A/N: I'm glad a few of you seemed to enjoy the last chapter! This chapter went through the wringer before I was happy with it, so I can only hope you guys who've stuck with me are happy with it!

I'd like to take a moment to thank dettiot again for putting up with my whining and lack of confidence in my writing the last couple of days. She's a trooper. And always willing to let me test bits and pieces of my chapters with her. Thanks, writing buddy!

Thank you again to everyone reading, reviewing, sending me messages, tweets, et cetera. Gold stars, everyone. Or rather, brass stars. Since, you know, this is steampunk. And ALL THE THINGS are brass. So basically, you all get sooty, brass stars. Treasure them. But try to keep them away from white clothing. Lest they stain.

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.

Now that all the blabber is over with, we're jumping from one jolly good date to the next. Oh, the joys of steampunk romance!

Enjoy!

"Ellie would have liked for me to become a doctor, but I am not suited for the profession like she is."

Sarah peered to her side at Chuck who was expertly steering the puttering vehicle along the bumpy road. He wore goggles over his eyes and a brown derby hat over his curly hair.

"Why not?" she yelled over the loud motor. She had opted for her tan trousers, a white blouse, and a black fitted duster that matched the short top hat she pinned protectively over her blonde hair for the almost violent ride in Chuck's odd two-person vehicle.

Because her experience with the steamnibus had not been enough, apparently. Or perhaps he thought that because she had not immediately lost her lunch when stepping off of the hellish bus, it automatically meant she had enjoyed the experience and would like to try it again, except this time in a more compact capacity.

This was not the case.

Although, the game they had played to pass the time during the bus ride was rather amusing. More amusing than she would ever admit to, even to herself. She had made him laugh so hard that his hat had nearly toppled off of his head. Strange, that. A man who was still capable of real laughter, the kind that stemmed from actual amusement and glee. He was either just as sheltered as Bryce had hinted at, or he was truly an anomaly. Both of those options left her feeling a bit lost, or filled with trepidation, or…something.

And then there were those pies. Or rather, the atmosphere in which they ate the pies. Mother Harriet's had seemed like something out of a dream. From the gold-toothed door man with the gold painted hat to the way the outside of the restaurant did not reflect in any way the wonder of the inside. It looked apt to fall directly into the sea at any moment, but when she stepped inside, her senses were assailed by the aroma of pipe smoke and baking sugar, the dim lighting filled with haze from the smoke produced by burning candles, the din of revelers and loud, boisterous music.

The thing that had made getting to sleep that night difficult wasn't the Orchestrioperatic Wonder. Or the two slices of pie sitting in her stomach. Or the thrill of dancing the polka with a partner who was better than proficient. (Although that last one was extremely odd. How a toy maker without an upbringing of fortune and wealth could know how to dance that well was beyond her understanding. Chuck had almost seemed confused by it as well, which was even more strange.)

The thing that had caused the Ice Queen to toss and turn in her bed, only to eventually walk to the small window of her hotel room, pull back the curtains and stare down at the street below for a few hours, was Chuck Bartowski himself.

She had ended up fumbling a great deal over dinner with the toy maker. Training and experience had covered said fumbles magnificently so that Chuck was none the wiser. But she knew they were there, and it set her on edge.

His candor about his opinions on mechanical music and the passion with which he had spoken about the beauty of watching a live musician perform had lit a small flame in her. She was not equipped to delve into what that flame was, or why it was there. Not then, not even now. But it was there. That damnable flame had caused her to open her mouth to tell him about her music box.

Sarah had only just barely kept the real story inside, and instead told him an improvised rendition, replacing herself with some other little girl on the curb, leaving out the part where she threw a tantrum as her father ripped the music box out of her hands, or that her cheek had stung for a few hours afterwards.

Chuck had seemed pleased enough by her admission, and the warmth in his smile had made her look down at her pie.

She knew she was capable of looking any man, woman or child straight in the face without blinking an eye. She could witness just about any sight there was, grisly or not, and remain outwardly unmoved, keep up whatever act she was putting on.

But for some reason, she found herself turning away from Chuck Bartowski, diverting her eyes, losing control of whatever she was supposed to be doing, whoever she was supposed to be. It didn't happen often, but the fact that it happened at all was concerning.

Chuck turned and looked at her with a smile that squashed his cheeks against the goggles and made him look rather ridiculous, then he directed his attention back to the road as they ventured out of Los Angeles proper and veered along a dirt path that led towards the ocean. She wondered if he had actually thought driving in this contraption would be romantic. With the way it bounced around and puttered loudly, spewing steam everywhere…it was anything but.

"Well, you saw how well I take to seeing blood," he joked, a grin widening beneath his goggles, his nose wrinkling.

