Houston, we have a Problem.

A/N: Hey guys, so I'm sorry this has taken so long, again. I don't have an excuse really, it just is what it is, and for that, I'm really sorry. Thank you for reading, and continuing with this story after such a long hiatus. I would, as always, like to thank my port in the storm, Virgil, better known as BillAtWork, because without him none of this would have been possible. I would also like to thank all you Chuck fans that have kept the journey that is Chuck going for 5 years! Who would've thought, in the days of subway campaigns and all that time teetering between cancellation and renewal, we'd make it here? It's been a ride, Chucksters, and a damn good one to boot.

Oh yeah, I don't own Chuck. If only!

Colonel Casey had never been a person to let life pass him by. He led by example, was a doer, but that didn't mean that adequate planning should be sacrificed in the process. Planning was the key to everything, especially when you could never predict the outcome of any particular mission; forget to factor in the possible appearance of an enemy agent exiting a toilet, the pet dog of the oligarch barking when infiltrating his house, and it was all over. It was for this reason that the Colonel always described himself as an active planner. And that was exactly what he was doing at this particular instant - planning.

Reports of a massive shoot out not to far from Burbank had been broadcast over the usual military and federal channels - the ones that Casey often used to help himself fall into a peaceful slumber at night - and Casey knew better than to just ignore something this unusual… Okay, so it wasn't that unusual for Burbank, the place seemed to attract terrorists like bees to honey, but this close to The Intersect, the most important piece of government intelligence this side of… well, the most important piece of government intelligence in the world, and his asset…

'The asset who takes off with my former partner at the drop of a hat…' Casey grunted, his initial feeling of silent approval at Bartowski and Walker's impromptu walkabout turning sour. Walker may, by some accounts have been washed up, burned out, but any fool could see that it was always about Chuck, and she wasn't about to let him get hurt…

So he planned. The phone call was the first place to start, get the signal from Bartowski's phone traced and track their position, set up a rendezvous and make sure that tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum were still unharmed on the breathing side of the great void and that they had adequate back-up. Bartowski was always a jumpy bastard when the bullets started flying, even with the, albeit useless, Intersect 2.0, so this was all down to Walker, and as much as Casey believed that Sarah would do everything in her power to protect Chuck, the fact that she had been down and out for almost a year now, added to the fact that she left him before, niggled at him. Casey just hoped that his talk with his former partner earlier in the week had put everything into perspective for her; he had to admit, he had been pretty blunt with her, and Casey wasn't ever really one for social finesse or "tact".

What in hell was Bartowski even doing on the phone anyway? A small animalistic growl emanated from the Colonel, all that time he'd spent pummelling spy 101 down Bartowski's neck was obviously wasted – always using a secure line for communication when on the job was the second rule of spying, right after…

Typing furiously into his Government Issue netbook, his muscular fingers coming dangerously close to causing complete illegibility Casey immediately put a trace on Bartowski's phone, there was something fishy about that call, Casey's gut was telling him things weren't all fine and dandy in the land of lovesick foolishness - and if he could put a trace on Bartowski's phone, then it wasn't too much to conjure that someone else, someone much more sinister, could (and probably had) done exactly the same thing.

"Damn it Bartowski" Casey growled, slamming the lid of his laptop shut before pounding the table with his fist.

"I turn my back on you for one second and the battle of Serenity Valley is suddenly upon us. What the fuck Walker?"

Although his suspicions had yet to be confirmed, Casey was pretty sure that someone was after his asset, because, let's be honest, when was someone not after the intersect? And besides, when his gut told him something, he listened. It told him he wanted another hot pocket, he gave it another hot pocket. When it told him he needed another black and bitter coffee, he got it, because an army marches on it's stomach. So when his stomach told him there was something more to a situation than a seemingly innocent phone call, he believed it.

As if his life had turned into some elaborate Truman Show of a play, Casey's phone began to vibrate in his pocket, an unknown number being displayed across the cell's touch screen as Casey pulled it out of his pants. Putting the phone to his ear, a familiar voice floated its way into his tympanic cavity, a familiar voice that made the hot pocket the Colonel had lovingly devoured for his lunch, just an hour or so prior, turn to tapioca in his stomach – and Casey hated tapioca.

