A/N: The SteamVerse returns! I would like to welcome you all to this, the next chapter of the Steampunk Chronicles. And I would like to thank everyone who left me reviews...either here, there, or elsewhere. I cannot find the words to express my gratitude so I'll leave it at a hearty, bellowing 'Thank you!'

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.

Picture, if you will, the beautiful coastline of sunny California, flickering past your window as you sit in the empty compartment of a speeding steam engine. Now take away the sun, add lots of pollution, take away some of the comforting greenery, make the ocean a little more gray than blue...and suddenly you're in this chapter of the SteamVerse!

See what I did there?

Chuck Bartowski had heard many a tall tale in his twenty six years of life. He had read an awful lot of novels. Novels about sea monsters erupting from the depths to destroy ships. Or steam-submarines getting tangled in angry sea vines, never to resurface again. Or men shooting off the face of the earth in a metal box to some far-off star and discovering another race of creatures there. Or even secret agents taking down gangs of train robbers on a moving steam engine.

But nothing he had read as a boy, no matter how far-fetched, could have prepared him for the reality of his life at the moment. He considered Sarah was not telling the truth, but that had only lasted for a few moments, because he knew there was no other explanation for all of the recent oddities. There were government secrets in his head, all of their secrets. It explained the flashes, the knowledge he had afterwards, and the headaches. He tried not to think about what sort of effect the Intersect might have on a human body, especially considering what had happened to the automaton Bryce brought to the Buy More, because at the moment his emotions were too fried to think about that.

The last four weeks of his life had been a lie. He had always wondered to himself if never traveling, always staying between home and the shop, made him unworldly—or naive, as he supposed others might say. He now had confirmation. Chuck knew he was overly trusting and gullible, but he had never predicted anyone would exploit it so easily. And so thoroughly.

He knew he had no right to feel betrayed by the beautiful agent. Like she had told him—Bryce sent her to protect him. She was doing her job. The whole time. Thoughts of what must have gone through her head when she spent time with him plagued the toy maker's imagination. Did she pity him? Of course she did. How simple it had been to make him fall under her spell. She was just so singular, so special. It was impossible not to fall under her spell.

The worst part was that he knew now what she really was, he knew why she had really been in that alleyway that day. She had saved him somehow. She hadn't stumbled onto the scene and taken care of him. She had probably been following him. Thinking about that day gave him an ache in his chest. One single throbbing ache.

And even though he knew the truth about Sarah Walker, the fact of the matter was that he still cared. He still felt the same pull he had felt before tonight. He was drawn to her like a mosquito to a flame. There was nothing he could do about it.

Lord help him but Sarah Walker was such a beautiful, bright, burning flame. He was in so much trouble.

Then there was Bryce. His boyhood friend. They had spent hours scaling Los Angeles buildings together as youths, pretending to be Agent Renegade like in the penny dreadfuls Bryce secretly borrowed from the older boys at the orphanage. They stalked birds and shimmied down drainpipes, usually arriving home covered in soot and oil and dirt from head to toe, for which they would receive stern reprimands and identical red welts on the backs of their hands from the headmistress.

Agent Larkin.

Before the Intersect had caused him to flash on Bryce's name, from which his head was still rather tender, Chuck had never even heard of the Imperial Espionage League. It was a clandestine order of spies, the brainchild of Lord Thomas Jefferson a little over one hundred years earlier, to not only protect His or Her Majesty's best interests, but also to carry out deeds that the public was not to be made aware of. How many things had the government done without informing its people?

There was an entire agency created just for that purpose. And Bryce was a part of it all. Bryce's earned accolades Chuck had been made aware of from the flash were many, though they had stopped within the last few years. Probably when he had gone undercover to procure the Intersect.

It was in his head. The Intersect was in his head.

How had that even been possible? Was that supposed to happen? Was it some sort of safeguard in case the mechanical vessel broke down or malfunctioned? Touch the blue cube and the Intersect transfers into your brain? Was it some sort of glitch?

Or had it shocked Bryce just as much as it shocked him?

Had Bryce known he had absorbed—was that the right word to describe what had happened?—the Intersect that morning when he took the broken down automaton and left? Or was it much later that he figured it out? Either way, he had sent his fellow spy, a beautiful and charming woman no less, to lull him into a state of happiness and contentment, to distract him, even while she lied to him and protected him simultaneously.

