A/N: You know who handles counterfeit money? The Secret Service.

Disclaimer: We don't own Chuck and we aren't making any money from this story.


She was staring at the ceiling, not wanting to be awake. It was early...ish. Earlier than she wanted to be up, on a Saturday in which she didn't have to work. She glanced at her phone, took a deep breath, and checked for the 47,823 text messages she knew Chuck had sent her. There weren't any, and she knew what that meant. He was beyond freaking out. She sighed and dialed Casey.

It rang once before he answered. "Thank Christ," he muttered.

"Everything okay, Casey?"

"You in Burbank?"

"Where else would I be?" Sarah asked, amusement running though her.

"Walker," he one part grumbled, and...was that one part a whimper?

"I'm here, Casey, in my apartment. Let me guess, Chuck's freaking out?"

"Now when has Bartowski ever done that?" She laughed at that, from her belly. No, her soul. She'd needed that. The past few days had just sucked, and she just needed time to herself. Time in her room to get herself back together, to….deal...with what happened...with what she realized she had said to Bryce. "Hey, Walker, when do you work again?" Casey's voice sounded almost chipper.

"I have the later shift on Monday," Sarah replied. She swore she heard him mumble something about the beach and that sonofabitch.

"Listen, you've been through hell the past week," Casey began. Was he...giddy? "Take some time, unless Beckman or Graham calls. Don't do anything near or at the nerd...unless you have to." And there it was, but it was sincere and without his usual snarkiness.

"Are you sure?" she asked, almost giddy herself.

"As long as you promise you aren't leaving me here with him by myself… then yes. See you Monday...partner."

Casey disconnected the call, leaving Sarah looking at her phone. She had no idea what happened last night, but she knew Chuck had done something and he was probably going to pay for it. He was a big boy. As long as Casey didn't hurt him… on second thought, she sent him a quick text telling him not to hurt Chuck. Casey replied that he wouldn't touch him. Sarah smirked a little. It was mean, but maybe forty-eight hours with Chuck would get Casey to ease up on some of the barbs he shot at her. She doubted it, but maybe. She fell back into her bed, a peace building in her, knowing she had time to herself, and on Monday she'd deal with how to approach Chuck.

}o{

Lester was running his yearly dice game, the one he tended to make the rules up for as he went along. Usually Chuck would break it up, but he just wasn't feeling like it today.

It had been three days since he last saw her. She had to be gone. She was with Bryce, that was the only answer. It was killing him inside, but he was trying to stay calm and collected. That was Chuck, calm and collected. That's exactly why Sarah had left with the super spy deluxe, Bryce Bartholomew Larkin… He had no idea if Bryce's middle name was Bartholomew but it sounded like the middle name of a guy from a rich Connecticut family.

"Decided to take up bird watching?" he heard Casey ask behind him.

"Just breathing in the view," Chuck replied. He didn't know what happened, but after Saturday morning, Casey was much less...understanding. There it was, the Casey grunt. He looked at Casey, smirked, and turned. "I know that grunt. Yeah, that's the number seven, right? Skeptical with a side of cynicism."

"Just clearing my throat," Casey retorted. "Also couldn't help but notice, Agent Walker's car isn't in her usual spot." What the hell? Was he purposely trying to torture him? "Of course, maybe she's undercover with Bryce right now. Deep undercover."

"You would know better than I," Chuck retorted. Casey raised an eyebrow. "I didn't mean you and Sarah…." An amused smirk now accompanied the eyebrow. "You know what? I'm just gonna stop." He turned around looking back at the spot where Sarah normally parked and it was still empty. He couldn't take looking at it anymore and spun away from the sight. "Fine, I haven't seen her since she left to take her bath and decompress. I texted her and she never responded. She couldn't have been in the bathtub decompressing all this time. What if she slipped? What if she slipped in her bathtub, hit her head, and she's bleeding?"

Casey raised an eyebrow at the speed of the spiraling. "She didn't hit her head."

"Have you talked to Sarah lately? How do you know? Did she call you?"

"Agent Walker and I don't do a lot of fraternizing off hours. Guess we'll just have to see," Casey said with an air of mystery.

"See? See what...what-what...see what?" Chuck felt the panic creep back in.

