A/N1 Final shuffle before the deck gets tossed in the air.

Thanks for everything, folks. As we head toward the end, how about letting me hear from you if you've been reading silently? And of course, I want to keep hearing from those of you who have been responding. Yes, I have written this quickly, but I hope the effort of thought that has gone into it is apparent.

Don't own Chuck.

Sarah vs. Omaha

CHAPTER TWENTY

Gifts and Losses

"And there's also 'To him that hath shall be given.' After all, you must have a capacity to receive, or even omnipotence can't give. Perhaps your own passion temporarily destroys the capacity."

― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

Beckman was appalled. She knew her mouth was hanging open. She had gotten the President to get her Graham's files. Immediately, a team of analysts was assigned. She was not shocked to find abuses there, no, not shocked at all.

But the patterns of abuse the analysts were turning up already, their systematicity, the length of time they had gone on...She had never suspected that.

Perhaps most shocking was Graham's Enforcer Project. Walker had been the golden girl chosen from a pool of candidates Graham had conscripted. All were young women, all from broken homes or no homes at all, all subjected to some form of abuse or other. But all were also young women with high IQs and athletic promise. Graham had been sifting through Child and Family Services documents for years, paying employees of the Services to help him identify candidates. The file on Walker showed that Graham had taken an interest in her father because of her, not the other way around. No one would likely have ever caught up with Jack Burton that fateful day if not for Graham's judgment that Burton's little girl showed 'high promise'. A guidance counselor at Walker's...then, Jenny Burton's...high school had put in a call to CFS, worried about the gifted but despondent girl she had met with a couple of times and observed in the hallways, troubled by her quiet aloneness and suffering. That phone call had been the unwitting beginning of Walker's career. It had started a chain of events that ended with her name in front of Langston Graham.

June Thorne was another conscriptee. But unlike Walker, her 'high promise' had turned out to be too dark for Graham. Even for Graham. Her pain and troubles ran too deep. Of course, Graham had not given up on her as an Enforcer candidate until that had become painfully clear, bloodily clear. And still, Graham, characteristically, did not drum her out of the Company or put her behind a desk. He used her for the occasional special mission, when it was to Graham's advantage for no trace to be left behind...Or examples to be made...and when the agent used was expendable. He had exploited the troubled woman, exponentially increasing her troubles and her pain but never giving her the status she desired, the acknowledgment she craved. Graham was frightened by June Thorne; she was a Wild Card of a sort far different from Walker. Walker's title was a nod to her consummate gifts, her ability to pass into and out of an environment without so much as shaking the grass, her ability to come out on top in any predicament. June was simply wild, uncaged.

Langston Graham. You...you...

What was Susie Lou's term? A first water son of a bitch. You weren't wrong, Susie Lou. You weren't wrong.

ooOoo

Gretta Garland had her phone to her ear. She was on hold at the Club. She glanced down at her legs, long, smooth, tanned. She exercised enough and paid enough for them. Her graceful feet were encased in gold sandals, her pedicure perfect and blood red, matching her manicure.

"Hello, Mrs. Garland?" It was the Club manager; she had insisted on speaking with him. He already sounded oily, obsequious. She knew that he wanted her. On her few trips to the Club, he had looked at her in ways that made it clear. She had enjoyed teasing him, but she would never sleep with him. He is almost as old as I am. She shuddered.

No, her current state of perfection was for Bryce Anderson. Today was going to be the day, she hoped, and she had felt a growing tightness low in her abdomen all day, the slow build of pressure before the geyser of release. The day would have been all glorious anticipation, followed by an expected more glorious pleasure, if not for Josephine.

Gretta had thought long and hard over the years, often, really often, about pushing the old bag into the garden fountain and leaving her to drown slowly…

But it would not do. Gratta had murdered her husband, Josephine's adopted son. Josephine was not wrong in her suspicions. His body was entombed in the concrete of the garden fountain, a small project Gretta had given her young gardener/handyman, and for which she slept regularly with him to keep him hushed. She grinned lewdly at herself. Well, not so hushed when he is behind me. Then he really is a gardener and a handyman. And loud. She ran her hands slowly down her legs, along the path her eyes had earlier traveled.