Everything made sense and nothing made sense.

He wished the biting cold wind ripping at his hair and coat would make everything numb instead of just his face. Because he could still feel the acute sting of being unwanted. And he couldn't stop thinking that if Bryce had taken the Intersect to some other trusting sap mechanic, Sarah Walker would have done the same to him. She would have made that other man, whoever he would have been, feel like suddenly his life was starting to make sense. She would have made that other man feel like things were starting to come together. She would have given him the same smiles, laughed the same laugh, told the same stories. He wasn't entirely a simpleton—although at the moment he felt supremely idiotic and foolish and ignorant—Chuck knew spies could never tell the truth about themselves, which meant any or all of what Sarah had told him over the past twenty five days could be and probably was a lie.

It was a horrible feeling. And he wished it would go away.

Chuck leaned his hands against the railing, having finally made his way back not five minutes earlier. Now he was standing on the small platform at the very back of the caboose. Chuck tilted forward and peered down at the tracks that swiftly passed by—a wooden blur. It started to make him dizzy, but he kept his eyes fastened there. Maybe if he was dizzy, it would distract him from other things.

She had already been unattainable. But now she was even more so. And he hated himself for even thinking about her like this now that he knew the truth. She was a spy. She was dangerous. She had an exciting life of globe trotting, a life of hazards. How much must she have resented him all of this time for keeping her from that life? How bored must she have been, waiting tables at an aviation themed tavern, having to wear the silly outfits…having to spend time with him? Chuck realized how little she must respect him, staying in Los Angeles for all of his life. He was dull, a nincompoop. Not worth a woman like that's time, unless she was ordered to do it by her superiors.

Groaning over the rush of wind in his ears, Chuck stepped away from the railing until his back made contact with the door. And then he slid down it until he slumped on the floor, pressing the heels of his boots against the railing and having to bend his long legs so that his knees were right in front of his face.

"I'm losing my mind." He thumped his head back against the door repeatedly. "I'm losing my mind, I'm losing my mind, I'm losing my mind—"

The door suddenly shifted behind him and he fell backwards with a small yelp, grunting as his back hit the wooden floorboards. He frowned up at Sarah who looked down at him, her brows knit with emotion he couldn't read. He would never be able to read this woman again.

"What are you doing on the ground?" she asked.

"I dunno. What are you doing on this train? I dunno. What am I doing on this Godforsaken earth? I dunno. But you know what? I'm on the ground, you're on this train, and I'm still bloody well alive…so…" He shrugged, still not moving to sit up. She was still unfairly beautiful from this vantage point.

Sarah rolled her eyes and knelt down, helping him to sit up, scooting him out of the way of the door before shutting it. She then sat on the armrest of the nearest seat and sighed. "Chuck, I know I threw a lot at you just now, but—"

"Hey, as long as you never throw any of the knives you've probably got hidden under your skirt, I'm sure I will be fine." He refused to look up at her. But she didn't dispute it so he finally frowned up at her from where he sat on the ground. "That was a jest, but you really do have knives under your skirt."

"Just a few."

"Oh my God," he whimpered, thumping his head back against the armrest he was leaning against, looking at the ceiling forlornly.

"Chuck, nothing else has changed," she said. "I still need you to trust me. You are in danger and it is my duty to protect you."

He resented the business-like tone she had adopted. It made him feel undervalued, almost like he was a piece of furniture that needed to be moved across the country with the least amount of damage possible. "Oh, nothing's changed? That's comforting."

She growled low in her throat. "Stop with the sarcasm. It's insufferable. We've only been on this train for an hour and I'm already losing my patience with you."

"Oh, I'm so sorry for being insufferable. It's just, you know, hard having the Empire's entire bank of secrets implanted in your head for no other reason other than you were nice enough to try to fix an old friend's automaton—an old friend, by the way, who never thought to send a nice telegram or letter before showing up out of the blue and ruining my life." He covered his face with his hands. "I'm just a boring toy maker who likes machines. And now…now it's like I-I am one."

She sighed heavily and moved to sit in her seat properly, picking at the end of the armrest with her fingernail as she blinked down at the ground near him. "I know it feels like this isn't fair. And it isn't. But life is rarely fair for anyone, Chuck. It's full of—"

"Don't."

"What?"