"Colonel Casey. This is Daniel Shaw, we worked together briefly in regards to The Ring threat posed to The Intersect in L.A. a few months ago. Well, I need a favour…"

Chuck was ready to fight. He never was a confrontational person, but some things, some dreams, some people, were worth fighting for, and he would be damned if Daniel Shaw and his band of merry men was going to ruin all that he had ever wanted since the day, no... The second he'd met Sarah Walker. He wasn't going to let the past dictate what happened in the future either, and although he knew he still had to get his head around what had happened, what Sarah had done, he knew, at the end of the day, she hadn't done it to hurt him. And that is what he kept telling himself.

Besides, he was sure that there was much more to that particular tale than that which had been divulged, and until the time he had all the facts, could quantify them with complete accuracy, he would reserve judgement. Not that he was the judging type either, did he really have the right? He'd never been in that situation before, after all, and probably never would.

The 2.0 was up and running. That would be a definite advantage to the fights that Chuck knew would be coming in the days ahead, on their mission to retrieve the one thing in this world that Sarah would rather not have any dealings with, but isn't that Murphy's law? Chuck smirked.

'Screw Murphy's law' Chuck mused, his smirk widening all the while, he wasn't about to let something stupid and insignificant like the universe get in his way.

'Bartowski's law is more like it.'

"Chuck, you ready?" A soft voice asked, the timbre of it vibrating through his bones like a tuning fork searching for the perfect note when it had already been found.

"Yeah" he replied absently, his thoughts being swept away from the realm of mortal men into something more ethereal, and something much more dangerous.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Chuck turned to face the only person in this world who could show him such love, yet cause him so much pain at the same time, his eyes softening at the site of her, his Sarah.

"Yeah..." Chuck repeated, extending his hand to hers as he began to walk towards the door, something he mused much later was kind of symbolic, because this road they had decided to take, well, they'd just begun. As Sarah put her hand in his, the cool warmth - that indescribable combination of comfort and electricity that made every touch seems like the first - enveloped him in, what Chuck imagined, was a Visitor-like bliss.

"Let's go."

The silence in their commandeered mustang was palpable. Sarah was used to the silence with Chuck; it was natural, it always had been, and comfortable, much akin to the feeling when you're totally at ease with the person you are with. But today, it was different. Yes, they'd hashed through things earlier, but that didn't mean that everything was suddenly all forgotten, fine and dandy as Chuck might say. And a part of her was glad of that, Chuck wouldn't be Chuck if he let sleeping dogs lie. Sometimes she needed that push too; but she also knew that it would probably take some time before Chuck actually told Sarah how much her actions in Morocco had affected him. But Sarah hadn't finished the story, the mission to Morocco that had turned into an epic of Ben Hur proportions, haunting her at every turn… then again; it was probably not too much of a stretch to imagine that he knew the rest of the tale already. After all, who didn't?

Sarah went to open her mouth, but closed it again, her impression of a goldfish becoming masterful in its execution. She wanted to break the silence, to make the atmosphere less awkward, but what would she say?

'Nice day today, don't you think?' Sarah thought, sarcasm dripping from the neurons in her mind, like fat from a kebab.

Who was she kidding? Unlike her goldfish impersonation, she was definitely not a master of small talk. So she kept her eyes on the road, turning her head occasionally, furtively, to catch a glimpse of the only man she had ever loved, his curls being flailed about haphazardly by the wind from his open window, the animals shapes being created causing her to let out a small laugh after remembering Ellie's words all those years ago whilst under the effects of pentothal.

Suddenly his eyes met hers. Their intensity too much for her to hold, Sarah instantly pulled her cerulean eyes back onto the road, biting her lip in the process. She'd moved so quickly that she hadn't seen the glint in his eyes. The one that hinted towards an empathy, an acknowledgement of the pain she'd felt in the time that she'd been in northern Africa - albeit it somewhat self-inflicted; because he'd felt it too.

