A/N: DC here. Everyone okay? I mean did Steampunk knock you on your butts or what? Let's talk. So I feel comfortable saying by that chapter I really felt like I hit my stride on this fic. Going forward it's more original content, more of what you expect from us. More bad jokes, more running gags, and more…beginnings of a pairing that Steampunk and I just adore. Baby steps, guys. Baby steps. But, let me warn you, there will be times you will wonder what we're doing, and let me just remind you our joint account name should be IAmCharahTrash. Seriously, if you enjoyed what came before...you ain't seen nuttin' yet. Strap in. It's gonna be a helluva ride.

Disclaimer: We don't own Chuck (secretly I've heard that Steampunk might, but don't tell her I know….)

BRUH, IF I OWNED IT, YoU'd aLL kNoW iT aNd fEeL iT iN yOuR BoNeS. -SC

Sarah was putting in her pigtails when her phone chimed for an incoming text. She froze and slowly turned towards it thinking about the last text she had gotten and how she really wasn't as ready for the rollercoaster ride that was Chuck Bartowski as she thought she was.

It had been two days ago when she burst into his apartment, gun drawn, scaring Chuck...his eyes wide. He had been wearing an apron that said "kiss the cook" and an oven mitt, and was holding a cookie sheet that tumbled out of his hand and slammed to the ground as she swung the gun toward him.

"Are you okay?" she barked, pulling the gun back so as not to frighten him anymore.

"Yes?" he replied, scared out of his mind. "Are they coming for me?" She stared at him like the village had lost its idiot. "Th-the gun," as he gesticulated toward it. "You burst in here with a gun, are they after me? Are they coming though the Morgan door?"

"You texted me, Chuck!"

He became sheepish, like a realization had hit him. "Oh," he said with a wince.

She was angry. "OH? What the hell does oh mean, Chuck? Why did you text me saying, 'I need you'?"

"Because I was trying to make you, and Ellie, and Awesome, and Morgan, and Casey a dinner to make up for the one I ruined and I'm in over my head and you made this amazing souffle and I thought you could help me." He blurted it all out quickly, his head down, looking a little ashamed. "In retrospect the choice of wording probably wasn't the best."

The anger left. She was confused. What was he getting at? Wait, what exactly did 'I need you' mean to him? "Why? Our cover is fine, and Ellie said everything was all good."

He looked up at her, seeing her face. "I needed to make it up to you. I acted like a jerk towards you in front of everyone and I was trying to do right and, you know, fix this. I really messed up, and I know you said we're good, but I needed to look like a real boyfriend for the cover, so this is what a real boyfriend would do. He'd make it up to you, in front of his family and show them it's his fault." He looked down at the floor and the food there. He gestured toward the sink where she noticed a pan and something smoking. "Apparently I went too big, too fast, annnnnd—" He looked at the disaster area again and his chin dropped to his chest.

She put her gun away and walked into the kitchen where she could survey the damage. He looked a little pitiful standing there in the middle of ...what the hell was that? "Uh, Chuck, what were you making?"

"Cozy Chicken Piccata over Pasta with bread."

She glanced at the bread on the floor. "Do you prefer yours burnt?" He turned towards her his lips pulled back, almost frowning. "Now I think I understand the text." She put her hand on his upper arm. "You're not used to cooking multiple things at the same time, are you?" He shook his head. He looked so adorable standing there. The door started to open so she did the first thing that popped into her mind to sell all of this. She stood on her tiptoes and lightly kissed his cheek just as Ellie walked in. Chuck turned his head toward her and she wrapped her arms around him, side hugging him.

"Did you see what this adorable man did for me, Ellie?" Ellie shook her head. Sarah took a second to study her. Was she vibrating? "He made dinner for me to make up for the other day."

Chuck recovered a little. "Uh, it was a disaster."

"But it's the thought, right, Ellie?" Sarah looked at Ellie with her best, 'please side with me, he has to know how great he is' look. Fear gripped her. Not because she thought Ellie wouldn't, but because for a second, this had nothing to do with the cover. This was all because Chuck Bartowski was a good guy and he needed to know how wonderful he was, what he had done. In all her time with Bryce, he had never done anything like this for her. Hell, no man ever had.