"Don't talk to me as though I'm a child needing to be taught life's little lessons. Don't try to pretend that what's happened to me is normal, that it's something other people have to deal with. It isn't."

She seemed to have nothing she could say to that.

"What does this mean for me? Your superiors. Are they going to lock me up in a cell so that they can access the information in my head whenever they need it?"

Sarah let out a huff and smoothed her skirt down. "That is why I'm here, Chuck. To keep that from happening."

He frowned in confusion, looking up at her—really looking—for the first time since she tugged him back into the caboose. "What?"

"I think that bastard you hired as your assistant must be working for the Empire."

"So he knows about me."

"He knows about you," she said softly. "With me out of the way, he would be free to take you back to Langley. And then you would probably end up in a cell. More than they want to keep you for themselves, they don't want anyone else getting their hands on you."

"The way you are talking about me is making me feel incredibly unimportant," he drawled sarcastically, earning another eye roll, even though she was smiling a little.

"Chuck, Bryce did a terrible thing bringing the Intersect to you, endangering your life and everything you have worked for. Endangering your family and friends." She paused, pursing her lips. "But you have to trust me. I am going to protect you. From everything."

He snorted softly. "That's comforting coming from someone who lies for a living."

And then her hands were clenched in his vest and she was tugging him close, all the way across the aisle in fact, until they were face to face, her jaw clenched and her eyes swirling intensely. "You better God damn drop that tone, Chuck Bartowski. I know you're upset. I don't blame you. But don't take it out on me. I'm following orders. I'm not Bryce. He ruined my life, same as he ruined yours."

"Is that a fact?" he breathed, their faces still close.

"Yes, it is," she hissed through her clenched jaw.

"Did he flood your head with government secrets that could possibly get you and everyone you love killed?"

She paused, her eyes drifting down his face to where she still held his shirt in her fists. "Valid point," she begrudgingly muttered, letting go of him so quickly he flopped onto the ground on his back. He tried to smooth his shirt down, but his hands were shaking.

"Why did Bryce send you, anyways? Why couldn't he protect me if he was so worried about it?" He could hear the doubt in his voice as he spoke. Did Bryce care all that much? Or was there something else going on? Something that had less to do with him and more to do with the Intersect…

He didn't want to think the worst of Bryce, but the fact of the matter was that his friend had cursed him by bringing the Intersect into the Buy More that day. Whether he meant to or not, he had cursed him. If Chuck Bartowski were capable of it, he would have every reason to hate Bryce Larkin.

But he couldn't. Because he was still in the dark about so many things.

"Bryce is the only agent in the IEL who has had contact with the Intersect in the last couple of years."

"So he's connected to it, is what you are saying."

"More than that. They think he stole it. They think he…erm, touched the cube, so to speak. If he came here, it would lead them right to you. At least, that was what he told me. So instead, he sent me to protect you. To hide you from the government, to hide you from terrorists."

Chuck just shook his head. "He's leading them on a wild goose chase."

"I suppose so, yes."

"Am I supposed to be grateful to him for that?"

She merely shrugged. "Were I in your shoes, I would want to kill him. I'm in my shoes and I want to kill him."

Chuck snorted mirthlessly.

There was a long silence between them and he wondered if there was any way he would ever be able to get his old life back. He couldn't see how it was possible. And he also had no idea how they would ever get the Intersect out of his head.

There was no blue cube in his head that they could remove the way he had done with the Bryce's automaton. He was flesh and blood, he had a human brain. A more than likely damaged human brain now that the Intersect had made its berth there.

"How is my head still in one piece?" he asked quietly, leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling. "It doesn't make any sense. So much information in one head, my head. How long do you think that will last? How long will I last?"

She was silent for quite awhile but he could feel her blue eyes on him. He felt chilled and warm at the same time and he was furious with himself for it. There was no hope for him anymore where Sarah Walker was concerned. Bryce had forced her to be here. She would probably receive some sort of payment from him, or maybe he held something over her head that he was blackmailing her with. That was possible. Either way, if Chuck attempted to continue along that path, he would meet with a dead end.

The sting in his chest began again and he nearly growled.

"I don't know," she said finally. She was still watching him when he lowered his gaze to her face.

He nodded quietly.