"See if she's had enough of the good life here with you," Casey replied. Chuck swallowed. "See if she's hightailed it to wherever your buddy Bryce is hiding himself. See if she's shagging," Chuck flinched. "Shaboinking, shafting." Chuck blanched. "Shtupping, Skloogin." Chuck was starting to feel sick to his stomach. "Slophockey, Smeeging, or Snabbling."

"I don't feel so good," Chuck muttered.

"Oh, don't worry," Casey said with mock sympathy. "I hear there's a great selection of new handlers in this year's CIA Christmas catalogue." With that Casey turned and walked away.

"Are there?" he asked, still feeling queasy. "Thanks a lot."

He turned back around to look out the window, when Morgan scooted up to him. "She's a liar, not to be trusted."

"What's that?" Chuck asked, all confused.

"Women," Morgan replied, giving Chuck the, keep up, look. "Man, they're so elusive, so unknowable. Okay? They wrap you in this wool sweater of lies and it keeps you warm, but it makes your neck all itchy."

Did Morgan know about him and Sarah?...Did Morgan know more than he did about him and Sarah? "Who-Who are we talking about exactly?"

"Anna," Morgan replied. Chuck let out an internal sigh of relief. "And by the way, never trust a woman whose name is a palindrome, okay?"

"Uh, how do you know she's a liar?" Chuck asked, scared to hear the answer.

"I waited outside her house last night, in the bushes. I saw her get picked up to go out, then dropped off exactly three hours and twenty-four minutes later," Morgan explained like it was nothing. "She's cheating on me. My Anna Banana is cheating on me."

Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose. "Morgan...we've talked about this. In the bushes?"

"I brought a sandwich," Morgan replied.

"Oh," Chuck said, shrugging. "Wait, no!"

"You said not to wait for Ellie in the bushes," Morgan insisted.

"Actually, that was Ellie who said that after she flattened you for waiting in the bushes and scaring her, and I'm pretty sure she meant all women," Chuck rebutted.

"She didn't clarify that," Morgan replied. "Can we talk about more important stuff right now?" Chuck started to say something but the Morgan train had left the station, and he had no choice but to jump on, or get left behind. "Listen, she's lying to me, okay? And a relationship is built on trust, Chuck. Sex and trust, am I right?"

Chuck's eyes widened. "Uh, more trust than sex. See sex is also based on trust so actually you're saying trust and trust."

Morgan gave him a look. "Dude...I'm sorry man, I just thought….I get it, you had a bit of a layoff, she's smoking hot….you know what, it's not my business."

"Wait, I think—"

Morgan laid a hand on Chuck's shoulder. "What's cool is you and Sarah are so pure and simple, you know? You ever wish you were born, like, a dog or a dolphin? Or Dr. Dre? Who's cheating on Dre, man?"

"Chuckster," Lester called out, walking up to him. "Uh, we got an install job over at Marina Del Rey."

"Okay," Chuck replied, having no idea why they needed him. "Well, go with God, fellas."

"No, no, no," Lester retorted. "Big Mike says you have to come with us, 'cause, you know, Jeff's not to be left unsupervised around the holidays."

"Do you want to try my eggnog?" Jeff asked, holding up a thermos full of something. Lester was giving Chuck the no sign. What the hell was in there that made Lester give the no sign?

"No," Chuck retorted.

"I'm sorry, fellas," Casey said, walking up. "You guys go by yourselves, okay? Seems the Chuckster is a little sick to his stomach and we wouldn't want to give our customers any...illnesses."

"Should Jeff be going?" Morgan asked softy.

Chuck had to agree with that logic. "That boat rocking, and Chuck's upset tummy, thinking about who knows what…" Chuck turned to give Casey a look. Morgan wandered off as Jeff and Lester left. Casey leaned over Chuck's shoulder near his ear. "How'd you like to be that guy right now?" Casey said nodding his head toward Morgan. "All heartbroken over a lady?" Casey walked off while Chuck glared at him. He then turned and resumed his post of watching…nature… Yeah, that was it… That wasn't it.

}o{

When Jeff and Lester returned they were hunched over something, trying to be sneaky.

"Casey, what are the odds that's not something they videotaped on the boat?" Chuck asked Casey quietly. Casey looked up, grunted, and shook his head. "Any chance you want to do this?"

