A/N: Sorry for the long wait, adventurers! Things happen. A conglomeration of things, to be precise. That wasn't even precise. Haha! Thank you to all of you fine gentlemen and women who sent me reviews, PMs, notes, tweets, et cetera et cetera et cetera. It means the clockwork world to me. You're all the feather in my cap! It's true!

I'd like to take a moment to especially thank The Cassettes for their adventuresome music. It helped me get in the mood. As it were.

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.

Onward, plot! Off you go!

Chuck had just finished assembling a wind-up horse and was readying to test it when John Casey walked in the door that led to the alley on the side of the building.

"Good morning, John!" Chuck quite nearly chirped, causing the older man's head to snap up, his lips twisted in grumpy confusion. And then his gargoyle-like features morphed into what could only be described as suspicion, his eyes narrowed and his shoulders tense.

The young toy maker had since begun getting used to the contrary mood of his assistant. It was so easy to get a rise out of him and Chuck thought that in a lot of ways Morgan had perfected the undertaking, without even meaning to. Their conversations—they were rather more like one-sided arguments with Casey losing his calm while Morgan remained unemotional and logical—tended to be incredibly amusing. Chuck had even witnessed Casey stuffing a dirty rag into Morgan's mouth, only to be chagrined when the android's voice continued without pause. Almost as though he had forgotten for a moment that Morgan was, indeed, a machine—and that its mouth was decorative more than anything.

Chuck understood the mistake. Morgan was more human than plenty of actual human beings he had come across in his life. A certain faction of "law-keepers" who preyed on the citizens rather than protecting them came to mind.

But Chuck Bartowski was not going to let Casey's less than chipper reception divert him from his glorious mood. Because Sarah Walker existed. Not only that, but she acknowledged his existence, and now had his deck of cards in her possession, as well as something much more important that belonged to him. Though he would not risk even thinking about that something, for fear of jinxing everything.

She seemed receptive to spending time with him, though, and for now, that was more than he thought he deserved, because she was perhaps the most perfect woman he had ever met. Chuck wouldn't go so far as to say she was interested in the same way he was, perhaps. But it had only been three weeks since they met in the alley way after the patrolman incident. There was all the time in the world, and he would be glad to have her in his life in any propensity at this point. He felt like the luckiest fellow in the empire, no the world.

"What makes you so perky this morning, Bartowski?"

His giant grin must have put Casey in a bad mood, Chuck mused to himself. "You were just outside, weren't you? The weather is beautiful!" he lied.

His assistant took his overcoat off and hung it on the rungs beside the door, making a face over his shoulder. "It's the same as it always is. Pollution and heat. Then there is a breeze. And that goes away. And back comes the pollution and heat."

He lifted his newsboy from his head and hung it next to his overcoat, then walked over to his workstation, his boots thumping heavily on the wooden floorboards as he moved.

"Would you rather live on an ice cap, Casey? You could befriend a penguin. Do you know about penguins? There was a picture in one of Ellie's veterinary books. They have markings that make them look like they're wearing tuxedos." He chuckled over his shoulder at Casey who was ignoring him completely.

With a shrug, he went back to the toy horse and squinted in concentration. Picking up the small key between his fingers, he inserted it into the hole on the horse's tin side and twisted it clockwise, winding it until he heard the gears inside start clicking and clacking.

He set it on the work table and cleared the blueprints out of the way, watching it teeter up and down as the base Chuck fitted with wheels rolled along the flat surface.

"Ha! Look at him go, Casey! Think this will sell?" He stepped away and flung an arm out to present it to his assistant who did not seem to think it as exciting as he did. Not that Chuck was surprised in the slightest by this.

Casey eyed the horse severely, then went back to preparing his work space for the day. "It's lovely," he grumbled.

Chuck snorted and shook his head, picking up the small toy horse and setting it on his side to keep it from wandering off the edge of his table.

Morgan stepped into the workshop from the store and stopped. "Chuck, the store has been opened because it is eight thirty and that is when you usually like to open to your customers. Also, I counted the keys in the display case. There are exactly twenty seven. And lastly, a letter came for you in the post yesterday. I did not give it to you then. So I am now."

His metal hand lifted with the letter clutched between his fingers.

"Why didn't you give it to me yesterday, Morgan?" Chuck stepped up to snag it and pulled a letter opener out of his vest pocket, popping the seal and slipping what ended up being an order request from the envelope.

"You left with your woman before I could give it to you."

In his peripheral, Chuck saw Casey's head pop up from where he was concentrating on his workspace. His ears felt like they were on fire and he was sure they were redder than red. "Morgan, don't call her my woman. That's disrespectful. That being said, we are just spending time together."

"You're seein' a girl?" Casey asked, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline. It was only slightly offensive.