"It is the thought," Ellie replied beaming at the two of them. "Here's a thought. You clean up the kitchen, Sarah and I will order pizza."

Chuck turned to her, grinning. "I like it. I like it. Are you okay with that?"

She nodded, stood up on her tiptoes, cupped his face in her hand and kissed his cheek again. She pulled back, kept his eyes locked with hers, and spoke. "Thank you."

"Anytime, Sarah, anytime."

The phone buzzed again pulling her out of her thoughts. It was a message from Graham. There was a courier coming with a dossier. She was to take it to Chuck and see what he flashed on. Graham specifically wanted to know if there was a picture in the Intersect. There was a knock on the door a few minutes later. She opened the door, exchanged passwords, and took the file. It was time to work, it was time to face Chuck, and the rollercoaster. Wheeee.

}o{

"Success!"

Chuck turned and held up his hand for Rodney to give him a high-five. "Rodders, this is impressive. This is really impressive. I mean, the improvement just over the last few days has been somethin' special, my dude. I feel privileged that I've gotten to witness this."

Rodney chuckled and started the next level. Chuck had no idea where he lived or where his parents were, but twelve year old Rodney had been showing up at the Buy More after school to play video game demos for the past month or so and contrary to what store policy might say about loitering, he'd never asked questions or kicked him out.

Suddenly, Rodney turned to pointed the gun at his face. "It's broken."

"Please don't shoot. Don't shoot me. Put the gun down. Gently."

"It can't shoot! That's the problem. It did this yesterday, too. It's busted."

Chuck smirked and took the gun. "Well, when it comes to Mr. Bartowski, my friend, busted is just a state of mind." He took his screwdriver out of his pocket and readjusted a few things, tightened some screws, then handed it back. "Try that."

Rodney went back to the game and Chuck watched, ignoring Harry Tang's presence over his shoulder. "Big Mike wants to see you," the jerk said.

"Not now, Harry. Can't you see I'm with a customer?" He leaned down closer to Rodney. "I apologize, Sir. This is not how we usually conduct business at the Buy More." That got him an amused smirk from the kid.

"NOW, CHUCK."

He spun to find Big Mike himself standing there. "I was just on my way to see you. That's crazy."

When they were locked in Big Mike's office, he recognized the serious look on the man's face and he spared a momentary thought about whether the CIA might be able to get his job back for him if he was fired today. Would they pay Big Mike off? Or threaten him? Maybe they'd blackmail him or something?

"Bartowski, what is it that you want out of life?"

"You mean existentially, like fulfillment, inner peace? That kind of a thing? Or are we talking more practically, like Lakers tickets, personal steam room…"

"I'm talking Buy More," Big Mike interrupted. "Your career. Where do you see yourself in five years, ten years?"

"Honestly? I have no idea."

"Then it's time you start thinking about it," Big Mike said. "As you know, there's an assistant manager's position open. It's down to you and Harry Tang. Now, you want that job or not?"

Chuck gaped. He'd let his usual apathetic attitude while at work creep its way into this meeting and he'd turned in a damn application for the assistant manager's job. Shit. Shit, he needed to screw his head on right. "I do. I do. I'm sorry, Big Mike. I absolutely want that job."

"Well then, Bartowski. It's your turn to show me somethin'. Those old systems stacked in the cage in the back? You know 'em?"

"I do, sir."

"You're the Nerd Herd supervisor. Get your nerds together and fix those damn things. I'm giving you two days to do it. And if you do not succeed, Harry Tang is getting that promotion. Not you." Big Mike pushed up to his feet and crossed his arms. "We clear?"

"Yessir. Crystal. I'll get—We'll get right on that, sir. It's a cinch."

He burst out of Big Mike's office and rounded up Jeff, Lester, and Anna as quickly as he could, leading them into the back and marching up to the cage as he explained what just occurred in Big Mike's office. He knew they were all behind him because nobody wanted Harry Tang as their superior. Nobody wanted that asshole lording over them all day, every day.

"I'm sorry, guys," he said. "And Anna."

"Guys is fine, I don't mind," she said with a shrug.

"Nah, it's not right. We need to come up with something non-gender specific. How about...team?"

"Fellow...Nerd Herders?" she offered.

"The Lesters." Nope. No.

"Chuck's Stable of Ho's."