What were we talking about again? Oh, that's right.

"You did fine. I was the one who almost lost my last meal." She wrapped her arms around her middle and leaned back against the uncomfortable, iron seat. Really? He couldn't even put cushions in? Or a proper leather cover?

She hoped Chuck didn't ride about in this very often, or he might permanently damage his backside. Or his…frontside.

She smirked.

"No, no," Chuck waved her off, seemingly oblivious of what the smirk on her face might signify. "You were—You were wonderful. You came through for me, distracted me from the fact that I'd been shot. I would have probably gone into shock or lost consciousness if you hadn't been there talking to me."

He finally pulled off the road and parked beneath a shady tree at the edge of a stereotypically scenic cliff. As his car bubbled and spewed steam, he hopped over the car door (instead of just opening it and stepping out, Sarah mused) and opened the rumble seat.

Reaching in, he pulled a small straw basket out and slammed it shut again as the car finally started cooling down.

Now Sarah could hear the waves of the ocean below them, a much pleasanter sound than this hellish contraption practically spitting out its insides.

Before she could climb out herself, Chuck was at her door, opening it for her. She accepted his hand with a smile and allowed him to help her out, trying hard not to laugh at the silly picture he made—his driving goggles and scarf had been unnecessary, as she had worn neither and survived the trip just fine.

As he closed the door, she walked to the edge of the cliff and looked out at the view, the late afternoon ocean breeze picking up her hair and whipping a few escaped tendrils about her face. She smiled to herself, realizing how often she forgot to treat herself to moments like this.

Moments where she could be alone in the silence with nothing but nature spread out before her.

"Well!" But she wasn't alone, she thought begrudgingly as his cheerful voice pierced the silence. "I'm great with machines, anyways. I built Morgan on my own before I was sixteen. Point me in the direction of a human being and I'm afraid I couldn't tell you the difference between a lung and a liver." He removed his hat, peeled off his goggles, and dropped them into the driver's seat, wiping his face down with his scarf and letting it hang loose about his shoulders before putting the hat back on his messy curls.

Sarah smiled over her shoulder at him. "I'm sure you could."

"Perhaps," he granted, spreading a wool blanket out over the grass behind her. "But the medical profession isn't for me. Being thrust into a situation where someone's life depends upon my actions? Not just once, but multiple times a day?" His eyes widened and he shook his head, suddenly looking a lot younger than she knew he was.

She walked back to help him spread the blanket evenly on the ground. "You just did the other day, when you saved that boy from the patrolman. Not once but twice."

He looked up at her with raised eyebrows, as though he had nearly forgotten about it. "No, that was different. It was more of a…gut reaction. I'm not even sure I was conscious of it while it was happening." The ease with which he waved off his own bravery was confusing, to say the least. There was nothing false in his modesty. She couldn't help but boggle at him. "But the stories I hear from my sister and her husband on a daily basis," he continued, "They make the smallest mistake and a life is lost. A child left without a mother, a wife without a husband. Those are consequences I'm not sure I could face. And anyhow, I haven't got the courage for it, and certainly not the passion."

"I understand," she assented with a nod.

"You do?" He blinked up at her, his hands stilling for a moment.

"Of course. Why slot yourself into a profession for the rest of your life if you don't love doing it?" She gracefully lowered herself onto her knees and watched him open the basket and produce two metal tankards and wrapped sandwiches.

"That's exactly it. So, uh…What do you do, Sarah Walker?" he asked.

Anything short of prostitution.

She inwardly shook her head at herself. Frankly, she was surprised that the question hadn't come up earlier, especially since they walked a good deal of the way back from Mother Harriet's Pies the other night and didn't stop talking the whole way. He had mostly described Los Angeles for her, advising her on the best parts of the city, as well as the areas to steer clear of at all costs.

"Well, Chuck Bartowski," she smirked teasingly. "I work at the Aviator's Timepiece."

"Oh? That's familiar. I think it must be—Oh, that's literally down the block from the Buy More! Not to mention, I was surprised at how close you live to my own lodgings. What are the odds? We work and live within minutes of each other."

Pretty good, she inwardly giggled for his benefit, taking the proffered sandwich and unwrapping a corner of it. She took a bite, savoring the tender meat and sinfully tasty marinade of…was that almond oil and rosemary? "Mm, what is this?"

"Mr. Blandings sends his compliments." Chuck wiggled his eyebrows a bit.

"The pigeon sandwiches you talked about the other night?" she asked, opening her mouth in chagrin and narrowing her eyes good-naturedly. She had been adamant in refusing to ever try pigeon of all things, the bastard winged pests.