"No, better be you, but I can be an enforcer if it helps," Casey offered. Chuck nodded and the two walked over to Jeff and Lester. The two never noticed Chuck and Casey behind them, they were so engrossed in the footage they had captured. It was two young ladies in bikinis. "Christ, you pervs."

The two turned around, scared as Chuck took the video camera away from them. "How did you do this?" Chuck asked, taking a look at the screen and seeing money being counted in machines. "And what the hell did you two stumble onto?"

"Lon Kirk's charity," Lester replied. "And I have a camera in my button on my shirt," he boasted proudly. Casey reached over and yanked it off. He glanced at the video, an eyebrow up.

"That's a lot of money for charity," Chuck said, handing the camera to Casey. At that moment, the camera swooped down as they saw Lester's hand reach for a hundred dollar bill. The bill came into focus, and the flash began.

Casey saw what was happening and grabbed Chuck to steady him. "Easy, Chuck, I know it's a lot of money." He turned to Jeff and Lester. "I suggest you two don't talk to anyone about this ever. If you want to keep your jobs."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Jeff replied.

"That I believe," Casey said, leading Chuck away.

}o{

BEHHHHH BEHHHHH BEHHHHH BEHHHHHHH

Sarah reached out, half asleep, and smacked at her bedside table a few times, grabbing her phone as her fingers slipped over it. But it wasn't buzzing. Nobody was calling her. That horrific sound wasn't her phone.

It was her alarm.

Why the fuck was her alarm even on?

She dropped her phone...wherever...and smacked her hand onto her face, lifting the sleep mask from her eyes and grunting, glaring down towards where her alarm clock was blaring, the screen lighting up.

She couldn't read it clearly, but it looked like it was earlier than noon, so fuck that. Tearing her mask off and throwing it over the side of the bed, she then slipped her fingers under her pillow to where her trusty knife was stored before she fell asleep every night and felt for the smooth hilt.

With a quick snap of her wrist, she heard the crack and thump of the knife connecting with the alarm clock and pinning it to the wall. She'd have to pay some sort of fee for that probably. Or she could just get some hole sealant from the Buy More and no one would know the difference. It didn't matter. The horrible sound was gone now.

But she knew now, as she felt conscious thought start to work in her mind, that she did have to get up. She had to be at a briefing. Or something. She had somewhere to be. That was why she'd set the alarm in the first place. She'd had a weekend to hide away, let her mind run away with her, only for her to have to rein it back in again… Rinse and repeat.

She'd tried mind-numbing television. She'd even walked out in the cool brisk night air of downtown LA to try to clear her mind, people watch, let the cold bite at her skin a little bit and distract her.

It had been a small break from everything, even if her mind hadn't let her rest.

But now it was back to business, she supposed. She slowly sat up and let out a long whine, pushing her hands through her hair and just glaring at her lap. Finally swinging her legs out from under the sheets, she took her time showering and putting clothes on.

And then she realized that she'd taken too much time and would be late to the briefing. Casey and Chuck could probably handle it, right? Sure. Right. They'd handle it just fine. And what was so crucial that it had to be so early in the morning anyway? Granted, eleven wasn't that early, but still…

By the time she got to the apartment complex, she was fifteen minutes late, and she found herself rushing in spite of the voice in her head trying to tell her not to worry, that she'd earned the last few days off, that she'd earned being late to this briefing.

The fact was, whether she'd earned anything or not, this was her job. And she didn't make a habit of half-ass her job. Not when Chuck Bartowski and his family and friends relied on her...well, full-assing her job.

She needed some God damn coffee.

Rushing into the room, she heard the tail end of Beckman's sentence: "Perhaps we should reschedule when Agent Walker is feeling better…"

"I'm fine," she said, shutting the door behind her. Chuck spun to watch with wide eyes as she approached him. There was shock there, his jaw falling open, and then as he clicked his jaw shut, there was relief, confusion… "I'm sorry I'm late. Carry on."

She didn't even want to know how Chuck and Casey had tried to cover for her being late, but she was curious about Chuck's response to her arrival.

It had to wait, however, as the CIA director and NSA general got right to business. "As I was saying before," the General droned, and a picture of a guy who looked like a wannabe Mick Jagger popped up on the screen. So it was a new mission. "This is Lon Kirk. He owns the yacht your...strange friends...visited when they answered the Nerd Herd on-call request. We saw the pictures you flashed on, Chuck. That was a good call."