Chuck turned on his heel and looked at Jeff with his best what the fuck look.

But then the door behind them burst open and Morgan was there. "Hey, guys! I just heard about the...Damn, that's lame. Super lame. I'd love to help. It's just that I can't," he said with a shrug after pausing long enough for them all to actually think he was a good friend and coworker. "A, I don't have the skillsets, and B, my whole...fear of old computers thing. It's taking a lot just to get this close, honestly."

"I'm really proud o' you, buddy," Chuck said, not missing a beat.

"Thanks, bro. But I bring you news. Your lady is here, looking for you. And if I'm not overstepping my bounds, she looks—"

"You are, so stop. Stop there. I'm on my way," Chuck said, cutting him off and rushing out of this situation. He spun on his heel, walking backwards. "I'll be—I'll be back, guy—er, stable of—Oh God no, not that one. Guys! We'll revisit that conversation at a later date! Okay!"

He popped out to the front, still wincing a bit at the eye rolls he'd gotten from his troops.

Chuck stopped at the Nerd Herd desk and turned to see Sarah in her Wienerlicious outfit, looking around the store for him, raising onto her tip toes. It was cute, and he felt like if he ever said that in her general direction, she'd choke him out. So he just smiled at her instead when she finally caught his gaze, and he closed the distance as she smiled back.

"Hey," he chirped.

"Hey." Then she looked up at him as they stood toe to toe. "Gimme a kiss," she breathed.

His smiled died. "Wh-Huh?"

"For the cover," she clarified. "We've been on three dates and it's the twenty-first century, so it'd be pretty weird if we didn't...Hurry up, though, because if it takes you too long, it might start to look even weirder…"

He leaned down and quickly pecked her on the lips. He almost felt like one of those wooden birds that rocked back and forth to drink water, it was so quick. But the idea of actually putting his lips directly on Sarah's lips was...way too much. It was a lot. He couldn't really handle that right then.

"Um. Okay...I guess that counts?"

"Sorry, it isn't—It isn't really a thing I've ever been good at." He realized how that sounded and his eyes got as big as saucers. "PDA, I mean. Public displays of...Not kissing, though. I'm a good kisser. Some might even say...great. Sarah, please save me from my own mouth."

She giggled and sidled up to him flirtatiously. He realized belatedly that was also for the cover. "Well, then...let's get somewhere a little more private then, so I can test that out." She winked and took his hand, her fingers playing with his in a way that he thought was most likely a lot sexier than the weird pornography he was sure Jeff watched in the home theater room in the middle of the night.

And why in the hell was his brain going there? Please, brain, stop.

When they got into the home theater room, with Chuck looking nervously over his shoulder, his assumption about what they were actually doing there was confirmed. This was for a CIA thing, a government mission case thing. Not actual making out. Because of course. That would have been totally weird, right? Right…

It was extra confirmed when Casey pushed into the home theater room after them. "Sorry to break up your little tryst," he snarked. "Next time you need to talk to the subject, I'd appreciate a head's up."

Chuck huffed. This CIA versus NSA crap was still happening then, apparently. Great. Also, he really liked how everyone was calling him "the asset" and "the subject". It made all of this so much better.

"Relax," Sarah drawled, sarcastically. "I wouldn't dream of starting without you, Agent Casey."

"Mom? Dad? Can we get on with it? I have hard drives to fix," he snarked, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Sarah was already laying pictures out on the coffee table in front of the couch. He frowned down at them and sat slowly, grabbing one of the pictures and peering at it. "Why are these people sleeping?"

"They're not sleeping," Casey murmured.

"They were killed, Chuck," Sarah corrected, sitting on the arm of the couch next to him. "And we're trying to figure out why."

They both peered down at him closely, expectant looks on their faces, he noticed. He looked at Casey first, then at Sarah. "What?"

"Nothin'?" Casey asked.

"Nothing, what?"

"Did you...You know...the reaction thing you get when you have the secrets triggered in your brain. Anything?" he asked again. Chuck frowned and looked up at Sarah, who was giving him a similar look of question.

"I have no idea! It's just pictures of dead guys!"

"Well, look again," Casey said, tapping the picture he held.

"You know, I'd rather not. It's kinda creepy."

