A/N1 Saturday. Running a little slow. But better late than never, I guess.

Thanks to those of you who've commented. We fanfic writers do this for you for free; it's nice to get something back for the time and effort. As I sometimes say, the reading is free but the suggested donation is a review.

Don't own Chuck.

Sarah vs. Omaha

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

San Soleil

Without sun we pull what feeds us
From the heat that's in between us
How can we expect to build a boat
Seagulls running everything
Hard, you make it hard, hard
-Miike Snow, San Soleil

Joe woke. It happened quickly...and slowly. She could see before it registered on her that she could, that her eyes were open. She could hear before it registered on her that she could...that the gardener was talking.

No, not talking. Lecturing. No, not lecturing. Hectoring. Yes, hectoring. But not her. She was the audience, but he was hectoring someone absent. Gretta.

The gardener had a bottle of vodka in his hand, swinging it as he spoke, punctuating his comments with splashes of clear alcohol. An empty bottle of the same sort was on the ground behind him.

"Screeeeewwww you, Gretta Garland. And I do. Plenty. I work hard at it. I do it more than I garden, more than I handy... I mean, more than I handyman. I mean...hell….I can build things.. I'm not just here to hump her. Like the fountain. I drained it, opened it, put him in and re-bricked it all in one night. She should be paying me for that shit, not just screwing me. She ain't some world-historical lay, let me tell you." He took a massive swig from the bottle. "That's right," Splash!, "I said 'world-historical'. I spent a term at Tulane. I ain't just pretty." He hit himself in the head with the bottle. Hard. His eyes crossed. Swig.

Joe finally understood what he had said. Him. Put him in. That's what he said. Oh, Jesus. The gardener was now pulling on the bottle, sucking on it like a baby.

And then there was a strange sound, like a baseball bat striking a melon. The gardener crumpled to the ground at her feet.

Robert was standing there, silent. The empty vodka bottle clutched in his hand. Blood dripped from it slowly. "He's loud. I heard him. I was worried about you so I came back. Has he hurt you?"

"No, Robert. My head feels like it's been stuffed with goose down. Gretta drugged me. Untie me, please." She held up her tied hands. Then she kicked the gardener with her tied feet. "No fair tying up the old crippled lady." She kicked him again.

"Miss Josephine, shouldn't you say 'differently abled'." He took a penknife from his pocket and cut her bonds as he waited for the answer. She kicked the gardener again. Robert watched her, then looked at her in puzzlement, but he asked nothing. "No, Robert, maybe you should, but I can say whatever I damn well please about myself. Especially when I've been drugged and tied up by Gretta's hoe-ho boy." She kicked him again. "I think the bastard had something to do with my son's death."

Robert gave her another hard look. "Shall we go to the police?"

Joe stopped unwinding the rope on her hands. "Huh. No. There's bigger fish to fry than my bitch of a daughter-in-law, although I look forward to watching her fry; there are others, people she works for..."

Joe looked around the shed, considering what to do, talking aloud to herself. "She didn't kill me. She must not be sure….She suspects, but probably only that it's just me spying on her, out of spite, not that I am part of...anything more, a team. If I don't talk, she won't leave me here...And I don't think she'll kill me until she gets out of me what's going on...She said on the phone 'spouses, children'...family...Someone on the inside..."

Joe fixed her gaze on Robert. "Tie me up again, Robert." He jerked at that, puzzled again. "I need you to do what I say, please. Tie me up. Tie him up and gag him. Then take him, and his bottles. Put him in the trunk of his car and drive it somewhere and leave it. He'll live. His head will hurt, but he will live. Not that he deserves to."

Robert stood silent, listening. "But, Miss Josephine, I don't understand."

"It's ok, Robert. I'm going to roll the dice. What do they say? Go big or go home. Maybe I can do more than ruin Gretta. Maybe I can help my friends. Now, come over here and tie me up. And she will expect me still to be drugged." Josephine noticed a small prescription bottle on a shelf near where the gardener had been sitting. She pointed to it. "Bring that to me."

ooOoo

A little earlier

Garland was pissed. Frustrated. Oh, so damn horny. I could light a city block. Bryce had not risen to the occasion. And after that failure, he had bolted from the room like it was on fire. Men. She had gotten dressed after he left. She went downstairs to the Lounge. But, although there were some attractive young men there, it was like being forced to order after being told that the dish you'd been looking forward to all day was no longer being served.

