A/N: Wow. Just wow. To be honest, I had never expected that the first chapter would be so well-received. To the readers who left a review for it, thank you so very much.

undergroundirector: it's funny that you asked about Chief, since I had already planned on shedding some light on it in this chapter. Somehow I doubt Chuck ever came close to joining any military branch. In this case Chief would be the head of the CIA station.

GCG23 & BCC1: my intention is to stay close to the characters as set in the series, with Sam being the big exception, but she will display some of her spyish traits sooner rather than later. For now she is the nerd, since I took her teenage version as depicted in 'Versus the Cougars' as the basis, but she is destined to become Sarah Walker and not remain the nerd.

Aside from the unintentional translation failure, or a forgotten word since I have knack for doing so, here's the second chapter two days ahead of schedule. The plan is to post a chapter every week, unless I get it done sooner or get hit by a case of writer's block.

Again, reviews are most welcome and... Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own 'Chuck'.

He woke to the incessant ringing of his cell phone and groaned annoyed. Blindly he searched for the thing on the floor next to his cot and only opened one eye to look at the screen. It was not someone calling, but the alarm he had set two hours ago.

To take a nap was a decision was he was now coming to regret. It would have been better if he had stayed awake, with fogs of sleep covering his mind. He sent Morgan a quick text and dropped the cell phone on the cot.

It was not uncommon for him to sleep in his office, working late hours and starting early shifts. Yet it had gotten worse when he had to step in as acting chief of station; he needed to have a word with the Director about that. His predecessor had passed away suddenly a month ago, and Director Graham had yet to appoint a new and permanent chief. Anyone would do, as long as it was not him.

He sat up and yawned, stretching to loosen up his tense neck and shoulder muscles. In case of emergency a cot did just fine, but he preferred a little more comfort. Still, it beat sleeping on the floor with only a pillow and a blanket.

Finally feeling awake enough to stand he got to his feet, only to jump a foot in the air when the main screen in his office jumped from the screen saver to the scowl of the Director of Operations. At least he had been alert enough not to let out of what could be considered a girlish scream, something he had done the first two or three times when this had happened. It did not stop his heart from beating frantically in his chest.

"Director Graham, sir, what can I do for you?" He asked in a somewhat shaky voice.

The man had obviously been watching him, waiting for the first chance for the next briefing.

"Chief Bartowski, the NSA picked up a trace signal."

He sauntered over to his computer, swiped his mouse and nodded in confirmation. After obtaining the necessary information, he had run a modified traceroute program while he had taken a nap. A deep frown appeared on his face when he saw the address the program had found.

"Something wrong?" Director Graham asked impatiently.

Deciding to play along, he inquired: "Where?"

"Los Angeles. And don't insult my intelligence, Bartowski; I know you ran a program to get a more accurate trace."

Los Angeles was a pretty general location, and a very large area to cover. It would be the most likely scenario that the NSA had a more exact location and simply did not want to share that information.

"They're sending Casey."

"That Terminator wannabe? Leave it to the NSA to kill a mosquito with an rpg," he shook his head warily.

"I agree, which is why I want you down there, see what you can uncover before Casey gets in."

"Sammie? Sam, hun?"

Someone was gently tapping her cheeks before shaking her by the shoulders. Bryce's voice sounded so far away and distorted. Slowly she opened her eyes, flinched and immediately closed them again. Hearing hurt her eyes and seeing hurt her ears. The last thing she remembered was a statue of Abraham Lincoln.

"You okay, Sam?" He asked worriedly after she let out a pitiful moan.

"Head hurts," she mumbled.

And her back, but she did not feel like sharing that yet. At some point she had ended up flat on her back on the floor, but it was a mystery as to how. Another attempt to open her eyes left her flinching once more.

"That's it," Bryce said in a stern voice. "I'm calling Ellie."

Stubbornness took over and she tried to sit up without opening her eyes, only to be pushed back down by a firm but gentle hand against her shoulder.

"Ellie? It's Bryce. You home?"

Did he have to be so loud? She wanted to crawl away, preferably to a place without any light and sound.

"Good... Sam took a bad spill... Can you come over?"

"Not necessary," she muttered in protest.

"Thanks, Ellie... I'll let you in," he sighed with relief, completely ignoring her.

She had no idea what worried her more: the fact that she could barely move and her head felt like it had been filled with concrete or that Ellie would go all doctor crazy on her. By the stumbling and fading footsteps she could tell that Bryce had left her to answer the door. This was it; her last chance to get up and act like nothing happened before Ellie got to her, but she could not bring herself to do it.

"Sam, sweetie," Ellie was at her side in no time and began to examine her.

"She can't move," Bryce informed. "It's like she's got couch lock or something."

She hissed in pain when Ellie checked her head. It took her every bit of strength not to throw up or pass out, even if Ellie treated her with the most gentle of touches.

"Clearly she hit her head..."

There was a pun in there, but when Bryce did not take the opportunity to make fun of her, it told her the severity of the situation she was in.