"Well, I suppose we're stuck then, the two of us. And as much as this is absolutely the worst night of my life, I owe you my thanks for protecting me." She blinked. "Thank you." She nodded. "I was so caught up in my own plight that I didn't stop to think about how terrible this must be for you, as well," he continued.

"What do you mean? Like you said, I don't have the Intersect in my head the way you do."

"You're a spy. I'm sure you lead an exciting life. Racing across rooftops after bad men, dangling from the end of a rope that's hanging out of the side of a steamship hundreds of feet in the air, shoot outs, and getting into knife fights with evil-doers…"

Sarah smirked, pulling a leg up under her body and getting comfortable, her cheek against the seat back. "Have you thought about this often?"

"No," he answered matter-of-factly. "I read plenty of penny dreadfuls as a boy, though."

"I'm not surprised."

He glared a little and she shrugged. "Alright, maybe your life isn't as exciting as that, but I am sure you had better things to do than romancing an unappealing boob who leads—led I suppose I should say now—a boring, nondescript life." He paused. "And now you're on a train with said boob for a day and a half, on your way to, what, an undetermined amount of time babysitting a grown man?" He shook his head. "I can see how this assignment could grate on your nerves."

She was quiet and even though he was staring at his lap, he knew her eyes were taking him in. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Except that it made him a little self-conscious.

"I've had to do a lot worse than this, Chuck."

He let out a mirthless chuckle. "Well. Thank you?"

He felt her smirk.

And then her voice drifted down to him again, a little hesitant, probing almost. "Are you going to be alright? This was an awful lot for you to take in."

Chuck shrugged one shoulder, looking up at her through his eyelashes. "A part of me knew something was different. And I knew it had something to do with that cube. With Bryce. I just didn't know what. While I might still be in shock about the details, it also just…makes sense. After everything I've experienced in the last two months." He didn't want to talk about the feelings he had developed for a young woman who hadn't actually existed. A young woman who was really a front this stunning, strong, and he had to admit interesting, spy had put up in order to make him comfortable while she kept him safe. Because she had been forced to.

"And you feel…?"

Why was she asking? He knew she didn't actually care what he was feeling. But because she was here when no one else was, and because he didn't want to go back out into the cold wind on that platform, he answered candidly.

"I feel as though a man I once considered a friend is holding my head underwater as I slowly drown to death."

Her eyes popped a little. "That's certainly descriptive. Graphic, really."

"I'm an inventor, Sarah Walker," he replied morosely, tugging a little on the end of his vest. "I invent things."

"Yes, I know," was all she said. "Is there anything I can do?" She sounded tentative again. And he knew she was merely being polite, which he appreciated to some degree. But because he was positive she was hoping his answer would be no, he merely shook his head.

He could almost imagine her inward sigh of relief.

"Do you know what time it is?"

It was such a strangely nonchalant, everyday question—something suddenly foreign to Chuck. Almost as though he had forgotten that time was still passing as they sat locked away on this steam engine chugging along the California coastline. As though people elsewhere weren't still going on with their daily lives. Ellie was in her hospital treating the sick, Morgan was charging in the workshop of the Buy More, Mister Blandings was tucked away in his bed with his wife, their two kids sleeping between them, recuperating for another day of making his pigeon sandwiches and selling them in the market.

Chuck let out a long breath and stuck his fingers in his vest pocket, pulling his watch out. "Ten minutes until midnight."

"Thank you."

"Mm."

She stood suddenly, staring at the front of the car, avoiding his gaze as he peered up at her. For a moment, she looked very young. And he wondered just how old she really was. With the way her hair was pulled up, soft tendrils of blond that escaped the pins brushing against her temple and neck, her eyes tired and her hands wringing in front of her, she looked no older than twenty. "I think I will go and sleep in the next car over. It's empty, as far as I know, and much quieter than the caboose."

Chuck nodded. "Alright."

She moved to step over him, but he quickly curled himself into a ball to give her room to walk past him. "Thank you."

"Pleasure."

He stayed where he was, watching her as she went, admiring how graceful she was when she moved, even when he knew she was sore from her altercation with John—or whoever he was. Chuck was entranced by her, even though he knew nothing about her that he had come to learn over the past twenty five days was real. Even as an enigma, she was a remarkable woman. Or maybe that was part of what made her remarkable. And it scared him how easy it was for him to forget that she was also dangerous.