"What about this, then?" Sarah asked, reaching over to grab a file from her bag and plopping it down on the table. "Take a look at that and see if there's anything there."

"S'that?" Casey asked as Chuck reached out to pick up the folder.

"As much as the CIA has about La Ciudad," she said with a shrug. "Which isn't much. But we know they're an arms dealer, that they're still out there, and that these men might be somehow connected to La Ciudad. Part of an arms deal that's going bad, maybe? We aren't sure. But we need to access whatever is in Chuck's head to see if there's anything else on La Ciudad we've missed. The trail leads here, but we've got nothing else."

"Chuck is right here," Chuck mumbled. "And, look, I don't know how this thing works, okay? So I can't help you." He turned through the pages of the dossier. "Nothing in here is help—" His gaze had drifted to the picture of one of the other men murdered. Then back to the file, and that sensation spilled through him, the spots in his vision, the wave of dizziness, and it was over just as fast.

"Chuck, what did you see?" Sarah asked, and he felt her hand on his shoulder.

"I had a...it was like a mini-flash…" he murmured.

"She asked what you saw, moron."

"Casey…" Sarah warned over his head. He saw the NSA agent shrug in his peripheral.

"Art. It's art. They found. They found him...him!" He grabbed the picture and showed it to Sarah specifically, because Casey could go screw himself, honestly. "This guy was found in an art warehouse, yes?"

"I think that's in one of the files, yeah."

"I know, I flashed. This is an art warehouse. They were all murdered smuggling a piece of art. La Ciudad is the end of the trail—the trail that you said was leading here. Where does a piece of art usually end up?"

"A...museum?" Casey asked haltingly.

"No, before that, 'moron'—Forget I said that. Forget—Oh God." The front of his shirt was immediately clutched in Casey's fists and he whimpered as Sarah reached over to unclench the grumpy agent's fingers and free Chuck from his grip.

"What are you talking about, Chu—Oh." He spun to face Sarah as she seemed to see where he was going. He pointed at her, waiting for her to voice it. "An art auction."

"La Ciudad will be at an art auction to see the piece of art that traveled through these poor bastards' hands. Find the art auction, find the mean bad guy."

Casey was already on his feet, rushing out of the home theater room, and he came back a moment later with Lester following.

"Hey, that's mi—Uh, no it's cool. You can borrow it, s'cool, fine. Just lemme know when you're...done. Kay."

Lester left again, looking incredibly pale.

Casey set the laptop down. Chuck clicked away from the dating site Lester had pulled up—he didn't even want to know—and did a quick search for Los Angeles art auction. "Art auction, tomorrow night. Here in Los Angeles. And it's a big one. I'm assuming La Ciudad will be there to pick up his murder painting or whatever."

He cleared his throat and set everything on the table in front of him, climbing to his feet and brushing himself off, straightening his shirt from where Casey had grabbed him. "Scuse—Scuse me, just gonna squeeze past ya," he murmured down at Casey, shimmying along past his knees. "I've got some old hard drives to fix, super important stuff, but good luck with the whole spy thing and the super dangerous murderer…"

He did his best to ignore the hard look the two spies exchanged upon his revelation about La Ciudad, but he couldn't imagine they'd want him involved outside of what he'd already done. And he wasn't about to give them the chance.

}o{

Chuck strolled into the kitchen as Ellie turned from where she was frosting cupcakes. He saw her eyes get big and knew something was about to happen. He had his hands up to defend himself before she even spoke.

"Chuck, I'm so proud of you!" She came at him with the knife, frosting threatening to drip onto his shirt, and he caught her by her wrists. "Morgan told me about that assistant manager position at the Buy More! Congratulations!"

"Ah ah! Whoa. Whoa," he chuckled just as Morgan swept around from the sink, a carrot clenched between his teeth.

"Team Bartowski, movin' up in the world, huh, fam?" He slid between them so that Chuck had to let go of Ellie, and Chuck felt Morgan's hand on his lower back. If his other hand was anywhere near the same spot on Ellie, he maybe needed to make sure his sister wasn't holding a knife.

The murderous glare on her face told him it was and he prepared himself for possibly having to save his little buddy's life.