"It really is delicious," she said warmly, taking another bite. And it really was. How such a filthy bird could become such a delicious sandwich, she chose not to dwell too much over. Maybe it was the rosemary.

"So…" he continued after a few minutes of contented munching. He set down his sandwich and unscrewed the tops of the tankards. They slid back away from the mouth and tucked into the side near the handle. He pushed one towards her with a smile. "What do you do at the Aviator's Timepiece?"

She raised an eyebrow. What do you think I do? she wanted to ask. But instead, she shrugged. "I serve drinks."

"Oh! Of course, of course." She watched his face and was rather surprised to find it didn't register scorn or some other judgmental response at her choice profession. It was not that she was incapable of working elsewhere—she was more than capable of procuring a job in any profession she chose—but the Aviator's Timepiece was a perfect distance away from the Buy More. She could stay close and was better able to keep an eye on Chuck, to protect him if the situation ever called for it. God, she hoped the situation never called for it, because there was a chance she couldn't handle it alone if it did.

"It's not the best job, but it is keeping a roof over my head. And I can handle some of the…less appealing parts of the job." Two men suffered broken fingers after crossing the line since she began working at the Timepiece a week before. The bar owner, Mr. O'Brien, was more than happy to allow her free reign as long as she didn't cause too much of a ruckus. And as long as he made his money at the end of the day.

"I'm sure you can." He smiled. "Perhaps, if you don't mind that is, I might drop by the Aviator's Timepiece one day. You can bring me a hot nutmeg. Mmm." He stopped, the dreamy smile on his face replaced by a mixture of surprise and sheepishness. She looked over the crust of her sandwich at him, beginning to smile. "O-Or something more manly. Like a whiskey. Two fingers. Straight."

He curled his lip menacingly, and laughter bubbled up from her chest, leaking through her lips. She looked away from his easy smile and the pleasure in his gaze, lowering her eyes back to her sandwich. Then she looked back up at him through her eyelashes.

"I like you, Chuck."

He looked almost stunned for a moment, then his features melted into a face-splitting grin. Bullseye, she thought to herself, as of yet unable to separate him from the other marks she had falsely romanced in the past, Bryce Larkin included. Apparently, the IEL puppet was still rather stuck on her. It made her smirk to think of it as she bit into her sandwich again.

"I was thinking, Miss Walker…"

"Sarah," she corrected automatically. "I think we're past Mister and Miss, don't you agree? Especially after that scandalous bout of polka at the restaurant the other night." She laughed when he blushed.

"Scandalous, indeed. There's something about that polka. Makes a fellow get fresh," he said, wincing a bit as if he realized how bad he was at flirting back. He was not as skilled in the ways of flirtation as his apparent boyhood friend Agent Larkin, but in many ways his difficulty was easier to stomach than Bryce's efficiency. Or perhaps the sincerity in Chuck Bartowski was just more potent than any silly flirtation could ever be.

She shook her head. Potent?

Sarah just laughed at him in an attempt to ease his embarrassment. It didn't help much as his ears turned rose-colored. "I'm not sure you are capable of being fresh, Chuck."

"I'd much rather gnaw on the sole of my shoe, frankly."

"Those are big words."

"Mm, none of them had more than seven letters." He winced again. "I'm terribly sorry. I don't know why I'm being this way."

"The sea air perhaps?" she teased. "You don't have to apologize. You have plenty of other redeeming qualities."

That got him to laugh.

They finished their meal in comfortable conversation as the sun went down. Sarah found herself enjoying the peaceful nature of the outing, if not the young mechanic's company. He had allowed for silence between them when words weren't necessary. It was a pleasant deviation from what she had expected of their date, especially with how verbal he had been when they first met. And he led most of the conversations during their date the other night, as well. He tended to babble when he was nervous, she also discovered.

A minor chill settled in the air as the sun began to dip closer to the horizon.

Chuck moved so that his legs were dangling over the cliff, his gray scarf fluttering in the breeze that was beginning to pick up as the air grew colder. Sarah moved to join him, plopping down beside him and wrapping her arms around her torso again. She was glad tonight was supposed to be a full moon, and as they were a bit of a ways away from the center of the city, the sky would be clear enough that it would provide more than enough light for them to stay even when the sun was fully set.

"Cold?"

"Oh, I'm alright," she said distractedly, her eyes focused on the horizon. But he removed his scarf anyways, holding it out to her. She was forced to look at him then waving him off. "I'm fine, really."

He ignored her and gently wrapped it around her neck anyways. "It doesn't matter what you're wearing. When your neck is exposed, you are going to be cold. Trust me. It has been proven."

"Has it?" she giggled, snuggling into the warmth of the scarf, smelling metal and smoke as it brushed against her nose. "By whom?"

