A/N1 More context, but integrated into the unfolding of things. I am twisting canon (Intersect/Intersect Project) just a bit in order to tell the story I want to tell. Not a big twist, but I want you to warn you.

Thanks for reading, reviewing and PMing. Stay in contact, please. It's hard to get yourself to write for a vacuum.

Nota Bene: Thanks to Nomadic Nerd, who first caught a gaff in the posted version of the last chapter. I posted the penultimate version, it turns out, not the ultimate one, and so left out a short but non-trivial part of Ellie and Devon's reaction to seeing Bryce. (I should have known that I had posted the wrong version. I kept finding typos I thought I had fixed. Sometimes I am a danger to myself.) Thanks, NN. Apologies to any and all I may have confused.

Don't own Chuck.

Sarah vs. Omaha

CHAPTER FIVE

Strict Time

"There's a hand on a wire that leads to my mouth…"

-Elvis Costello, Strict Time

Beckman was livid. She wanted to crawl across the conference table and claw the self-satisfied smirk off Graham's face.

"June Thorne? And is she already there?" Beckman slammed the thick file on the table, and pages fanned out like cards from a deck. "And you got the President to sign off on this replacement? She's...she's.."

"...Effective, Diane. I think that's the word you are looking for. I simply explained to the President that we needed someone on the scene who would take the Intersect in hand. Really and truly handle him. We need to know what the Intersect can really do. We've coddled him, babied him, spoonfed him. He belongs to us, Diane. And though we never asked for Chuck Bartowski, we have him. We should find out what an Intersect can do. Discover its limits."

Beckman forced herself to regain a semblance of composure. The President's aide was in the room and a member of the Senate Intelligence Committee. Graham would grab any little advantage and use it against her.

"You know they have a mission today?"

Graham smiled serenely. "Yes, and Thorne has been read in. She will oversee the support team you sent and monitor the mission. She needs to observe the Intersect in action."

Beckman forced herself to speak softly and slowly. "But her record, Graham…"

"What about it," Graham asked, the smirk now a serene smile being used to goad her. "She's never once failed on a mission. Never once. You've seen it for yourself." He made a sweeping gesture at the pages fanned out on the table.

Beckman clinched her jaw, grinding her teeth silently. "True, she has never failed a mission. But her successes have all been so costly. And I don't mean in dollars and cents, although there is that. I mean in life and suffering. She salts the earth, Graham. No matter where she goes, when she leaves, nothing grows. Walker was a killer, I grant. But using her was like pointing a laser. Using Thorne is like drunkenly swinging a mowing scythe. She's...well, pardon my French, but she's fucking Death."

Graham shot a look at the President's aide and the senator, a "Do you see what I see?"-look. "Well, Diane, that's...overdramatic. Those romance novels you read to help you sleep must be leaking into your system." He said it like a joke.

It was not. How did he know? She tried to cover her involuntary blush by rubbing her face vigorously. Oh, she would grant, he was good. He knew things about her, about her home life, and he was making sure she knew. The CIA had been watching her: a blow below the belt just to make sure she knew how serious Graham was about not only being part of the team in Burbank, but how serious he was about not being questioned about Thorne. The stakes had gone up. But why? What was Graham playing at? She did not have time to think about it. Graham was talking again.

"The President has seen Thorne's file and he has agreed with me. She's the man for the job." Graham smirked again, his eyes glinting, hard. "I admit, she can be...overenthusiastic. But Walker, well, we both agreed that...there were concerns...Perhaps she was compromised. Perhaps not." Graham gave another stagey shrug for the benefit of the other two people in the room. "Either way, she protected the asset, not just from others, but from us, Diane. That was sub-optimal."

Beckman opened her mouth to protest, but Graham waved her off. "And, yes, I know Walker was my choice. I'll admit it. She was not a failure, though. The thought is that perhaps she could have been more successful. I believe Thorne will be. The President has agreed." And with that underlined a second time, Graham seemed to feel comfortable lapsing into silence.

Beckman's knew something was going on. Under the ice of Graham's demeanor, things were swimming around. Scratching beneath the surface. He was up to something. The President had not just volunteered his agreement. Graham would not have dared blackmail, even if Graham had just threatened her with it. No, it was something else. Some bill of goods he was selling to the President. Some deeper policy.

She had to give this round to Graham. But by winning, he surrendered something. She just needed to figure out what it was.

ooOoo

By the time Casey got to Chuck's room, Thorne was seated in a chair beside the bed. Bartowski was sitting up in bed, clear, red handprints on his cheeks. His eyes were round.