But then she stopped at the door, her fingers gripping the handle. He watched her as she turned to look at him. "If it means anything, Chuck, the next time I see Bryce Larkin, I mean to beat the living daylights out of him."

Chuck raised his eyebrows and puckered his lips in thought. "Am I allowed to help?"

She seemed to consider this for a moment. "No."

There was something in her eyes that caused him to grin, and it surprised him. "Oh come now, Agent Walker, not even a little punch to the nose?"

She was quietly amused as she looked back at him, still sprawled on the ground like a rag doll, physically and mentally and emotionally spent. And he saw her soften for just a moment.

"I suppose. Just a little one."

Sarah slid the door open, the car filling with the cacophonous sounds of the train moving over the tracks before she closed the door behind her.

}o{

A slice of light flickered across Sarah's closed eyes, effectively waking her up. She had trained herself to be familiar with her surroundings, even during sleep. There were times in the con woman's life when that training proved useful, such as the time she was on the run from a slighted employer and his goons caught up with her in the middle of the night while she was sleeping in the hayloft of a barn.

She had heard the creak of the door in her sleep and woke up in time to climb to the roof, shimmy down the side of the barn, and escape before they could kill her as they had intended.

This spacial awareness was how she realized almost immediately that there was an extra weight on her body. And that the pillow upon which she rested her head was scratchy against her cheek, almost like wool. And it was moving up and down, very steadily. Like it was…breathing.

Her first impulse was to go for the knives in her leather duster, which was rolled into a ball underneath her seat. But when Sarah opened her eyes and looked down to do just that, she saw her duster carefully laid over her and tucked around her body. She most certainly had not done that herself. Sarah didn't do things in her sleep. She was always fully aware of what she was doing. Which left only one other possibility.

Her blue eyes swept up the wool vest on which she rested her face and stopped on the stubbled chin, the slightly parted lips. Everything else was covered by the dark brown bowler cap he had snagged from his wardrobe when she had allowed him to change and grab a few necessities; a hat and his coat.

A chill wracked through Sarah Walker's body as she realized that Chuck must have wandered into the car after she had fallen asleep. How had she slept through that? She must not have heard him come in, nor had she felt him sit in the seat beside her, pull her duster out from beneath the seat, and drape it over her.

It was thoughtful. Pure Chuck Bartowski.

Because while she had been playing a part for the past twenty five days, he had not been. And she had gotten to know some of the deeper nuances of Chuck. The very first time she saw him, his thoughtfulness was evident, as he had thrown himself in front of a bullet to save someone's life. Perhaps that could be considered more than thoughtful. Or maybe it had been stupid more than anything.

Either way, she was now pressed against his side and her face was still resting on his chest—a situation that should be rectified immediately.

But Sarah stopped herself from pulling away, and instead she allowed herself to study him, without having to look away for fear he might catch her, without interruption. Chuck had every reason to find a seat somewhere else on the train, or at the very least across the aisle. She had hurt him last night when she told him everything, and she knew the Intersect wasn't the worst of it.

She had seen the embarrassment before he walked out of their car. And the way he kept staring into his lap, attempting to hide his feelings from her. She had absolutely hurt him. It was all over his face; in the slump of his shoulders, the soft shakiness in his voice when he spoke.

It was easy to justify her actions, to pretend she didn't feel guilt for beating down his confidence the way she knew her revelation had. And it was easy to convince herself it was for his own good once he left.

She spent twenty minutes sitting alone in the compartment, worrying her lip between her teeth, wringing her hands in her lap, watching the dark shapes speed past her window. Until finally she couldn't take it anymore and went searching for him.

She told herself it was to make sure he hadn't leapt off the back of the train in a fit of panic and depression. To make sure he hadn't absolutely snapped. It had nothing to do with the fact that he hadn't given her the time to really explain things, to try to make herself sound a little less like the bad guy in the situation. Did it really matter whether Chuck resented her? No, of course not. Although it would be easier to keep him close if he didn't resent her. He would be less of a wildcard. Less unpredictable.

Sarah had to admit, though, that at the moment, with his hat tipped over his face, his other arm jammed between his body and the armrest on his other side, he reminded her of the Chuck she had spent time with over the last three weeks. The rambling, upbeat, warm man who had introduced her to pigeon sandwiches and the oddities of steam transportation. She tried not to dwell on why she was trying so hard to block the memory of Chuck the night before, slumped on the ground between the seats with his legs curled up to his chest, the usual warmth absent from his voice as he spoke, his vibrant and slightly silly smile sardonic and bitter instead.