They'd been on opposite sides of the world, yet they still felt the same way, felt the same pain that hurt so much, it made you want to vomit; the same wounds that never truly healed were mirrored upon their bodies, resting neatly upon the bosom, right above their hearts. And for once in her life, Sarah had actually come to terms with her emotions, let them play out before becoming putrid and self-destructive as they had so many times before.

Instead, Sarah let her mind fill on the journey ahead of them, the roads, the junctions, the markers that told her how far away she was from her destination. This wasn't the place that she wanted to go, anywhere else, apart from Morocco, and she would have been happy - put her in the middle of the killing fields of Afghanistan, fighting alongside, what Casey undoubtedly would describe as, her fellow patriots.

But the home of his parents? His mother..? Sarah was not relishing this at all. She tried to lose herself in the road, get lost in the journey, but it didn't work. It couldn't.

"How long till we get to Houston?" His voice, croaky from lack of use emanated from beside her, the tension in the air lifting merely at the sound.

"Not far now", Sarah replied with a drawn out yawn as her eyes met the clock glowing on the dashboard. 0113. It figured.

"About another hour and a half will get us to the city, and then I reckon about another 20 minutes to get to the house, although I'm not too sure about how Mrs. Austin will feel about being woken up in the middle of the night by the woman that killed her son." Sarah stated matter-of-factly.

"Hey…", Chuck said slowly, his voice soft yet firm.

"Don't say things like that. You did what you could in a shitty situation. Her son put himself right in the middle of that situation by choice. Nothing you could have done would have changed what happened."

But Sarah knew he was wrong. She'd been distracted, unfocussed, pushed Mark away - if not physically then definitely emotionally and socially. It was her fault. All of this mess, if only she hadn't been so afraid…

And now the entire nation, no, the entire world, was at risk, all because she made one mistake. Okay, even Sarah admitted that this was a pretty big mistake, and on so many different levels, but wasn't everyone allowed to make a mistake once in their lives?

Apparently not.

"You look exhausted, I can drive the rest of the way if you want? Let you get some rest."

Sarah turned her head, giving Chuck a look that said she'd only let him drive this car over her dead body. It might not have been her baby, but that didn't mean she didn't like to be in control any less. Another one of those annoying spy habits, she supposed. And she really didn't want to be left alone with her thoughts at the moment. They seemed to be more macabre than usual, and driving was a better distraction than none at all.

"Really, Chuck" Sarah replied her sapphire eyes glistening rhythmically to the light of passing street lamps, their tungsten aura creating a perfect juxtaposition that would leave even the most stoic breathless.

"I'm not all that… Tired…" Sarah continued as she turned her eyes back to the road, her words punctuated with a tell-tale yawn that would make the Gods sleepy.

"Right…" Chuck drawled, the sides of his mouth pinching upwards in response to her obvious lie.

"Let me guess; that was just you stretching your vocal cords then? Not a yawn or anything. Right?" Chuck continued, the smile growing on his lips mirrored by the mirth in his eyes.

"Fine Chuck, next truck stop we get to, you can drive. Okay?" Sarah replied, a fiendish plan coming to fruition in her head. She knew these roads like the back of her hand, driving around the country with her father had taken her, on more than one occasion, to this neck of the woods, and she hadn't managed to perfect her Texan accent by watching movies or how-to videos on YouTube.

"Awesome."

Casey hadn't stayed alive in this business by being complacent, or forgetting to make sure precautions were put in place before he was whisked away someplace where they needed his… Expertise... Casey shuddered – his thoughts almost perfectly matched his earlier ones, a disorienting sense of déjà vu overcoming him, which Casey wasn't sure he liked.

"Yet again, it all comes down to planning." Casey muttered to himself as his hands swept deftly across his laptop keyboard.