Sarah frowned in question as more pictures popped up on the screen to cover Lon Kirk's smarmy face. Women wearing bikinis—the typical type of woman straight rich powerful men like Lon Kirk kept around their yachts—lounged on pristine white leather seats along the yacht railing. "Er, not those…" Beckman said as another picture popped up. Sarah saw what was absolutely and positively money counterfeiting happening on that yacht. Holy crap. "These. Here. Like we were telling Agent Casey and Chuck, Agent Walker," Sarah could hear a bit of a tone there and she inwardly winced, "The serial numbers that Chuck flashed on are a strain of counterfeit currency that the U.S. Treasury has been trying to track for years. Lon Kirk now devotes most of his time and money to aid projects, mostly foreign."

"And we think he's the source…?" Casey filled in, almost as if asking without actually asking.

They all knew he was the source. But she could feel the tension in Chuck next to her, like he was going to burst. Over what? Why? Was it because she'd been out of circulation the past few days thanks to Casey covering for her to give her a break? Did he resent her for that? She silently chastised herself. Chuck wasn't that type of person.

"Not confirmed," Graham said. Yep. He was the source. "However, we have intel that a major counterfeiter is in Los Angeles trying to acquire a new set of printing plates."

"And how shall we proceed?" Sarah asked, crossing her arms.

"We've phoned this in to the Secret Service," Graham answered, and Sarah straightened her spine a bit, turning to look around Chuck at Casey who sent her a confused glance of his own. "They usually handle issues of counterfeit and they've already got an agent here who's been investigating the issue. He'll be teaming up with us for the mission."

"As far as Kirk is concerned, you're all going to have to proceed very cautiously. He's extremely well connected on both sides of the law," Beckman said, her features hardening. Sarah imagined there was more behind that. "He's hosting a charity event tonight at the New Constellation Yacht Club. We've got covers already set up for each of you."

Chuck widened his eyes and sent Sarah a quick glance that she chose to ignore for the time being. "M-Me, too?"

"Yes," the general said. "You'll go as staff with Casey as back-up for Agents Walker and Hennessy, who will be going as guests."

"One question," Casey interrupted, lifting a finger. Sarah spared a quick look at him and saw what she'd feared she'd see. She was going to strangle him in his God damn sleep. "Will Agents Walker and Hennessy be going as a couple?"

Fuck.

He was such an asshole.

"Unless Agent Walker has a problem with that?" the general asked, looking at Sarah pointedly. There wasn't anything sarcastic about her question, either, Sarah was a little surprised to find. She genuinely wanted to hear if Sarah had misgivings about that cover.

"I do not have a problem with the cover, General," Sarah said, hands on her hips. Chuck was staring at her, but he turned back to the screen finally. She had no idea what his face looked like but she hoped he wasn't being as transparent as he usually was.

"Chuck? Can you handle waiting tables at the Yacht Club?" Beckman asked.

"Sure. Sure, yeah. I used to wait tables in high school. One of my, uh, many jobs. Never lost a glass or a plate. Sooo...hah…" He gave their superiors the double thumbs up.

"Good," Graham said with a curt nod. "Good luck, then."

They signed off, leaving them alone in Casey's living room, and Sarah let out a long sigh, dropping her arms to her sides.

"Excited to meet this...Agent Hennessy," Casey said, sending them both a bit of a grin. She wanted to punch it right off his face.

"Secret Service. That's the real deal," Chuck breathed, not seeming to take the older man's bait. "Think the guy is gonna walk in looking like Will Smith? Or do you think he's more Gerard Butler looking?"

Sarah smirked a little and turned to meet the look Chuck was sending her. There was still that questioning look in his face, with that bit of surprise, and she really wanted to know what in the hell was going on in his brain. "I need to get back and change. Those hot dogs won't fry themselves. Are we meeting back here?"

Casey wiggled his phone. "Beckman says Hennessy will be meeting us here at eight tonight."

"Do we have a picture of him so we can ID him when he arrives?"

"I bet you'd like to know what he looks like, eh, Walker?" Casey snarked. Really, she was going to murder him.