Chuck turned to face his assistant. "Oh, John Casey. She is much much more than just 'a girl'. She is a woman," he said adamantly.

The gears in Morgan's head churned behind him. "You said not to call her a woman."

Chuck spun to face him. "I told you not to call her my woman. But she is—She's a woman. Of the female—You know what? It doesn't matter."

"Interesting," Casey muttered with an amused grunt, before going back to arranging his tools.

"I know there's an insult in there somewhere and I can't believe I am still asking this, but…How, Casey? How is it interesting?"

Casey shrugged, pursing his lips. "I'm tryin' to picture you with a woman, and there just seems to be a mental blockage there, that's all."

"That sounds like it's your problem," Chuck shot back while quirking an eyebrow.

"Have you seen a doctor, John Casey?" Morgan asked.

Casey grunted and ignored Morgan's concern. "You're between hay and grass, Bartowski."

"That sounds like something you should see a doctor about, Chuck. Perhaps Ellie can assist."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Chuck asked defensively, also ignoring Morgan.

"Neither boy nor man."

"Now that's just offensive. I'm almost thirty years old! Well, I'm twenty-six, which is closer to thirty than twenty…I'll have you know. Which I think means I am fully in the grass, thank you. Or I am eating the grass. Whichever goes with your rude euphemism." He crossed his arms in a huff.

"Well, what's she like?"

Both Chuck and Morgan turned to look at Casey as though he'd sprouted horns on his forehead.

"What?" Casey asked, glancing between them with a shrug.

Chuck laughed. "Casey, I'm sorry. It's just that Morgan displays more interest in…well, everything than you and he's an android."

"That is true, Casey," Morgan said. "I am an android." He knocked on his metal chest for proof, in the event that Casey needed reminding.

"I have interests," the older man grunted defensively.

"I'm sure that's the case, John. It's just that you don't…" Chuck moved his hands around in front of him, searching for what to say that wouldn't sound demeaning.

"Because I do my job? Well, I'm interested. So…what's she like? Since apparently you didn't hear me ask the first time." The muscular man shrugged his suit jacket off, draped it over his chair back, and began to roll up his sleeves.

"Imagine the perfect woman—"

"My ma."

Chuck blinked at the admiration in Casey's face. "Erm. Yes. Right. Well, Sarah is better."

The disbelief and anger in the muscled man's mien almost made Chuck bolt out of the room. "You take that back! My ma's the greatest woman to ever live!" he growled between his teeth.

"Maybe-Maybe I was mistaken?" Chuck tried, attempting to keep his voice from squeaking.

Casey calmed down and lowered the screwdriver he had brandished with a satisfied grunt.

"Uh, but Sarah's—She is strong. And intelligent. And she has a nice voice. And a good sense of humor."

"Does she laugh at your jests and witticisms, Chuck? Because if she does, perhaps that means she has a bad sense of humor." Morgan's mouth opened as though he were waiting for a response. "That was my own jest. It seems it was not well-received. I shall make a note of this."

Chuck shook his head, then turned back to Casey. "She wears lovely clothes. Not just dresses, either, but trousers and such. Which is so unique and wonderful." He stopped himself, afraid he would end up a puddle on the floor if he kept listing Sarah Walker's attributes, all of which were so far incredibly positive.

"Come now, Bartowski. I know you wanna open the floodgates—"

"Why would he want to do that?"

"It's a phrase, Morgan."

"I shall store that one."

"Good."

"Let the details spill forth, Bartowski," Casey continued as though Morgan had never spoken. Chuck was confused to say the least. This was the most Casey had spoken to him at one time, but on top of that, the look on the man's face belied the interest he was conveying with his words.

"Her name is Sarah."

"You told me her name."

"I did? Oh. Well, she's…she's very pretty."

"Chuck, you told me that she is the most beautiful thing you have ever laid eyes on," Morgan informed him, accompanied by a winding sound behind his eyes. "You told me in those very words the other night. Two nights ago, in fact. At six o'clock. After closing. I quote verbatim: Sarah is the most—"

"I didn't—it was—"

"—Beautiful thing I've—which is a contraction for I have—ever laid eyes on."

Chuck let his eyes slip shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, now well aware of the stupidity of using an android with information storing capabilities as a confidant.

"She is…incredibly beautiful. It is unreal how beautiful she is," he finally said, resigned.

"Beautiful by your standards? Or beautiful by general standards?" Casey asked.

A gear in Morgan's chest made a short whirring noise that seemed to be a laugh, or some other sound that conveyed amusement. Chuck glared at him, then at Casey.

"And what is that supposed to mean, my standards?"

