So, I've finally finished Chuck ( I don't usually take that long, but Chuck isn't exactly my kind of show either ), and I've one thing to say: consider that Chuck kept the Intersect at the end of the serie ( unknown variable in canon ) but it's more a 1.0 than anything else, perhaps with slight modifications, but that's it.
I've never been a fan of the Intersect 2.0, because it felt too much like cheating. Like, what's the point of years of experience if some nerd can just download kung fu and still kick your ass? More than that, I hated that it took over the user's control; no need for instinct, judgment, etc. I could have gone with it, if it wasn't that much of a cheat ( something like it teaches how to, but there's still a need to train to use it correctly, to react and not only to let the Intersect do everything, more than they did on the show ).
I liked the Intersect 1.0, though.


Chapter 2: Fuming ( probably )

"Alright, guys. Beckman sent us the last coordinates of Daryl Riggs the NSA was able to track down. Yesterday afternoon was the last moment he appeared on the CCTV system, or at least the last time the shot was clear enough to identify him. Whatever he was doing, he evaded into zones without camera coverage."

Sarah frowned at the busy street of Manhattan, searching for something, anything, that would clue them on Riggs' passage the day before. She could see two, no, three ways the former captain could have evaded the present CCTV cameras, but which one had the man chosen? It mostly depended on what he had had in mind, and where he had been headed, and Team Castle didn't have that intel.

It was really a strand of luck that had brought them here to begin with. Daryl Riggs had gone unnoticed for years, and only being at the wrong place, at the wrong moment had gotten him back on the NSA's radars. If they lost him again... There was no telling if they'd ever catch him.

Casey grunted something under his breath, that the noise of the busy street swallowed before Chuck or Sarah could get it. They turned to look at the NSA agent, who was staring at a commotion a bit further away. People kept them from seeing what was happening exactly, but they could tell the very same people were walking around something.

Chuck and Sarah exchanged a look, and followed Casey, who was already on his way to get a look.

Frankly, it had been some time since the last mission – of that kind, anyway – together. Carmichael Industries had specialized in computer security, and most of their jobs were now relatively harmless. They helped out when the NSA or the CIA had a shortage of agents at the ready and they were closer, and they weren't against collaborating if some mission or another needed Chuck's Intersect, but they weren't on call anymore. As for Casey, he still was officially NSA, but somehow it had turned into some kind of part-time job without anyone really noticing. He'd always answer to the Call of Duty – Casey might have strangled Chuck a bit for that joke, once upon a time.

Eitherway, they hadn't gotten to track someone down in a city together in some time.

They were surprised to find yellow tape and FBI agents securing a small perimeter on the sidewalk, just two dozens meters away from Riggs' last appearance on camera. It seemed too coincidental to be unrelated, and at the same time too easy to be trusted.

A bit worrying, too, Chuck would have liked to point out, when he noticed the smear of blood on the nearest wall, which a forensic guy was frowning at, as if in wonder.

Chuck hissed a question to Casey, who barely arched an eyebrow at his innocence.

"Did Riggs kill someone? I mean, really, is there a chance it wasn't him?"

"Bartowski, we're dealing with a rogue NSA agent, a Ring operative. What do you think?"

Chuck gulped and gave the colonel a vague smile – or was it a constipated look?

Casey rolled his eyes, and let Chuck and Sarah here, pushing his way into the perimeter, NSA credentials already out. A FBI agent immediately noticed him, and went to stop him from contaminating the evidence, and miraculously the colonel didn't sneer at him right away.

"Mellowed", Chuck mouthed to Sarah, who patted him on the arm lightly.

The two watched as Casey's facial expression turned to shock – or, you know, what could pass for shock for John Casey.