"Unless you want those fuckers who were going after Bryce to show up and pass themselves off as a Secret Service agent without us knowing, you should probably wanna know what Agent Hennessy looks like, too," she drawled, her voice dripping with poisonous honey, narrowing her eyes at the NSA agent.

His smirk died and he grunted. "Hmng. Yeah. I'll forward it to you when I get one."

"Uh, f-forward it to me, too, Casey," Chuck said, wiggling his phone back at the other man. And there was Casey's smirk again. Damn it, Chuck.

Sarah turned on her heel then and left the room, walking through Casey's door and out into the courtyard. She'd nearly made it to the gate when she heard Chuck's footsteps behind her.

"Hey! Hey, Sarah. Wait."

She stopped, slowly shifting her weight, taking a deep breath, and turning back to face him. "What's up?" she asked, playing with her car keys between her fingers.

"Hi." His eyes softened, and then he cleared his throat and shook himself a little. "Nothing's up. N-Nothing. I just—You know, it's—It's good to see you. Here. As-as opposed to...somewhere else." He made a face and rolled his eyes at himself. "I just mean, I'm glad that you're here. That you came back. I mean—what I mean is that you never left."

Sarah frowned. God, of course. She was so clueless. More clueless than she usually was. He'd looked so surprised when she'd shown up because he was surprised to see her there. Because she hadn't responded to his messages and Casey had just let him think she'd gone, that she'd acted on Bryce's invitation. An invitation Chuck wasn't even supposed to know about. Which meant Casey must've told him what 'We'll always have Omaha' meant.

Part of her was mad at Chuck for thinking she'd abandon him when she told him over and over and over that they were a team, that she was going to protect him from all of this no matter what. And he thought Bryce showing up again would be the one thing that would cause her to break her promise? She felt an extra sting when she realized that meant Chuck also thought she was the type of person who'd just dash off without even saying anything. Like her job, this mission, and his safety all meant that little to her that she'd disappear with a guy who'd betrayed her and done so much to harm Chuck.

But then she forced herself to take a proverbial step back, to try to step into Chuck's shoes. What was he supposed to think happened when he didn't hear from her or see her for days after Bryce vanished, when she decided not to answer his texts. And he probably had found out somehow that his sister had texted her and that she hadn't responded to that, either. Not to mention, while she trusted Casey with her life, and with Chuck's life, and while she knew he would do his job—even more than what the job required of him when he needed to—he was also such a jerk sometimes. An ill-meaning jerk. And he'd planted the seed in Chuck's mind that she'd left with Bryce just to fuck with him and make things awkward and difficult for her when she reappeared. He was such a dick sometimes, really.

Sarah shut her eyes for a moment and then opened them again, looking off to the side. "Chuck, I didn't go anywhere. Casey told me to take a few days to...recover. I mean, to rest. It was a hard couple of days and I needed it."

He nodded vehemently. "Totally. Yes. Super hard. Mostly for you, I'm sure. And you definitely deserved that bre—Wait. Casey told you…?" A flash of anger came over his face and she felt like they were on the same page again suddenly. "That asshole. Seriously?"

"Seriously," she said, giving him a wan look.

"He thinks he's soooo funny."

"Yeah. He does."

"Would I go to prison if I snuck a scorpion into his bed? Not a poisonous one, just a regular type one." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and narrowed his eyes.

Sarah sniffed in amusement. "You can try it. But he might murder you if he finds out it's you."

"But you'd protect me, right?"

She just smirked up at him. And then she sobered a bit. "Chuck, why'd you think I'd walk away from this mission to leave with Bryce? Casey goading you aside, I told you I was going to protect you, and I meant that."

Chuck let out a frustrated groan and let his head fall back, blinking up at the sky then lowering his head again to meet her serious gaze with one of his own. "I dunno. It just seems like it'd be so much easier and—weirdly enough—safer for you to go off and disappear. I-I mean, leave this super complicated—for a lot of reasons—" God the way he said that last part made it pretty clear what one of the reasons was and she couldn't acknowledge she understood his meaning even in the smallest way, "mission behind and do something you're used to, something you're good at. Beating up bad guys and saving the world." A soft, crooked grin snuck over his mouth and wrinkled the corners of his eyes and she wanted to run away suddenly. Not to Bryce, not to any other place besides Burbank, but to the safety of her car.