"... Small laceration at the back of the skull. No sign of neck injury... It's best if I take you in for some scans and rule out brain injury," Ellie concluded after finishing the examination.

Some things hardly ever changed, and though it had been a while since he had last set foot on the courtyard of this apartment complex, it still looked and felt the same. Maybe some new tenants had moved in since the last time, but it still felt like coming home.

He glanced at the front door of his sister's apartment, his excuse for this surprise visit. Yet it would be his next stop. First he had some breaking and entering to do. According to the Burbank Buy More work schedules he had pulled before leaving, the residents of his first destination should be at work. It did not mean he did not have to be careful.

He checked the courtyard and the adjoining apartments once more. There was no movement and no one in sight. Casually he made his way to the window. If his memory served him well, all it would take was some jiggling of the handle and lock.

'There ya go,' he thought before he looked over his shoulder to check again. The courtyard was still deserted. Carefully not to make a sound he opened the window and climbed inside. The room was clean and tidy, the bed made. He nodded in approval.

Suddenly he noticed the faint smell of molten plastic, sickeningly sweet and headache inducing. He spotted the computer under the desk, went over and slipped the backpack off his shoulder. Quietly he went to work after getting the right tools from the backpack; upon opening the casing the burn smell intensified, and he gagged a little.

After switching on the small led-flashlight he examined the hardware. The motherboard was obviously fried, with the processor and memory banks molten in their places. It could be considered a miracle that the computer had not caught fire in the process of overheating like this.

The thought of Agent Casey beating him to the scene crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. From what he had heard and read about the NSA operative, Casey had the subtlety and tact of a robot, and his solution would have been to take it into the courtyard and riddle it with bullets. Something else had done this damage and he had a pretty good idea as to what it had been.

"Interesting," he said barely audible.

Though the computer had received some impressive upgrades, it seemed nothing more than a two-bit calculator computer to the computer that had housed the Intersect. The file itself was pretty harmless if it remained unopened. However if opened, it generated massive amounts of heat and possibly power surges. Past test runs confirmed his findings and he heaved an annoyed sigh; the Intersect had been activated and uploaded. Which meant that his job had just gotten a lot harder.

He rummaged through the backpack and took out the portable electromagnetic degausser. As much as he hated to do it, he removed the hard drive and stuck it in the machine. Whatever there was still left on the hard drive, it would be gone in a matter of minutes.

She had argued with Ellie that a visit the hospital was not necessary, that she was fine, but her friend had simply refused to take 'no' for an answer. When it came to injuries and the health of family and friends, Ellie could reach terrifying levels of scary doctor.

Now Bryce had left her in Ellie's care and had promised to tell Big Mike that she was taking a sick day so she would not have to worry about work. She was hardly ever sick, and to miss work over something stupid as a fall, it clashed with her sense of duty. More than once she had thought of calling a cab and get to work, but she was sure that Ellie would hunt her down and drag her back to the hospital until she was cleared.

With time to kill and no desire to play a game on her cell phone, she glanced at the other people sitting out in the hallway waiting for their doctors to come and collect them. Her gaze became fixed on a man in his late forties.

A strange tingle ran through her brain, followed by a sharp tug, like an undercurrent in the ocean, at the back of her mind. Preparing to be surrounded by peaceful darkness, her mind's eye was flooded with a torrent of images instead.

"Tsugh," she uttered in a strangled gasp when reality returned.

Though a little dizzy, she shook her head to clear her mind. What had just happened? She looked at the man again and suddenly seemed to know a lot more about him. Derek Walters, CEO of a hedge fund company, suspected of embezzlement, money laundering and insider trading.

It unnerved her. Where did that knowledge come from? He was a stranger to her, and now she knew all about his supposed white collar crimes.

Unwilling to find out if it was just a single occurrence or not, she leaned forward in the chair, resting her elbows on her thighs, her head in her hands. So far the past twenty-four hours had been pretty bizarre; the email from Zondra, coming to on the floor with no recollection whatsoever as to what happened, and now she knew that man was a criminal. What the hell was wrong with her?

"The computer's destroyed beyond repair," he informed the Director over the secure line.

"Okay. Any external drives? A backup?"

"None that I could find, sir, but that doesn't mean there isn't one," he said with some hesitation.

The break-in, the theft of the intersect, the recipient. He had been racking his brains over the whole incident and so far it did not make sense at all. Why had Zondra sent the Intersect file to a civilian?

"What is it, Bartowski?" Director Graham asked annoyed.

"I don't know, sir," he answered honestly.

"Listen, Bartowski... Zondra burned us. All we can do now is get a handle on the situation, so do whatever needs to be done. Is that clear?"

He swallowed a curse. 'Whatever' usually meant one thing: eliminate the threat at the earliest convenience. And that was not how he worked. His curiosity would need to be satisfied and the evidence irrefutable before he would take such drastic actions. Director Graham knew this and would pressure on him to close the case as fast as possible. Maybe he should wait for Casey to arrive and take over. Undoubtedly the NSA operative would have no problems with doing the dirty work. But what if his gut feeling was right? Could he really sacrifice an innocent person just like that, if that was in fact the case? The answer was no.