The FBI agent was apparently showing him a picture or a document, they couldn't tell from that side of the yellow tape. Casey had probably told the agent he was looking for a fugitive who had last been seen just around the corner, and the two had agreed on at least one thing: coincidences rarely happened in their lines of work. Now, Chuck and Sarah had seen the blood on the wall; it could either belong to a potential victim of Riggs, or Riggs himself if someone had gotten to him first, supposing all this wasn't a coincidence. There was no sign of a death, however, and why would the FBI be on the case, anyway? Shouldn't it be the police?

Casey walked back to them, a piece of paper with what looked like the picture of a man – they still couldn't see well yet, the way the NSA agent was holding it – in his left hand, and an annoyed, yet disturbed at the same time, look on his face.

Sarah gave him an interrogative look. Chuck was curiously hopeful for news. Casey grunted.

"You won't believe it, Walker."

"I won't believe what, Casey?"

Sarah was starting to become annoyed with the NSA agent's behavior, and it showed. Casey didn't seem particularly bothered by the knowledge of her anoyance. The fool, Chuck thought. There was nothing more dangerous in the world than an annoyed Sarah Walker – or, really, an annoyed Sarah Bartowski, now. Chuck knew that better than anyone.

Then again, it was Casey they were talking about. The guy probably stared a dementor in the eyes – did they have eyes under their hood, by the way? – every morning.

"Turns out a FBI CI disappeared right here, yesterday evening. He was on a tracking anklet, a non-violent criminal, con artist, thief, and a bunch of other qualifiers. Kind of like your father, Walker, only, also working with the feds, and damn good at it too. Apparently the FBI received a package just earlier, which led them to a site with live feeds of Neal Caffrey's abduction; that's the conman's name. And it certainly sounds like Riggs was the one who took him."

Sarah frowned as she tried to make sense of the news.

"Why would Riggs abduct a FBI CI, when he already has the NSA after him? Is he insane?"

Casey smirked, and damn, wasn't that frightening? – before handing his partner the sheet of paper.

"You're only saying this because you haven't seen the CI's picture, Walker."

And indeed, as soon as Chuck's and Sarah's eyes landed on the picture of a well-dressed man in his thirties, it started to make some sense. So much, really, that Chuck almost choked.

oOo

One or two hours had passed since Daryl Riggs' departure, and Neal was still waiting for something to happen. He didn't particularly want something to happen, since it would most likely be something unpleasant, but it was obvious, from Riggs' last words, that the disgraced NSA agent wasn't just going to leave him to starve here. So, in a way, Neal'd rather it came now, so that he wouldn't have to wait for something dreadful to happen. Waiting was not something he liked, and waiting for something bad? He liked that even less.

Not a man to be idle, Neal had started working on his handcuffs as soon as Riggs had left the room, but that approach didn't seem to bring forth much improvement. He had, on the other hand, managed to break the chair he had been sitting on. It had needed him to take a nasty fall, but well. At least, now, only his hands were tied together by the handcuffs.

Neal glanced at the red dot of the camera in a corner of the room. He didn't actually know if Riggs really was diffusing the images to the FBI, but he wasn't going to stay here just so that Peter and the others wouldn't see some of his tricks. He didn't want to die, thank you very much.

Riggs wanted a game? Neal'd give him an escape game. And perhaps, perhaps the NSA would get an anonymous tip as to where to find the body of their fugitive later on. Neal didn't particularly like killing people, he had done so that he'd never need to unless he was using Bryce Larkin's identity, but this time... Riggs really had a screw loose up there, and the man had chosen to blur the line between Neal and Bryce. He should have been prepared to face the consequences.

He scrambled back onto his feet, rose up, and did this slightly disturbing thing with his elbows that allowed him to have his hands, while still handcuffed, in front of him rather than behind him.

Neal gave a cursory look at the cuffs, and sighed. No way he could pick those, not with his lack of tools – Riggs had taken his lockpick set, the bastard. He'd have to manage another way.

Suddenly, a ringtone startled Neal. The young man looked around the bare room, and noticed a cellphone against a wall, just under one of the condemned windows. He hesitated a moment, eventually relented, and bent down to pick up the phone.