To be honest, it was a good thing that Chuck was such a dolt that he had actually invited Casey to family dinner on a Friday at his sisters. It made it much easier to put his contingency plan in place, and also allowed him access to some of the most delicious cooking he'd ever tasted (the pot roast was by far his favourite), and Casey had been to some pretty swanky restaurants in his time - not that anyone who saw him on the street would think so. Besides, in Casey's opinion, those little microbots added a certain peppery quality to his Quiche Lorraine that was no bad thing. No bad thing at all.

Finishing his typing with an overly dramatic flourish he attributed to Chuck's bad influence, Casey re-read his memo, watched the small green dot signifying his asset's position make its way into Texas and made 110% sure he had all the details, all the necessities - that to the naked eye, this message would seem innocuous enough. To everyone but Walker, that was.

The key to his plan was to keep Shaw in the dark. Play Shaw whilst seemingly being completely unaware of the true motives behind the beady eyed bastard's unexpected visit. That bit wasn't going to be easy, Shaw was trained nearly as well as he was (Casey still maintained that NSA training was far superior than the CIA counterpart, although Walker had done much in their time as partners to sway most of Casey's misgivings), so would be able to spot a fake a mile away, if Casey hadn't already been made. But even harder than that, Casey had to drop his communique to Sarah off without tipping off Shaw and his dogs.

Casey lifted himself from his chair and checked the monitors he'd had installed in his apartment, connecting to a whole city's worth of surveillance camera's he'd personally and precisely placed to give him an unhindered 360 degree view of the Echo Park complex, 24/7.

Just as he'd expected. It was goons galore out by the fountain, two guarding the entrance and a futher three making some semblance of a perimeter sweep. If there was a party or convention that was solely for bald, suit-clad men with the stature of Arnold Schwarzenegger circa Predator, it was taking place in Burbank, right now and, conveniently, right outside his apartment.

'Well they don't look the least bit conspicuous' Casey mused, grunting at their amateurism. Not even Chuck would stick out as much as these idiots, and Chuck wasn't the most inconspicuous man on a mission, to say the least.

Casey needed to let Walker know what he had planned, otherwise everything would go down the pan. Thanks to Chuck's little phone call earlier, he could feign a reply message to check up on Chuck, give Sarah the code word to make her check their emergency stash point for further information. But Chuck using his phone was a major slip up, one that Casey would have expected Walker to have dealt with immediately after they went on the run. It was a rookie mistake, one that even Morgan would think twice before doing.

Casey grunted, this déjà vu stuff was doing his head in. Shaking his head in dismay, Casey surmised that Walker must have ditched both their usual lines by now, she wasn't stupid, and never, on the rare occasion she slipped up, did she make a mistake twice. It was still darn shoddy work though.

So the phone line was out. He'd try it, but thankfully, due to his uncanny foresight and borderline paranoia, Casey had a much more inventive, much more secure method of communique between himself and his asset.

"Heh", Casey sniggered as he cracked his knuckles in anticipation. There was no way Bartowski was going to see this one coming. In fact, Casey was a little bit peeved at not being able to see the nerd's reaction first hand. He guessed he'd just have to get the story out of Walker when all of this was over.

With communication with Eric and Ernie sorted, Casey began in earnest to devise a way to get his plan to Walker. Of course he had to go to the stash box. It was just getting to the box without being noticed, that was the problem.

"And here we are again, planning" Casey thought and actually chuckled despite himself, which was almost immediately replaced by the standard issue Casey frown.

"Damn you, Bartowski!" Casey shouted into the still air

"Damn you!"

"Okay, that was a good one, Sarah, well done." Chuck granted wearily as he came to open the car door, stretching his arms and legs with blood curdling pops.

"You got me."

"Thank you", Sarah replied smugly, stepping out of the car to take a lungful of the warm Texan air, filling her with nostalgia.

"This truck stop was always the way I knew we were nearly there, or that we'd made it. Texas was my Dad's favourite hiding place, on accounts of it being so big, y'know. He was on his way here when..." Sarah paused, the sentence dying on her lips.

"Needless to say, we spent a lot of time here."

