue may sound, it was theirs.

Chuck swiveled around in the chair he sat in.

"I knew it was you," he grinned. Cheeky and brazen and unable to hide how smitten he was.

Sarah wiggled her head impatiently and looked so fresh and lovely in blue jeans and a white tank top that Chuck wanted to jump up and rush over to her like in those smoochy movies when lovers ran to each other, usually in front of some romantic scenery. There was nothing but screens as a backdrop, but he remained where he was, knowing he could not keep up any sportive banter if he felt her dazzling warmth.

"How could you know it was me? It could have been Casey or even Carina! Where's Casey anyway?"

The grin didn't leave Chuck's face.

"The big strong man has girded his loins, shouldered his weapon, and is hunting for raw beef," he explained.

"In everyday words, he's gone for a steak?" Sarah only rhetorically asked.

"Yup! I see you're getting good at my code talk," he lauded. "Most people take forever to accomplish this."

"I thought I should get over the language barrier quickly," she shrugged, "because I think it makes being with you forever easier if we talk the same language."

She lowered her head, so she looked at him through her eyelashes, yet it wasn't flirting but a little shocked.

Yikes!

Sarah remained at the door, unable and unwilling to keep the lovelight out of her eyes. She was delighted to see her emotions mirrored in his face. She beamed at him for a few long moments. She carried love in her heart, but in an instant like that, it seemed to fill the air like an infatuating perfume. It formed into a frothy, feathery cloud that invited her to be her homestead for a new life - for the rest of her life.

Did I just somehow propose to him? Being with him forever? What I feel for him feels like forever would be much too short, but isn't that a bit early by usual standards? On the other hand, usual standards don't apply to Chuck and me.

Every time I try to make a production number out of telling him that I love him, something happens and keeps me from saying it. Possibly I simply should walk up and say, 'Chuck, I love you!', and that's that. People say it all the time, don't they? But do they mean it if they inflationary spread it? Doesn't it need a special moment? Especially if you say it for the first time ever?

Still, that didn't answer her question regarding his risky quip about hot stuff.

"I'll give you the point about Casey. If he's claiming his steak, that will take a while," she quipped, which left Chuck stunned with delight. After a year of being around him, she certainly had picked up from his goofy banter if she only allowed it to come out. "But it could have been Carina nonetheless, and I'm shuddering what she would do if you called her hot stuff."

Chuck looked but Sarah wasn't shuddering which disappointed him because he was sure he would have liked to watch it.

"No, can't be," Chuck shook his head. "Had it been Miss C., I would have heard her handcuffs jangle."

"She doesn't handcuff Casey every time she sees him," Sarah corrected, only to add pensively, "At least not this time."

She straightened up. Sidetracking in a conversation with Chuck was easier than throwing a knife.

"But that's nonsense. Did you just guess it was me?"

"Sarah," Chuck said, stretching the first vowel in her name, pointing a finger between them. "I sensed it. We have this magical connection, and I feel it if you enter a room."

She squinted her eyes.

"Or," he sighed with mischief, "I could have seen your reflection in that monitor there at the right." He pointed behind him at a screen that was off and glared in reflecting blackness.

That did it. Sarah laughed and rushed up to him and gave his chest a little dab.

"Exactly," he confirmed and repeated the gentle pat first on his, then on her chest.

"Me Tarzan, you Jane."

His hand reminded her that it had been eons since she felt his touch, in the good old times in their honeymoon suite about thirty or so minutes ago. She wondered how they ever made it out of bed because right now, she felt all she needed was him and gallons of air to breathe when they would make each other breathless.

"Very well, Tarzan," Sarah purred, smiling impishly. "So we have time for a little kiss, don't we?"

She stepped up to him, a young woman full of love who couldn't get enough of the sweet food that nurtured her soul so divinely.

It was Chuck's knees that wobbled like about to give in. Regardless of what intimacy they shared the past hours, he was in the market for any size of kisses from Sarah Walker anytime. Her hair and make-up were already perfect for the dance, and her unpretentious attire showcased how gorgeous she was, emphasized by the grace of her soul that was shining through breathtakingly pure.

"If I grin like an idiot," Chuck remarked, definitely being comfortable with it, "it's because I love you like crazy."

He put his right hand on her back, leaned in, and their lips met. Both of them sighed in relief.

"God, it's been so long since we kissed," she whispered.

"Well, you sent me away," he murmured against her lips, denying any responsibility for that unsustainable state of affairs in case Sarah would blame him for her intimacy withdrawal symptoms. "We could have kissed in the shower."