"If I could answer, John Casey," Morgan said, stepping forward. Chuck looked at him, his face contorted in offended disbelief. He felt ridiculous, but traitor was the first thing to pop into his head. "You see, Chuck, you are abnormally tall by average height standards in this particular society—rather, in any society—and you are probably aware of this which causes some small degree of self-consciousness. This is why you tend to slouch. The size of your head does not perfectly correlate to the size of your body. Your arms are thin. As are your legs. You have large feet."

"Thank you, Morgan," Chuck monotoned with a displeased, grimacing smile.

"Aside from your physical appearance, you own a business which does not produce as much profit as you had first hoped when it opened. These factors add up, and you are probably lower on the desirability spectrum than your average Los Angeles male. Thus, your standard of beauty is lower than the general standard of beauty." Morgan folded his hands together behind his back. "Shall I continue, or do you understand?"

"I would prefer you didn't."

"I could stand to hear a little more," Casey snarked, earning a direct glare from his employer. He slumped a little. "Although I'd like to keep my job. So I think you covered it."

"Very good," Morgan chirped. "I will keep an eye on the store." He turned on his metal heel and walked back through the door.

Before Chuck could even send his assistant an unamused stare, Morgan stepped back into the workshop. "Chuck. The woman, who also goes by the name Sarah, is here."

A wave of euphoria, then nerves, and finally a mixture of the two, overcame him and he was speechless for a good fifteen seconds. "She's here now?"

"She was not here five minutes ago. If that is what you are asking." If Morgan was not a machine, Chuck would have sworn that was sarcasm. He was almost certain, in fact, that Morgan was not all that clear on what was sarcasm and what was not.

"Tell her—Tell her I will be out in a moment, will you?"

Morgan bobbed his head and went back into the store, leaving Chuck to spin around and rush to Casey's workspace. "Do I have grease anywhere? My face?"

"No," Casey grunted."

"You didn't even look. Come, Casey. This woman is marvelous. I cannot just waltz out there with oil smudged on my face."

"You could try the Mazurka." The man sniggered to himself at his joke.

"Be serious for a moment—I can't believe I just had to tell you to be serious. Of all things." Chuck slammed his hands on the workspace and leaned close. "You heard Morgan, Casey! I'm low enough on the desirability spectrum as it is!"

Casey huffed in annoyance and looked up. "There's nothin' on your face but that stupid gob."

"Great! Then…" Chuck stopped when he realized what the man said, and gave him a supremely unamused look. "Never mind, you goat."

Chuck figured he could always fire him. But he was a good worker. And a part of the young inventor liked…elements…of John Casey's person. Sometimes. He made for a good guard dog, at the very least. The inventor pulled his apron off and folded it over his stool, then set down his goggles and straightened his shirt, suspenders and trousers. He shrugged on the brown jacket that matched his pants, buttoned it a bit and smoothed the front. Running a hand through his unruly hair, he stepped out into the store and scanned the room for Sarah.

"I can tell you verbatim, Miss Sarah! He said that you are the most beautiful thing that he—"

"Miss Walker!" She stood across the counter from Morgan, looking like she was trying very hard to keep from laughing, her teeth clamped down on her lower lip. "Morgan, that's quite enough for today…I think! What do you think?!" Chuck cleared his throat and folded his hands together in front of him.

Morgan bowed a politely at Sarah and backed away, walking around the counter and pacing around the main floor.

"Good morning, Chuck." Sarah smiled at him brightly. He looked down and saw that she was wearing her waitressing uniform from the Aviator's Timepiece. She followed his gaze and shrugged a bit. "I just ended my night shift at the Timepiece and since I was in the area, I thought maybe I would check on my favorite toy shop."

And your favorite toy maker? Chuck shook his head at himself. He was definitely jumping the gun on that one. And besides, how many toy shops could Sarah have come across in her short time in Los Angeles? Not many. He felt like an idiot all of a sudden, but looked at her smile and felt leaps and bounds better.

"You just finished your shift now? You mean, you worked all night?"

"I'm the new waitress, Chuck. That means I get slotted where the other girls don't want to be." Her shoulders bobbed. "I don't mind it at all. It gets quiet after one, then I close up at two and clean until I leave at eight."

"I see. That sounds rough."

"It isn't terrible. And it's only three times a week." She smiled again and he returned it, distractedly fiddling with the rolled up cuff of his jacket. "I'm sorry it's so early," she said a little unsurely when he didn't say anything for awhile. "I wasn't thinking." She picked at the drawstring of her purse at her wrist, looking away.

"No, no. Please. You're welcome here any time of the day or night! Although, er—If you come at night, the only person here is Morgan and he'll be charging and unresponsive because he isn't…" He leaned closer and caught a whiff of citrus and cinnamon, and God help him but he had to brace himself against the display case to keep from collapsing. "Uh, he isn't human. But I can't say that too loudly because I'm afraid I might hurt his feelings. You know how it is."

She wrinkled her nose and leaned close. "Oh, yes. Yes, of course. I'll remember not to visit the Buy More in the evening hours."

