A/N Taking some decent lines and putting them in the proper mouths.

To my reviewer known as Guest, I'm glad you like this story, but this is not my first rewrite of S3. If you like this you should also try my story nine2five.

Would you believe me if I said I did own Chuck? No, I didn't think so.

"What are you doing here?"

"Walker, we have a situation."

"Make him jealous."

"Good job, you two."

Chuck swept up the barrel of cheese balls from the head of the staircase where Casey had left them. Where he'd left them as he left the base so quickly, earlier that evening. No matter what he'd done, and he'd done plenty, he'd still need a debrief, and Casey and Sarah were the only ones qualified to do it. They'd be along soon, he was sure, and the first thing he didn't want was for them to drop-kick this stupid thing across the room.

He put the barrel in one of the chairs around the table before he changed into his regular clothes. He went to his own preferred station, back to the wall with a good view of the door, leaving his jacket on the table beside him as he sat. He was here, with no clear knowledge of how long it would take his former partners to clean up their–his–mess, so he caught up on whatever flash work had accumulated while he waited for them.

Earlier than he expected, the door alarm sounded, and he checked the monitors to make sure some nasty terrorist group hadn't kidnapped one or both of them en route, but it was just them. By the time the freezer alert sounded he'd put most of his system back to sleep. Casey didn't even wait to get down the stairs before he started his inquisition, that is, debrief. "Alright, Chuck, what was that all about?"

"That was me participating without authorization in a sanctioned mission in a secure location," he stated for the record, watching Sarah carefully. Heels like hers on stairs like those could be tricky. "It wasn't my intention."

"Yeah, we all know what your intentions were." Casey came to the table, grabbed a chair and spun it around, but the barrel of cheese balls was there first. He broke left and Sarah broke right, seating themselves opposite him.

"Was it my fault that you were operating on bad intel? Assassin, not courier."

"You could have told Jones."

"Told her what?" asked Chuck. "That I'd had a flash? That somehow the name 'Javier Cruz' had reminded me, 'oh yeah, he's an assassin'? Not to mention that she was in no mood to take my word for anything at the time. Did you get him?"

"No," said Casey. "One of the back-up team found a wig and a fake mustache."

"A bouncer remembered a bald man, standing by the door, but he didn't come in," added Sarah.

The targeting lights Chuck saw could have come from that direction. "He didn't ask why?"

Grunt. "He was watching Walker dance."

"That'd do it," said Chuck. Noticing that Sarah hadn't changed out of her eveningwear, Chuck took his jacket and moved around the table, spreading it wide. She leaned forward and he draped it across her shoulders. She smiled at him and murmured, "Thanks." Castle could be cold at night.

Casey took advantage of the interval to consider a new line of questioning. "Okay, so you flashed on Cruz, I can buy that. What was the rest of it about?"

"I was as surprised as you were, Casey," said Chuck, knowing what chase he was cutting to. "Why would mariachi guitar be one of the skill sets?"

Casey and Sarah shared a glance. "We were told you couldn't use the skills, Bartowski. You're telling us you've been playing a lemon cover all this time?"

"No, Casey. Not a cover. This is my life." Chuck held up his hands. "I can't make it happen when I want, and I can't control it when it does. Emmet's lucky to be alive. Beckman was right to bench me."

Up in the loading zone behind the Buy More…

Emmet clicked the last lock shut on the loading dock door, and went to his own Nerd Herder, turning on the radio for a moment of quiet time. The quiet scuff of heels on stone as some bald cowboy sauntered around the perimeter spoiled that moment, and he got out of his car reluctantly. "Can I help you?" he asked, making only a bare effort to be civil to a potential customer.

The bald cowboy held up a slip of paper. "I wish to know who made this purchase and where I can find him."

Emmet took the paper and squinted at it in the yellow light of the cheap bulbs. Cheese balls. Only one person had purchased cheese balls that day. Almost regretfully, he handed the slip back. "I'm sorry, I'd love to tell you, but our sales records are privileged information." The bald man stared at him, his face as expressionless as a dead fish. Emmet, hearing the radio in his car play without him there to listen to it, dropped his cloak of civility. "You can leave now."

The bald man stepped closer to take the paper, but he didn't step back, his dead gaze intent on Emmet's face. "So you know who I seek."

"O-o-kay," said Emmet, puffing out his chest, making a great display of the mace sprayers on his belt. "We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way…"

Down in Castle, at roughly the same time.

Sarah said, "Chuck–"

"It's not that bad, Sarah," said Chuck. "At least I can still flash, do my bit for the greater good. Otherwise I'd be out of a job completely, if not worse."

They all had some idea what he meant. "You watch too many movies, Bartowski," said Casey, rolling his eyes.

"Not necessarily, Casey," said Chuck sadly. "You're thinking spies, I'm thinking–" Suddenly a light started flashing on a console, with an annoying beep. "Dammit, that thing again!" He went to shut it off.

Casey stood up, and followed. "What do you mean 'again'?"

"It's been going off practically every night," said Chuck. "What is it?"

"That's the proximity alarm for the Home Theater entrance from the Buy More." Casey started touching the controls, and the noise stopped.

Chuck checked the time automatically, even though he knew it was too late. "At this hour?"

"Yeah. During store hours it's inactive." Casey reactivated the visual surveillance inside the store, left idle since no one was under cover there. Screens flickered, showing empty aisles.

"Wait, go back," said Sarah. "Is it just me, or is that dryer…moving?"

