A/N: So I've written a few chapters ahead and this is the start of a difficult and slightly complicated plan I came up with...So I had to write all the way through to the explanation and just trying to explain why this chapter took longer to get out is confusing so I'll just stop. And say sorry this took so long. Speaking of long, this author's note is gonna be a long one. It's bizness time.

So both mxpw and Frea O'Scanlin were really kind in letting me bounce things off of them that have to do with the next few chapters of this story and I can't thank them enough for their patience! You two are great!

Speaking of patience, dettiot has also had quite a lot and I love her face. Dealing with me whining about how hard Steampunk Chronicles is...day in and day out. I owe her a great deal of thanks. So I thought I'd do it right here. Thanks, d!

And thanks to everyone who's still here! Still reading! Still reviewing! Love you guys!

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.

Last time: Chuck and Sarah are rather at odds after chasing Harold Nooman, assassin extraordinaire, about town. The rain certainly didn't help. But when they get back to their room, strange mechanical scorpion thingies spew a gaseous gas that puts our heroes quite to sleep. But who has done this to the toy maker and the Ice Queen?

Thunk…

Thunk…

Thunk…

The first thing Chuck became aware of was a soreness in his back and neck. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times in the harsh light, realizing a moment later that he was sitting on a chair, slumped forward. How had he managed that? And what was that incessant thunking sound? He straightened his back and rolled his head back and forth on his shoulders. But when he tried to reach up to rub his face, he found he couldn't.

Glancing over his shoulder, he suddenly felt the sting of rope burn on his wrists and realized it was because they were tied behind the chair.

What?

"Toy Boy wakes," came the voice to his left. With a frown, Chuck turned to see John Casey sitting on the ground, his back against the hotel room door. He was casually tossing his knife down and imbedding it in the wood floor beside him, pulling it out and repeating the process.

"Wha—Casey?"

"Hmng. Somebody get the kid a prize. That's right, Bartowski. I found ya."

"What do you want with me? What did I ever do to you except give you a job?" Chuck asked, playing innocent even though he happened to know that Casey was somehow connected to the Intersect. He had no idea how the beefy fellow could ever have that type of information at his disposal, but it didn't make it any less probable.

"It ain't what ya did, Bartowski. It's what ya know."

"What I know? I don't know anything!"

"Now that I believe." He looked immensely pleased with himself for that one, a rare smile on his face. "Well, well, well. Good morning, Walker."

Chuck whipped around and finally saw that Sarah was tied similarly to another chair pressed back to back with his. He could feel her chair back bumping against his and a few soft grunts, so he assumed she was tugging at her bonds in vain.

"Sarah! You alright?" Chuck couldn't help asking, though she sounded angry and that seemed like a pretty good sign that she was just fine.

"Who the hell are you?" she ground out through her teeth, ignoring Chuck completely. "And what do you want with us?" Finally she shifted in her chair to set her gaze Chuck, her blue eyes running up and down him as though silently checking to see if he was all in one piece. He almost felt the warmth of the gesture before his conscience reminded him that, no, she wasn't checking to make sure if he was in one piece, but the Intersect. He was the Intersect now. Those two things went hand in hand.

That left him frowning as Casey chuckled from his spot on the ground. "Who am I? I'm nobody special. Tell you what, it took me longer'n I thought it would to track you two renegades down."

"Renegades?" Chuck asked. "For going on a trip?"

"You forget the part where you smashed a drawer over my head before you went off on your little romantic trip, Toy Boy," his former assistant growled, finally sheathing his knife in his belt and standing up. "So here's our deal. You tell me where Bryce Larkin is, and I'll make sure you keep all ten fingers."

Chuck's eyes widened and his heart raced. He would certainly prefer having all ten fingers, and not just because it would be difficult to work on watches and toys and all of the other things if he happened to be missing even one finger.

Wait. Bryce Larkin?

"B-Bryce?" he asked. "I don't understand. I haven't even heard from him since we were boys."

Casey grunted. "Look, Simple Simon. I've had a long day. And it's rainin' outside and I hate rain," he said through his teeth. "I'd jes' as soon be sittin' in my bath with a cigar."

"I didn't need that imagery," Chuck said. He thought he detected a snort coming from Sarah's general area.

Casey just growled and Chuck shut his mouth, shaking his head minutely.

"You ain't in a position to be sassin' me, Bartowski. You see this?" He pulled his jacket away and showed the hilt of the wicked-looking knife. "An' this'n too." He flashed the butt of a pistol on his other hip. "I could jes' kill you an' find 'im myself."

"I swear, I don't know what all of this is even about. Bryce Larkin hasn't been back to visit me since we were sixteen. Is he in some kind of trouble?" Chuck lied. The mistresses at the orphanage and Ellie had always taught him that honesty was the best policy, but at the moment, he thought rule-breaking was fair game. Considering this man had weapons and had tied them up in their hotel room. There was also that night when he broke into a government agent's bedroom and tried to kill her. Granted, lying to a fellow this dangerous could also be very bad for Chuck's health. His fingers in particular.