There was a hitch in his breath beneath her cheek and she prepared to move away. But he grunted, smacking his lips twice before adjusting against the headrest. The movement caused his hat to fall from his head and into his lap, waking him up immediately.

Sarah lifted her head quickly as he blinked, looking around the train car in absolute confusion before he turned and saw her. The confusion dropped, replaced by a tired and slightly sad smile. Then he winced, shifting his opposite arm away from the armrest and flexing it while rubbing it with his other hand. Apparently his arm had fallen asleep.

Chuck could have slept anywhere in the car, anywhere in the train even. But he had plopped down right next to her, after first tucking her coat around her body to keep her warm. She didn't want to think about the implications. That perhaps she had gone too far with the ruse. He knew the truth about her, about why she was there. And yet he still treated her with kindness. His sarcasm the night before had gotten her goat, but could she blame him, really? She had played him. She had definitely hurt his pride, and disappointed him horribly. Part of her thought she had broken his heart, if only a little. Which made her feel worse, even as she tried to fight it off. It wasn't her fault. Bryce had forced her to do this.

Granted, she hadn't told Chuck the full truth. But if he knew she was a con artist instead of an agent like Bryce, there was no telling how he would react. Certainly not with kindness, and definitely not with acceptance. Or understanding.

She was a criminal.

As he straightened in his seat and ran both hands over his head, Sarah peeled her duster off of her, folding it up and tucking it under the seat again. "What time is it?" she asked quietly.

She heard the click of his pocket watch being opened. "Almost nine in the morning."

"We should almost be at the mission station."

"Mission station?"

"Mission Santa Inés," she answered, stretching her arms over her head. For what it was worth, Sarah thought sardonically to herself, this was the first time she had spent the night this close to a man in a very long time. Something she wouldn't be mentioning to Chuck…

"Chuck, did you just flash?" she asked, turning towards him as he blinked rapidly and hissed through his teeth.

"I believe a cup of strong coffee, no cream, no sugar, would be nice to have before flashing this soon after waking up. I wasn't ready for that one." He opened his eyes again and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Was it the mission?"

He nodded. "There is an underground government facility beneath the mission in which scientists are attempting to harness seismic waves and use that for energy. You know, to…to power things." When Chuck's face paled, she thought perhaps he might slump into a faint again.

"What is it?"

"N-Nothing."

"Chuck."

"They have plans to possibly build weapons that would create earthquakes."

Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to push back the chill that came over her. She refused to think of the Empire as anything less than corrupt, and the same went for any government body across the globe. She was a criminal after all, an enemy of the law. No matter where in the world she went.

But she had never considered anything so inhumane.

"Apparently you weren't aware of this development, Agent Walker," he breathed. There was no spite or accusation in his tone. It was matter-of-fact. He had seen her shock, and perhaps even the disgust, in her face. That at least would raise his estimation of her, if only a little.

She decided it would be best not to answer.

As the train pulled into the station twenty minutes later, Sarah could feel Chuck leaning close, peering out of the window over her shoulder. The mission loomed about one hundred feet from the tracks in all its Spanish simplicity, the large wooden cross at the top of the bell tower drawing Sarah's gaze. She shivered a bit as she thought of what was underneath it.

And while the prospect of an earthquake weapon seemed exceedingly far-fetched, after learning about the Intersect, it would appear the U.S. Empire was capable of just about anything these days. She could imagine them finding a solution within the next few years.

"How long will we be here?" he asked.

"I don't know. Enough time for us to eat breakfast, I reckon."

They stood on the platform a few minutes later, filing along with the other passengers to the mission where breakfast was being served by the Franciscans, according to the station operators. As a young man and woman traveling without chaperone, Sarah figured it would be best to promote the idea to on-lookers that they were married or at least close to it. Otherwise, they would attract more attention than they needed.

Not that she would tell Chuck that. She figured it was best to say nothing.

Instead, she just tucked her arm through his and followed everyone else along the dirt path to the mission.