Chuck looked over the Truck stop, his eyes taking in the sight of a weary café that had seen better days, gas pumps that seemed as though they had come from the 1920s, that, Chuck supposed, held a certain quaint quality that was endearing. He just wished he could see this place the way that Sarah did. He could see it in her eyes, there was a certain tranquillity here for her, a sense of place that seemed so perfect, Chuck wanted in on it.

"My Dad used to get me the most delicious ice cream from that old café over there." Sarah continued, pointing towards the flickering café sign.

"I looked forward to that so much as a kid. He always got vanilla, and I had…"

"Rocky Road", Chuck finished, enveloping Sarah in a gentle hug from behind, placing a delicate kiss on the side of her neck.

"Your favourite." Chuck smiled as Sarah turned in his arms, her face lighting up the dark early morning sky so magnificently, even the aurora borealis could not compete.

"You remembered", Sarah breathed through her smile before giving Chuck a quick peck on the cheek. "No-one ever remembers."

"I do." Chuck stated, as if it was obvious, a given that he'd know something like that.

'Of course it was a given', Sarah scolded herself, 'he's Chuck.'

"I remember everything you tell me, Sarah. The time you broke arm working a con with your Dad and went a week without visiting the hospital, the time in Bulgaria you knocked out the leader of a terrorist cell with a bra turned slingshot, oh yeah… Heh… and that one time when you went to the DMV and…" Chuck blurted, the apparent lack of need for oxygen a feat even the most talented free diver would be proud of.

"Okay, now I just sound like a creepy stalker, don't I?"

Sarah laughed heartily.

"Maybe, Chuck. But you're my creepy stalker."

Sarah pulled Chuck into another embrace, the feeling of his body against hers soothing, despite the temperature of the air, even at this early hour. It was a feeling that was hard to describe, it wasn't something that Sarah had really experienced before, and perhaps that was one of the reasons that she revelled in it so much, not to mention the fact that Chuck was the only one who had, and could ever give her that tingling sensation she lived for. Sarah supposed that this is what home felt like. And damn if it didn't feel good.

"Yes. That I most certainly am. Aannd…" Chuck drawled, pulling away from Sarah to look her directly in the eye, a mischievous smirk, not dissimilar to the one Sarah herself had been sporting not too long ago, appearing on his face.

"I have the car keys!" Chuck laughed, bounding away from Sarah before she could snatch his precious away from him.

"Chuck!" Sarah screamed, laughter pouring out of her lungs as Chuck jingled the keys in front of her, his tongue poking out between his lips, an obvious, yet remarkably effective taunt.

"How did you..?" Sarah's incredulous look causing Chuck to almost fall to the floor with laughter.

"I told you I remember everything you tell me. Besides, a little help from the intersect didn't hurt either!"

"Oh, you're in for it now mister! When I get my hands on you..!" Sarah shouted happily, the combined laughter of male and female voices filling the still air for miles around as Sarah chased after Chuck. And, of course, the all-important and oh-so precious keys.

Chuck pulled the car up outside the address Sarah had punched into the GPS they'd found in the glove box of their commandeered mustang. For once, Chuck thanked the Lord that some people ignored the warnings manufacturers plastered all over the box of these things, just to cover their asses.

"Are you sure that was the right address, Sarah?" Chuck asked skeptically as he pulled the handbrake and turned off the engine.

"Yeah, Chuck." Sarah replied, her head down, working on some kind of wondrous lock picking device so they could not only sneak into the Austin residence, but sneak in without waking the inhabitants, get the intel, and leave, as if nothing had ever happened.

"Why?" Sarah finished as she looked at Chuck, her gaze following his finger as he pointed towards the window behind her.

"Oh…" Sarah whispered, throwing the unfinished lockpick into the back seat.

"I see…"

Stepping out of the Mustang, it was even more easy to see that the place was deserted - a derelict house on a street of mansions, the Beverly Hills, Fresh Prince of Bel Air kind of places that positively reeked of money. Between the boarded and broken windows, the badly secured, almost hingeless door and the dereliction notice pasted jointly to it, Sarah likened this to a house not far akin from something out of The Addams Family.