Gretta kept Josephine around, kept her in style, because it was a good rebuff to the suspicions about Gretta's husband. She was an apparently devoted daughter-in-law. Josephine was a useful piece of decoration.

But Josephine and that key! Gretta would have thought nothing of it if Josephine had not been so quick to retrieve it, and if the Executive Meeting were not tomorrow night. Fulcrum was not a forgiving bunch. She did not need to be seen as the source of trouble on the eve of an important gathering. Several of the most influential members of Fulcrum were to be present, and planning for the long-term was to be the primary topic of conversation. These Executive Meetings happened only once a year and in absolute secrecy.

Or that was the idea. It seemed completely far-fetched that Josephine would have any knowledge of or interest in Fulcrum. Still…

"I am calling for my mother-in-law, Josephine Pollihue. I would be so happy if you could check with your trainer and see if she left her goggles there after her pool therapy class. She can't find them anywhere. Could you?" Gretta purred the last two words. She could almost see the manager become erect, stand tall.

"Of course, Mrs. Garland. We hope to see you here soon. Hold, please, I will be right back on the line." Oh, yes, you want to be on this line. "Mrs. Garland, the trainer says that Mrs. Pollihue did not attend her pool therapy class."

Shit. What was that old bag up to, her and that silent driver of hers? Maybe it was time for Josephine to expire due to 'natural causes'. She was as old as dirt, anyway.

ooOoo

Sarah was sitting on the couch in the Anderson's room, fuming. Bryce had insisted that she not relocate to Chuck's room because of the Anderson's cover. Sarah was willing to do it; she understood his point. But he had been insistent in front of Chuck, and in a way that kept suggesting that their cover was something they had worked hard to maintain during their time in New Orleans. The leer that had been audibly present in Bryce's voice when Chuck had first knocked on their door had returned. Sarah knew Chuck knew better. Bryce knew Chuck knew better. But Bryce was going to leverage the past against Chuck, insisting on the Andersons as much as he could.

Both men had left the room. Chuck had gone back to his room to shower. Bryce had left the room to go and grab one of his suits from the hotel cleaners. He was unwilling to let them just deliver, as they normally did. He needed to give the suit a careful survey before accepting it, and, since he was often unhappy with the job done, it was simpler for the suit not to leave the cleaners until he had given it his ok.

Sarah shook her head. She understood the mission. She understood the very real threat from Thorne. (The vendetta seemed crazy, but she had learned that with the Intersect, all bets are off.) The truth was that nonetheless she desperately wanted to be with Chuck, wanted to be back where they had been in the early morning.

Sarah was getting steadily clearer about things. Leaving Burbank had shattered her lies and her self-deception. Her first priority now, as she told Chuck when she had gone back to Burbank, was him, was them. The addition of 'them' mattered, because although she was absolutely determined to protect Chuck, that was because he was Chuck, the man she loved, and not because he was the Intersect, property of the U.S. government. She was surprised to find she had no interest in the spy life per se (Maybe I never really was interested in that life. No one gave me any other options. Until Chuck). She was interested in it only to the extent that Chuck was required to live it because of the Intersect. She was Chuck's partner and he was hers, in every sense of that term. That was who she now was. That was who he now was. They were together in this, together at last.

Sarah had asked Casey to talk to Beckman. She wanted Beckman to arrange for her to be transferred to the NSA. And she wanted Chuck to be hired by the NSA. But she had told Casey to let that wait; Sarah would talk about that with Beckman once the situation in New Orleans had sorted itself out, Fulcrum and Thorne both. And once she and Chuck had a chance to talk it all through together. Bryce would undoubtedly remain CIA, indifferent ultimately to who was the Director, indifferent ultimately to anything except the matinee idol he had made of himself. He would remain CIA. That was good; that was how Sarah wanted it. Let the agencies divide them. She was done with Bryce; she had been done with Bryce for a long time.