Casey glared at Thorne. He had never seen her up close before. She had very white skin and almost purple eyes. Her black hair was cut short. It looked like she had styled it just by shaking it out after her shower. No makeup. No polish. Just a little black dress and heeled sandals that looked half Parisian runway, half Spartan soldier. One foot was swinging from the leg that she had crossed over the other.

"John Casey. Glad to meet you, partner." She gave him a smile, daring him to respond.

Casey took the dare. "'Partner' for me is a term of respect." He could hear the growl in his own voice, welcomed it. "You have to earn it. And you sure as hell don't get points for smacking the asset." What had happened?

Her smile cooled but did not disappear. "Go ahead and call him the Intersect. I'm fully read-in, operational. I'm the new handler, after all." She deliberately seemed no longer even aware of the kid's presence in the room. Hell, mind games. Just what we needed. "And Graham has explained to me that the asset...the Intersect...is the property of the U.S. government. I will handle that property as I choose, and you will support me, Casey, or I will make things very difficult for you."

The threat did not move Casey, not for himself, not at all. Screw you, Thorne. But Thorne allowed her gaze to snake toward Bartowski as she finished. The threat was not just for Casey; she was making that clear. It was also for Bartowski, primarily for Bartowski. The handprints were there for Casey. The slaps themselves had been for Bartowski. She'd have access to Bartowski all the time. Hoping to keep her from doing anything else to the kid, Casey nodded, yielded. For now, psycho.

"So, are we ready for the mission?" She finally turned her gaze on Bartowski. He had his hand on his cheek. He was still stunned. She gave him a cruel, predatory smile. "Now, what's this place called? The coffee shop. Oh, yes, Bump and Grind. Maybe we should just call it Larkin and Walker. Unless I miss my guess, he's got her bent over somewhere, deeply bent over, and he's bumping, and she's grinding. If you listen, you can almost hear them..." Casey stepped toward Thorne. Chuck's eyes finally focused. His face flushed beneath her handprints.

But she stood up and walked to Casey, looking up at him with her strange purple eyes, and no trace of fear. "It's time for the asset to get his head out of Walker's ass. Walker was playing him from the beginning. I'm not going to play him. I am going to run him." She bent down and picked up the picture of Walker and Bartowski that was on the floor. "And if he runs as I say, well...maybe we can work out a system of rewards. You know, like a clicker, or maybe... treats." She threw the picture on the bed so that it landed face down. "New day dawning. Time to put childhood away."

"I'm going to meet the backup team. I will oversee things from there. You two get ready and head to the coffee shop. Give us a few minutes to set up. We should be there a little while before you are, to make sure everything is ready. Here's my cell number, Casey." Her voice became husky, almost robotic. "Memorize it and then destroy it." She laughed lightly as she walked out of the room, her hand reaching out to muss Bartowski's hair as she passed. "I love getting to say stuff like that."

ooOoo

As men walked by, Sarah wished she had not had to do what Bryce wanted: dress the part. But she had to. So she was standing, waiting for him to pay the cab driver, in tall heels and a very short blue dress. They were at one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, attending a luncheon function for charity. Gretta Garland was overseeing it. The plan for the day was simple, although they had gone over it several times at the coffee shop. Sarah and Bryce would play a happy, handsy married couple. The aim was to get Garland to notice them and in particular to notice Bryce.

Sarah had moved Bryce's hand from her back when they were leaving the room. "We do that sort of thing when it's necessary, not before."

He smiled and shrugged. "But it needs to look natural."

"I think we can pretend successfully, Bryce."

"Well, you can pretend, Sarah. I'm going to remember." Sarah let that line go.

Her hands were still giving her trouble. She clutched her small purse with both hands as she waited with Byrce, hoping to keep them still or at least to hide the trembling. The men walking by were staring at her. "C'mon, Bryce. Let's go inside."

Bryce finally finished up and turned to her. "Sorry, he had to make change, and it took him a minute to count it out."

They went up the canopied, carpeted stairs into the plush restaurant. Bryce explained who they were to the hostess, and showed her the invitation the CIA had somehow managed to get for them. The hostess led them through the crowded main dining area, to a separate room at the back. Bryce put his hand on her back again as they went through the door, and she gave him a generous smile. They were making their entrance. A lot could hang on the next few minutes.

A man walked up, barrel-chested with cropped gray hair, and he put himself in the path of the hostess. She stopped and handed him the invitation. "The Andersons. Bryce and Sarah."