"Okay, well...first of all!" he burst out, successfully getting Ellie's attention back on him. Crisis averted. "It's not mine yet, so cool it with the congrats. And second of all, ease up on the enthusiasm." He moved away. "It's only a two dollar an hour raise at an electronics store and it doesn't even give me my own parking space. If I could even afford to buy my own friggin' car."

He opened the fridge and scanned the contents lethargically.

"Okay, well I'm hearing something of a lack of interest, Chuck," Ellie said over her shoulder, having gone back to frosting the cupcakes. "Does that mean you're maybe thinking of moving on from the Buy More and getting into a real profession?"

Chuck nabbed some leftovers in a container, too lazy to actually make anything, and stood up, feeling a spike of frustration. Her dismissiveness about the Buy More was warranted, he knew, but it still felt like an unnecessary jab.

Morgan broke in before he could answer her question. Because of course he did.

"Real profession? Sorry, I'm gonna need clarification on that." He chomped his carrot loudly, smacking his lips like a human caricature of Bugs Bunny. And he really wasn't helping his point with that.

Because apparently neither of them had any interest in speaking to Chuck, and instead decided they'd just have a discussion about him, around him, he just reached over and grabbed one of the cupcakes Ellie had just finished frosting.

"He went to Stanford, Morgan."

"Right, and was unceremoniously expelled senior year." This was a great line of discussion now, too. He was glad he was here for this, being talked about while he was standing right there in the room for the second time today. Only this time by people who weren't secret agents addressing a top secret supercomputer thing trapped in his brain, and he wasn't sure if that was worse or not. "Sorry to bring that up, champ," Morgan said, as if noticing the frustration on Chuck's face. "But I think we need to be realistic about our goals here."

Ellie lifted the knife. "His goals? Or your goals?" she demanded sarcastically.

Chuck sent them both a flat look as he wandered past them, on his way out of the kitchen altogether.

"Great question. Where do we see him in five years...ten years…"

"We?"

Chuck was gone, though, leaving the kitchen, walking out to sit on the couch alone and eat some food while they continued to talk about him as if he wasn't there. So he wouldn't be there. He'd be over here.

"No, seriously, El, think about it—"

"You've called me El for the last twenty years, Morgan, and I've told you every single time not to."

He ignored her. "This is all he knows! He's a big fish in a little pond. It's always better to be the big fish in the little pond!"

"You aren't even making any sense. Even without Stanford cred on his resume, Chuck could still get an IT job elsewhere. He has the experience and he's a great interviewer."

Oh God no they were following him. They were both wandering over to sit on the chairs in front of him. He set his plate of food next to him, suddenly not all that hungry anymore and he picked up the issue of PC Gamer that he'd already gone through. Maybe if they thought he full-on wasn't paying attention, and instead was actively reading something, they'd get the message…

No. No, they weren't even looking at him. This was ridiculous. He was starting to wonder if being mad was even worth it.

"Listen, it is way too scary out there! Chuck can't leave the Buy More! We're still finding ourselves!"

"Yeah, no offense, Morgan," she meant offense, whatever it was, she absolutely meant offense, "but I think my brother has spent quite a few years finding himself and he's definitely proven that his place in life is not at the Buy More," she snarked. Had he, though? Not really. Maybe Morgan was right (for the wrong reasons, granted) and he would forever be relegated to working at the Buy More. He reached over to pick up that cupcake, slowly taking a bite out of it, setting it down again, licking his fingers meticulously.

"You don't understand. He is a fragile little...gelding." What? "Ya know?" No. "He's still trying to find his legs. The real world will crush him."

Ellie just gave Morgan her narrowed-eyed you're a freaking idiot look that she reserved particularly for his bearded friend. "Do you know what a gelding is?" she asked slowly.

Morgan scoffed and Chuck finally looked up at him, eyebrows raised, waiting for his answer. He was not helping the guy out with this one. Especially since he'd basically just referred to him as a castrated horse. Unknowingly, yes, but still…

"It's the—that weird creature from The Dark Crystal. Smells like gelding," he said in a weird voice. "That guy."

Nope.

"What he needs is somethin' to challenge him!" Out of nowhere, Awesome plopped down on the couch, uncomfortably close to him actually, kicking his feet up on the table, tossing his arm over the back of the couch behind Chuck. "Test of his limitations. A brush with his own mortality."