"By me! Too many times I've forgotten my scarf and no matter how thick my coat is, it is positively frosty."

She grinned and leaned to the side, bumping his shoulder with hers. "Well, it's working so far."

He smiled back at her, then turned to watch the rest of the sun's descent in silence.

Finally, they piled the blanket and basket back into the steam-car and Chuck helped Sarah back into her uncomfortable seat. He fiddled with the engine and filled the tank with a water jug he'd shoved behind the driver's seat. Chuck strapped on his goggles, climbed into the car, and away they went again, down the winding road in the darkness, the covered lights mounted on either side of the vehicle not doing the best job at illuminating their way—but with the moonlight at their disposal, they made it to Sarah's hotel safely. She supposed that was more than she had expected when she had gotten into the suspicious vehicle. Although, to be fair, she survived the trip in the steamnibus just fine, though her backside had been a bit sore after that for a little while.

They paused to say goodnight in the lobby, Chuck holding his bowler in his hands, his goggles dangling askew around his neck. She handed him back his scarf with a genuine thank you, because the drive back had gotten a bit frigid and she saw him shivering, while she had felt warm enough to be comfortable. Thanks to his scarf.

"It's alright," he responded with a shy smile.

"You have been incredibly kind to me, Chuck Bartowski. And I cannot thank you enough."

He did not seem to have a response to that as his ears went red and he fiddled with the brim of his hat. Finally, he opened his mouth and gaped for a moment before speaking. "Well it hasn't exactly been a hardship spending time with you, Miss Sarah."

"I am very glad to hear it." She grinned. "Goodnight, Chuck."

"Goodnight. Shall—" He stepped closer, then maybe thought twice about it and took a half step back, fidgeting from one foot to the other. "Shall I call on you again some time?"

Sarah thought it might be fun to go in for the kill. Or at least she might get close to it anyways. She sent him a flirtatious smirk, looking up through her eyelashes at him as she backed towards the staircase. She turned and put her hand on the banister and glanced at him over her shoulder. "You know where to find me."

She didn't look back again as she moved up the stairs, but she heard the soft thump of what she knew was his hat hitting the floor at his feet.

Beaming mischievously to herself as she hurried up the stairs with a long bath as her prime objective, Sarah Walker, the Ice Queen, thought that perhaps she could make the best out of the situation. If nothing else, when she got past the fact that the man had a multitude of government secrets in his head and was therefore incredibly dangerous, Chuck Bartowski was an absolute joy to tease.

}o{

You know where to find me.

Did she really mean that? What if he read too much into it? What if that wasn't actually an invitation to the Aviator's Timepiece?

He began to lose his nerve as he glanced up at the swinging sign above the entrance, the blocky letters that read "The Aviator's Timepiece" painted over a black zeppelin that protruded a bit as though it were flying right off the sign and up into the sky. Chuck stopped himself and shook his head.

"Man up," he breathed to himself. Not once during their so far short acquaintance had she given any indication that she was merely tolerating him. In fact, she seemed to enjoy herself during their outings, even though there had so far only been two.

It had been four days since he drove her to the shore and they ate a picnic as the sun set.

He regretted not visiting her sooner, but he had a backlog of orders that had needed to be completed and spent most of his time filling them. Casey had been a great help, making simple repairs to watches, clocks, toys, and other broken gadgets customers brought in off the streets.

But that did not mean Chuck had not thought about her in that time. He thought about her all too often. So often, in fact, that he wondered if taking a slight break from her might be a blessing in disguise. It couldn't be healthy to be this fascinated by someone he had just met barely a week earlier.

He lifted his watch from where it hung out of his vest. It was half past eight at night and he had yet to eat his supper, for which Ellie might berate him if she knew about it. But if he wasn't mistaken, Sarah Walker should be waiting tables at this hour. And if she was not working, he would perhaps try a mug of mulled wine and head back home to sup on whatever was left in his icebox.

Striding to the door with a bit more confidence than he had felt a moment ago, he hefted it open and stepped inside, his eyes roving around the place, immediately searching for the familiar and arresting visage of one Sarah Walker. Only when he saw her emerge from behind the bar with a silver tray full of drinks balanced on one palm, did Chuck stop breathing.

She expertly served the four men at the table their drinks and politely smiled in response to their less than savory looks of appreciation, and then she swept around in Chuck's direction.

Their eyes met across the room and she stalled in her determined gait, lowering the empty tray at her side. He just smiled, feeling slightly unsure—that was, until a beaming grin swept across her face.

Sarah maneuvered around the tables and stopped in front of him. "You're here."

Lord help him, but the way she was looking up at him, so pleased and a little breathless even (though he assumed that was from waiting tables), made him feel ridiculously giddy. "I am."