Bryce ran his hand down Sarah's arm and then interlaced his fingers with hers. She flinched at his touch inwardly, but showed nothing outwardly. The only person she wanted to touch her like this was far, far away. She would never see him again. Whatever Ellie told him, it would likely only harden him against her more than he already was. The thought made her chest tight again.

She did what she always did when emotions swamped her. She pretended that she was not there, that the emotions had another owner. That they were not hers. But she could not seem to pretend that she was not there, because Sam was there too. Sam had noticed Bryce's touch and recoiled from it. Sam was dreaming of Burbank and unclear why she was not there.

The barrel-chested man led them to a table and seated them. They said polite, perfunctory hellos to the other people around the table. But the room quieted. A tall, statuesque woman stood up to speak. She had brown hair and brown eyes. Sarah could detect traces of surgery around her eyes and mouth, and it seemed likely other parts of her had been surgically improved. Still, she was a quite beautiful woman, and the plastic surgery, while detectable to Sarah's skilled eye, was minor and did not distort the woman's features. The woman, of course, was Gretta Garland.

She looked around the room. Sarah had often heard the phrase 'owning a room' but she had never seen it happen quite so clearly as it did then. Garland owned the room. Within a few seconds, it was hers. Everything was still. Everyone was waiting. Gretta scanned the room once more, and her eyes paused for a moment when she saw Sarah and Bryce. Bryce, his timing good, chose that moment to drape his arm around Sarah's shoulders. A brief spark of interest showed in Garland's gaze and then she finished her scan of the room. Sarah tried to take a deeper breath of relief. That had been textbook.

Garland then gave a brief, impassioned speech about the plight of poor children in Louisiana, about the difficulties they faced getting shelter, food, and education. After providing some illustrations and talking about one of her own trips into some of New Orleans' more challenged neighborhoods, Garland asked everyone at the luncheon to dig deep and to make things better for these children.

Sarah made herself not think about what she had seen in Garland's file. The horrible things she was suspected of, or perhaps implicated in. The evil hypocrisy was too much to dwell on, especially with a sharp steak knife on the table in front of Sarah.

"And so," Garland drawled on in her odd Hoboken-near-the-Gulf accent, "do all that you can to help. We who are more fortunate owe it to others to share our good fortune." She smiled, her teeth very straight and very white. Sarah looked at Bryce out of the corner of her eye. He was projecting rapt attention and deep interest. As Garland finished, she seemed to be looking right at Bryce. "Thank you for coming, for letting me see your faces, for reminding me why I do what I do."

There was a round of enthusiastic applause. Everyone began to eat. Sarah moved the steak on her plate around, cutting it several times but never taking a bite. She ate a few of the uninspired green beans. She drank some sweet tea, so sweet it made her teeth hurt. Bryce, she knew, was looking for opportunities to make further eye contact with Garland, and the plan was for Sarah not to notice.

Dessert came around. Bread pudding. Sarah took a bite. It was good, the creme anglaise particularly. But she did not want it. She stared at the bowl. She wanted...Chuck.

This Sarah/Sam distinction, while real enough in its way, gave expression to a new but fundamental fact. Chuck changed me. The spy who asked him to trust her was not the spy who first walked to the Nerd Herd desk. She did not understand the changes.

She was doubtful she could change back. You can't go home again. Burbank.

She could be a spy with Chuck. Could she still be a spy without him? All the feelings and reactions that she had deactivated over years, he had reactivated in minutes, then encouraged. But she had never had to be a spy without him but with them. With all these feelings, open to the world, unable to edit it or shut it out.

Chuck helped her find her way with all of that, even when he didn't know that was what he was doing. He was helping her discover a different life, a different way of living. But she was still working that out. She was still in transit. Sarah the Traveler. And now she did not have her traveling companion. Now she had Bryce.

She let herself think about Chuck for a moment, and not just the kiss. Him. She dwelt in the thought of him and did not disown it for the first time since she'd said yes to Omaha.

Chuck. Chuck.

Her hands steadied, but her heart broke.

It was a strange trade.

ooOoo

The Crown Vic purred through the LA streets. But Chuck was oblivious to the car and the city. What the hell just happened? He had been slapped into wakefulness by a raven-haired harpy. No play slaps. Hard, cruel, painful slaps. G. I. Jane in a little black dress. G. I. June. Clickers? Treats? Property? Chuck was normally respectful of women even in his private thoughts. He tried hard to be, always. But: Bitch!