That seemed...extreme.

"Know what I'm thinkin'?" the doctor continued.

"I have no idea what you're thinking," Ellie drawled in a flat voice.

"S'far as I'm concerned, dude, you're—you're way off the planet."

"Class Five white water rapids." Chuck looked up from the magazine, pretty much done with this conversation now. "Just the two of us, this weekend, near death experience."

This conversation was a near death experience.

So he climbed up to his feet and tossed the magazine back onto the couch. "Sounds great, but my wetsuit's still at the dry cleaners."

Chuck picked up his dirty dishes and walked back to the kitchen, checked out, ready to lock himself in his bedroom forever if at all possible. That'd at least make Casey and Sarah's life a hell of a lot easier, wouldn't it?

"That is a terrible idea. That's way too dangerous," Ellie was saying, as if Chuck would ever even agree to that in the first place.

"I agree. And I am not comfortable with the two of you spending that much time together," Morgan said, because missing the point of a situation was what Chuck's best friend did on a regular basis like it was a second job or something.

"Well, Chuck hasn't said a word. What do you wanna do?" Ellie asked then, and all three of them turned towards him. Oh, now? Now they wanted to talk to him instead of planning his entire future for him, psychoanalyze him, parse his entire life's choices? Cool. Great. No.

"Just gonna hit the sack," he said, leaving the kitchen. "G'night, Team Bartowski."

He hastened down the hallway, back to his room where he could sit and stare at a TV screen, shoot some fools in the Covenant for a few hours until he passed the hell out, and tomorrow would be yet another day of fixing old hard drives and trying to get that two dollar an hour pay increase.

If he got that assistant manager position after all, he'd still be an asset, a subject, a brother and friend who constantly got talked about over his head, and he wouldn't even have that personal parking space...but he supposed at least Harry Tang would be pissed, and that was always a win.

But then he stepped into his room and turned on the light, heading for his TV, and caught sight of someone standing outside of his window, peering through the blinds at him like a creeper. "Oh my God!" he gasped, managing to keep his voice down just barely. "What the hell, Casey?" he hissed.

Casey was unmoved. "Congratulations, Chuck. You just got your first mission. Tomorrow night. Hope you're ready for the real world," he said ominously, before disappearing into the shadows again.

Oh...Oh, God.

}o{

Chuck had been waiting for Casey to come in all morning, it felt like. He'd even put Fernando and Skip on Casey watch while he stayed in the back working on fixing the hard drives with his team.

And when he finally got the text from Fernando, he wordlessly dashed out into the store and spotted the NSA agent in his green shirt, striding into the store. "Ah! Aha! Casey! Casey, hey! Hey, okay. I've been up all night thinkin' about this, uh, this thing. Going on tonight."

"And?"

"I have questions. Dress attire for this evening? Uh, sneakers, or are we classifying this as more of a shoe event?"

"I rented you a tux."

"Oh! That's very nice," he said, then he frowned a bit in question. "Wait, how'd you, uh, how'd you know my size?"

Casey spun to face him, that nonplussed, unapproachable, serious look on his face. Like always. "NSA. We have records of your rental information from prom night." Chuck gaped at him, eyes narrowed. "I checked the suit in your closet."

Chuck made a face. "Well, joke's on you 'cause I know for a fact that I didn't even go to prom, so...Wait, that was far more damning for me, wasn't it?" Casey grunted in amusement at his expense. "Okay, this is my first foray into major undercover spy work, so you could maybe ease up on the sarcasm. And anyway, how am I supposed to recognize La Ciudad? Is there a picture or somethin'?"

Casey gave him a look like he was the prize idiot. "Yeah, if we had a picture, do you think we woulda needed you?"

"What did we just talk about?"

"I'm sorry." He wasn't. "We're hoping somethin' in the event triggers a flash."

"A what...oh that's what we're calling the...thingy, okay. Okay, got it. It's a flash now, 'kay. See? That's all ya had to say, Casey. Now, uh, hand-to-hand combat, in all seriousness, if it comes down to me and La Ciudad in some fisticuffs or somethin', is there, like, a twenty minute tutorial you can take me through?"

Chuck was unable to keep a speck of panic out of his question, he found, after a sleepless night of freaking out and picturing all of the ways in which this...mission or whatever...would end up with him dead.