"Yes, sir," he sighed in feigned resignation.

He emitted a loud, deep grunt of displeasure, causing the driver to jerk the steering wheel a little. The computer had been a dead end, literally. And his intended target had not shown up for work. It felt like he had been sent from pillar and post.

General Beckman had been very clear in her instructions; find the target, assess the situation and act accordingly. She had also informed him that the CIA had gotten a head start by sending some analyst involved with Project Omaha, who had been stationed nearby, to investigate.

An analyst, not even a fully trained field operative. This guy would not even stand a chance against him if push came to shove, and he had no doubts about that. The interagency competition dictated as much.

It was only too bad that the General had not been able to provide him the analyst's name yet, but he was sure that she could come through any moment now. As if the devil was playing, his cell phone chimed and he checked the message.

"Charles Bartowski, hrmm," he grumbled, the name sounding vaguely familiar but he refused to give it another thought.

It almost made his heart burst with pride to see his sister in her doctor's attire talking to a patient. It had been way too long since he had last seen her, though Bakersfield was less than two hours away.

Silently he approached her from behind and tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

"Just a sec," his sister said without even turning around.

A smirk spread across his face and he tapped her on the shoulder again. If she was given the chance, she would forget all about the person wanting her attention instead focusing on the person needing her attention.

"Can't you see," she began angrily only to stop midsentence when she whirled around and saw him standing only two feet away from her.

His smirk had evolved into a grin that spread from ear to ear when he caught the look of shock and surprise on her face.

"Chuck!" She exclaimed.

Air whistled from his lungs when she pulled him into a crushing hug that would have made any grizzly bear jealous.

"What are you doing here?"

"I felt bad about yesterday so I took the day off to come down and surprise you."

"You're really here," she smiled happily, squeezing his upper arms as if to make sure that he was not a figment of her imagination. "It's been too long, little brother."

"You said it, big sister," he returned her smile, only to have the wind knocked out him once more when she enveloped him in another bear hug.

He stumbled backwards a little when she pushed him away all of a sudden and looked at him with eyes full of mischief. He knew that look: "Uh oh?"

"Come on," she said taking his hand in a vice grip and started dragging her with him.

They reached a young woman who sat hunched forward, and he had to sidestep his sister to avoid running into her when she stopped dead in her tracks.

"Sam?" Ellie drew the woman's attention.

"I'd like you to meet my little brother," Ellie said with a grand smile. "Chuck, this is my neighbor and friend Sam. Sam, this is my little brother Chuck," she continued with the informal introductions.

"Hi," Chuck said with a warm smile while he extended his hand.

She looked from his hand to his face. Her heartbeat picked up a little at the realization that she finally got to meet him. Instinctively she tried to read him.

Not wanting to be impolite, she pressed her hand in his, frowning somewhat confused at the sensation that came with it, and shook it firmly: "Hi."

He tilted his head a little and looked her curiously. The moment was there, and then, it was gone. She took her hand back and looked at Ellie expectantly.

"Oh, right," she seemed to get the message. "You're good to go."

At least the doctor-patient confidentiality saved her from appearing to be a complete klutz. For some reason she did not want him to think she was some clumsy patsy. She gave a small nod in acknowledgment.

"Chuck, can you give Sam a ride back to the apartment complex? My shift officially started thirty minutes ago, Devon's probably asleep already and Bryce is at work."

She immediately opened her mouth to protest, that she did not want to impose and that a cab was just fine, but Chuck beat her: "Sure thing, sis," he agreed with a warm smile.

"Oh, and I want you both over for dinner tonight. At seven."

The tone Ellie had used sounded definitive; once the woman had gotten something into her head, refusing was not an option. So she simply nodded in agreement.

So far things had gone a lot better than he had expected. Perhaps he had been a little too eager with agreeing to give Sam a ride home, but it had been a chance stupid to pass up. He had made contact with the mark and now he was given a first chance to find out what she knew. As it turned out she was not really the talkative kind. Or at least not yet.

"So...," he looked for a way to start up the conversation while they waited for the traffic light to turn green. "What is it you do for a living?"

"I work at the Buy More," she was surprisingly quick to answer. "Nerd Herd actually. Bryce works there as well, in sales."

Like he did not know that already. Before he had left for Los Angeles, he had read their files and both were clean, aside from a speeding ticket here and a parking ticket there. Nothing that would mark either of them as a threat to national security, but in his line of work he had learned all too soon that it was better to be safe than sorry.

Apparently inspired by his interest, though it took her a while, she asked: "And you? What do you do?"

He pulled into the first available parking spot after crossing the busy intersection and looked over his shoulder for quite some time. While waiting he had noticed something and he wanted to make sure before acting upon it.

"Hold on," he said before he killed the engine and got out of his car. "Back in a sec."