mxpw Author's Note: So...sorry for the week-long wait. I'm trying to speed up my writing process so that I don't turn my back one day and find a serrated blade buried in me. Those wily Canadians, they don't like being kept waiting. As you'll probably be able to tell once you start reading, the bulk of this chapter was written by the ridiculously talented moo. Can you tell which part was me?

Thank you so much for all of your wonderful reviews. The second chapter doubled the review count of the first chapter. It's awesome to see that you guys appreciate what we've written. You guys are all awesome!

Oh, and can you believe she actually trusted me enough to post without giving it one last read-over? I know, craziness. But that's why you don't see an A/N from her here.

Chapter 3:

Sarah worries about her looks when she's nervous. It's only natural; her appearance holds a lot of value in this line of work. A coquettish smile can loosen lips, a sparkling pair of eyes can pierce even the thickest armor and a well-placed hand can distract from even the most obvious snares.

Sarah Walker is very good at using what she has. Unfortunately, she's also a flighty character; when things get shaky she turns tail. That too is only natural; Sarah Walker is a survivor.

Sam is not. Sam's insecure and awkward and no one would want her. That's why she had to be left behind if Sarah was ever going to experience an emotion that held some semblance to love. And every time Sarah Walker leaves, she's reminded of how desperately she needs it.

She needs someone else to validate who she is because after ten years of Sarah Walker, it's this or it's nothing.

The realization is never more despairing than it is now. She's arrived early at the train station and he's not here.

All day she's been a bundle of nerves; which is why she applied the double—triple—coat of mascara, used the red lipstick, then regretted her decision and smudged it off, and chose the most impractical heels, the too-tight leggings and the flimsy floral shirt.

And now her hands are dampening the train tickets and passports. They're going to be illegible by the time they board the train.

But that's okay, because this is the last time Sarah has to feel nervous or insecure or afraid. Because after today, she's going to have something real and it won't matter if her name is Sarah or Sam or Jenny or whatever he wants it to be.

The thought almost makes her want to cry tears of relief.

Finally.

Finally something real.

He arrives on the platform at five to seven. She should have known and she hates herself for ever doubting; of course he'd come through for her. Of course he'd be here.

And when she sees him approach, she feels all her fears effervesce. She sighs in relief and her head feels a little lighter than it should.

Everything's going to be fine now; now that he's here.

Chuck looks a little pale, and that's understandable. He's not a spy and God knows what they're doing to him in Prague. She can tell from his eyes that he's afraid, and that's okay too, because she'll be there to protect him.

There's nothing to be afraid of now that they are together.

"Here's your ticket and new passport. Your name is Hector Calderon—"

He swallows uncomfortably. "Sarah, wait—"

Okay. So his new name was kind of lame but they can fix all that later. That's not important.

"We'll have plenty of time to talk on the train but right now we have to act fast." He still doesn't look convinced and she wishes he'd have a little faith. Has she ever let them down?

"Trust me, Chuck, everything's going to be fine."

She makes a silent promise to him and seals it with a kiss and then another and another. They're running out of time yet again but very soon they won't have to hide how they really feel. At least she won't.

It takes a moment for her to realize that Chuck's not kissing her back, that his hands are holding her arms at bay and not drawing her nearer. She opens her eyes and he looks apologetically at her before looking away.

"Uh..." She doesn't know how else to put it. "That's not the kiss that I was expecting."

She feints a smile in case this was all a prank, some sick joke she can chew Chuck out for later. But then Chuck looks at her and she doesn't need to hear another word. She prides herself on reading him better than anyone else and it's that very hubris that will destroy her.

She mouths the words but can't say them, in case there's still a chance that it's not true. That he'll realize he's making a mistake before she has to beg.

Her silence grants permission to continue. He starts to speak and she does everything in her power to shut him out.

No.

Chuck don't.

Please.

Normally so perceptive, he's blind to her silent horror. She can see the way his eyes light up; no longer for her but for something far greater. He smiles for the first time since she's seen him—

"Just think. Me. A real spy."

She tries to convince him different, but he's deaf to her reasoning. All he can think about is becoming someone better, but doesn't he see? Sarah loves him just the way he is. Sam loves him just the way he is.

"Are you coming?"

He ghosts a smile and for a second she thinks she's misread him. He's just scared; cold feet, it happens. But her question lingers in the air, unanswered.

In a desperate bid, she grabs his hand and squeezes. Here she is. Isn't this what he's asked her for these past two years?

His hands are cold and unresponsive and she can feel him slipping away.