"Easy isn't really my thing, Chuck. Keeping promises is my thing. This job is my thing. I'm not fucking around with your life. Not to run out of here 'cause it's the easy thing to do. Not for anything. You understand that, right?" She lowered her chin a bit to look at him through her eyelashes.

"Yes. I do. And I'm sorry I ever—"

"No, that's not what I need." He blinked at her interruption and she reached over to put her hand on his arm. "You don't need to apologize to me. Casey's a dick and you apologize? Don't. This wasn't your bad."

Chuck smiled gratefully and nodded. "Still stands I'm...glad you're here."

Agent Walker wasn't sure how to answer that, so she just folded her hands together in front of her and smiled a little.

He seemed to get the hint and cleared his throat. "I better, uh, I better get going. I gotta punch in. And hopefully find a way to confiscate the rest of those bikini photos from Jeff and Lester because they are...really gross."

Sarah snorted, then gave a bit of a wave with her fingers, turning on her heels and calmly running for the hills—as it were.

"Sarah?"

She froze, turning to face him again. "Yeah?"

"Did it work? I mean, did it do you any good? A few days without all of this?"

Pursing her lips, she thought hard about how to answer that. Before she decided, her mouth started moving. "Probably not much, maybe a little. It was...a lot. A lot happened. But I'm gonna be fine. And we've got a mission to focus on."

"Right. We do. I'll, uh, see you at eight." He smiled reassuringly and she needed to just get out of there. Quick.

"Yep."

She made for her car then, bracing herself for if he called her back again, but he didn't. And she relished the idea of putting that stupid costume on yet again and stand in the solitude of the Wienerlicious to focus her brain on menial tasks until it was time to get ready for tonight.

}o{

It was a little before seven when she heard the knock on her door.

She frowned at her reflection and put down her mascara, hurrying through the hotel room and popping the door open, peeking out for a moment before opening it wider. "Chuck? Everything o...kay?"

He had his full waiter outfit on minus the jacket which was slung over his arm. And he looked extremely uncomfortable. "Uh, yeah."

"We were meeting at eight. And at Casey's apartment," she said, blinking at him. "You just had to walk across the courtyard."

"No, yeah. Yeah. I mean, I know. I just...um...I've never done this type of cover. The waiter cover. And um...Well, can I come in?"

His non-answer to her original question aside, Sarah could see he was very nervous. About tonight most likely. About the mission, about being in a room with this Lon Kirk guy. About his role. About any number of things. So she opened the door wider and stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. He did so quickly and she shut the door after him.

"Sorry," he said then, a little breathless. "I don't mean to intrude like this. And I know you're probably getting ready. I just got ready too early and I was pacing and this-this outfit is kind of tight. I mean, the jacket. It squeezes at the shoulders. Not that I'm, like, Mr. Olympic Swimmer Shoulders or anything, but I think the CIA effed up my shoulder measurements. Or are waiter clothes supposed to be tight? Is that how they do it? I don't know. When I waited tables, it was at a chill burger joint and I just had to wear a button-up with black pants. Easy-peasy. They didn't even specify the color of the shirt, so..."

"Uh...okay." He really did have a habit of running to her when he was losing his shit, didn't he? And she wasn't miffed with him for it, but she couldn't help asking. "You know, Casey's closer than I am. And he's done this sort of undercover job before—waiting tables, bartending. Why didn't you just ask him and save yourself a trip across town?"

Chuck frowned and crossed to her bed, slumping to sit on the end of it. Then he leapt back up to his feet again as if her duvet had burned him. "Oh! Sorry. Is it okay if I, um…?" He pointed to the bed.

"Yeah, of course."

He sat again with a nod and she came up to stand in front of him, crossing her arms at her chest and looking down at him.

"After his bullshit over the weekend, I'm not sure he wouldn't give me some bad advice on purpose and make me look like a fucking moron tonight. Just so he has the opportunity to call me a fucking moron and be right about it for once."

That answer knocked her on her ass a little and she snorted, giggling quietly and raising her eyebrows with a one shoulder shrug. "Can't say I blame you." He pressed his lips together and shook his head slowly. "Well, I probably can't help you with the clothes being too tight…" She leaned down and fingered his bowtie. "Is this too tight? Because I can fix that."