"Good." He pushed himself back again and felt himself begin to breathe regularly once more. It was touch and go for a bit there. With her so close. And so warm.

"And you know, there's a side entrance," he added. "From the alley." He threw his thumb over his shoulder towards the workshop. "It's the door employees use. And special customers."

She smiled and folded her hands together behind her back. "I'm a special customer now?"

"You are."

"But the only thing I've brought in so far was that watch three weeks ago. Since then I haven't even set foot in the Buy More. Yet, I'm a special customer?"

"You are."

"How's that?"

"On account of the friends discount at the Aviator's Timepiece that you've given me both times I visited you there. And because I like to think you are—that we are—" He stopped and rubbed his hands down his front, trying not to notice the way she twisted her mouth to the side. Was she laughing at him or was that—Was she blushing?

"Well, we're friends, Sarah."

"We are," she agreed with a smile, fingering her purse again. She opened her mouth to say something else when the door to the workshop opened behind him.

"Chuck, have you been avoidi—" The toy maker spun when he heard Ellie swallow the rest of her sentence with a sharp gasp. She stood stricken in the doorway, her hand on the doorknob, her gaze locked on Sarah on the other side of the display case. "I'm so embarrassed. Morgan didn't tell me you were consulting with a customer." She unfroze and smiled politely at Sarah, then fixed her brother with a meaningful stare…although what she meant was lost on her brother.

"No, Ellie. That's alright." He waved her closer and she timidly walked up to stand beside him. He wrapped an arm around the shoulders of her plain, gray nursing uniform as she self-consciously rubbed her hands down the front of it to straighten her apron a bit. "This is just Sarah."

His eyes popped. "I-I mean. She isn't just Sarah. She's Sarah Walker. I mean, Ellie this is Miss Walker. She's a special customer. My special customer."

"Chuck, stop while you're behind," Ellie murmured out of the side of her mouth and he winced as she patted him on the chest with the back of her hand.

"Hello, Miss Walker." She stepped forward and offered her hand to Sarah, who seemed to take it eagerly enough.

"Sarah. It's wonderful to finally meet you. You must be Chuck's sister?"

"Eleanor Woodcomb. Just plain Ellie's alright." He watched as his sister froze, and then her eyes swept up to meet his. He wasn't sure if she was going to yell at him later on at home…or shake him…or make him cut his hair or something. If he was lucky, she would let it all out on his brother-in-law before Chuck even got home. That would be lovely. "Finally?" Ellie asked, fixing him with a wide-eyed stare, before turning back to Sarah.

When both women ended up looking at him, Chuck folded into himself a bit. This was not supposed to be as awkward as it was becoming, and he knew it was all his doing. "Miss Walker helped me three weeks ago. Remember when I came to the clinic and—"

"You mean when you were shot by a patrolman?" Ellie's gaze darkened and her lips shrunk into a thin, hard line. He had gotten scolded in a way only an older sister was capable of, but in the end, she had seemed proud of him for saving the boy. He had not mentioned Sarah at the time because part of him had wondered if she had just been a figment of his imagination after all.

"Yes." He glanced at Sarah and saw that she seemed a little embarrassed by the situation. Struggling to find a way to ease her suffering, he cleared his throat. "She found me in the alleyway and bandaged my arm until I could get to you."

Ellie turned to Sarah and smiled. "So you were the one who wrapped the wound. I was confused because it was very well done, almost as though a nurse had done it, and Chuck could not have wrapped it himself. He goes white as a sheet at the sight of blood." She giggled with a little snort as Chuck turned red as a radish. To Ellie's credit, she winced a little and looked apologetic, as though she hadn't meant to say that in front of a woman who was potentially—Oh and there it is.

He watched as Eleanor Woodcomb put the pieces together. Nearly three weeks after the incident and Sarah Walker was here in the Buy More, having mentioned how wonderful it was to finally meet his sister. Sarah's face remained blank, although somewhat amused, meaning she luckily had no idea what was going through his sister's mind.

Chuck did.

He knew exactly what was going through Ellie's mind.

Marriage.

He had to nip that in the bud, as it were. But before he could even open his mouth, Ellie spun back to Sarah. "Have you seen battle, Miss W—I'm sorry—Sarah."

The younger woman seemed taken aback at that, her resulting smile polite but tentative. "No, I-I'm afraid I haven't."

"I just assumed. The way you tied it was a quick and efficient way to stop blood loss. We were taught the method in nursing school, in case we are ever needed in a war. When there are so many wounded, you need to be quick about it." She must have seen the look on Chuck's face because she pinked a bit and folded her hands in front of her. "I should commend you for the job you did on Charles' arm. He was well taken care of. Thank you." She extended her hand and Sarah took it rather sweetly. It made Chuck's heart skip a beat.