She wondered how much of Bryce's continuing act Chuck was going to tolerate. Bryce's act was meant to humiliate Chuck in front of Sarah, to prove that Casey's 'The Better Man' comment was wrong. But it was pure Bryce to miss the fact that what he was doing was proving to everyone that Casey's line was exactly right. Chuck's self-control in the face of Bryce's pettiness shone; Bryce paled and paled in a comparison he kept forcing.

Self-control. Sarah smirked to herself. She wanted to be back in bed with Chuck. She wanted to make him lose control as he had with her earlier. Never had she known herself to matter so much to another person. It was addictive, especially since her loss of control with him was her way of showing how much he mattered to her. All those years of icy self-discipline melted at Chuck's touch, and Sarah was perfectly content to let them melt. She had found herself in finding Chuck; she had found Chuck in finding herself. She was at home, and knew it, for the first time in her life.

ooOoo

Sarah's reflections were cut short by a knock. She went to the door and looked out through the door. Joe. Huh? Sarah opened the door.

"Hi, Joe."

Joe wheeled herself into the room immediately, motioning for Sarah to shut the door. Sarah did.

"I can't stay long. But I think I am in trouble, and I worry that I may have gotten you in trouble too."

Sarah was about to speak when there was another knock at the door. Joe looked panicked. Sarah checked. It was Chuck. She opened the door and he smiled at her, for her. She stepped back.

"Chuck, this is Joe. Joe, Chuck."

"Ahhh," Joe said, her panic gone. The right man arrives at last." She looked at Sarah, who had leaned into Chuck and laced her hand into his. Joe looked Chuck up and down. "I don't know how or where you found him, but that man was worth your wait."

Sarah blushed intensely. Somehow, Joe's words touched her deeply, expressed her own feelings so completely. Chuck was a gift: the very best kind, a surprise. She was supposed to hate surprises. But she loved this one. She was going to receive it gracefully now, even if she had fumbled it before.

Chuck put out his other hand and shook Joe's. She grinned at him. But then she became serious. "I assume we can talk in front of Chuck?" Sarah nodded.

Joe told the story about her morning. The sweater. The key. The silent breakfast. Someone, Gretta, presumably, in her room. Gretta watching her, Gretta asking questions of Robert.

"All that's bad enough. But I got a call a little while ago from the trainer at the club. Someone found a pair of goggles in the women's locker room. They aren't mine. But he thought they were because Gretta called the Club to ask if I'd left goggles after my pool therapy. The trainer told her I hadn't been there. He thought nothing of it. And when the goggles were found, he thought perhaps I'd left them on a prior visit. The long and short of it is that Gretta now knows I wasn't where I said I'd be, and she's clearly suspicious. I worry that she'll start to wonder about the time you and I spent talking at dinner and touring the house, Sarah, and that her suspicions of me will become suspicious of you. And Bryce."

Joe stopped and twisted her mouth in distaste. "Oh, by the way, she was getting all dolled up expects Bryce will pull her string before tomorrow…"

Chuck laughed, caught off-guard by Joe's sharp tongue. Just then, the door opened, and Bryce came in, his suit encased in clear, thin plastic and hanging over his shoulder. He stopped when he saw Joe and Chuck.

Joe: "And there he is, the casket-robber himself…" Chuck laughed again but Bryce frowned and looked lost.

Sarah was chuckling softly but she tried to help Bryce out. "Oh, C'mon, Bryce, the opposite of a cradle-robber?"

Joe's laugh took on an edge of malice, but then she stopped laughing. "Is this really necessary, Bryce? I understand playing her along, but doing her? Pardon my bluntness."