How was she going to fit into his life? What was the cover? They had to figure out some story about where Sa...she had gone. I need to stop thinking about her. I will never survive if I think about her. Stop! How would he explain this Thorne creature to Buy More folks, to Morgan? God, to Ellie?

Casey had not spoken since June left, but Chuck knew him well enough by now to know that he was worried and concerned. No doubt it was concern for the team, although Casey had come over and had drinks with him last night. They had not talked. Casey had punctuated the drinking with various grunts. Although later in the evening Casey had slurred something odd about how love was confusing: he seemed to be thinking about his own life, and Chuck knew better than to pry where Casey was concerned.

Chuck tried to still his thoughts. Like Kirk in that episode of Trek. Chuck was too upset to remember which one, and besides, trying to remember would be the opposite of stilling his thoughts. He stared out the window of the Crown Vic. He tried to be empty.

ooOoo

June was humming to herself in the van. This ought to be amusing. Bartowski would be no challenge. She was obviously right about him. But Casey complicated things. She was not sure yet, but she thought the ape actually liked the geek. That would make things complicated, but more fun, more rewarding. Breaking Bartowski emotionally would have emotional consequences for Casey. Two birds, one Thorne. No doubt Casey was a hard ass. But he was also by-the-book, do-your-duty. The NSA rulebook was Casey's bible. June had no rulebook, no bible...unless it was 120 Days of Sodom. Mmhmm... a good book. Ha! She giggled to herself, shaking her head.

She understood Graham well. She understood her orders. She'd been given carte blanche. But she also knew Graham was wily. He was setting her up. He was hoping for a particular outcome in Burbank, and he had chosen her because of that hope. Well, while it was not her style, June could be wily too. Oh, yes, she would leave a mess behind her in Burbank, a smoking hole in the California earth. Like the one that swallowed Sunnydale. I so miss Drusilla! She would leave a mess, oh, yes, she would. That was her style. But she would find a way to make it Graham's mess.

ooOoo

Graham was in a good mood. A whistling mood. Crisis not only averted but capitalized on. Burbank was in, well, not good hands, but the right hands. A handler was in place.

Graham had convinced the President that what mattered was the Intersect Project, not the Intersect, not Bartowski. Bartowski only mattered insofar as he could aid the Project. Bartowski was a lab rat, with a comparable life expectancy. Graham had not said that last bit aloud to the President, of course.

So far, Graham had hidden the Project from Beckman. She thought it ended when Larkin blew up the White Lab. But that had actually only intensified Graham's efforts, and convinced him that he needed to hide the Project even more effectively. The President did not actually know the degree to which Graham's efforts had intensified or the amount of money he had diverted to fund the Project. Graham wanted Intersected Agents. He wanted Intersects who did what they were told. What he told them. He wanted Intersects who could take action, make decisions, pull the goddamn trigger. Having Bartowski as the Intersect was like having a powerful computer trapped in a Magic Eight Ball. "Should we stop the bad guys?" Shake, shake, look: "Bartowski says: Ask Again! And say 'Please'."

With Intersected Agents, the CIA would enjoy a massive rise in power and prestige and influence. And so, of course, would its Director. Graham began whistling God Save the King.

ooOoo

Chuck and Casey were sitting in Bump and Grind. It was a nice place. Three other customers were sitting there. Two were hypnotized by their phones. The third was staring into his coffee as if hid secrets in its brown depths. Nova. Chuck did not flash on him, but Casey nodded when he saw Chuck look at him. Casey thought that was their man too.

"Ok, you two. We're on. We've tapped into the shop's internal security cameras. We have ears and eyes now. Have you spotted Nova?" Casey nodded once and said yes quietly. "Good. Meet is scheduled to take place any time now."

Chuck started to say something, but Casey shook his head and scratched his ear. June would hear. The door opened, the bell above it rang, and a man walked in. Chuck looked up, a reflex, and he flashed. Casey saw it. So did June.

"Ok. So, the Intersect just flashed or he just had the world's shortest wet dream," June's voice in their ears. Chuck flushed. Casey scowled. "Was it about me, Intersect? My heels, maybe?"

"That guy," Chuck whispered to Casey, ignoring June. "Definitely Fulcrum. Major Smythe. 'Major', his name, not his rank. He's a killer." Chuck's flash had nauseated him. Smythe killed his victims with brutal force, typically with blunt objects. The file photos were a splatter film.