"It was nothing. And quite honestly, it was the least I could do after he risked his life for that poor boy," she replied and Chuck's heart skipped another beat, trying not to blush or smile too hard.

For her part, Ellie looked liable to burst from happiness. "I was upset with him for putting himself in harm's way, but for some reason, at the moment, I'm very proud of him." She widened her eyes significantly as she nudged his shoulder with her fist. Apparently she approved of Sarah Walker, so far. But this was getting a bit out of hand.

"I was actually about to yell at you, Chuck, because you have avoided me for the last few days, but, uh…Maybe I won't, after all."

Chuck watched as Sarah literally clamped her teeth down on her lip to keep from smiling. It could have been so much worse, he supposed. Then Ellie turned to Sarah, so quickly that both he and the newest woman in his life jumped. "Sarah, do you believe there are certain rights that should be inalienable to every citizen, whether man or woman?"

"Of course." It was such an immediate answer, and her tone was unwavering and matter-of-fact, almost as though she had expected the question. "Are you referring to the suffrage movement, Mrs. Woodcomb?"

Chuck Bartowski had not courted a great number of girls in his twenty six years of life, less than a handful in fact, and they had all married successful men since their respective dalliances with him. So he honestly had no idea what to expect from his sister when she met a woman he was interested in. Apparently, he should have expected her to test the woman right at the start.

And he was not even sure whether she was testing Sarah for his sake, or for her own. It was not as unfair a question as it seemed, considering how important Ellie's causes were to her—and by extension, how important they were to the brother who loved her.

Although Chuck had not even pondered the question of whether or not Sarah stood for equality between men and women, he realized now that it was because she seemed by nature a force to be reckoned with. She was a strong woman, secure in herself, confident about what she wanted, what she had to do to live. He had no doubt she supported the cause. She was the epitome of the cause, just like Ellie was.

He watched his sister's hazel eyes flash in what he could only define as curiosity. And there was no reeling her back now. All he could do was press his lips together and shrug a little at Sarah, who seemed to be looking to him for some sort of explanation of what she should do in this situation.

"Yes, I have to admit. I am curious. Where do you stand on that issue?"

Poor Ellie was trying so hard not to sound eager, her voice measured, even while he could almost hear her panting. It was at times like these that he could not help but be fond of her. If only a little.

"I stand exactly where I think every modern woman belongs. On the side fighting for equality."

Warmth and excitement radiated from his sister as she nodded. "I thought so." And then all of a sudden a small stack of pamphlets was on the display case in front of Sarah, who boggled a bit as she looked down at them.

"Ellie, come now. Don't…"

"Any woman who believes she has the right to vote has to fight for that right. Or we'll get nowhere in this plugged up society." Ellie fixed her skirt. "And don't you try to argue with me, brother."

He sent an apologetic glance at Sarah as Ellie turned back to her, but she only sent him a small smile he couldn't quite read. Though he thought perhaps she was amused, if nothing else. Which said an awful lot about her superior character. "Pass these out to other women. Get the word out. There will be a rally next month. I will be speaking. Chuck will be there." She patted his chest distractedly. "And he's making the buttons! Aren't you, dear brother?"

This was the first he had heard of it, but with Sarah looking at him so expectantly, and knowing how difficult it would be to live with Ellie if he said no, he nodded with a smile. "Of course I am."

The pleased smile on Ellie's face was reward enough and he thought maybe he could assign Casey the task. The old growl-puss would certainly enjoy that. Ha!

"Well, I should get home." His sister turned to Sarah and smiled apologetically. "My husband worked the night shift last night and he is going to want his tea and biscuits. The poor man has tried to do it himself on countless occasions, but manages to flub it up every time."

"He tries, which is important," Chuck offered. "And are you referring to the time he put bacon in the biscuit batter? Because I know you didn't appreciate it very much, but I certainly did."

Sarah giggled at the sound Ellie made.

"Wait, Ellie. Did you come here for a reason? Not that you need a reason. It's just that you…usually have a reason."

"I told you, goof. To yell at you for being too busy to see your sister. We will sit and have a long chat when you get home to make up for it." She winced, then spun back to Sarah. "I should clarify! Chuck doesn't live with us. He lives in the rooms on the second floor of our home. He rents from us."

"Ellie."

"He pays his own way and everything."

"Ellie?"

"He even cooks his own meals on occasion. And he isn't terrible."

"Ellie."

"Every so often I invite him down to join Devon and I for, oh, how sweet you are, Charles, you look like a tomato." She patted his cheek and looked on the verge of laughter, even though she seemed a little sorry. But not much. Sarah, on the other hand, gave in to the urge and laughed outright. He was sure his clothes would catch fire if he blushed any harder.