Casey made an affirmative grunt, and continued cycling through the cameras. "Grimes?"

Morgan sat on a couch in the HT room, half his crap scattered around as he focused on some video game. "Isn't he supposed to be in Hawaii?"

"Last I heard," said Chuck. He couldn't imagine Morgan coming back and not saying a word about it, unless…"Cheese balls."

"What?"

"Ellie called, said someone had eaten all her cheese balls. His comfort food. Probably hiding out in my room, until I came back early. I doubt he's been here longer than that, or you'd have heard the alarms too." Chuck looked at Morgan's empty expression, he hated to play by himself. "Can you open the doors?"

"Don't have to," said Casey. "Milbarge finally got around to changing the factory preset, but so many of these Buy Morons locked themselves out he had to change it back."

Chuck smiled, a little. "Are we done here? Something tells me he could use a friend."

A few minutes later.

Chuck walked through a quiet store, the only sounds the dryer humming against one wall and some kind of electronic mayhem in back. When he got to the doors of the HT room, he saw his best friend playing something new from the rack, the shrink-wrapper ready and waiting for when he was done. He was really into the game, too, levels and scores both pretty high, so Chuck was almost regretful when he said, "Morgan?"

"Ah!" shrieked the little man, dropping his controller. He rolled off the couch, holding up a cushion as a shield. "Don't kill me!"

In Castle…

Casey turned away from the monitor as Sarah came back from the ready room. Her clothes were her own but Chuck's jacket was still over her shoulders. "I can't watch this," he said in disgust. "It's pathetic. You take over while I get out of this clown-suit."

Upstairs, in the HT room…

Chuck laughed a bit at Morgan's antics. "Not planning to, buddy."

Morgan peeked out from behind the cushion. "Chuck?" He lowered his shield. "What are you doing here?"

"In Burbank, or here specifically?"

"Both," said Morgan. "Either. I heard you were going away. Doing stuff, moving on. I was happy for you, man."

"Thanks, Morgan," said Chuck. "I heard the same about you. Benihana, wasn't it?"

Morgan's face fell into sorrowful lines, and he sank down onto the couch. "They canned me a few weeks ago. Couldn't flip the shrimp. Anna took off with the prep chef, and here I am."

"Here? Why aren't you living with your mother?" asked Chuck. "You know she'll take you in."

"I can't. I asked Big Mike to take care of my Mom before I left."

"So?"

"So he is," said Morgan with a shudder. He spread his arms wide. "Drink it in, Chuck. This is as low as a man can get."

Chuck nodded judiciously. "It does put my own life's little hiccups in a better perspective."

"Thanks, bud," said Morgan, slumping even further. "I was hoping for something a little more, you know, upbeat. Whatever happened to hetero life partners, brothers in arms…?"

Chuck sat next to him, slung an arm across his shoulders. "Sorry, bud, but like you said, I've moved on, and so have you. We can go up, we can go down, if we're lucky we can move forward, but we can't go back."

"Easy for you to say, you've got a shining star on your horizon."

Chuck smiled. "That I do. Don't worry, Morg, you were there for me after Jill, and I'm here for you after old what's-her-name. As soon as your laundry is done you and I will go back to my place. You can use the couch or something until you get back on your feet."

"Now that's more like it," said Morgan, rising up with a smile on his face. He looked around. "I'm a bit of a pig, aren't I?"

Down below, watching on monitors…

"Ecchh," said Casey, safe at the far end of the table with some new weapons and their manuals, his own version of comfort food. "Should have put him out of his misery."

Sarah blinked her eyes clear. "He did."

Casey got up. "I'm gonna need a bigger gun," he said as he went back to the armory. Sarah clicked off the monitor and walked away.

Chuck and Morgan strolled the empty halls of the Buy More, baggage in hand. It was a nice place, in the absence of its manager and crew. "Lots of good memories, huh, Chuck?"

Chuck looked around, wondering what store Morgan had worked in. "Well, memories, anyway."

"That bad?"

Kidnappings. Terrorists. Car crashes. "Pretty bad–" Mystery Crisper.

Sarah came through the doors, moonlight glowing on her hair. The brightest light in the room.

"–But they had their good aspects," continued Chuck.

"Hmm, well," said Morgan, taking his duffels out of Chuck's hands. "I'll just go see about that couch, shall I?" He shuffled past her with a murmured simultaneous hello-and-goodbye.

Chuck and Sarah stared at each other. "Well," said Sarah, sticking out her hand. "I didn't want you to leave without a proper hello."

Chuck took her hand in hers.

"Welcome to Burbank, Agent Bartowski." Her smile was radiant. "I've been wanting to do that for the longest time."

Sarah could hardly believe it. Her fingertips actually tingled!

Chuck pulled his hand from hers, every limb going straight and rigid before the voltage passing through his body had any chance to do more harm than that. He fell to the floor, convulsing, as Javier Cruz stepped forward, taser in hand. "And I have been waiting a long time to do that."

Sarah raised her hands, outflanked and outgunned by his flunkies. Javier stared at her, blank and expressionless. Sarah felt the pressure of the nozzle, heard the hiss of the injector, but the tranquilizing agent swept down through her body first, making her ever more limp and powerless as she stared into the eyes of a man who only saw two kinds of people: those he hadn't bothered to target and those he hadn't killed yet.

Then darkness.

A/N What happened to Emmet? Javier did. Beyond that, I really don't want to know.