Broken screen, so that he couldn't call whoever he wanted, surely, but apparently still working – or, even, still calling, probably on line with Riggs. There was an earpiece next to it. Neal winced as he put it in his ear, knowing already that he would regret it.

Riggs' voice resonated badly in his head the very moment Neal was done.

"Bryce. You don't mind if I call you Bryce, Larkin? I'm used to this name, more than to Neal Caffrey, I must admit. Anyway, Larkin, I see you've gotten yourself free... or, less tied up than before, if anything. I was right to believe in you. Watching you do it, though... always a pleasure. All this makes me nostalgic of Brasilia. I believe you noticed you won't get these handcuffs off, not even by disclocating your thumbs?"

Neal gritted his teeth, tempted not to answer the psycho's rhetorical question, but he knew it had been too late for that the moment he had decided to take the earpiece and the phone – now stuffed in his breast pocket.

"I guessed as much from the way these handcuffs are too small."

Riggs laughed on the other end of the conversation, which only unnerved Neal further. The cuffs were really too tight, just, not enough that he wouldn't feel his fingers anymore. Just enough that it'd freaking hurt. Which was a good thing, since it meant he wasn't likely to lose his fingers, but it sure wasn't helping him focus.

Bastard.

"You'd slip out of normal handcuffs in seconds, Larkin. By the way, I've had access to your file, thanks to a friend of mine, a long time ago, when we were after you? You really are incredible, making your instructors believe you didn't already know half the things they were teaching you. I still have no idea how you managed to create, and to keep such a perfect persona running..."

"What can I say, Riggs? I'm good at what I do."

Neal didn't particularly want to be praised by a sadistic fugitive holding him captive, right now. He took a deep breath and... – and froze.

"What is that smell?"

He didn't get an answer right away, but when Daryl Riggs spoke again, there was a cheerful tone to his words that chilled Neal to his very core. Not that he let it show.

"This, Bryce, is the beginning of our game. You've probably noticed the pipe coming out of the wall? Slow gassing, obviously. It started, oh, two, three minutes ago? I switched it on the moment you picked up the phone. Now, I won't tell you what kind of gas it is, it'd be way too easy."

For all Neal knew, Riggs could have simply used a harmless gas, only to see him panick, to know he'd wonder if he was telling the truth or not, if there really was yet another danger in that smell.

It was too faint, for now, for him to tell exactly what the smell was.

"Now, the game: you get out of here, and you're free, Larkin. Simple as that."

Neal glared at the camera in the corner of the room. He could feel his face slowly melting down into one of Bryce's neutral facial expressions, but he really couldn't care about masks right now, and he certainly wasn't feeling cheerful enough to snark at Riggs. The man was bonkers.

"Simple as that. Sure. Should I be worried about anti-personnel mines? And, why, for God's sake, Riggs, why are you doing this? Couldn't you have just put a bullet in my head or something?"

The earpiece crackled painfully. Neal'd still take the cracks over Riggs' answer, though.

"Why? But because I can, Bryce! And also, I don't have anything else to do."

See? Bonkers.

oOo

Peter was gritting his teeth at the computer when Jones came back with Rebecca Lowe, alias Rachel Turner, wearing a orange suit which the ASAC might have appreciated more if his CI hadn't been taken by some kind of psycho who kept calling him "Bryce Larkin".

As soon as they had seen the video of Neal tied to a chair, Peter had sent Jones to retrieve Neal's ex-girlfriend, who also happened to be a criminal mastermind, and could totally have something to do with Neal's abduction. It seemed rather unlikely, but the unknown guy – Diana was running the name "Riggs" through what they knew of Neal Caffrey, but so far, nothing was coming up – seemed to know things about Neal, that the FBI didn't know about, not even after Pratt and discovering about Neal's childhood... Rachel had kept these files on Neal, she had dug so much... Or, perhaps, it had been "Riggs" who had done the investigating, who had given the info to the woman. Perhaps Neal had been the real goal, even before the diamond.