"He is sweet," she said through her laughter, and even though this did nothing to alleviate the embarrassment, there was so much warmth in her voice that it caught both his and Ellie's attention.

"Well, it was very lovely meeting you, Sarah. And I hope to see you again."

"I count on it."

Chuck could not help the grin on his face, his blush gone for the most part, as Ellie kissed his cheek and patted his shoulder. "Don't forget, Devon asked you to wind the grandfather in my entryway. It's been fussy ever since that earthquake a month ago."

"I will not forget."

She flashed one last smile at Sarah before she left through the same door she had entered. He heard his sister chirp a farewell in the direction of John Casey and was amused by the response—a mute growl.

Then he turned back to Sarah, who had been watching him a bit expectantly.

"That is Eleanor Bartowski Woodcomb," she said with a small smile, waving the small pile of pamphlets in front of her, before tucking them into her cloak securely.

"Yes. I want to apologize for her shoving those at you, by the way. It isn't that I don't support her causes—after all, I'm making her coalition buttons—but it is so very often at the forefront of her mind." He cleared his throat. "She doesn't ask every woman she meets, either."

"No, I understand. It is an important cause. Rest assured, I'll pass these out."

"You don't have to. You can give them to me and I'll do it during my lunch promenade," he said, rolling the 'r' in the word and smirking a little.

She let out a small huff of laughter and smiled. "No, truly. I am glad to aid in any way I can. She is a force to be reckoned with, isn't she?"

"Multiple forces at once, I would say."

"Did she ever see battle? She's probably too young, isn't she?"

Chuck frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "Oh, you mean the Battle of San Andreas?"

Before the battle, for years the coast of Central and Northern California was lived off of by farmers. After the Pacific Wars, displaced veterans were shoved into housing facilities dotted along the coast. Then in the year 1880, His Majesty the King of the United States Empire ordered the farmers and veterans to abandon the area, relinquishing the land along the San Andreas fault line to the Empire for reasons not specified. When the farming community and the veterans did not comply, His Majesty's Forces moved in and removed them with excessive violence. They strung hell wire around the area afterwards, resulting in even more casualties when those who refused to accept defeat attempted to climb over and reclaim their homes. Not to mention the toll on the livestock living in the area.

The Battle of San Andreas and was known across the map as the "Women and Children War", considering the amount of women and children who had taken up arms against the government to protect their homes and livelihoods. The three day battle left thousands homeless and at least three hundred dead.

"No, she wasn't old enough. She is only four years my senior, which would have made her fourteen at the time. And we were far enough removed from it down here. We didn't even hear of it until the day after the bloodshed ended." He saw her pinched features and slowly reached out to lightly touch her wrist with his fingers. "Did you know someone?"

She shook her head. "No. Did you?"

Chuck smiled a little. "The only people I knew in the whole world were right here with me." He shrugged.

Sarah smiled back and nodded. A slightly uncomfortable silence slipped in between them as he pulled his hand back and crossed his arms over his chest.

"So did you need anything?" She quirked an eyebrow. "I—That was rude. I'm sorry. What I meant was, are you here because you need something fixed? Can I provide you with a decorative dirk?" He grinned and gestured grandly at the glass display case between them.

She made a face that he translated as "what would I need one of those for" and then eyed the weaponry closely, her azure eyes alight with curiosity. Then he saw her gaze halt on a kīla he kept in the case for decorative purposes only. It was a beautiful piece, carved with Tibetan patterns and a Buddha head at the end of the hilt. He had in fact polished the iron triangular blade and polished the brass handle just a few days before to take a break from the monotony of repair work.

"Do you like that one?" he asked. "It's called a kīla. This one in particular was used for meditation purposes. I think that's why I like it so much. A weapon used for peace." He raised his head and looked at her. When her blue eyes lifted to his, they were almost searching.

"It's very beautiful. Do you collect a lot of exotic weaponry."

"Not as a rule, no. But sometimes I stumble across them at auctions and can't help myself. Actually, I have a tendency to fiddle with them, make improvements and the like."

"Improvements?" She lowered her chin and raised an eyebrow.

"Would you like to see?"

"Indeed I would."

He motioned for her to come around the display case and opened the door into his workshop for her to enter first, following and leaving Morgan to manage the front. "I'm drawn to pretty weapons, as strange as that might sound. Not to use. I wouldn't know how to use a knife save to fix myself a sandwich." She giggled at that. "But I do like to make little changes to the mechanisms of it. Just to see if it works. Curiosity, I suppose."

"They say curiosity killed the cat," she murmured, then seemed a little nervous after she said it. He didn't know why, so he just chuckled good-naturedly.

"Well, I'm glad I'm not a cat then."

The snort she let out was the most genuine thing he had heard come out of her in the last three weeks, and by far the sweetest.