She'd gone back to her room and tried to do for herself what Bryce did not do for her, and she had, sort of, but it was more like scratching a case of poison ivy than curing it. The itch would be back (Hell, it was already back…) and worse than before. It was very late, almost 3 pm. Josephine had to be dealt with, and Garland knew she was derelict on that score. But Gretta's needs came first. She hoped her gardener had followed instructions and dosed Josephine again. She had left pills. All he had to do was watch the old bag snore.

What was Josephine up to? Probably just the old vendetta about her son taking a new form. Maybe she'd seen a spy movie and gotten inspired...Josephine Smart. Ha! What an old fool! Who knew? Garland slipped her gold sandals on and adjusted her skirt, twisting a little to help it fall correctly. The twist reminded her of what had not happened in that room. For a moment, a thought she had kept submerged all night buoyed up to full consciousness: What if it was really me, not him? What if I am getting...old? Maybe I can no longer...command...a man's full attention?

She shoved the thought back down. She had other worries.

ooOoo

Even a little earlier

Bryce had gotten out of the taxi a few blocks from the hotel. He could not go in. I need to clear my head. He laughed ruefully at his phrasing. He was an ass. At some level, he knew it about himself, sometimes he embraced it. He was handsome, glamorous. His life was all intrigue and danger and beautiful women. Or at least, that is what the trailers for his life all said, the ones he watched in his head constantly. Watch Bryce Larkin, super spy, save the day, and bed the beauty! A bevy of beauties! Since high school, he had always been his own Number One Fan. Bryce Larkin, president of the Bryce Larkin Fan Club. It was a big part of why he was an ass. And he knew, although he devoted a lot of energy to keeping himself from knowing it most of the time, he knew that he would never have any good thing in his life for long, because he would always sacrifice it for the lure of something better. Because he deserved the best. He was, after all, Bryce Larkin.

And for the first time in his life: I can't get it up.

"Hello, Bryce."

Bryce stopped. Oh, shit, He felt a gun barrel against his spine. He caught a scent of cloves. June Thorne. "All dressed up and nowhere to go?" He felt a bug bite the back of his neck. As he started to slump into June's arm, he had one thought. Shit, limp twice in one night.

ooOoo

Even a little earlier

Sleep was impossible. Her head was a gonzo movie theater running simultaneous slasher films and war films. Blood. Explosions. More files. Her own. More corpses. Hers, her responsibility. She was finding it impossible to direct her conscious thoughts in any off-mission way.

Walker. Walker. Walker...

She shook the last of her powder into her mouth and simply let saliva moisten it before she choked it down. She was in torment. Hell. This must be what it is like. To live again all that you have done wrong with no chance of redress and with no future for change. Hell. The Inferno. Alone with your own misdeeds for eternity, pressed up against your own scaly flesh forever.

She escaped into the street. In her go-bag from LA she had a few syringes and a couple of vials of tranquilizer. She had been thinking about using one on herself and she had the syringe ready. But her hands shook so badly when she explicitly contemplated doing it that she had put the syringe in her pocket. Maybe later. But probably not. The Intersect was not going to allow her any peace, any oblivion. Stay awake for the horror show.

Fresh air. Fresh air was good. She walked a bit and then noticed a handsome man emerge from a taxi. Bryce? Bryce Larkin? She laughed to herself. The Intersect hummed. This was within mission parameters. Divide and conquer. Larkin was strangely situationally unaware. Not acting the spy. His shoulders were hunched; he was walking without much purpose. June pulled her pistol. She thought of the syringe. All things work together for good...She had heard that somewhere, as a kid. False. But she'd take advantage of her chance.