She hummed into the kiss, clearly not fussing over missed kisses but seeking to catch up as fast as possible, and barely broke contact with him to reply.

"We still would be there, and Casey would still be here and hungry."

"One has to set priorities," he nonchalantly remarked.

"I like the way you think," she praised. "So you would prefer the shower."

Chuck joyfully confirmed.

"Better crawling out of the shower on my knees than to go to work at the Buy More on the double."

"How do you make up these things?" she wondered and then made a serious promise. "At the next available opportunity, I'll make sure that all you can do is to crawl out of the shower, exhausted but deliriously satisfied".

Chuck's answer never left his mouth because once he had swallowed hard, she placed a hand on his arm holding her. Then her fingers began to stroke his neck while her tongue urged him to open his lips for her.

Chuck moaned, and she sensed a wave of goosebumps rolling down his back. She smiled into their kiss, happy what she could do to him, relishing the memory of the day and the anticipation of more days and nights to come.

His left arm came up so his other hand could lovingly cup her face, but she quickly intercepted him.

"Sorry, lipstick is kissproof," she panted as she held his hand that nearly had reached its goal, "but makeup is not."

"I wonder for a year now why someone as perfect as you needs makeup," he groaned but dived right back right away.

"I'm not perfect," she refused but pondered if, from his point of view, perfection possibly was precisely what she was. That would mean that perfection would be an individual, non-absolute term, and she knew just the person she could debate this longer with than what sandwich to take on a deserted island. Still, she was not going to keep the man in question from his current activities.

"Yeah, sure," he replied dryly. "The world is not round, the Pope is not Catholic, and Sarah Walker is not perfect. All that sounds like fake news to me."

Sarah snickered.

Why wait any longer? Just say it! He knows, but he deserves to hear it. Don't make such a fuss about three words! I mean it, and he will understand it, whether I chose a perfect romantic setting or Casey's makeshift observation post.

"Chuck, I-"

Then there was a suspicious motion and a change of light that was outside the small exhilarating sphere of their kiss. It took Sarah a heartbeat or two to realize what it was, and that quick-thinking was essential now. This was one of the moments to act fast, efficient, and convincing. All her spy skills needed to work in less than a snap of the fingers to prevent perdition.

She realized that his right arm on her back, her own hand on that arm, and her right hand held in his almost looked like the basic position for a ballroom dance.

"Very good, Chuck," Sarah patiently said, as she broke contact with his lips, with such a dry matter-of-factly voice that his kiss-intoxicated mind descended from heaven faster than the high-speed elevators of the Empire State Building.

"You must remember that this is a waltz, a romantic dance. The Carmichaels would be expected to get a little lovey-dovey, but Mr. Charles, of course, would be a gentleman and give his wife only a chaste and tender kiss and never give up the stance of the dance. Besides, Ms. Carmichael has applied make-up, so you should be careful not to ruin it when kissing me for the cover. And as for the waltzing, don't march around the room one-two-three, one-two-three. As a famous maestro once said, the Viennese Waltz is one-two- … -and-perhaps-three."

Sarah casually looked at the monitors as if it was an unintentional side glance.

General Beckman was on the screen. The NSA's top officer's head was half bowed down, eyes closed and rubbing the bridge of her nose with two fingers. She distinctively looked like an agency leader who just had burdened more than she could carry on her shoulders and muttered under her breath, "Why me, Lord?"

"General!" Sarah said, letting go of Chuck. "We expected a brief update from you, and I thought, while we wait, I could give Mr. Bartowski a quick lesson for the dance tonight, a few suggestions on how to maintain the cover during a ballroom dance."

Beckman opened her eyes and lifted her gaze to meet Sarah's.

"You thought. How long would this lesson have lasted if I had decided not to call again… stop, I don't want to hear," Beckman ruled. She ignored Sarah and fixed Chuck, who decided it was wisest not to comment.

Very good. He's becoming a big boy now, thinking before opening his mouth, Sarah noted, pleased, while Beckman's view returned to Sarah.

"As for the mission you may or may not have forgotten about, we have not completely abandoned the possibility that you will have to prevent the transfer of an atom-bomb. You have to keep this in mind."

Chuck nodded dutifully, darting glances at Sarah how to behave now that they had been caught red-handed. Sarah's words were no more than an explanation Beckman could accept if she deliberately decided not to see the truth.

"But we view the threat that all this activity is about the Intersect with much bigger concern. The pattern, as Agent Walker detailed in our last briefing, is convincing."

As Chuck opened his mouth, Beckman stopped him cold.

"And you can not kiss your way out of this!"

Sarah looked down at her shoes briefly. It was not advisable to suppress her smile with the usual grimace while facing the General.