"Well come on, then. I'll give you the best table the Timepiece has to offer." She gestured for him to follow with a flick of her head over her shoulder and walked away. As he trailed after her, he took the opportunity to survey her uniform, trying not to swallow his tongue in the meantime.

She looked the part of femme aviator to a tee. She wore a matching corset top and flared skirt that ended at her knees, with an embossed metallic pattern of a tannish color. Over which she wore a dark brown aviator's coat that clung to her figure and ended just above the ruffled fringe of her skirt. The ends of the coat were pleated elegantly over the back of the skirt, and she even had a small half-cape that matched and ended halfway down her biceps. The coat's sleeves went to her wrists with a cog cufflink, and it was fully unbuttoned, caught at the waist with a black leather belt with a brass propellor-shaped buckle.

As she turned and gestured to the table with a graceful sweep of her arm, his eyes flicked back up to her face and he grinned. "If it isn't too rude of me to ask, what exactly makes this your best table? Not that it isn't lovely."

She cocked her hip and gently brushed at an errant hair that had fallen out of the elegant chignon her hair was pinned into by a large brown brooch. "It's the closest to me, of course."

"I'll take it," he shot back quickly, sweeping his hat off of his head and grinning.

He took his chair and sat down, letting Sarah take his hat and coat from him. She explained that they didn't have a coat check at the Aviator's Timepiece, so instead she would take them out of his way and return them when he left again.

Chuck wasn't entirely sure where that meant his hat and coat would be stored, but he accepted it anyways. He trusted her with his accessories.

She left then, her heeled black boots thumping on the wood floors as she passed the bar and pushed through a swinging door that billowed steam when she opened it. Chuck let out a long sigh and fixed his tan shirtsleeves, playing with the cuffs a little before straightening his vest.

Another woman who looked to be in her mid-forties, wearing exactly the same outfit as Sarah, except with an exorbitant amount of cleavage showing, walked out of the kitchen, plastered a smile on her face, and served some drinks to a table across the room. She accepted the pawing hands and laughed, knocking a couple of them behind the head when they got a little rough.

Chuck shook his head and looked back at the kitchen door as he heard it open.

Sarah was returning with a large mug of something that had steam rising up from it. She put it down in front of him and it smelled divine. Like…

"Hot nutmeg?"

She giggled. "Hot nutmeg. I thought you would appreciate that. If you want something else, I can bring it to you. I won't charge you for the nutmeg. I realize I didn't exactly ask you what you wanted to drink. Sorry." She bounced a shoulder but did not seem all that apologetic, that mischievous glint in her eyes again.

Chuck shook his head. "This is exactly what I wanted."

"Not whiskey? Two fingers? Straight?"

He laughed. "I would probably choke on it." He grabbed the handle of the mug and brought the liquid to his mouth, careful not to burn himself. It was delicious, even though he only got a small amount from the safe sip he took. "This is perfect. Delectable. Thank you."

"Want a biscuit? I won't make you fix anything to get it. Though…" She leaned her palm on the table and leaned over him, lowering her voice to an almost whisper. Lord help him but she was so close. "You do have to pay for that."

"No friend discount?" he teased.

Sarah's smirk and raised eyebrows implied something he was afraid to dwell on, for fear his head might explode.

"I'll pay for the biscuit and the nutmeg, although I appreciate the gesture."

She shrugged. "Alright, then. I won't argue with you. I'll be right back with the biscuit."

Sarah was gone again, leaving Chuck grinning behind her. Without her in the room distracting him, he was able to take in the atmosphere of the Aviator's Timepiece. The place was nicely kempt and the patrons seemed less shoddy than those that frequented Mother Harriet's Pies and other joints he had been to for a drink and meal.

It was quite the incredible little public house, with a large airship model looming over the center of the room, made of painted wood and fixed with tin propellers. The light fixtures that dangled from the ceiling were rimmed in what Chuck assumed was fool's gold, which glinted in the lamplight just as well as real gold did, and at a fraction of the price.

There were mirrors mounted along the maroon painted walls, as well as rusted frame pictures that depicted different models of airships, zeppelins, dirigibles, weather balloons, and other flying contraptions—some that were more popularly used, and others that were still in trial phases.

And a massive clock—it must have once resided in a clock tower that had since been leveled to make way for a factory of some sort—was fixed above the bar smack dab in the center. They had designed a brass frame around it that made it look like a mystical giant's timepiece, the chain draped over the bottles of spirits lining the wall and connecting to a bob over the door Sarah had just disappeared through.

She came back a moment later with a biscuit that was about the size of his fist, a glaze brushed over the brown, crusty top. He smelled it before he saw it. And he had no problem footing a few coins for it. "This is amazing. This whole place is amazing."