"Hello, Bryce!"

ooOoo

Later

Casey was pulled from a dream. A dream he had many times, always the same. He had never told anyone, not even the spook shrinks he was forced to visit periodically, like all agents. It was a dream of a proposal. It was not in any glamorous setting. There was no swell of romantic music, although Casey thought the scene deserved some, maybe Laura's Theme from Dr. Zhivago. No, it was a pedestrian location and the diamond on the ring he offered was so small it was like a diamond-chip chip. But none of that had mattered. Because the woman, Kathleen, had been so heart-stoppingly lovely. And because she had said yes. To him. "Yes, Alex, a thousand times yes." It had just been the once, though, and Casey had screwed it all to hell for...duty. Screw me. But she had said it. Yes. It was Casey's most treasured, most secret memory, his Holy of Holies, that part of him that was human when it sometimes seemed no other part still was.

Kathleen had just been about to say yes when a phone rang. The ringing was in the dream but not of the dream. It was his damn phone on the hotel room nightstand.

"Sorry to bother you, Major," said one of the men from the team downstairs, "but it is getting close to morning and Agent Larkin has not returned. Is that a problem?" The guy was young, unsure of himself. As annoyed as Casey was, he gave the guy a pass.

"No, no expected return time on Agent Larkin. He'll be in when he gets in." Larkin's no spy, really; he's a gigolo with a gun. Double-0 Gamma Delta Phi. Beer Pong Bond. I still wished I killed him when I killed him.

Casey went back to sleep but his dream eluded him.

ooOoo

Chuck slipped out of bed. Sarah was asleep. She had been wrapped around him, but he had needed to get to the bathroom and so he had patiently extracted himself from her embrace. He was already missing it. He finished in the bathroom and was washing his hands. He looked at himself in the mirror. He was happy, deliriously, even in the midst of all the crazy.

He hated the Intersect, although he never really said that to anyone. He hated it passionately. But it had brought Sarah in its wake. And so he hated it but, strangely, did not regret it having come into his life. The Intersect was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Sarah was the best. Chuck's life did not start anew when he downloaded the Intersect; it started anew when Sarah walked to the Nerd Herd desk.

Chuck tried to look into the future. What was ahead for them, as long as the Intersect was in his head? He was not sure, but, at that moment he did not care. He heard Sarah call his name, her voice all at once warm and full of sleep and...needy. He clicked off the light, got in bed, and rolled back against her very warm naked body. He was where he was supposed to be. The future would have to take care of itself. He felt Sarah's hand slip inside his boxers. Yes, the future would have to take care of itself…

ooOoo

June was able to wrangle Bryce back to her room. The desk clerk was missing and no one else was around. Bryce was out now of the equation. That left Casey and Chuck. June was not much worried about the NSA team. She had flashed on their files. Not exactly the A-Team. June knew what she was capable of. She had not been exaggerating when she told Casey that she was a dangerous woman. The Intersect flashed again. More of her files. More blood. More pain. Much of it needless. Yes, she was a dangerous woman. She just needed Walker to get outside the hotel.

June looked at the cracks on the wall. Almost morning.

ooOoo

Sarah was standing near one of the windows in Chuck's room. She knew she shouldn't be, but she had only barely cracked the blinds and she wanted to look out, to see the day approach. Chuck was sleeping peacefully. Sarah smirked to herself. She had worn them both out. She simply could not get enough. She wanted more now. But she would let him sleep. Later. Definitely later. Several times.

She looked out at the sky through the cracked blinds. The morning sky was inky dark and full of grey clouds, already spitting rain. The weather app on her phone had told her that thunderstorms were expected all day. She sighed. It was probably time to get showered and get dressed. The Fulcrum meeting was scheduled to start at midday, but that meant that arrivals would begin midmorning. That was when Gretta had scheduled her arrival. 10 am. Sarah's phone buzzed in her hand. Casey.

"Morning, Casey."

"Morning Walker. Look, Larkin's still not back from his...mission. Should we be worried about that?"

"Why ask me?"

Casey's voice was cautious. "Well, you know his...habits...best. Or did. Thought you might have some...insight. Not pulling your chain. ...Although, now that I think of it, Walker, what the hell? Bryce Larkin? Really?" Casey shut up for a moment, then he went on: "Sorry, it's early. That just sorta slipped out."

"That's ok, Casey. Maybe we should be worried if he isn't back soon. He's not one to linger at the…"

Casey offered, "...scene of the crime?"