If that was the case, Peter wasn't sure Rachel Turner would even know about it. As Neal had said, things like the retrieval of the blue diamond often had a benefactor. Rachel was probably only an employee, not privy to the true goal... If there was one. Nothing said for sure it had all been staged.

Peter had to try, nonetheless.

Peter glanced one last time at the computer screen displaying Neal, unsure of what to do after his last conversation with "Riggs", and headed to speak to Rachel Turner. Jones took his place at the computer, in case something happened there – not that they could do anything about it...

He closed the door to the interrogation room behind him, his face set in determination. He couldn't let her see his fear for Neal. He couldn't let the former MI5 spy guess what was wrong, especially if she knew what was going on. He turned around, and went to sit face to face with the criminal. He wasn't in any mood to play games, but the smile she gave him told another story. He'd probably have to, if he wanted to get anything out of her.

"Agent Burke. Long time no see. Or is it? I didn't even get the time to be used to my new home..."

Peter winced a smile – it was the best he could do, a wince, in this situation, really.

"Don't worry, 'Rebecca', you'll be back to your new home before long."

"Are you upset, Agent Burke? If you don't want to speak to me, you could ask Neal to do it. I'd probably be more forthcoming with him, you know."

Peter brought his hand down on the interrogation table violently, startling Rachel Turner and himself by the gesture. She eyed him warily from there on – not exactly warily, in fact, because her mask was good, as good as Neal's, but Peter was used to Neal's mask. He could see through it, partially at least. The thought made the FBI agent grit his teeth a bit more. The likeness between Neal and Rachel Turner – not Rebecca Lowe, but Rachel Turner – was eerie on some points. The comparison angered Peter against himself; Neal wasn't a killer, when Rachel was.

Still, had it been another moment, Peter would have wondered if the two hadn't fallen for each other's play because deep down they were both searching for someone who not only would see behind the mask, but who also wouldn't even notice the mask. As if it wasn't there at all.

It wasn't the time for that, though, and Peter was frustrated, angered at Rachel Turner, especially after what she had done to Neal, even more so as Neal had now disappeared. Was she on it? How could Peter have let her get that close to his best friend without seeing a thing? Was it because of her that Neal had been taken? Could he have prevented that?

Peter took a deep, long breath, and pretended nothing had happened.

"Do you have an accomplice?"

Rachel, on the other hand, didn't seem to buy it, at all. She stared at him in silence for a moment, studying him, most likely, noticing his sharp anger, his frustration, surely.

"Where is Neal, Agent Burke?"

Peter strangled a laugh at her question, barely noting that there wasn't a hint of smugness in the criminal's voice, totally ignoring the way she was the one looking suspicious now.

"That, Turner, is exactly what I want to know, because someone abducted him yesterday evening, and the only lead we have is a package with his tracker and an address to a site showing live feeds of Neal in some abandoned building!"

The woman's face twisted in something Peter didn't dare to interpret. When she spoke again, her voice was low, menacing, even. For a moment, the FBI agent believed she really had nothing to do with this, that she cared about Neal more than he had given her credit for. That, perhaps, she wouldn't have shot Neal back then, after her failure to escape.

But his doubts came back harder, and Peter hissed a reply in anger.

"You are the one who investigated Neal's past more thoroughly than us. So isn't it normal for me to wonder, when Neal's abductor calls him by an alias I never heard of, and Neal reacts to it as if it was normal, if you know anything?!"

Rachel squinted at the FBI agent, calculating the odds he was saying the truth. Finally she asked:

"What alias?"

"Bryce Larkin."

To Peter's surprise, the criminal laughed at him, in obvious disbelief.

"That's ridiculous, Agent Burke. Neal can't be Bryce Larkin. For one, Bryce Larkin is dead."