It's over. There's nothing she can offer him to trump what he has going for him.

The realization is a bitter one. He may be enough for her but she is certainly not enough for him.

He pushes the tickets back into her hand and apologizes. He touches her shoulder gently, asks her if she'll be able to find her way back.

He's polite to the very bitter end but nothing could be more insulting.

She shakes her head and gives a brisk response.

Chuck's shoulders droop and he apologizes, again.

It's not you, it's me, he seems to imply. Sarah's used the line enough times to know what he's really getting at.

It's her. Now that he has Intersect 2.0, he no longer needs her.

He asks if she's going to be okay.

Sarah snaps out of her despair long enough to excuse herself. Does she look okay?

She would rather die than let him see her cry. He can't see what this has done to her.

She makes off with what pieces of her shattered dignity remain and doesn't look back. She gets on the train and purposely seats herself in the opposite direction of the platform. He doesn't follow her; he can't when she has his ticket.

She slams the cabin door shut and stares out the window, trying to catch her breath.

Sarah Walker takes off just as the train starts, leaving Sam all alone with her broken walls and shattered defenses.

Sam cries and it's okay.

No one cares about Sam.

Sarah doesn't sleep well, not that she was expecting to. New city, new bed, a whole new set of problems...

And in the morning when she tries to pull herself together, she has to contend with the fact she looks exactly like how she feels.

Shit.

There's no way she can give Carina the satisfaction of looking so haggard. She'd rather eat crow than see that smug smirk on her face again. Just the thought of their hotel conversation riles her up.

Sarah stabs her mascara wand back into the tube and yanks it out again, applying a vindictive second coat. It's not fair for Carina to always get her way; the top score at the Farm, the coveted assignment in Montenegro, the life of lavish parties and overflowing champagne, the ageless body and flawless complexion...and now Chuck?

She shudders as unbidden images of Carina and Chuck in the throes of passion flash before her very eyes. Her tongue is in his mouth, her fingers are ensnared in his curly brown hair...she can almost hear them. It's Carina's name he cries out.

Sarah throws her makeup into the sink. Her hands are shaking so bad she'll only make a mess of it.

Chuck is absolutely not Carina's type.

And Chuck, the same Chuck who told her she wasn't good enough, was now with the agency's equivalent of a call-girl?

She's so angry she wants to purchase a ticket and high-tail it back to DC.

Because that's what you always do when things get tough, isn't it?

She wants to call Shaw but he won't understand and there's nothing worse than bringing up His name with her current boyfriend. There's no one she can talk to. Not even her only friend.

Sarah muffles a scream. She wants to break something heavy and expensive, she wants to punch through doors, she wants to empty an entire clip into the wall...she wants...she wants...

Sarah takes a step back and tries to catch her breath. She stumbles against the bathtub and sinks to the floor. The ache in her chest throbs with each erratic heartbeat; she's so angry...she's so fucking angry...

Not at Carina. Not at Chuck. Not even at her emotionally stunted boyfriend.

If she were honest with herself, she knows there's only one person to blame. But it's so much easier to be angry with someone who's asking for it.

Sarah picks herself up and stares at the reflection in the mirror. "You're pathetic," she tells Sam. "Of course no one would want you."

Sarah scrutinizes her appearance; her thinning upper lip, the circles under her eyes, the washed out blue of her eyes and the frizzy, limp hair.

Of course no one would want her; she's a fucking train wreck.

Sarah swallows back the lump of revulsion building in her throat. Stoically she collects her make-up from the sink and dabs on a little more concealer, a brush more rouge, and a touch of color to her lips. She feeds into her nervousness and painstakingly straightens her hair with the flat-iron.

She needs to be at the top of her game today. She can't give them the satisfaction of knowing her secret and all that she's buried underneath. She needs to get ready and meet the team in an hour.

Meet Chuck in an hour.

"Stop it. Stop it. Stop it." Sarah squeezes her eyes shut and grits her teeth. She refuses to cry. She'd already been frivolous with her tears last night.

So Carina's with Chuck. Fine. So long as they don't do anything revolting in front of her she can be a professional about it.

Get in. Finish the job. Fly out. Go back to Shaw.

Go back to the status quo.

It's not a thrilling prospect but it's safe and Sarah likes safe. She takes a deep breath and waits until she thinks she's in the clear before opening her eyes. Cautiously she checks her reflection to make sure her make-up hasn't smudged.

Sarah Walker looks sternly back at her. And then slowly, ever so slowly, her lips curl upwards in a forced smile.

See?