"Uh, yes, if he isn't back in soon, we should begin to worry, alert someone. We can't wait for him to start the mission today...And on the other thing, your what-the-hell question: I treated something that was only part of the mission as something real."

"Huh," Casey reacted, thinking about it. "The reverse of the mistake you made with the kid…"

"I...I guess so."

"This business we're in screws with your head and your heart, you know it, Walker?

"Yes, Casey, I do."

ooOoo

Later

Gretta's night had turned into a cluster-no-fuck. Josephine was still unconscious in the shed. But the damn gardener was gone, his car too. Well, he was so fired. But that left her with a drugged old woman on her hands. She needed to get to the Executive Meeting. She could not leave her in the shed or house. She could call someone to take over for the gardener, but she had used him because she knew she had something on him, not just fear, but his participation in the death and burial of her husband. Of course, he had something on her too. She did not want to get in dutch in that way with anyone else, give someone else a handhold. She would do this herself.

She could dose her again if she woke, and at this point, given her age and weight and the number of pills the gardener had used, it was unlikely she would wake up soon. She should be out for hours.

Fulcrum would not let her bring Bryce to the estate. Maybe a good thing. It would be like taking a licorice whip to a pencil fight. Gretta laughed frustratedly. But family is allowed. I can stow her in my room, drug her again if need be. Maybe I can find out what she is up to. No more depending on underlings. If a woman wants it done right, she should do it herself. Although that didn't work out quite earlier…

Gretta checked Josephine's ropes, then she went inside to change. She'd bring the car around once she had, and she and Josephine would head to the Meeting. A family outing. "Let's take a little trip out of town, you old bag."

ooOoo

As Gretta left the shed, Josephine opened one eye and let out a long sigh of relief. So far, so good.

ooOoo

Casey had talked to Beckman. Things were set. She had a satellite trained on the estate. The plan was simple. Three person team, the team, small and light and mobile. Get Chuck close enough to flash. No engagement. Beckman's analysts should be able to use the satellite to tell them the position of guards. Casey heard a rumble of thunder. Should be able...if the weather did not muck up the works somehow.

Chuck had agreed to the plan immediately, of course. But Casey was worried about it in a particular way. He had seen what Thorne's enforced, repeated flashing had done to Chuck in Burbank. This would be similar, except perhaps worse, happening in real time, with no way for Chuck to pause or clear his head. Casey had not said anything about his worry to Walker. He was not sure what to do about that. Fulcrum was the clear and present danger to the Intersect, the one group with real knowledge and suspicions about it. If they could do it serious damage today, it would be very good for Chuck. But it wouldn't matter if the flashing broke him. He had held up in Burbank. Casey was hoping he would hold up again.

Larkin was still missing. They would have to go without him. Was it possible that Thorne had him? Yes, possible, Casey thought. But why would she want him? Walker's the target. This is probably just Larkin insisting on breakfast in bed with Garland. Still…

Casey called Beckman and asked her to tell the NSA folks in New Orleans on the hunt for June to be on the hunt for Larkin too. They waited as long as they could.

Larkin never showed. The could not contact him. Maybe Thorne had him. Maybe he was AWOL. He had been pissy enough to bail. It had killed him, seeing Chuck and Sarah together.

Or maybe he...overslept, or was...playing extra innings. They would go without him. No choice. This was a one-time thing. Frankly, Casey was happy not to have him along.

ooOoo

June had everything stowed in a rental car. All her weapons and ammunition and equipment. She dosed Larkin again. He would sleep the day away. She drove to a spot near the hotel and parked. She could see the parking deck entrance.

She was rocking in the driver's seat, trying to cope with the pain. Someone had opened the lid on her brain and dumped in a box of lye. She was prepared to wait in agony. She had no choice but to wait in agony. And then she saw it: a gray SUV. Casey at the wheel. Walker in the passenger seat. A third, Chuck, in the rear seat.

Walker.

Target acquired.

June felt the Intersect lock into place, tick over. It was done. No reversals now. This would only end when Walker was dead. Or June was.

ooOoo

The rain was pouring. Not metaphorically. Literally. Casey could barely see to drive. The SUV kept trying to hydroplane.