So much for dance lessons, she thought and concluded that she did not care anymore if she was the handler and he was the asset. She was his girlfriend, and he was her boyfriend. Roan Montgomery had been right – make a mission out of it. To find and keep love meant to overcome all obstacles together. She began to honestly believe it was possible. If Beckman objected, they would find a way.

"That means that we have a long list of wanted and also some yet unknown criminals on the premises. Agent Walker, you will ascertain that the number of suspects has not significantly changed since Thursday. If you can confirm that-" Beckman took a deep breath through the nose "-then we'll take the risk to step on the toes of some influential citizens and crash the party. I have sixty agents on standby, and other agencies will support them. I will be able to bear and placate any complaints if I can present one or two dozen arrests, including a few most wanted."

The General austerely pointed at Chuck.

"You'll make Agent Walker's work easy today. She's the top agent, or as the term is, the SAIC. No arbitrary acts, no discussions – Walker's word is undisputed law, for your own safety and the mission's sake. We are playing a risky game, and the stake is you. Understood?"

"Yes, General! But what if-"

He hushed as Sarah's foot poked his while she didn't take her eyes from the screen. So much for the big boy! … I hope he never changes!

"Yup, sure. Absolutely," Chuck coughed, understanding the gesture. "Sarah says. Chuck obeys. She's on top, I'm…" he trailed off, realizing he could not get out of this anyway, so it was better not to proceed.

To his surprise, both Sarah and the General snorted, although the latter tried to hide it by pulling her laptop closer.

"Mr. Bartowski, you're dismissed. Agent Walker, I'd like to have a word with you alone."

Chuck's face fell. Wasn't it somehow weird to keep secrets from someone knowing all the secrets? Sarah clandestinely gestured with her forefinger without moving otherwise, and he immediately retreated.

"See, I'm already obeying," he boasted as Sarah tried to maintain a respectfully friendly look and avoid snickering. "Sarah simply wiggles her forefinger, shooting from the hip, and I'm gone."

When the door closed, Beckman sighed. She ruled over more than 40,000 people in her kingdom, but Chuck Bartowski turned out as the court jester whose fool's license seemed to rub off on Sarah Walker as well.

"At least he obeys you," she said, not revealing if she bought that they rehearsed a cover situation. "Speaking of the asset, how does he handle the current mission?"

Sarah put on a well-measured not-too-proud look.

"Mr. Bartowski handles the situation exceptionally well. He expected to stand on the sidelines and let the Intersect do the job. Instead, he was thrown into the center of the mission, not only having to deal with the flashes but also convincingly portraying my husband. I want to mention that I don't think Bryce Larkin could have done any better."

Beckman mused, her interest wandering further.

"Duly noted, Sarah. How did he handle Mr. Larkin's plan to be removed from the scene in that rather disgraceful way?"

Sarah slightly stiffened. Perhaps it was possible to discuss that sore spot in the passing and sneak it into her answer about Chuck.

"I tried to talk Mr. Larkin out of the idea to no avail-"

The General interrupted decisively.

"In case you want to explain that, we'll talk about it later."

So much about working around the issue elegantly.

"Yes, Ma'am. It was actually Chuck who took matters in hands and decided to go along with Bryce's plan, while I still pondered other options about the situation."

A hint of curiosity stole over Beckman's face.

"Did he explain that? He is an obnoxious fast-talker, so I assume that did not go uncommented."

Sarah smiled as she knew the General had offered her an opportunity.

"Yes, he did, but it did not take him many words. He explained that he certainly was not an adequate replacement for Mr. Larkin and that, I quote him, America needs her best spy couple now, so, while not glad about it, it was natural for him to agree with Bryce."

The pleased reaction remained on Beckman's face.

"I'm glad to hear that. Mr. Bartowski seems to be more mature than his antics would make one believe."

"If you allow me one more word about Mr. Bartowski?"

Beckman generously beckoned her to continue.

"I don't think that Mr. Bartowski's position is best described as an asset anymore. He's an American citizen who is sacrificing most of his time for our needs, risking his life repeatedly, having to maintain our cover, and working a job at meager wages. I do think, however, that a reconsideration of his position and some kind of compensation is due."

A bit of amusement was equally swiftly replaced with a touch of remorse flitting over the General's face. "Noted," came her curt reply.

Sarah noticed the mood change and quickly added, "I'm sorry if I overstepped-"

"You did not," Beckman brusquely interrupted. "As a leader, one has to make the hard decisions. That includes those about life or death. You're never allowed to have anything in your focus but the country's good."