Smythe sat down with Nova. Nova was obviously frightened, out of his depth. They exchanged words, but neither Chuck nor Casey could hear. Nova reached into his pocket and pulled out a thumb drive. Smythe reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick envelope, sat it on the table. As he started pushing it to Nova, Casey whispered, "Smythe is mine. Try to catch Nova." With that, Casey launched into action, covering the distance to Smythe in strong strides.

Smythe saw him coming, but managed only to just get to his feet before Casey flew into him. Nova took off toward the exit. Chuck gave chase. Nova went through the back door and into the alley. Chuck slammed into the closing door...and noticed the thumb drive on the ground. He scooped it up, barely breaking stride. Nova was at the end of the alley. Chuck would overtake him easily. Although Chuck was no athlete, his long legs had always made him a fast runner. He gobbled up space with each stride. But just as Chuck got to the end of the alley, a man on a bicycle came out of nowhere. Chuck ran into him and they crashed to the ground.

Chuck's landing was painful. One end of the handlebars speared his chest. A pedal scraped his leg. He heard the man start cursing, but Chuck forced himself up and onto his feet. It took a moment, unfortunately, to get man untangled from machine. By the time Chuck was up, Nova was gone. Chuck had somehow managed to hold onto the thumb drive through the fracas. He slipped it into his pocket.

"Good work, Casey. We've got Smythe. Intersect? Do we have Nova? Intersect? If Nova got away, there will be hell to pay, Intersect."

"He got away," Chuck said it matter-of-factly.

"Tell me you got the thumb drive."

Chuck had no idea why he did it, maybe it was Thorne. Maybe it was because…

...Maybe it was just that he was sick of taking orders and being slapped around, figuratively and now literally.

"No, Nova got away with the thumb drive."

An act of rebellion. Vive la résistance!

ooOoo

Bryce was pleased with how the luncheon had gone. Pleased. Gretta Garland had noticed him, as he knew she would. And she had noticed Sarah too, as he knew she would. And Bryce had noticed Gretta. She was older, yes, but everything looked firm and properly placed. The way she moved created a familiar tightness in Bryce's lower abdomen.

The CIA should have all the background for the Anderson's up by now, so if Garland checked her guest list and dug a little (and she would, he knew she would), she would find that they were a wealthy, self-indulgent couple living off of Bryce Anderson's sizeable inheritance. She would also find a few suggestive details, suggestions of perhaps shady dealings on Bryce's part. The only thing to do now was wait. He hated the waiting part, but particularly now, when his plan had been to do such waiting while bedding Sarah.

He knew that would happen eventually too. But he really hated the waiting part.

ooOoo

June got back to the apartment, seething. Her first mission with the new team, and the damn package got away. They would eventually find Nova, she was sure; they would find the package, the information. Bartowski. She had had to face Graham and Beckman and explain. She made it clear: it was the Intersect's fault.

And he had just stood there, head down, and said nothing. He had not defended himself or explained. He is completely pathetic.

At least they captured Smythe. That was something. She would interrogate him later. Oh, yes, yes, she would. There was that to look forward to. Fun.

She threw a plastic shopping bag on the bed and sat down, taking off her high-heeled sandals. She stood up and pulled off the black dress, then took off her underwear. She bunched up the clothes and put them in a hamper in the bathroom. Back in the central room, June reached into a plastic bag and yanked free a can of Lysol. Uncapping it, she started spraying it systematically through the apartment, until an acrid, chemical cloud hung in the air. Better.

She capped the can and put it on the nightstand. She reached into the bag again, retrieving a pack of Ticonderoga Pencils.

This was an old ritual with her. Since childhood. One by one, slowly, deliberately, she took the pencils from the pack and put them in a careful line on the bed. Then she picked one up and broke it into pieces until the pieces were too small for her to break them further. She kept repeating the process.

Bartowski. Snap. Bartowski. Snap. Bartowski. Snap!

A/N2 Sheesh. Things happening and not-happening all over. End of Arc 1, the Grace Abandoned arc.

Tune in for Chapter 6, "Big Sister's Clothes." Arc 2 begins, the Look Homeward, Angel arc. Ellie and Devon are back in Burbank with a picture. Sarah and Bryce meet Gretta Garland. June enforces the new cover. Chuck does some hard thinking, and Morgan tries to help. It'll be a couple of days before it is ready.

If you are looking for a lighter break from this heavy story in the interim, I have finished my comic-booky, nearly angst-free Halloween tale, Too Old For This.