"Don't worry. You're gonna be fine. Nothin's gonna happen to you." Casey paused. "Assuming you know how to tango."

Chuck just stood there, staring at him. "Seriously?"

"Oh, I don't joke about your life."

He left Chuck standing there some more, peering after the NSA agent. Big Mike suddenly popped out of his office and stared him down. All he had to do was point at his watch and Chuck was rushing through the store towards the back to continue working to get that AssMan job.

"Chuuuuck," Morgan stepped in front of him.

"I've got computers to fix. Not now."

"Your girlfriend's here."

"Oh." He turned and glanced over to see Sarah standing there, in that damn uniform of hers. "One minute," he breathed in her direction, holding up a finger, and he continued towards the back.

"Don't worry about it, we got it," Anna said from where she sat on the Nerd Herd desk, peering at her phone. "There's only a few left."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"It's done," Lester said. "But the next time I have a big date, you are gonna cover for me."

"Okay...great! Thanks, team...I'll see ya tomorrow." Because if he had the opportunity to bug out early today, he'd take it.

He turned on his heel and headed towards Sarah as Morgan sidled up against him and threw an arm over his shoulders. "Where you lovebirds headed?" Morgan asked.

"We're going to an art auction," he said with a bit of a jaunty look on his face, "at the Wilshire Grant."

"Oooooh, swankyyyyy! I like it, maaannnn...Uh, aren't we movin' a little too fast?"

"No."

Chuck joined Sarah at the door with a grin, sticking his elbow out for her to thread her arm through his. There was some amusement in her blue eyes and he took it as a win.

}o{

She figured sitting at the tables outside of the Wienerlicious was a good way to advance the cover—let people see them talking. But also, she'd gotten a lot of crap from her stupid boss for not keeping the napkin holders stocked out there, and for not cleaning or bussing the tables and she figured she could at least kill two birds with one stone.

"Want a soda or something from inside?" she asked as he plopped down in one of the rickety wooden chairs.

"Do I have to pay for it?"

She smirked at that. "Yeah."

"Then nah."

Smirking harder, she sat across from him and began refilling the napkin holders. "Good. That means I don't have to look at that pipsqueak again or hear another diatribe about my customer service. If he tells me to smile one more time, I'll put his head in the deep fryer."

He chuckled. "Please don't do that. I, uh, I need your help tonight."

Sarah snorted, liking how that was the only thing he was worried about, and not her boss' head being deep fried. "Well, I'm here." He sent her a weak smile and nodded. She could see a thread of nerves in him, possibly even panic. "The idea with the cover is to keep it as simple as possible without revealing true personal detail," she advised him.

"Simple as possible," he muttered. "No personal detail. Uh, good. Perfect. I'm on it."

"Good." She looked up at him through her eyelashes as she stuffed napkins into the holder. "Any thoughts on a name?"

His features crumbled for a second and she thought that no, he didn't have any thoughts on a name. It probably hadn't even occurred to him, because he wasn't a spy. He wasn't an agent. He had no field training, no training of any kind, and they were really just going to shove him out there into the field, forcing him to go undercover. Like it was the simplest thing in the world. There were analysts who'd been with the agency for years who couldn't pull off a cover in the same type of situation they'd be throwing him into tonight, and they were expecting him to, and it was incredibly dangerous and stupid.

But she hadn't been given any voice in the matter, thanks to Casey dismissing her warranted worries in front of Director Graham and General Beckman. Not that they would've cared if both Agent Walker and Major Casey were against the idea or not. But like Beckman had said, La Ciudad was the most illusive and dangerous arms dealer in the world. And they were sending this guy with their secrets in his head right into this situation that could easily get him killed, those secrets lost forever.

But Casey had to open his damn NSA mouth and offer up the idea of bringing Chuck so that he could flash and recognize La Ciudad there. It was foolish in so many more ways than one. The biggest being that Chuck would be in danger, but also, if no one who'd ever seen La Ciudad's face lived to tell about it, how would Chuck have some...file in his brain to be able to recognize the face amongst the crowd?

It didn't matter now, anyway, because Beckman's tone when she responded to her concerns left no room for argument. They wanted to "test" what Chuck was capable of. Like this was some sort of fill-in-the-bubble standardized test.