She's going to be professional about all this, even if it kills her.

Chuck is not surprised when Casey comes walking into the villa's spacious entertainment center. Casey had never been one for knocking and just because he is an agent now, with his own team, does not mean Casey will ever see him as anything other than that idiot kid from the Buy More.

To be honest, he welcomes the distraction. COD has lost most of its charm since life had imitated art during a mission in Iraq two months ago. His right shoulder still occasionally aches from the gunshot wound. He has two weeks left of physical therapy and he couldn't be happier that it's almost over.

Being shot really sucks, he learned. Having to drag an unconscious Casey 300 yards while under fire, blood dripping down his arm, his shoulder aching, and then driving them to safety through streets that all looked the same, sucked even more.

Casey sits beside him and watches him play. The only reason he keeps up with it is because it's one of the few activities in his new life he can share completely with Morgan. There's no lying, no telling him half-truths about his missions. With COD, he can be as open as he wants. And he owes that to Morgan, because if not for him being by his side after things with Sarah deconstructed, he didn't think he'd have survived his new assignment in Rome.

But after only five minutes of Casey sitting quietly, he pauses the game and turns to face Casey. "What's up?"

Casey just stares. It's more than a little disconcerting, but ever since Iraq, there's a different look in Casey's eyes whenever he looks at him. It's not quite respect, not quite gratitude, but something akin to understanding. It's more than a little strange, but Chuck's not complaining.

"We need to talk."

"About what?"

Of course Chuck knows. It's obvious why Casey is here, it's the same thing they've been arguing about since Beckman informed them that Sarah was coming.

"I need to know if you can handle this."

"I'll be fine," Chuck says, his voice lifeless. He turns his eyes back to the large flatscreen TV dominating the main wall of the room. The last thing he wants to talk about is Sarah.

"You haven't seen her in almost a year."

Chuck grunts. Does Casey think he doesn't know that? There is nothing Chuck is more aware of than the passage of time since Sarah stood him up at Union Station. Every day is a little easier, a little less of a challenge to lock away the part of his mind dedicated to Sarah Walker. If only he could excise that part completely, he'd be much better off. But he can't and he doesn't really want to.

"I know, Casey." Chuck turns back to face his partner. "I'll tell you the same thing I told Beckman. I can handle it. I can be professional. That's what everybody wants, right? You, Beckman, Sarah?" he says the last name bitterly.

"I told Beckman this was a bad idea," Casey mutters. The Colonel glares at him, through him, until it seems like he's glaring at the wall, the world. "I told her we didn't need this kind of complication. It's bad enough we have to put up with Carina."

"I'm sure Sarah wants to be here as much as we want her to be here." The sad thing is that's it's probably the truth. They used to be so good together; they were a team.

How have things become so screwed up?

"I'd prefer her not being here at all."

"I said I can handle it," Chuck says angrily. Why does nobody believe him? His days of falling all over himself for Sarah Walker are long gone. He knows now that Sarah never cared for him the same way he cared for her. That much has become obvious and he's not going to let his feelings interfere with the mission. He'll do his part, the mission will be a success, and Sarah can go back to Shaw and the life she's always wanted.

"I'll be fine," he reiterates.

"Bullshit."

Casey's voice is harsh, pitiless, like a slap to the face. They've had this same argument every day for a week, only now Casey is getting mean. He just won't let it go.

"I'm serious. She made her choice," Chuck says with a tired sigh. "And I'm finally okay with that."

"You really expect me to believe that?" Casey has never looked more skeptical during their talks than he does right now. "You expect me to believe you're really over Walker?"

"I never said I was over her, just that I have finally accepted her choice." He shrugs his shoulders and tries not to let the roiling cauldron of intense emotions he's feeling show on his face. "And honestly, Casey, it really doesn't matter what you or I think. She's coming and that's that."

"I want a no-bullshit, no-nonsense assessment. Can you work with her?"

"Yes." Chuck is surprised to realize he is telling the truth. "Look, Casey, the simple fact of the matter is that I wasn't good enough for her." Chuck sighs and runs a hand through his shortened hair. "I never really was. Clearly she prefers somebody like Bryce or Shaw and I'm…not them."

Casey doesn't say anything for several long seconds and then he grunts. He stands up and starts to walk away. He stops and Chuck looks at the big man's back. Casey, his voice quiet but serious, says, "You're wrong, you know. You're a better man than they were or could ever be."

And then Casey is gone and Chuck is left alone with his game.

What happens next chapter? I think it's pretty obvious. Fun times, ahead!