Chuck led Sarah to a workspace nestled in the front corner of the large workshop and noticed as he glanced at her that she had caught sight of Casey at his own work station, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. When he turned his gaze to the burly man, he was glancing back at the young woman. He cleared his throat and Casey went back to his work, Sarah turning to look at him with a polite smile. "That is John Casey, my assistant." He cleared his throat in the other man's direction and waited for him to look up from his work before continuing. "John, this is Miss Walker."

"Good to meet you, Mister Casey."

Casey responded with a grunt of acknowledgment and a short nod of the head, but nothing more as he went back to his work. Chuck knew Casey's reception should not have caused him to bristle as much as it did because it was in the man's nature, but this wasn't just anyone. This was Sarah Walker.

Thankfully, she did not seem offended in the slightest as she turned back to him. "I wasn't aware you had an assistant. I'm glad."

"He is very helpful." He heard a soft snort from Casey's workstation and fought to keep from glaring in that direction. "Uh. Right. Let me show you something I've been working on." He rounded his work table and pulled out a drawer, lifting a slightly dingy bowie knife and setting it on the table top. "Usually when I am going to experiment, I use something like this. Because it's already dented up. I wouldn't use the kīla for instance. Or anything too decorative and high quality. Also I'm not even sure I could slice butter with this thing, the blade's so dull."

He picked it up and twisted it in his hand. "But basically, say you're using it to clean out a hog for roasting or something. It's covered in pig mess, so you just…" He gripped the hilt and pressed a small trigger nestled beneath the guard and an off-white rag spilled out of the pommel of the knife.

Chuck grinned and spread his hands out excitedly, waggling the rag back and forth.

"Oh. I, uh. I see. It's…a rag?"

He sagged a little and looked down at it, then back to her face, and back to the invention again. "It's to…clean the blade after you use it." There was a quiet moment in which both of them stared at it. "It was just an idea." Sarah twisted her mouth to the side when her bottom lip began to quiver, and when that didn't work, she clamped her teeth down on it. "This is utterly ridiculous, isn't it?"

She shook her head, blue eyes wide and bright, but the smile was leaking through. It was obvious she was doing everything she could to keep from laughing, especially considering the way her eyes were a little moist at the corners.

Amusement bubbled up from his center, and a peal of genuine laughter escaped. Sarah finally let her own mirth break free. The inventor peered down at the silly contraption in his hand. "I like to try new things, I suppose," he said between chuckling.

"It isn't terrible, truly," she said in an attempt to placate him. But he shook his head furiously, laughing again.

"It's pretty terrible."

"I could'a told you that, Boss," they heard Casey say from his own workspace.

"But you didn't," Chuck shot back, waving the bowie knife so that the protruding rag shimmied back and forth. A grunt answered. "I suppose there is more where that came from." He gave her a self-deprecating smile and tossed the knife back into its drawer, slamming it shut with a finally that made them both chuckle.

Casey pushed his stool out and climbed to his feet. "I have an errand to run. I'll be back in an hour."

"Alright. Take your time." Chuck shoved his hands in his pocket and watched Casey leave the side door with a friendly smile stretching his lips. Sarah watched Casey's departure the whole way, then turned back to Chuck.

"You know, I should head home and get some sleep. Thank you for showing me your…invention." She smirked and began walking back towards the front. Chuck's eyes widened as he stepped forward, pulling his hands from his pockets.

"Oh, of course. You worked all night. I'm sorry I kept you for something so…silly." The right side of his mouth quirked upwards in a goofy smile.

"No, I'm glad you did. As silly as it was, you…" She stopped and smiled, folding her hands together in front of her. "You made my day." His smile grew so that it wrinkled his nose. "Stop by the Aviator's Timepiecetomorrow night after you close up here. I'll have some hot nutmeg and a lingonberry scone waiting for you."

"You know I will," he said, his tone brimming with confidence as she left the shop. There was a beautiful and interesting woman in his life who undoubtedly found him interesting as well.

Nothing could go wrong.

}o{

Sarah caught sight of John Casey moving at a determined pace down the sidewalk, stepping into the road to get to the other side of the street. She followed a safe distance behind him, blatantly ignoring a man who gave her an appreciative glance as she passed. Her black cloak covered a good deal of her uniform, but it also left things to the imagination, and some men had more imagination than others in her experience.

Bryce had not said anything about a John Casey, or about the fact that Chuck had an assistant. Did the mechanic-savvy toymaker even get that much clientele that he needed an assistant? Or did he hire the older man because he had shown up at his front door asking for a job and the soft-hearted sap couldn't say no?

The woman knew already that Chuck Bartowski was quick to trust people, and most likely quick to take pity on people, quick to help—selfless to a fault. Even by normal people's standards. Sarah found selflessness to be a throwaway virtue, something she had never put to use in her own existence in which every woman was for herself.