"It's a job," Sarah replied quietly. "But that?" She flicked her thumb over at her coworker and fellow waitress having to twist a man's arm to keep his hand off her posterior. "I could do without that."

"Stick near my table and you won't have to deal with any of that, I promise." He gave her a reassuring smile.

She frowned, narrowing her eyes at him and gently nudging his shoulder with a fist. "I know that."

To his surprise, she pulled the chair out across from him and sat down. She must have seen said surprise on his face because she smirked, her eyes shining a little brighter than usual in their amusement. "I have a long break coming up and I'm just taking it a little earlier."

She crumbled a bit of the biscuit off with her fingers and popped it into her mouth, smiling in supreme satisfaction, her eyelids fluttering as she moaned. Chuck quickly brought the nutmeg to his lips and flooded his mouth with it, forgetting that it was still hot and choking a bit with a pained winced.

Sarah sat forward in concern. "Are you alright? Did you forget it was hot nutmeg?"

"Yes, yes. I mean, no. That was…ow." He smacked his lips and shook his head. "I forgot just how hot it was. I am also a fool, though. And it was a long day."

"I'm sorry. Would you like a glass of something cold? That looked painful." She was watching him closely, her features friendly and open and so inviting.

"No." In fact, he could have used something like iced water. Or maybe just ice by itself. More than that, though, he wanted her to stay right where she was. A part of him feared that if she got up, she would not sit back down again. "Thank you, but I am alright." His ears burned, both at his faux pas with the hot nutmeg, and at the direction his thoughts were taking.

He broke off a large piece of his biscuit and dipped it in the nutmeg, careful not to slop it all over his front as he quickly shoved it into his mouth. He heard Sarah giggle before she broke off another piece of the biscuit.

Chuck sent her a teasing scowl. "Say, if I'm paying for this biscuit, perhaps you should stop sneaking bites."

She pouted. "Who's sneaking?"

He laughed outright at that and pushed the plate into the middle of the table so that they might share it without her having to reach too far. That earned a beaming grin from her that made Chuck wonder if he wouldn't do just about anything to get her to smile at him like that again.

Sarah's eyes flicked down his torso and her brow furrowed in curiosity. "What is this, Mr. Bartowski?" she asked, leaning forward to poke at a bulge beneath his vest. "I was not aware you carried a piece," she said with wide eyes.

He knew she was teasing, but he was still quick to dispel her of any thought that he was a gun-toting gent. There were enough of those around. And while it was not illegal by any means for a man to carry a weapon, the implications of it were mostly, if not all, negative. Chuck reached into the inner lining of his vest and produced a beat up deck of cards.

It was the same deck he had been carrying around for years, since he was sixteen years old at least. They were a little smudged, certainly bent and chipped around the corners, but they still worked, and he had not lost a card yet.

Chuck fanned the cards out, gathered them back into his palm, did a few quick shuffles, and fanned them out again. "Would you like to see a favorite trick of mine?"

"Cards?" He glanced up at her, noticing the way she kept a tentative, blank look on her face. "Are you much of a gambler?"

There was something in how she was guarding her features, the way she was trying to make her voice nonchalant when she asked, that made him believe she was being cautious about the subject. Did she not approve of gambling? Was she afraid he was some sort of card shark?

"No, nothing of the sort." She raised her eyebrow dubiously. "No, truly. I don't gamble. I have a hard enough time keeping my business afloat without the addition of gambling debts, a'thank you." She giggled, her shoulders slumping as the tension left them. He wondered if there was some sort of story in her past. Was her father a gambler? Brother? Perhaps a past lover?

He silently berated himself for wandering down that path. It was none of his business either way until she brought it up herself. So instead, he fluttered the cards a little where he held them over the table, still fanned out. "Come now. Pick a card. You will like this, I know it."

Pursing her lips to keep from smiling (and failing miserably, he was happy to note), Sarah Walker picked a card and looked at it.

"Have you memorized it?"

"Of course I have," she smirked.

"Right. Of course you have. Place it back in the deck, Miss Walker."

She did so, watching him as he slid the cards back together, straightened them in his palms, and started shuffling quickly. "Isn't that asking for trouble?"

"What?"

"Keeping a deck of cards like this. You could be reported for gambling."

"I'm not gambling," he replied easily.

"Well, I know that. But randomly pulling a deck of cards out in public doesn't seem…well, prudent."

Chuck just smiled at her, breaking the deck into six stacks, re-stacking them, and separating them again, his hands moving quickly. He saw that she was rather entranced by his movements and it lit a flame in his chest. "Oh, there's nothing random about it, Sarah. I always have my deck with me wherever I go. You never know when you might need one of these." He lifted the deck beside his ear and wiggled it back and forth, knowing that the bottom-most card, the one flashing at her right then, was the very same card she had drawn.

