A/N: Welcome back to the SteamVerse, my friends and readers extraordinaire. You're all magic. Thank you for your kindness, and thank you for sticking with this steampunk tomfoolery I've been dishing out for your enjoyment. It's gone over rather well, so far, wouldn't you say?

Stick in there. Each chapter gets closer to what I'm sure you're all waiting for. (And very patiently, I might add, which I certainly appreciate!)

Summary: In 1776, George Washington declared himself King of the United States of America and began turning a new nation into the United States Empire: expanding to the west, amassing colonies and gaining power. Over one hundred years later, the government's secrets are at risk and a new way to keep them safe must be created. When those secrets are accidentally brought to inventor and toy maker Chuck Bartowski's doorstep, his future becomes uncertain as his life fills with adventures, hardships, and even a bit of romance.

Disclaimer: "Chuck" is not mine. Its characters are not mine. Though they might as well be, considering how often I think about them.

Is everybody wearing their adventure caps? No? Well, by jove! What are you waiting for?

There was a metallic taste in his mouth when Bryce Larkin came to and rolled over, his ribs aching and his eyes seemingly sealed shut. He swiped a dirty coat sleeve over his eyes and blinked them open, pushing himself to sit up with a groan.

Bryce ran a grimey hand through his hair and spat onto the ground. The inside of his lip was caked with dried blood and he was pretty sure he had a massive bruise on his jaw. But this was not an entirely new experience for the spy.

He counted himself lucky he could feel all of his teeth still in place.

He groggily pushed himself to his feet and leaned against the alley wall for a moment before bending down to right a garbage bin he had a vague memory of knocking over during the bar fight.

Some bastard had thought it would be funny to call him a pretty boy, then tried to spill his drink over his head. The fellow had ended up flat on his back in the blink of an eye, but in his drunken state, Bryce had miscalculated the amount of friends his attacker might have.

He ended up unconscious in the alleyway after being pushed into a garbage bin and kicked in the ribs. The whiskey may have helped in that respect, numbing him to the pain. But then that had been the point of drinking it in the first place.

With a long sigh, he straightened his vest, buttoned his suit jacket over it, and ran his hands down his front to rid it of excess bread crumbs and other foreign substances he forced himself not to care too much about.

Agent Larkin left the alleyway, smoothing his hair back, wiping his lip on his handkerchief, effectively hiding the evidence of his nighttime activities before strolling down the street. He wished he could find his hat, but he figured he had lost it the night before, or left it at the bar which was now closed until later that night.

Bryce didn't have the time to wait. He had to make his way back to the Buy More. If Chuck could not fix Prototype 534, the last few years of Bryce's career would be for naught—and the empire would lose its most precious secrets. Which, he supposed, was much better than having it get into the hands of an enemy of the empire. An enemy of the world.

When he arrived at Chuck's workshop early the next morning, he found the back door locked. With a shrug, he reached into his inner coat pocket and produced his lock pick, easily granting himself access.

He knew this time to expect the blast of steam in his face from whatever machinery Chuck happened to be fiddling with, and was shocked again when there was nothing but a faint click, followed by a distinct whirring sound.

"Ah, Bryce. It is good you are here. Right on time. An unusual occurance," came a cheerful voice from the other room. A familiar android stepped into the workshop and gave him what might have been a smile if the thing's lips moved that way. "It has been awhile. You look like you slept in a pile of garbage and although I have not been installed with that particular sense, I assume you most likely smell like spoilt cabbage and perhaps sour milk. Though, as I said before, I cannot say for sure. Perhaps more of a rotten fruit smell. We shall have to ask Chuck when he awakes. To smell you, I mean. I am curious."

"Uh, yes. Absolutely, we will have Chuck…smell me." Bryce had almost forgotten how incredibly strange it was that Chuck's closest friend was a machine he had built himself when he was a a youth. It was a bit disquieting, given the reason behind it. And, he had to admit, sad. "How are you, Morgan?" It was difficult to imagine the android as much more than what it was—but the way Chuck programmed Morgan, and the unsettling human characteristics he displayed sometimes left Bryce feeling nervous in the machine's presence.

"I just charged. I'm feeling refreshed." There was a bit of a tone to his voice, something akin to dislike. As impossible as it was for the android to have feelings…

"Good, good. Erm, where's Chuck? Did he fix my automaton?"

"He is sleeping. As I just said. And no."