The room chilled instantly. Bryce stood still. Finally, he draped his suit on the back of the couch. "Look, Josephine, this may be a lark to you, and maybe it's prom for these two," he nodded at Chuck and Sarah, "but this is my job. I need Gretta to trust me. Tomorrow may come and go with Fulcrum still in place and with my best chance of getting to them still being Gretta Garland. If not today, then the day after tomorrow. I knew what she was like when I took this tack; I'll not bail because she is what I knew her to be." Bryce picked up his suit, stalked through the bedroom, into the bathroom and slammed the door. In self-righteous indignation.

"Is that right, Sarah, really, is this somehow necessary for the mission? There's no other way to stop Fulcrum, except for him giving Gretta what she wants?" Joe seemed genuinely puzzled.

Sarah shook her head. She spoke quietly "No, of course not. But that's the plot that Bryce has sold himself. Gretta's invested this much time; she'd invest more. She might even like it if the chase went on and on." Joe nodded her head slowly in agreement as she considered that.

"And it's not like she's been in an empty bed pining for him," Joe offered. "She often has the gardener doing extra rooting around…"

Chuck cleared his throat then spoke. "Back to the other problem. Sarah's told me about meeting you and so on. If Gretta's suspicious, and if she says something to you, couldn't you claim that Sarah has been hurt and upset and that you've been trying to comfort her? You skipped your appointment to help her. It explains why you were here, and," Chuck gulped and shook his head, looking at the bathroom door, "it might add to Gretta's interest."

Joe considered it. "Yes...that's true. In fact, she'd like it even more if she thought I was more involved, more disapproving than usual. I should have thought of it myself, but, frankly, I can't keep in mind that Sarah is supposed to have any interest in Bryce, let alone supposed to be his wife. I've known since we met that her heart was somewhere else, with someone else. You're lucky, Chuck. This," she smiled at Sarah, "is a most remarkable woman."

Chuck glanced at Sarah, his eyes impossibly full. "Yes, yes, she is."

ooOoo

June wolfed down a sandwich standing near the Anderson's hotel. She'd been keeping watch constantly, but although the NSA teams had switched out, June had not seen anyone else. The sandwich tasted like lettuce on cardboard, but it hardly mattered. She needed energy. Enjoyment was not on the menu. Not for her. Not anymore.

June's mind was aflame and increasingly unresponsive to her control. She was flashing like a strobe light, faces, places, files, memories. As the forced automatism of the Intersect increased, June's feelings of regret and remorse, her hurt and her pain, also became deeper and rawer. I hurt the world back. I hurt it back so bad. File photos, hers. Corpses. Unnecessary corpses. Unnecessary pain. Hurting the world back. Blood.

Bleeding out. Can a machine bleed out?

She finished the sandwich and swallowed more aspirin powder. They weren't helping, but she could not stop the gesture. It would be night soon. The NSA team had shown every sign of settling in for the night. June would go back to her awful room. She would not sleep, but she could at least stretch out on the bed, clean and check her weapons again.

She knew in her gut. Tomorrow will be the day.

ooOoo

Joe picked at her dessert. Bourbon pecan pie. It had been served with bourbon and coffee. It was normally Joe's favorite. But the meal had been strained and strange. Gretta kept giving her long looks when she thought Joe was not aware, and Gretta's posture and motion all seemed tense, jerky, angry. Joe had her story straight in her head. She had gone over it a couple of times with Chuck and Sarah. Thinking of those two made her feel warm, and she sipped her bourbon in a private toast to the lovers. Their happiness was contagious.

Joe snuck a look at Gretta, who was pouring some bourbon into her coffee. Why wasn't she somewhere being diddled by Bryce? She looked the part but showed no signs of having after-dinner plans. All whored up and nowhere to go. Joe felt a sudden rush of intense anger. Murdering bitch. We're going to get you.

Then Joe wondered about the bourbon. It did not taste like their usual brand, not quite. Her head felt heavy, too heavy to hold, and her vision blurred. As her head dropped and her sight dimmed, she hazily saw the gardener and vaguely heard Gretta give an order: "Take the old bag to the shed and keep her there. I will be back in a while and I will...deal with her. And, no, wipe that look off your face, none of this is for you. Not tonight, anyway."

ooOoo

Bryce had eventually emerged from the bathroom, all suited up. He explained to Sarah in a quick, clipped voice that Garland had called shortly after he went into the bathroom. She'd invited him or drinks at the Davenport Lounge in the Ritz-Carlton. He gave Sarah a bland look.