He saw her eyes widen a bit before she schooled her features quickly, and he inwardly congratulated himself before shuffling the deck some more and losing her card somewhere in the middle.

"I've heard the laws about gambling are slipshod in Los Angeles, but I know the patrol would jump at the chance to nab someone for it." She leaned a little closer. "And besides, whatever would you need cards for if not to gamble? Do you just ask random people on the street to pick a card, any card?"

Chuckling, he split the deck into two stacks and folded his arms on the table, leaning close as well. He thought maybe he was being a bit forward when she twitched back a little, but then she smiled and settled back into her position comfortably. "No. But ever since I was a boy, I always needed something to do with my hands. I got into a lot of trouble at the orphanage because they would find scraps of torn up parchment around my desk, or bits of wood that I'd picked off the chair, strings that I'd pulled out of cushions, et cetera." She giggled softly. "I can't help it, I suppose. Always building things, constructing, fiddling. So I keep a deck of cards. I usually end up shuffling them in my lap during bus rides if I am not sketching in my notebook."

"I feel as though it would be impossible to sketch anything in one of those insane contraptions," she replied with a dubious tilt of her head.

He laughed. "Precisely why I need these. My notebook ends up having nothing but messy scribbles and the floor of the steamnibus ends up covered in points of lead snapped off of my pencils."

She shook her head and let out a soft one syllable giggle. "Still. I think it is rather dangerous for you to keep cards in your vest. All a patrolman needs is to see those for him to feel perfectly justified when he arrests you for gambling."

Chuck could not help but smile fondly at her. "You sound like Ellie." She frowned. "Oh, it isn't a bad thing. I love my sister." Panic rocketed through his system as he realized how many implications went with what he just said. The first being that Sarah might think he was hinting at being in love with her. The second, that he took whatever this was between them as more of a platonic relationship than romantic. Neither of those things were the case.

Well, not the second, at least, and the first…

He shook his head at himself. He could not afford to think that way. He would lose all semblance of the tenuous amount of control he had been applying to their acquaintance so far. She was just so tremendously marvelous and wonderful and perfect, he was having trouble not telling her every moment he was in her formidable presence.

Forcing himself down from the clouds, Chuck continued on quickly, careful not to look at how she had taken that last comment.

"Ellie always berates me about these cards. She's still so protective. I believe it carried over from when we were kids, when I needed her to be both a sister and a mother. I'm twenty-six years old now, and…well, when she sees these," he held the bottom of the deck up for her to see having skillfully slotted her card there again, "she immediately does her headmistress voice. Charles Irving, you better throw those out before I do. The patrol sees them and they're not just going to confiscate the cards, they're going to confiscate you too."

A slow smile had since grown on Sarah's face and he knew she had noticed that he was holding up her card again and knew that he was doing it on purpose. Then she giggled a bit, glancing over her shoulder at the rest of the public house. "She is right, you know. The patrol will take any chance they have got to toss someone in the clink. For goodness sakes, they almost shot a starving little boy for taking bread."

Chuck snorted. "I'm not even sure the patrolman knew what had happened. He saw the poor little fellow running away and used him as target practice."

"That is the likelier story. And even more reason for you to be careful."

When she put a hand on his arm and squeezed, warmth spread from where her fingers grasped him, seeping over every last part of his body and into his heart. He affected not to notice and licked his lips a little, using his other hand to bring his mug to his mouth and take swig of his warm nutmeg.

"I know." He shrugged, and met her gaze, feeling a little depressed when her hand slipped back across the table and into her lap. "Way I see it, though, it doesn't make sense to constantly be living in the shadows, afraid of every little thing that might happen if something else happens. 'Mights' and 'what ifs' never made any sense to me. If the patrol wants to, they could march in here right now, tell me I have broken some law at some point, and there would be nothing I could do about it." She just looked at him, her features soft and just as beautiful as ever, her face framed by tendrils of luminous blond hair, her eyes so blue he felt a little breathless looking into them. "I don't like the idea of going out of my way to avoid upsetting men whose opinions I couldn't care a lick about. Putting my life on hold. Not doing what makes me happy. It infuriates me, some days. Makes me want to try and rebel a little." He knocked the deck on the table top twice out of habit. "And then other days, I become a sheep like the rest of the population, usually because I am feeling particular tired that day."

She pursed her lips and looked down at the cards with a minute nod. "You're right. Still, you should be careful."

Chuck split the deck into four stacks one more time, shuffled, and pulled the card on the top, flashing it at her. "Is this your card?"