He nodded and stood up again, suddenly standing very close to her. She widened her eyes, got a hold of herself and cleared her throat, tugging to untie the bowtie and smoothing his collar for him. "Who did this so tight for you?"

"Uh, me. And Google."

She giggled and shook her head. "As for your role tonight, just stay close to Casey and do your job." He sent her a questioning look. "I mean, as a waiter. Pour drinks for people, take people's orders, you know. That kind of stuff." She began retying the tie. "Too tight?" she asked, not really thinking much about it as she stuck two fingers down between the collar and his neck, feeling the heat against the backs of said fingers as she made sure the knot she tied wasn't strangling him. He shook his head jerkily and she slipped her fingers out again with a closed mouth smile, straightening the bowtie and nodding once at her handiwork.

"The key here is to stick close to Casey, though, right? I don't follow you and the, uh, Secret Service dude around? See if you meet anyone flashworthy?" he asked as she let go of him and stepped back a little.

"That's an idea," she said, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Maybe a little. But mostly, keep close enough to Casey that he can be there to protect you if anything goes south." He tensed and she rushed out, "Not that anything will. You're going to have me, Casey, and Agent Hennessy there."

"Does he know I'm the Intersect?"

"Secret Service isn't read in on the Intersect. At least, I don't think they are. Casey doesn't think they are. Agent Hennessy just thinks were's a couple of agents looking into the same situation he is."

"He...thinks I'm an agent?" The corner of his mouth curled up.

"I don't know what level of agent Beckman and Graham told him you were, but yeah." She bit back a smirk. "Like with Carina, he's probably operating under the assumption you're an analyst. So don't give him any reason to think you're anything more than that, okay? No Intersect shop talk, and if you do flash, don't let him see it."

Chuck clenched his jaw and his nostrils flared, a serious look in his eye as he nodded once. "Got it. So I'll just…" He cleared his throat, running a hand down his crisp white button-up. "I'll just stay around you two and Casey, a casual distance, tagging along with you and Secret Service guy—Agent Hennessy. Hennessy. Sorry." He cleared his throat. "It's pretty crazy cool, working with Secret Service, huh? Never met one of 'em before."

She didn't want to tell him he'd known one for the last few months or so. He might faint or break or something and she'd have to explain it to Casey and the other agent later. But she had worked in Secret Service before, for a few missions at least.

"Well, at the end of the day, he's a human being. Like the rest of us."

"But like...jump in front of a bullet for the president human being. That shit's extra wicked."

Both of their phones buzzed then and they exchanged a look. He went into his pocket and she grabbed her clutch from the bed, grabbing her own phone. Casey had texted them both the picture from Hennessy's dossier. Crap, he was extremely handsome. This was going to suck.

"Is this what romance writers mean when they say 'olive skin'?" Chuck's voice intruded her thoughts and she looked up at him and snorted. "Are we in some kind of Hollywood movie where all of the secret agents are obscenely attractive? You, Bryce, Carina...this guy...Hell, even Casey's a looker if you're wearing the right prescription of glasses."

Sarah barked out a one syllable laugh and shook her head at him. "Stop it."

"I mean, this is pretty cool for you, though. You get to go to a fancy party with this guy on your arm. Aren't-Aren't you trying to blend in a little, though? You two would definitely stick out, especially together. Like...Hotness Squared." He scratched the back of his ear and then apparently decided to stick his phone back in his pocket.

"The object isn't really to blend in as much as it is to get on Lon Kirk's radar. We want onto that yacht of his again so that we can scope it out. If even one of us gets an invite, that's good, but if both of us can get onto there, that's double the chance of being able to search for that counterfeit money Jeff and Lester stumbled upon." She shrugged.

"Oh. Yeah. I could...spill some whiskey on Kirk's lap and Agent Hennessy can hand him a napkin."

Sarah widened her eyes. "Please don't do that. Let the professionals worry about making contact with the mark, okay?"

Chuck pursed his lips and nodded a bit jerkily. "Professionals. Yeah. Good...good tip. Good thought, I mean. Right." The 't' at the end clicked with emphasis as he sat on the bed again. "If you wanna keep getting ready, you can."

"You know what's expected of you tonight?"

"Mhm."