"Don't expect me back until morning."

"I take it that means I am off the Anderson clock, so I am going to go Chuck's." As she finished, Bryce's bland look grew annoyed.

"You know, Sarah, maybe he seems like a good idea now, you know, like taking in a stray puppy. Eventually, you'll be sorry. He'll cramp your style." Bryce pulled on the sleeves of his shirt, moving his shoulders and adjusting it beneath his jacket as he spoke. "You're Ritz-Carlton. He's Motel 6."

Sarah just looked at Bryce, feeling incredibly tired of him, of all he and his suit and his watch and his evening plans represented. She sighed as she responded. "You know, Bryce, I suppose it's really not surprising, given our jobs and what we were doing, but we managed to spend a lot of time together and to know almost nothing about each other. And, no, Bryce, you're Ritz-Carlton; I'm pizza-and-a movie-and-a-make-out session-on-the-couch. With lots of sweet nothings." She smiled; she could not help herself. "And just so you understand, fully understand...Chuck asked me to marry him and I said yes."

Bryce just stood there, staring. Sarah grabbed her purse and opened the door. "Call Casey and have him tell the NSA team you're leaving." Then she was gone.

ooOoo

Chuck looked up as Sarah came in. He had gotten her a key to the room. He smiled with delight. "Didn't think I'd get to see you until the morning."

"Gretta booty-hill-called Bryce. They're meeting at the Ritz. Mrs. Anderson is off-duty."

Chuck smiled but his eyes clouded a little. Sarah reached out for his hand. "Chuck, I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "No, I get it, Sarah. It's just that Bryce has been throwing that in my face all day. And I know it means nothing now, but it did once, and that's what he keeps telling me by mentioning it."

"Well, two things, Chuck. One: that is the past," It is so past! "and as an articulate nerd I love urged me recently, let's not let the past dictate our future. And two: I told Bryce we were engaged."

Chuck's eyes got big and uncloudy all at once. "Really? You told him?"

"If he can blather on about ancient history, the Andersons, I can surely celebrate my future, the Bartowskis."

Chuck gasped. He had not thought that far ahead in that way, had never imagined Sarah imagining herself as Sarah Bartowski. Celebrating.

She laughed at his expression. "What, did you think you were going to become Chuck Walker?"

He reached out and took her gently by the wrist, tugging her to him. "As long as it's Chuck and Sarah, the surnames can sort themselves…"

Sarah lifted herself to him for a soft kiss. He was sweet, so sweet, and her life had been so often bitter. "Chuck," she whispered, "I want to be Sarah Bartowski. I want to be in our bed. Right now."

"What about dinner? I haven't eaten, you haven't eaten."

Smile. "How about you order us a pizza?"

He nodded. "Sure, but that'll take a while. Can you wait?"

She captured his brown eyes with her blue ones. Holding them, she made sure he watched as she ever-so-slowly licked her lips. "Why wait? I have a tasty suggestion about appetizers."

ooOoo

In a luxurious suite of the Ritz, Bryce rolled off Gretta and she sighed in deep displeasure.

This had never happened to him before. No matter how dangerous the situation, that had always worked. Guns jam. Not me. But he could not get the look on Sarah's face as she gazed at Chuck out of his head, or her news to him about the proposal. Part of him wanted to be happy for them but was not. The rest of him was all roiling envy.

Everything was upside-down. His safety was on; he couldn't seem to switch it off.

A/N2 All's ready for the stretch run. Two more (big) chapters and a Postlude. That's the plan, anyway. Tune in next time for Chapter 21, "San Soleil." It's the day of the Fulcrum Executive Meeting. Um...stuff happens. Believe me.