Sarah was confused, as someone like Beckman didn't have to explain herself. Obviously, something was weighing on her mind, and it seemed it had to do with Chuck, Casey, Sarah, or all of them.

"Coming back to Mr. Larkin. There was this mishap at the very beginning, and he displayed blatant misjudgment that night he wanted to force himself back into the mission."

Blatant misjudgment? Sarah thought. It was almost disastrous for the mission. In case that atom-bomb exists and obliterates Santa Monica, the General probably will call it 'that minor mishap in Southern California'.

Sarah knew that these words meant Bryce got read the riot act and steadied herself for what she expected was her turn now.

"I'm not pleased how that scene worked out," the General commenced with a stern face. "While I wanted to see the Intersect out of there yesterday, this was the least preferred way to do it and would not have found my approval. Still, you used inappropriate violence in correcting the mission parameters."

Beckman's face was an unreadable mask as she continued. Sarah prepared to get her ass chewed out, but the General's voice returned to a conversational tone.

"Mr. Larkin has contusions on his knees and ribs, we had to use a dozen stitches to sew up that cut, and we needed to pour some tax money into a dentist to fix the tooth you knocked out."

"I did?" Sarah asked, mastered her features not to grin, pressed her lips together, and basked in silent satisfaction.

Whoever touches my Chuck can call himself lucky if only losing one tooth.

"I certainly will reimburse these costs," she said with a faux seriousness she didn't hide. Beckman waved her hand.

"The hell you will! The CIA's a boys club, and it was about time that we girls proved that we can seriously kick-ass as well."

Sarah didn't know what to say to that and only allowed herself a small polite smile.

Beckman craned her neck as if she tried to see more of the room.

"Sit down, Walker," she finally ordered.

"I have your file here, Sarah," the General began, her hand tapping on the screen of the laptop in front of her. Sarah's eyebrow moved up a tiny bit at hearing her first name spoken pronouncedly casually. The conversation was not carried in the usual tone.

"Or whatever we got from the official archives after Graham's untimely demise," Beckman continued. "As you know, some mission logs and his personal diaries are still inaccessible to us. Each of the files is individually encrypted. Whoever did these for him is a genius. But we are making progress. We accessed one file today and hope to learn in the process how to decrypt the other files much faster."

Sarah got a little nervous. Any files that Graham had protected so heavily should remain unseen indefinitely. Who knows what ugly stuff there is about me!

"Still, I am very much impressed by your career, skills, and accomplishments," Beckman.

"Thank you, General."

"Sarah, for the duration of this talk, skip the General altogether," the little woman said a bit impatiently, and Sarah only nodded.

"There has not been a mission you failed since Graham sent you solo. What happened with the Cat Squad was not your fault, and whatever Bryce Larkin did was not either."

She stared at Sarah queryingly.

"I see there were some bonuses paid, but why is it you never got promoted? Your name is a legend in the halls of the CIA, as I learned, and so are the various nicknames you were bestowed. You have an impeccable record, even better than that of Bryce Larkin. Yet he was your team leader when you were teamed, and then you were sent to babysit Chuck Bartowski. While we don't know so much about CIA career paths here in the NSA, it's hard to understand you didn't get a promotion."

She leaned back, obviously awaiting an explanation. The conversation had the undertones of a job interview.

"General-"

"Sarah!"

"I'm sorry. I assume the failed Cat Squad put a damper on anyone's career, but I can't explain why I never got a promotion. I didn't know my record is better than Larkin's, so I never questioned the decision. As for Mr. Bartowski-" she still found it eerily strange to hear herself say 'Mr. Bartowski' after today – "I never saw the assignment as a step backward in my career. I like to think I improved as an agent in the year I've been his handler."

"Care to explain that?" Beckman asked.

"Gladly. It is an assignment where I need to interact mostly with ordinary people, with good, law-abiding, patriotic American citizens. As his cover girlfriend, I have to spend much time maintaining that essential role and, consequently, spending much time with his family. I got a much better understanding of the main reason we're doing all the things we do: To allow most of our citizens to live a safe life in peace and freedom at their own will."

Beckman's face featured pleased approval as she dropped the bomb, figuratively, with the lazy interest of a snake eyeing an unsuspecting mouse.

"Are the rumors about Miami true?"

Sarah was thankful that she had told Chuck about it only today. It was horrifyingly fresh on her mind, but it was there and not being pulled back suddenly after years of blocking it. Otherwise, the unexpected mention of that night would have penetrated her emotional shields.

"Whatever rumors you heard, it was worse," she consequently could say, calm and collected.

Beckman's features changed, and they expressed sympathy.