Sarah grinned, on the brink of laughter, then nodded.

"I know I should," he continued with his own proud smile. "And I am. Which is why I'm playing in the back of the Aviator's Timepiece instead of out on the sidewalk or in some back alley somewhere. Never conduct business in an alley way, Sarah Walker. That's another lesson of life in the city."

"I already knew that one. It seems a bit like common knowledge."

"Mm. You have got a point there."

She grinned a harder and broke a large piece off of his biscuit, making Chuck wonder idly if he had even gotten to eat any of it himself. As she took a large bite out of the fluffy morsel, she began to climb to her feet.

Chuck stood up from his seat quickly, leaving his deck in the middle of the table.

She looked very amused as she chewed on the biscuit. "My break is over, I'm afraid."

"Ah. Of course. I should finish my nutmeg and begin my journey back home." She nodded with a tinge of what he thought and certainly hoped was disappointment.

Suddenly his hand that had been holding the two of hearts was empty. He blinked, then looked up at Sarah who was now holding it next to her face, wiggling it in the same way he had a few minutes earlier. "How did you—?" he breathed.

"I'm going to keep this with me, just so you know."

"What? Why?" Chuck breathed, feeling overly warm as he took in the pure mischief in her face. Lord save me. This woman will be the death of me.

Not to mention, he was still a bit off-balance from how quickly she had managed to grab his card.

"Put it back, Miss Walker. Else I'll have an incomplete deck of cards. How will I practice when I'm missing the two of hearts?"

She just smiled and sighed with a small roll of her eyes. "Alright."

Seemingly relenting, the pretty waitress put the two of hearts back on top of his deck, but when she pulled her hand back up, she had the entire deck pressed to her palm. He just gaped, his brow furrowed as though she had committed the ultimate betrayal. She laughed at him as she tucked the deck in her apron.

"You're stealing my cards?"

"I am showing solidarity with your sister. You're safer walking around without these in your pocket. Also, I am going to make an effort to figure out how you did that trick. You can part with them for awhile, can't you?"

"What will I do when I'm bored?" he asked, the look of confusion and betrayal still on his face, even though he was inwardly brimming at the exchange. Was it just his imagination or was this a gesture of concern for his well being? He would gladly dance another one hundred polkas in public if it meant that was true.

"Why don't you look out the window every once in awhile?" she chirped, raising an eyebrow. "You might see Los Angeles in a whole new light."

"Now you are teasing me," Chuck smirked.

She bit her lip with a smile. "No, really. I am keeping the cards. Your sister would thank me."

"She might just." And hopefully sometime soon, Chuck thought to himself. Because he had a feeling Ellie would love Sarah. And he wondered how soon was too soon when it came to introducing a woman to one's family.

"Alright, keep the cards," he chuckled, leaning down to snag his biscuit and tuck the rest in his pocket, before lifting the mug of nutmeg and the plate. Sarah swept close and grabbed both from him quickly, flashing him a disgruntled look. "I was just…"

"It's my job, Mr. Bartowski. And I'm putting all of this on your tab."

"I can pay now."

"You are coming back at some point, aren't you? Or was the nutmeg not to your taste?"

Chuck found he was incapable of anything else, so he just laughed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "The most delicious nutmeg of my life, Miss Walker. Now where's my hat and coat?"

She raised both eyebrows and pressed her lips together as though she was on the brink of laughter. "Yes sir. Right away."

When she swept away in a flurry of skirts, he caught a whiff of her scent. It was as though she had spent the afternoon and evening in the kitchen, the smell of baking bread and cinnamon clinging to her hair and clothes. It made him feel a bit dizzy and when she returned with his hat and coat, he was rather speechless.

"Be safe, Chuck," she said with a little smirk.

He shrugged his coat on, buttoned it, and set his hat on his head, unable to keep from grinning. "I have nothing to worry about now you've stolen my cards."

Chuck tipped his hat and left her standing next to his table, feeling the urge to dance out of the Aviator's Timepiece instead of strolling purposefully. He withheld the urge, and was so focused on controlling his utter elation that he didn't see Sarah's smile die a bit, before she turned and rushed through the kitchen doors.

He also missed the cloaked young woman following him down the street a few moments later. She was smiling in amusement to herself as she saw him happily skip over a puddle before continuing along with a telling bounce in his step.

A/N: Glad we got that out of the way. Ugh. Charah. Am I right? (nudge)

We'll be seeing more of other peoples/androids in the next chapters, so I hope everyone sticks around and keeps reading. And of course, I really would love a review. Even if you really need those extra ten seconds of your life. I'm a stinker.

Now everyone go out and enjoy yourselves.
(tosses a worthless coin in your general direction)
On me. Hehe.

SC, out.