"Shit. Why can't the weather cooperate? I like spying in LA. It never rains there."

Casey glanced over and noticed that Sarah had twisted in her seat so that she could see Chuck. Her arm was extended behind her seat so that Chuck could hold her hand. Chuck was holding it and gazing, rapt, at Sarah. She was gazing back at him.

Casey blew out a breath instead of laughing. He recognized the look on the kid's face. The kid had asked and Sarah had said yes. Casey was sure of it. He knew that look. He had worn it once himself. Good for them.

ooOoo

The rain had slacked off by the time they reached the point where they were going to have to hide the SUV. They turned off onto a side road and then drove off the side road and into the swampy, dense growth of green. Casey eased the SUV in until the heavy vegetation closed behind it. They had put on body armor before leaving the hotel.

Now they gathered guns and binoculars. They put in comms and tested the link to the NSA analysts operating the satellite. Contact was established. Everything was a go. They got out of the SUV and began trudging in the misting rain. They had a long walk ahead of them. Mud.

ooOoo

June had her rifle out and she almost took the shot. Sarah's head had been for a split second in the crosshairs. But then the vegetation had obscured her from view. June did not want to take a chance. The Intersect did not want to take a chance. The kill had to be certain. She would wait for a better moment. She slung the rifle over her shoulder and walked away from the car. She tied her purple ribbon in her hair. She and the Intersect said the words together: One last mission.

ooOoo

Joe was still playing possum. Gretta had put her in the back seat of the car. They were driving to the estate. The rain was falling. Joe heard a clap of thunder. Gretta had been grousing the entire drive, but under her breath, so Joe was unsure what she was complaining about.

Joe realized that she really had no plan. She just wanted to get inside the meeting, to see if maybe she could find something out, help Chuck and Sarah. At least Gretta had removed the ropes. Even at a Fulcrum Meeting, it was probably a bit out of bounds to show up with an old woman tied up in a wheelchair.

They arrived. Gretta had a valet help her move Joe into a chair, then she wheeled her in, explaining that Joe had not been feeling well. Gretta rolled her through various hallways until they reached their room.

Inside, Gretta pushed Joe's chair up to a wall and left her there, out of the way, like a suitcase. Bitch. Gretta went into the bathroom and came out, freshened up. She left the room. It was nearly time for the meeting.

Joe stood up and got out of the chair. Robert had suspected when he realized she was kicking the gardener. She hated that pool therapy class, but it was working. She'd regained some strength in her legs in the past months. But she had kept the change hidden, at first because she thought it might be a temporary thing, then later because it felt like a joke on Gretta. But now it felt like she had a secret weapon. She was a secret agent with a secret weapon. She crept from the room and went in search of the Meeting.

ooOoo

A little earlier

Casey, Sarah, and Chuck had gotten into position. the could do surveillance from here, away from the guards the satellite identified. It was time for folks to arrive. In fact, the first arrival was familiar, Gretta Garland. Casey heard Chuck and Sarah gasp in unison as they looked through their binoculars. Casey raised his and looked. Gretta and a valet were getting an old woman out of the car and putting her in a wheelchair.

"What on earth is Joe doing here?" Sarah. "Is she unconscious?"

"It looks like it." Chuck. "Damn, this isn't good."

"No."

A line of cars was forming behind Gretta's. Another man, another valet, evidently, got hers and drove it away. A few more cars were starting to arrive, coming down the lane, headlights shining in the rain. Time for the Intersect to go to work.

ooOoo

In the distance, behind a bush, June had stretched out on the wet ground. She took her time. Trained the rifle. Zeroed in. She had a clear headshot on Walker. The Intersect was ready. It spoke in June's head, in June's voice.

Oh, yes, yes.

Greenlight!

Take the shot!

A/N2 One final cliffhanger. Tune in next time for Chapter 22, "Purple Rain". Guns will be fired. The lame will walk (oh, wait, that already happened).

I may take today off. If so, no update until Monday. I have the Postlude written, so there is only Chapter 22 to finish. The story is on course to be entirely posted by Tuesday, Wednesday at the latest.