"He didn't fix it?" Bryce threw his hands up and turned away, beginning to pace. "He promised me he would fix it."

"He tried. I looked at it, as well."

Bryce stopped pacing and narrowed his eyes. "What would you know about automatons?"

"Pardon me, but I happen to be one. I would say that makes me an expert."

"No, Marcus is as human as a machine can get. You've got a ways yet 'til you become human."

A puff of steam came up from the suit jacket Morgan wore over his brass torso, and he seemed to almost roll his eyes. "Humanhood is overrated."

Bryce ignored him and walked past him. "Well, where is Chuck?"

"I found him asleep on the ground when I finished charging and I put him in the cot in the back room." Morgan followed Bryce into the back room where Chuck was unconscious on the small cot that was hardly big enough for his height. His booted feet dangled a bit off the end.

Bryce leaned down and shook him. "Chuck, come on. Wake up."

Chuck groaned and blinked an eye open before the other followed. "Ow."

"What, ow? I thought you said you would fix Marcus. Were you drinking?" Bryce said, unsurprisingly ignoring the hypocrisy of his statement.

Pain and disappointment clouded the young inventor's features as he sat up. "I did my best. Worked all night. The problem is…Well, it is way over my head. Where did you get the thing, anyways?"

"I found him."

Chuck looked dubious. "…Right. Well, I cleaned out everything, put it back, and even replaced some of the gears in the clock…heart…area place. I'm sorry, Bryce. I did all I could."

"So that's it, then? Did he say anything? Or…or do anything? Or is he just…dead?" Bryce felt a pit open in his gut. So many years, so much trouble, and all for naught.

"No, there was nothing. He's done," Chuck answered, quietly. He blinked a few times and shook his head. "I'm very sorry, Bryce."

Bryce sighed and shrugged. "Well, not much anybody could have done I guess. Thanks for trying, my friend." Attempting to push back the dismay he felt, the blanket of disappointment threatening to overcome him, Bryce Larkin reached out and shook Chuck's hand. It wasn't his old friend's fault.

"I must be going, though," he added.

"Already? You can't even stay for dinner tonight? Ellie would love to see you again. And I think you would get along really well with her husband, Devon. He is…exuberant." He chuckled and Bryce knew he should feel some sort of ache, or loneliness. And maybe he did deep down. But he had been away from this life for too long, and he wasn't keen on anything that might elicit those feelings inside of him again.

"I'm sorry, old friend. But I must away. Thank you for your hospitality. And for losing a night's sleep agonizing over my automaton. It was swell of you."

"But…Well…" Chuck sighed then, obviously resigned. "Want me to get rid of, uh, Marcus, was it? Prototype…"

"534. No. That's alright. I've got a fellow who can use it. Thanks." Bryce turned and walked towards the door. "Did you—I mean, where is he?"

"Where he's always been." Chuck stood up and almost toppled but Morgan's arm automatically reached out and righted him. "Thanks, buddy."

"You are welcome."

"Follow me," he said to Bryce, leading him out of the hallway and into the back workshop where the automaton lay, unmoving…dead. "Quite a piece of machinery, though. I wish I knew how they did it, whoever it was that built it—him, I guess. God, it's just so human. I feel like I need to do him some sort of service by addressing him as Marcus now that he's…dead…instead of as the machine he was."

"So do I," Bryce said, looking a bit dejectedly at what might have secured him a higher rank at the IEL. A position where he could choose his own assignments and not have to cater to men who sat behind desks, out of harm's way.

"Well, Chuck…" He outstretched his hand again. "It was good seeing ya again."

"It was." Chuck shook his hand, squeezing it in a friendly fashion. "If you ever need something fixed that's a bit more in my skill set—Say, like a pocket watch or a wind-up toy—I'm your man."

Bryce smirked. "I'll keep you in mind, brother. Tell Ellie Girl I say hello."

"Of course I will. And uh…well, I suppose…good luck?" His friendly smile lost a little luster as his eyebrows raised a bit sadly.

"You too, Chuck."

He walked to the automaton and pulled the sheet off of it. He missed Chuck's confused glance at the machine, now that the face was latched back into place, as well as the chest. Bryce also missed the suspicious glance Chuck sent Morgan's way, but the android was staring at the door, as he was wont to do if he idle.