"I've seen photos of the loft in question taken by the cleaners," she explained. Her strained voice made clear that she was talking about anything else but the loft and her demeanor almost showed the understanding of a woman commiserating.

"The single file we could decrypt is a video log by Graham. It was recorded the night when … Miami happened. I decided that you should see it immediately."

Sarah's nervosity instantly peaked.

My past has caught up with me at last.

Beckman pushed a button on her laptop, and the video began to play.

•••••••••••••••••••

(Langston Graham video log, unknown place and time)

Graham leaned closer to the camera, and his face filled the screen.

"I finally found what I've been looking for!" he said, unusually elated compared to his otherwise authoritative calmness. He brandished a tumbler with a golden liquid into the camera, took a tiny sip, and put the glass away.

"I'm about to embark to Charlotteville, South Carolina, to meet with Agent and Spartan-candidate Sarah Walker. She is being flown to a safe house there while I record this log."

He was talking to the camera as if it was a real person. It immediately became clear that as much as this was his personal video log, he also recorded it for posterity.

"Since you are watching this, it's you whom I successfully lobbied to be my successor and the heir of my legacy. So you already know from my earlier logs that I'm in the process of setting up a secret unit only reporting to the director. A very small group of perfect killers and executioners who will not shy away from any task given, and will successfully close those tasks as they will be unstoppable forces."

Graham's face became grave.

"The road to such a unit is long and involves heavy losses. Out of eleven candidates, five did not survive their final test. Four who did, failed to live up to my expectations and eventually were killed on duty. Two are left. The first one, Spartan Westlake, is currently traveling to select destinations worldwide to eliminate enemies of the United States."

His face showcased a hint of smug pride.

"None of these executions are filed anywhere. I do not need any clearance. When I decide that someone has to die, the Spartan does it for me. The Spartans stay silent as I have a hold over their heads. Each of them has a serious, existential personal issue I am blackmailing them about. It makes them obedient. It is easy to make someone obey if you have full control over their life. Brutal training, psychological abuse, and repeated humiliation transform them into soulless slaves of my wishes."

He pointed at the camera.

"You don't need a department full of-" he made a grimace of disdain "-headshrinkers. You only need to select your candidates wisely. Each of the candidates has to survive an ultimate test they don't know about. If you think it would be better to have a good than a dead agent, think twice. You can never again allow them back into standard agency operations if they fail to be up to Spartans-level but have seen what the job is. Consequently, they have to be the outstanding people I need or have to be discarded."

He leaned back, for a moment looking into nowhere, seemingly convinced that nothing he did was in any way questionable. It was for the greater good.

"Miami was the second test trap I set up for Spartan-candidate Walker. She escaped the first one because she was too smart to fall into it in the first place. To increase the chances that she has to face her test this time, I took precautions."

Graham calmly explained how he made sure that Agent Walker ran into the nightmare that ended as the massacre of Miami.

"When it became clear that a restaurant owner who caters to the mark was repeatedly stealing from him, I used Spartan Westlake to let the mark know who the thief is, and how to proceed. Westlake and the mark set up a deal that would have left me in a good position anyway if Walker failed, while I ordered Walker to stay one more day in Miami to take care of her cover by accepting an invitation from the restaurant owner. Westlake tricked the mark into a certain way of regaining his possessions, and chances were that Walker would have been dead before the test began. But she unknowingly thwarted my future plans for the mark, and I'm glad she did."

Graham wrung his hands with controlled satisfaction.

"I saw a chance that Walker would escape. I'm not inhuman. Of course, my tests always include the option to succeed and to become a Spartan. But I did not foresee that she would kill seven dangerous men under the influence of drugs, naked, and without weapons of her own, having to improvise from start to finish. I only had a concise report from her via phone, but there had never been a CIA agent, starting with almost no chance at all, who caused such a bloodbath."

Graham's face hovered close again while he raised his hands next left and right of his head like a preacher, and he proclaimed: "If you allow me to paraphrase: And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts, and I looked, and beheld a pale horse, and her name was Death, and hell followed with her. - That. Is. Sarah. Walker."

•••••••••••••••••••

A/N (2) High-speed elevators of the Empire State Building: The elevators' speed is 1,200 feet per minute (366 m/min), which still assures the Empire State Building an entry in the list of the world's fastest elevators. Nowadays, the top ranks are held by Asian buildings, going twice or even three times as fast as the Empire State Building elevators.

A/N (3) It doesn't need high-speed to leave a review. Just type at your leisure and let me know what you think about this chapter, this story, about Graham or our happy couple, or the fact that none of us owns Chuck. And in case you wonder: Yes, I reply to every review.