"Well, I don't think this place has been lived in for some time… Seems like Mark was lying about this being his mother's house…"

"Yeah", Chuck replied, swatting a cobweb away from the wonkily hung front door. "I think you may be right."

Sarah turned the door handle once, years of dust falling from the crack between the door and frame as the door swung, or rather lurched slowly open, the sound of creaking hinges so stereotypical, Chuck couldn't help but comment. Sarah simply rolled her eyes, her hand never leaving the hilt of the Smith & Wesson at her back and continued her stride into what appeared to, at one stage, have been the main room.

Chuck coughed into the darkness of the room, the dust being awakened from its slumber doubtless to cause Chuck's allergies to go craaazy. The room was pitch black, save for the dim dawn light that swept into the house from the open front door, the dust, as far as it could be seen, acting as a mist of putrid, diseased decay. It was Dickensian - Miss Havisham's house, down, almost, to the last letter.

The sound of ripping behind him gave Chuck cause to jump, managing, just, at the last minute to swallow that girliest of squeals he'd brought with him into adulthood from his pre-puberty days.

The décor was old, mid 80s if Chuck had to guess, but then again, the thick layer of dust covering every nook and cranny made it hard give an accurate guestimate. One thing Chuck did know, however, was that this place was creepy. Something here wasn't right, and Chuck wanted nothing more than to get the codex, and get out of here.

"Ah-ha!" Chuck exclaimed, rubbing his hands together in glee as a dastardly bond villain would, and turned to the blonde angel standing beside him.

"The painting. Evil genii always hide safes behind large, gold framed pictures of race horses over their fire places. It's what I'd do anyways."

"Is that so?" Sarah replied, one soft, long hand resting gently upon her hip, a slight pout amplifying her plump, soft, inviting lips in such a way, Chuck couldn't help but take his eyes off them.

"Uhh…" was all that Chuck could reply, his brain had stopped working the second Sarah had stared seductively biting the corner of her lip.

"And I suppose you are one of these genii you were speaking of then, Chuck." Sarah continued, her long legs carrying her, a sway in her step that had Chuck's head bobbing backwards and forwards as a dog following a tennis ball.

"Yeah…" Chuck replied absently. How did she do that? Was she a witch? No, that was too unflattering to Sarah. Yeah, there were some pretty hot witches on the TV these days, but they still didn't really make up for the high multitude of warts and hunched backs ilk of witch. No, Sarah was definitely more like an angel, maybe he thought that too often, but Chuck really couldn't find a better day to describe the way she seemed to almost float across a room, her steps so graceful, her movements so perfect, yet, to the wrong person, also so deadly.

'Okay', Chuck compromised, 'Sarah's like an angel, but from the Old Testament.'

And that was definitely something. As Sarah continued her enrapturing dance towards Chuck, the softness of her lips getting ever closer to his own, ready and waiting, prepped for docking, when Sarah stopped. Just. Out. Of. Reach.

Now Chuck really understood how Tantalus felt. It sucked.

"Hmm, really?" Sarah leaned in and whispered into Chuck's ear, the warmth of her breath leaving tingles on the back of his neck.

"Mmmhmm", Chuck whimpered, unable to move as though Sarah had put him under some divine spell, her living, breathing, personal statue.

"Strange," Sarah whispered again, this time in the opposite ear, gaining another whimper out of her helpless prey.

'This,' Sarah grinned, before finishing her sentence 'is for stealing my car keys.'

"Because I always thought that the plural of genius was geniuses, but then again, I'm sure a genius like yourself would know that, wouldn't you?"

Patting Chuck on the shoulder, Sarah continued to walk straight past Chuck and inspect the painting before her, a hand rising to her mouth to stifle any hint of a smirk.

"Wha..?" Chuck finally managed, the blood returning, to his brain after what seemed to be an eternity and a day, his slack jawed expression too cute for Sarah to ignore.

Giving Chuck a not-so-quick kiss, the catalyst to the full reboot of her lover's senses and as compensation for her earlier teasing, Sarah couldn't help but laugh once again, this time at Chuck's obvious, innocent look of confusion.