Bryce hoisted the automaton onto his shoulder and walked out with it. Chuck helped his friend shove it into the back of the wagon he had bought the night before, then waved as Bryce rode down the dirt road towards the main street.

}o{

It took a week for Bryce to get back to the Imperial Espionage League headquarters in Langley, Virginia. His superiors had taken Marcus and handed him over to their engineers and scientists, seeming to believe him when he told them he had found the automaton already dead. Bryce had plenty of time to think during his journey across the country, and the one constant thought in his mind was to keep Chuck Bartowski out of the clutches of the IEL.

With his technical know-how, Chuck could potentially be the perfect candidate for the IEL Factory where Bryce had been trained almost ten years earlier. Chuck was Bryce's one friend in the world—and the agent would do all he could to keep him out of the dark abyss that was the spy life...that dangerous slope that led down the path he was walking now.

Upon Agent Larkin's return, he was granted a meeting with Director Graham, his superior. The analysts and engineers immediately took Prototype 534 from his clutches and locked themselves away in their laboratory to test the machine, and perhaps attempt to retrieve the Intersect after all.

Two days passed and Bryce received no word on whether they had been able to extract the Intersect from the automaton's head. Even more puzzling was the fact that he had not been assigned a new mission as of yet. As one of the most prolifically used agents, and one of Graham's favorites, he rarely went an entire day after completing a mission that another wasn't lined up.

Agent Larkin liked it that way. When he was working, he wasn't idle. And it was when he was idle that he ran into trouble. The constant movement kept him alive. Though a part of him wondered if he was killing himself at the same time. The ache in his bones some nights, the pain in his chest when he breathed after a chase. The blurriness of his eyesight that plagued him every so often. All things he had been hiding from his superiors and peers. He couldn't stop.

They couldn't make him stop.

On this particular day, Bryce Larkin wandered the halls of Langley headquarters, bored out of his mind, worrying in spite of himself, but mostly curious about the analysts' findings with 534. He glanced left and right down each end of the hallway and knew he was alone, so he ducked into the nearest room and shut the door behind him.

He knew one of the analysts from way back in candidate school, and he knew he could get her to talk about Prototype 534. If only enough to give him a small amount of intel. He had spent so long looking for the Intersect. And now they were purposefully shutting him out. He had to know if he had completely bungled the entire operation by trusting Chuck Bartowski with something so incredibly valuable—dangerous, even.

As he approached the lab, he smoothed his hair back from his forehead and straightened his maroon silk vest beneath the black suit jacket he wore.

Suddenly he heard a muffled whirring sound. It was getting louder and louder, as if whatever was making the sound was getting closer. Then he heard the clang of metal, like footsteps almost. Bryce looked up and saw the shadow of an approaching android from around the corner. He quickly opened the nearest door and stepped inside to shut it behind him as silently as possible.

Listening at the door as the android walked by, the IEL agent glanced around the room he had hidden himself in.

He had never been inside of it before, but then…that wasn't all that surprising, was it? Agent Larkin spent almost no time at headquarters and when he did, it was in Director Langston Graham's office getting his next mission.

There were pipes twisting from the ground and up into the ceiling. Steam spouted from the fittings with a soft hiss.

Bryce reacted immediately when he heard approaching voices, diving behind the nearby boiler and bracing himself as close to it as he could get without touching the hot metal casing.

He heard more than one person's footfalls, followed by the rumble of multiple voices. He could just make out what they were saying as they stopped nearby. "The cube was empty."

"Empty? You mean the Intersect was lost when 534 broke down."

"No. It was emptied before that. The Intersect has been transferred. It's not lost. We just have to find out what—or who—has it now."

"Do you believe it possible? For a human?"

"If so, I cannot tell if I am envious or if I pity the poor soul."

The voices drifted away again as they passed through the boiler room into the next laboratory.

Bryce sat back on his haunches and frowned. Marcus had somehow transferred the Intersect. But how? To whom?

A cold chill wracked his form as he remembered the way he had found his friend that morning a week before; half-dead, covered in sweat, pale, and altogether lacking in alertness.

The Intersect was no longer a what. It was a who.

It was Chuck.

A/N: I thought I owed you lovelies a sooner update this time. I made you wait too long for the last chapter. Hope you enjoyed this one!

We're diving deeper into the steampunk universe. Hope I've captured at least a few of you.

'Til next we meet again!

(doffs hat and disappears in a purple poof of smoke)