They were herded through the living quarters of the few Franciscan monks who still lived there. The mission looked to be in disrepair, though, the walls seeming as though they might crumble at any moment. They were led into the courtyard in the middle of the mission and saw dead plants surrounding a fountain that hadn't been cleaned in what looked like dozens of years, the green water probably swimming with disease.

Sarah wrinkled her nose a bit, focusing instead on the smattering of rose bushes along the north wall. She wouldn't let the fountain overpower her hunger.

Within twenty minutes, they were finished eating the biscuits with sausage gravy, having washed it down with tankards of hot herbal tea. Chuck let Sarah pay without much argument, and while it intrigued her, she was more interested by the fact that he said very little over their meal.

She watched him closely as best she could without alerting him to it. He ate with gusto but didn't seem as eager for conversation as he had been during the last three weeks. It wasn't that Sarah blamed him after the revelations the night before. And she really couldn't complain, because at least he wasn't trying to escape. He was going along peacefully, even if a little begrudgingly.

As they stood up from the table and nodded in thanks to the Franciscans who took their wooden cutlery and dishes from them, the couple wordlessly agreed to leave the mission without touring it as some of the other passengers were doing to pass the time before the train embarked upon its journey once again.

It wasn't just that part of the church's back wall had crumbled, along with parts of the mission's quarters no longer having a roof. Mission Santa Inés was in such disrepair, it was a wonder the Franciscans and the natives who tended what little crops were growing on the grounds could even live there. And a tour of the mission seemed superfluous. But Sarah had a feeling neither she nor Chuck could stomach staying in that place any longer than they needed to, considering what they both knew was however many feet below them right at this moment.

What would the government scientists in the rooms beneath the mission do if they knew there was a man right above them at that very moment who had the Intersect in his head? And how would Sarah be able to protect him with no way of leaving the area except on the heavy, well-enforced steam engine resting on the tracks, being prepped by its engineers for the continued journey?

There were a few horses in the rundown stables, the poor beasts. But would Chuck know what to do on the back of a horse?

Lord, she didn't know. But she had to keep her wits about her just in case.

It would be better if they stayed closer to the train and further away from the mission.

As they neared the station, Chuck stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets and furrowed his brow beneath the brown bowler sitting atop his dark hair. "Building an earthquake weapon isn't terrible enough," he finally muttered, stopping on the wooden platform and turning to her. "But they're also keeping these poor people in horrific living conditions."

"What do you mean?"

He boggled. "Did you see the place? Walls crumbling. The church missing a corner. An entire length of the mission without a roof. And that fountain—I'm not sure living near that is at all healthy. I have read my sister's medical books. The bacteria that…" His voice drifted off, and she realized it was probably because he thought she looked disinterested. It wasn't that, exactly. It was that Chuck had a difficult time getting to the point.

"Chuck, I meant the part about them 'keeping' these people living in poor conditions."

With a huff, he took his hat off of his head and smoothed his hair back. His curls were highly unmanageable in this damp weather and given the nature of them fleeing so quickly, he probably hadn't fixed it in quite some time. Not to mention, he needed a shave. Although, for the moment, the facial hair would provide a workable disguise. "The only visitors this place receives are train passengers forced to stop here to eat. There's nothing else here to draw tourists because it's kept in such disrepair. Imagine if they built a college or a ministry. Or if that fountain was cleaned and there were plants, flowers. And actual crops instead of the maize the natives grow to feed themselves and the men of the cloth living in squalor here. People would come far and wide to visit, wouldn't they? Like they do in San Diego and up north."

"But they don't," Sarah interrupted. "It's easier to hide an underground research lab somewhere that most people would avoid like the plague."

"I'm almost certain that fountain had the plague," he murmured.

A tinkling sound of amusement came out of her before she even had time to register. She looked away from him purposefully, squinting up at the clouds beginning to rush in from the Pacific. "Rain."

"Is that one of your talents as a spy? Being able to feel when rain is coming?" he asked, his voice a little gloomy.

She grabbed his shoulder and pointed at the clouds.

"Oh. Well, that makes sense."

With a small smirk, she walked ahead of him to the train car where they left their luggage. Considering the fact that they were virtually in the middle of nowhere, and that there was a general lack of passengers as it was, she had felt their luggage would be safe stashed beneath their seats.

Well, her luggage. She had only given Chuck time to write a note to his sister, change, grab a hat and coat, and they were off again. A fact that made her feel slightly bad, considering she had taken what she would need. But considering most of those things were weapons necessary for her to protect them, she decided not to feel too much guilt.