"You just got pwned!"

"Sarah..." Chuck began, the trademark Bartowski grin suddenly popping onto his face in recognition, "you are evil, you know that? And did no-one ever tell you that with great power…"

"… Comes great responsibility. I know, Chuck. I remember the things that you tell me, too. Even if they are quotes from comic books."

Giving Chuck yet another kiss, this time a peck on the cheek, Sarah quickly made her way to the window she'd uncovered earlier, the blush rising rapidly upon her cheeks in response to her earlier admission.

Shaking his head to get rid of the stupid grin that seemed to have made itself a permanent feature on his face since Sarah began quoting Spidey, Chuck continued his inspection of the portrait of one 'Red Rum', a prize-winning, regal, chestnut race horse. Or at least, that's what the description of the painting said.

'Yep.' Chuck mused, thoughts returning to Sarah, his chest feeling as though it was about to burst. In a good way, of course, not a John Hurt, exploding alien offspring kind of way.

'I am definitely one lucky guy.'

"The code to the safe is 30, 7, 82, Chuck" Sarah called from her position by the window, keeping an eye out for any of Shaw's cronies, or, God forbid, Bub.

"Gotcha." Chuck replied, tongue poking slightly out of his mouth as he began working on the numbers to open the safe.

"You know, Mark really should have known better than to put his birthday as the code for the safe. Any hacker worth his salt would be able to get into his personnel file, or whatever, and shazam! They've got the code. They've got the Codex, and then…"

"It's not his birthday Chuck" Sarah interrupted, Chuck's verbal diarrhoea cutting off immediately after her dulcet, yet troubled tones met the air.

"It's mine."

"Oh..." Was all Chuck could muster; biting his lip to act as a filter to his mouth, for once. How could she, after everything she put him through, all the spiel about the danger, just to know the littlest thing that was real, just gives it to him like that?

Chuck worked the lock in silence, making sure to reset the combination at the beginning, just in case someone else had be giving the lock a twirl. If he asked himself that old question "could I be anymore stupid?" At last he had his answer. Yes. He could be more stupid, substantially, and seemingly increasingly so.

Chuck shook his head, yet again, but this time for the totally opposite reason. Now wasn't the time to get emotional. Just focus on the mission. That's what Sarah would do, right?

Continuing his input of the numbers, Chuck made sure he committed this combination to memory. The most important date, he surmised, that he'd ever have to remember, and one that he'd never forget. She may have given it to Mark just like that, but all he could do was to promise himself that he'd never forget it, because it was precious, made all that sweeter by the fight, by the work put in?

Maybe. At least that was what Chuck was going to tell himself.

Twisting the slowly to the right, Chuck heard the lock click as it met the number 82, the door popping open with a small 'swish' of air.

"Umm… Sarah, I think we have a problem here…" Chuck started, his voice heavy and slow as he peered into the safe.

"What do you mean, it's empty?"

"I mean there is nothing in here, nadda, zilch, devoid of contents. Empty."

"No… No, this can't be right… Are you sure Chuck? Nothing? At all? The Codex has to be here, Chuck. It's the only place, it's the drop point. It has to be there."

Sarah's eyes betrayed the fear in her heart, the realisation that if Shaw had already gotten the Codex, then that was it. Game over. Goodbye world as we know it – and something told Sarah that everything wasn't going to be fine.

This was the place. Sarah was sure of it. Mark had always mentioned meeting his parents, going back to Texas to introduce her. For all the sadistic qualities Mark Austin possessed, Sarah had thought this was a rare moment of normality, an act of compassion.

But she was wrong, again, and she didn't like it. If only she'd taken the time to listen, to do her job and humour that scumbag of an asset. It wasn't even that he was the worst person she'd ever had to deal with in her line of work, it was just that…

Aaah. Sarah just wanted to scream. This was the only place outside of Morocco, outside of their carpet store/CIA base, in fact, that Mark had ever mentioned. And Sarah had searched that shop, every roll of carpet, every piece of computer hardware, top to bottom for what she knows now was the Codex. She wanted a way out of there, and if finding the Codex would secure herself a speedy extradition, then she was all for it.