"And if you flash?"

"I'll tell Casey. But not Secret Service guy."

"Good." She didn't know how Chuck had gotten here, if he'd taken a Herder or a cab or what, but when she finished her mascara and slipped into her heels, grabbing her clutch, he'd wordlessly followed her down to her car and folded himself up into the passenger seat.

When he asked her about whether or not she had seat warmers, she felt like he was well on his way back to his usual self, that she'd reassured him enough.

So that when they finally arrived at Casey's apartment at eight o'clock sharp, she didn't think anything of the way he seemed to freeze when she opened the door and led him inside.

Casey was standing beside another man who was a few inches shorter but also slimmer and more lithe. Both of their backs were to them. And they casually turned to watch as Sarah and Chuck walked in.

"Ah. Right on time," Casey grunted, smirking. "Agent Hennessy of the Secret Service? Agent Walker. And, uh, Chuck."

The agent stepped forward and grabbed her hand in a tight handshake, smiling politely. "Agent Walker…" They let go and he turned to shake Chuck's hand. "And...Chuck."

"Agent Bartowski. Actually," Chuck drawled.

"You're not an agent," Casey said through his teeth.

Agent Hennessy seemed amused enough by that, albeit a bit confused.

"I'm an analyst, though," Chuck blurted, and Casey looked exhausted already.

Then he got a look on his face. And all she could think was ooooh boy before he said in the smoothest voice he was capable of, "Agent Hennessy, the cover is that you and Walker are a couple."

The agent turned his dark brown eyes to look at her then and he nodded once. "That works for me."

She felt Chuck's presence at her shoulder then. "I'm gonna be a waiter. So...winner winner chicken dinner. Know what I mean? Agent Hennessy, are the shoulders—your shoulders on your jacket—is it tight for you, too?"

"No, it fits okay."

"Oh, good." Chuck nodded. "Good. Just checking. Want you to be comfortable."

"...Thanks."

"Sure. No problem. I'm going to be sticking close. Close to you and Sa-Agent Walker. I'll b-I'll be…" He wiggled his hand around weirdly. "Right in there behind you two. So if you need some back-up, I'm your guy."

"No," Casey said. "No, he isn't. Just so you're aware, Agent Hennessy, Chuck doesn't have any fighting training, since he's an analyst. If you need back-up, look to me and Walker. Chuck will be there for analyst purposes only."

Hennessy buttoned his suit jacket which made him look even slimmer and his shoulders more pronounced, and he nodded. "I'm sure we won't need to worry about that. I've got a few names I can drop to get myself invited onto his yacht. The only thing I'm worried about is catching his attention in the first place, and then keeping it."

"I was thinking I'd sp—"

All Sarah had to do was send Chuck a hard look and he shut up.

"You have thoughts, Chuck?" Hennessy asked, looking between them and settling on her nerd counterpart.

"No, I'll leave that to the field agents."

"If you're sure…" Hennessy checked his watch then. "I'll take point if no one has any objections. I've been after these bastards for a while." No one seemed to object. "Good." He offered his arm to Sarah then. "Agent Walker? Shall we head to our limo? Secret Service approved." He grinned a handsome grin and she snorted and nodded, threading her arm through his.

"Shoulder Boy, you're with me," Casey grunted behind her as she walked arm in arm with Hennessy towards the door.

She froze as they started to move out into the courtyard, though, and pulled her arm from his. "Sorry, it's—" She cleared her throat. "Our cover here is Chuck and I are...And I shouldn't be seen…"

"Oh." Hennessy winced good-naturedly. "I'll head out to the limo and wait inside for you. We'll park it a block down the road, how's that?"

"Perfect."

"Yeah. That's a good thought," Chuck said over their shoulders, practically pushing his face between them. "Don't wanna bust up our cover, right?"

Hennessy just rushed off through the courtyard and disappeared.

Sarah didn't watch him, instead turning to send a death glare over her shoulder at a smirking Casey. She could feel Chuck starting to slip again, and now he'd be stuck in a car with the NSA Needler for a good twenty-five minutes while she sat in a limo next to an "olive skinned" Secret Service agent.

This was going to be the longest long night yet.


A/N: Next time, how does OUR Agent Walker handle things?

Please review! Thanks!

-SC and DC