A quick glance told her everything was exactly as she had left it, and as soon as they sat down, the steward was sweeping the platform, gathering everyone to get back onto the train. Sarah watched through the window as the steward moved to the end of the platform, looked out to the mission for a moment, and raised a whistle to his lips, blowing into it three times.

Any stragglers still touring the dilapidated piece of California history began to filter out of the building, making their way back to the train.

The train was underway not five minutes later, the landscape flitting past her window as she and Chuck sat in silence. Conversation had been light throughout the day, and nothing of import occurred during the journey.

When they finally reached Gilroy, a quiet farming town west of El Camino Real, Chuck left the train quickly to buy some wrapped sandwiches and two bottles of chilled rosemead. He wasted five minutes being indecisive, first claiming he was hungry, then deciding he wasn't at all. Hopping from "I should" to "Never mind" and back again. By the time he decided to do it, he barely made the train before it pulled away. Sarah had watched from the window as he ran, his long legs almost comical as he rushed across the platform, the scent of garlic wafting into the window she had opened for fresh air.

He nearly tripped going up the steps to get into the car, but he successfully made it back to his seat, ignoring the sniggers from the two young boys at the front. Sarah bit her lip and sought to pretend she hadn't witnessed the whole thing, holding a newspaper in front of her face.

Chuck spent the next few hours napping restlessly, his long legs jammed against the seat in front of him, his hat in his lap because it kept falling from its perch over his face and waking him up. Against her better judgment, Sarah caught herself looking at him every so often while he slept.

His features were more often than not pinched, his brow furrowed, his fingers twitching and his breath hitching. She hadn't imagined the Intersect would still be able to hurt him even as he slept, but it made sense. Of course it would work its way into his dreams. Or were they nightmares? What did he see? Did he remember when he woke up?

He insisted she nap as well when he awoke, his eyes ringed and his face a little pallid. She wondered how much he had actually slept, but instead of showing her concern she complied with his insistence and folded herself up in her seat.

She stayed awake, but closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the train moving over the tracks, the downpour pelting against the window beside her head. She wouldn't let herself sleep, not now. It wasn't that she felt unsafe with Chuck—not in the slightest. Although, it was slightly nerve-wracking that she trusted him in that way so immediately and unfailingly. She wouldn't sleep because she had to stay one step ahead of whoever it was unleashing John Casey—or whatever his name really was—on her. Whoever it was that sent Casey to shadow Chuck. What did they want? As if she didn't know.

They wanted what Chuck had in his brain. They wanted what was giving him nightmares while he slept and causing him to see terrible things even when he was awake.

After an appropriate time, she sat up, pretending to have come out of a deep sleep as she stretched, feeling ridiculous for deeming it necessary to pretend she had complied with his request in the first place. But it seemed to set him at ease, having her get some rest.

She tried not to think too hard on it. But it left her feeling more empty than anything that Chuck was still attempting to take care of her, even after everything.

Seemingly against his will, he fell asleep two hours outside of San Francisco. Because her own watch was stashed in her bag beneath her seat, she snuck her hand into Chuck's vest with deft fingers and retrieved his. They would be at their destination around nine thirty at night, which was an hour later than she had guessed back in Los Angeles. All things considered, that wasn't too terrible a loss of time.

But then his chest heaved and she stuffed the watch back in his vest pocket in somewhat of a panic. She needn't have panicked, she discovered, because he was still fully asleep, so much so that he was in the midst of what seemed to be nasty dream. Wondering what he could possibly be seeing to cause him to jerk his head and breathe out through his lips that way, her instincts took hold of her.

She put a cool hand to his cheek and kept it there, leaving the other on his chest until he quieted, slumping back into his seat, the wrinkles in his brow ironing out and his fingers unclenching from where they were gripping the armrests.

Sarah Walker bit her lip and pulled back, retreating to her corner and folding her arms across her chest, sticking her hands under her armpits and willing herself to continue staring out of her window.

A/N: For a scifi sub-genre that allows for making lots of stuff up, I ended up having to do a lot of research for this chapter. And I suspect that will continue to happen. I'm kind of fine with that.

As long as you all keep reading and keep reviewing! Til next we meet again, my friends!

SC