But she never found any signs of anything that seemed suspicious, like it may be the then unknown tech that Mark was holding her, and the whole of the CIA, ransom for. The only logical conclusion Sarah could muster was that the Codex was here. That he'd tried to give her the Codex so many times, when she'd made up excuses about not being able to leave the secured location, not having enough back-up, the dangers of leaving the base unmanned, etc. But those, like so many other times in Sarah's life, were just excuses, and she could have avoided this whole mess by just listening, by making connections and doing what felt right for once in her life - by being like Chuck.

Making excuses - the second thing the CIA taught you, just after lying and immediately before the deadly use of a gun.

"No…" Sarah repeated breathily, her heart pounding two hundred times a minute, so loud she swore it could be heard from Mexico.

Chuck, gauging Sarah's expression, intensified his efforts to find anything, however miniscule, however futile, in that God damned safe.

"I am 100%, no 120% sure that there is nothing in this… Wait…"

There was a strange hole in the corner of the safe's back panel. Small and unassuming, as though a minor fault in the manufacturing process had caused an erroneous bevel - a very round, no, perfectly round bevel that was also, coincidently, the perfect size for a button.

"Sarah…" Chuck breathed, immediately bringing Sarah's full attention upon the lockbox and the small divot he'd found.

Moving aside to let Sarah take a closer inspection at his finding, Chuck let his imagination wander as to what, if anything, pressing this button might lead to if this was a James Bond movie. A secret underground base like Castle? The blueprints for an evil space station the size of a small moon that had the power to destroy planets?

But what was he thinking? This was serious. From what the flash had shown him, this Codex thing was the real deal. He'd told Morgan to grow up enough times during the not-so-pretty aftermath of a mystery crisper session, yet, it seemed he couldn't even manage it himself.

'Oh boy', Chuck gulped, his eyes now focussed on the safe in front of him, not a galaxy far, far away.

Well, where the safe had been, that is.

In its place, a leggy blonde had been replaced, head stuck right in the empty, cavernous safe, the grapefruit scent of her shampoo was intoxicating, the colour of her ivory skin (despite the paint by numbers of bruises tickled across her body) against the white of her skin tight tank top causing Chuck to gulp yet again. He couldn't believe that he was so lucky, and, if she moved her arm to the right, just a smidge…

'Bingo!' Chuck salivated, now he had the perfect view. He knew there was some advantage, other than being able to reach the top shelf, for being tall.

"You don't have to take sneaky peeks now, Chuck." Sarah called mischievously from her place seemingly inside the safe, her lip quirking slightly.

"What?" Chuck almost squealed, his face making an extremely convincing imitation of a strawberry, "I'm not… I mean I wasn't… I didn't…"

"It's okay, honey." Sarah replied, patting Chuck blindly on the back, her main focus still being used to crack the enigma of the hidden safe.

"This can't be right…" Sarah whispered as she pulled out of the safe, a new compartment being revealed behind the original safe in her wake. And this time, it wasn't empty.

He only wished it was.

Chuck's heart sank. He knew that if they'd actually found the blueprints of a real life Death Star in Mark's lockbox, that would be more than pretty shit, but he couldn't make up his mind if this was worse or not. On any normal day, Chuck would have thought this was pretty cool, although pirates were always more Morgan's thing growing up. But not today, not when X marked that spot, out of a whole world's worth of spots.

"Looks like we're off to Morocco." Sarah said dryly, her voice and face stoic and emotionless as she strode purposefully out of the house, the wind bellowing in her wake - a tumult of proportions to rival even Aeolus.

"Great…", Chuck replied in kind.

"Just great."

A/N 2: Bill and I have got more than a few ideas for the next chapter, so hopefully that one won't have such a long wait...

As always, reviews are more than appreciated, but more importantly, enjoy your day and if you absolutely, positively have to work hard, then make sure you play harder!