She watched as Casey boarded a trolley that stopped in the middle of the road. Slipping through the group of people also attempting to board the already crowded vehicle and taking advantage of two young men's distraction as she flashed them her brilliant smile, she stepped up onto the trolley as it pulled away again. The two men were shocked, running after the trolley and finally giving up chase as they realized it was a hopeless cause.

With a small smirk at her success, she pushed up onto her tip-toes to peer over the shoulder of the massively rotund business man in front of her. John Casey stood near the front of the car, facing off to the side as he watched the passing scenery.

He alighted fifteen minutes later, Sarah having kept herself from being spotted the entire time by slinking behind other people every time someone got off. It had occurred to her for a moment to pull her hood up, as she usually did when following Chuck around at night, but this John Casey fellow was not Chuck. And there was a chance there was more to him than met the eye. Seeing a woman with a black hood pulled over her face would set off some alarms for certain. She hurried off, gracefully stepping onto the sidewalk and turning to the side so that it did not look like she was watching him.

He didn't seem to take notice of her as he prowled down the sidewalk towards what looked like the post building. She watched him enter the door but stayed where she was, periodically glancing over as she waited for him to appear again.

He did, glancing to the left and right. He set his newsboy back onto his head and continued down the street, away from her.

Sarah walked calmly to the post office and stepped inside, the bell jingling over her head making her grit her teeth in annoyance. The clerk looked up from where he sat hunched over his desk and she flashed him her dazzling smile. His pen dropped from his fingers as his jaw went slack. "Oh, Sir…I'm hoping you can help me. I am in a terrible mess."

He smoothed down his striped vest and leaned forward, concern etched into his features. "I'll do everything within my power, my dear."

"You're so kind. You see…" She paused, gnawing on her lip, her eyes comically wide and distressed. "Oh, this is so embarrassing. I'm just so ashamed."

"Now, now. Don't you fret. We'll see what we can do. You tell me what's wrong."

She sighed and buried her face in her hands for a moment before peeking up at him, flashing her baby blues before folding her hands together and lowering them. "I asked my husband to send a message…I-I think he must have just been here. I was so distracted this morning, you see I didn't sleep well, and I told him the wrong thing to say in the message. Oh, I'm so embarrassed." She set a hand to her forehead and her eyes brimmed with mortified tears.

"Now don't you cry, we'll see what's to be done. Was he wearing a black vest? Gray shirt?"

"Yes! And he had his favorite hat on his head. Gray. He tends to scowl a lot, even though I've tried to fix him of the habit—he really is friendly, I promise."

"Well, he just left a moment before you came in!"

"Did he? Oh I was hoping to catch him before he gave you the message." Her shoulders sagged as she looked to the floor. "I suppose there's nothing to be done now."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man's fingers drum on the desk nervously and his brow furrow in consternation. "No, I-I'm terribly sorry. Privacy and all that, miss—er—ma'am."

"No, no. I understand. You won't even let me see it? Maybe he knew just what to say even though I told him wrong?" She raised her unusually blue eyes to his, peering up through her lashes.

"Well, I—"

"Oh, please? You're such a kind man. You would make my whole week, I swear it! If I can't change the message, I can at least find out what it said so that I can send a correction message if need be." She bit her lip, pleading with her hands gripping his wrist, managing to shrink a bit smaller.

"Well…Oh, it wouldn't hurt." She grinned brightly and he blushed red as a pomegranate.

"You're just everything a man should be," she gushed as he tore the envelope open and slid the letter to her over the desk. She flashed him another smile and he sent one back, then she unfolded the letter and read it.

GB

No BL yet. Waiting for Bart. to make move.

Girl hanging around. Suspicious. Keeping eye on her.

Expected money on Tues train but not there. You want continued

services, need double on next train.

JC

She turned over the envelope and saw it was addressed to Langley, Virginia. As she shoved the letter back into the envelope, she thought furiously as to what that might mean. The only things in Langley of any importance were the various government intelligence agencies that worked for the crown. Why would the assistant of a toy shop owner be contacting the government? Unless the burly fellow had family there, which was unlikely considering the contents of the note. Could it be John Casey worked for some government agency? Was he a spy with the Imperial Espionage League? Was GB some kind of general perhaps?

One thing she knew for sure was that whoever John Casey was, he was not working with Bryce. If he was not a threat to her mission, he was not going to help it any…which meant she would have to get rid of him. The small pistol in her pouch felt heavier as she thanked the clerk once more and hurried out into the bustling morning hubbub.

A/N: How's that for a bit of mystery? Ho ho!

So I slipped an itty bitty Firefly allusion into this chapter. Not sure if anyone caught it. But let me know if you did. And I'll give you major props. Because that's really all I can afford. At the moment. Major props.

'Til next we meet again, you beautiful button balloons!

SC