"Charles Carmichael?"

She looked up at him in a bit of surprise. So he had thought about it?

"Simple. Dignified," he said.

"Easy to remember, and not far off from—"

"Graduated with honors from Stanford. Runs a hugely successful software company, semi-retired, and is considering entering America's Cup," he said with a bit of a far-off look in his eyes.

She was a little impressed but mostly just amused, folding her arms on the table and smiling at him. "Have you done this before?"

He pulled it back a bit, his voice getting a little quieter. "Let's just say, uh, Mr. Carmichael and I share a small kinship."

Sarah furrowed her brow, still smiling. "How's that?"

Chuck winced and looked away, and she realized a bit belatedly why. "When I first entered Stanford, it's kind of where I...envisioned myself being...by now." She could hear the underlying tone of shame there, embarrassment, regret. It made sense that the man he'd chosen to play tonight was some alternate universe version of himself if his life hadn't been derailed by getting kicked out of Stanford before he could graduate. "Except for the sailing part. I don't really know where that came from; I just tacked it on right now, spur of the moment." His smile was there to perhaps disguise the momentary vulnerability he'd shown her, she knew, and she made sure not to let pity show on her face, or sympathy. Instead, she just smiled back at him as he continued. "But he's where most of my class already is."

"So what happened?" she asked. Perhaps it was a little disingenuous of her to ask when she already knew. But she didn't know how Chuck might react to the knowledge that she knew an incredible amount of information from his life before they'd met over a week ago. Including that he'd been kicked out of Stanford due to cheating. It was one of the things that had made the dossier on Charles Irving Bartowski a bit more interesting, one of the things that made her think he might be the type of person who'd help a rogue agent.

A small thing, of course, but still...something she couldn't overlook back then.

"My life took a little detour senior year when our old friend Bryce Larkin discovered stolen tests under my bed and was kind enough to alert administration."

She gave him a long look. It probably wasn't right, asking him a question with an answer she already knew and judging him based on whether he actually told her the truth about it or not. But the fact was he hadn't even blinked or hesitated before laying it out in much the same way it'd been laid out in his dossier that she'd gone over in the plane to Los Angeles. No lies, no sidestepping, just the sincere and honest truth. She admired him for it.

"So did you steal the tests?" she asked, still eyeing him closely.

"I thought it was kind of implied that I'm a decent person." He sent her a look.

She raised her eyebrows and responded carefully. "Well, we all make mistakes."

He nodded. "And I've made plenty. That just wasn't one of 'em."

When he looked off to the side, squinting out over the parking lot, she studied his face, unable to keep the little smile from her lips, and more importantly, her eyes. She believed him. One hundred percent. And she didn't even think about the implications—that it was Bryce's word over Chuck's, that she'd known Chuck a little over a week as opposed to the long partnership she'd had with Bryce (and the rest of it), and she still chose to believe Chuck over her erstwhile partner.

"But hey, then Bryce emailed me a whole database of government secrets that are now apparently logged in my brain I guess, keeping me in a constant state of fear, danger, and anxiety, soooooo...I'd say we're even!" He sent her a sarcastically chipper look.

"Don't worry about tonight," she said quickly, as sincere as she could possibly be. He was going into the lion's den, as it were, and she didn't need him freaking out, even though it'd be entirely appropriate to do so considering everything. "No reason to be nervous. I'm not gonna leave your side," she reassured him, unconsciously reaching over to lay her hand on top of both of his that were folded together in the middle of the table. He looked down at it and she nearly pulled it back just as fast, but his reassurance was important here, and he seemed to react positively when she touched him, the tenseness in his shoulders easing, his face softening.

She wouldn't think about any other implications therein enclosed in that extra softness and calm of his.

"Me? Nervous? C'mon. Never," he drawled teasingly.

"Your hand is a little moist," she teased back.

"It does that when I'm freakin' out," he said, not missing a beat.

She couldn't help the amused smirk at that. She wasn't going to do anything to let him think his fears were warranted, though. Because she and Casey would be there at his side, and they weren't going to let anything happen to him.

Maybe Casey was right. It was just an art auction. What could go wrong?

A/N: Thanks for reading, folks! More soon!

-SC and DC