"Yer lyin' to me, you sack o' shit," Casey growled as he crossed the room in two long strides and was suddenly leaning down over Chuck, so close that the young man could smell cigar smoke and coffee. And something else. Dirt, maybe. Wet dirt. "Now, we got a deal. I spare you them fingers an' you tell me where the bastard pretty boy is."

Chuck could almost see Sarah's smile at that. But he kept his terrified gaze on Casey's face, even though it was a drastically less attractive face than his traveling companion's.

"I've had to sit here and babysit the both o' you when we could all be nestled nicely in Los Angeles where there's no damn fog." He frowned deeply. "It's cold here."

"You were the one outside of our window last night, and following us earlier," Sarah finally spoke up, glaring over her shoulder.

"Heh. Yep. I sure was. You thought you could outrun me, din'tcha?" He went into his inner coat pocket and produced a cigar, lighting it with the candle sitting on the desk. Chuck hadn't seen any candles in their room before. Had their captor brought them with him? That was odd.

"Where'd you get those fancy contraptions you sicked on us?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," he sassed.

"Yeah, that's why I asked."

As the smell of cigar smoke pervaded Chuck's senses, Casey ignored her question but slowly walked to where he could address both of them at the same time. "See, there weren't any other trains leavin' the station that night save the one headed for Frisco. An' I knew a wimpy hometown milquetoast like you wouldn't take to air travel, Bartowski. Not only that, but Walker wouldn't risk it."

"Well, aren't you the sharpest knife in the drawer, John Casey?" Sarah said, her voice silky and confident.

"That's Major Casey to you, ya damn harpy," Casey snapped.

"Major?" Chuck asked, but he went ignored again.

"Oh, please. You want me to believe you're a major? In whose army, exactly?" Sarah snarked.

"I'm done playin' games." Casey covered ground quickly and was suddenly leaning over Chuck again, but this time he brandished his knife beside the younger man's face. "Where's the spy scumbag Larkin, Bartowski? I know you seen 'im. I tracked him to Los Angeles. I tracked him to you."

A loud snort came from Sarah and both men turned to look at her. She was smirking and shaking her head. "And you think we brought Larkin with us to San Francisco? Really, Major?" She chuckled when he didn't answer. "IBoMaD must have really lowered their standards when it comes to hired help."

The man's eyes narrowed and he took a step back. "What makes you think I been hired by IBoMaD?"

"Those toys we walked in on, they looked like little scorpions and spewed gas that knocked us out…That's just the sort of juvenile cack IBoMaD scientists would scrounge up. They think they've got flair, but it's just tacky. Scorpions? In San Francisco? Really?"

Casey just growled menacingly at her. Chuck couldn't see Sarah's face, but he felt her fingers slide against his then clench tightly. His arms tingled at the contact but he knew that wasn't why she had done it. He hadn't known her for that long, not withstanding the weeks when he had thought she was simply a gorgeous and extraordinary, perfectly uncommon waitress at the Aviator's Timepiece. Apparently that wasn't the real her. Chuck didn't know the real her, and he doubted he ever would. But he knew one thing for certain. She wanted him to shut up. She had a plan. He squeezed back and felt her fingers slip out of his grasp.

"O' course Larkin is here," Casey snapped, ignoring her taunting. "You jumped on a train to meet 'im. To warn 'im that I'm askin' after him." The man paused, the look in his eye smug enough that it made Chuck's blood freeze. "I know everything, Walker. About Larkin. About you," he said slowly.

Chuck could feel the tension radiating from her body, even though he was at least three inches away, but her voice was just as smooth and nonplussed as ever. "You think so? Everything? Hm."

"Only thing I can't figure out is what someone like you would be doin' in cahoots with someone like Larkin. He turn a new leaf or somethin'? Always seemed like the turncoat type. Face like that always up to no good," he said, squinting his eyes at the back of the room.

"You fond of Larkin's face, Major? Think about it often?" she asked.

"Yeah," he growled. "I do. I think about what it would look like with an ax in it jes' about every day."

Chuck felt his blood run cold. This man had been in the Buy More with him for weeks. Months, even. A man who dreamed about putting axes through people's faces. Why hadn't he acted in all of that time? Why hadn't he attacked Chuck when they were alone? Instead he sat at his work table, grumbling and fixing clocks, toys, other miscellaneous things. Scaring kids away from the Buy More by growling at them. Even Morgan had liked him, strangely enough.

Sarah just chuckled, her voice heavy with a smirk. "He isn't here, Casey. So you'll have to go on dreaming."

"You'll never find him," Chuck piped up, and he felt Sarah turn to give him a long look. He knew there was a glare in it, so he kept facing forward as though he didn't notice.

"You idjit. I'm the best damn bounty hunter this empire—this whole damned world—ever seen. Ever hear the phrase 'like finding a needle in a haystack'? Well, I find the needle. Every damn time."

Sarah snorted again and earned herself another glare and an accompanying grunt.

"Though, I will find 'im a lot easier if you jes' tell me where he is. An' I got ways o' makin' people talk."

"I know, I know," Chuck muttered. "My fingers. You already beat that one to death with a stick."

"I ain't playin'."

"I ain't helping you," Chuck shot back mockingly. He had had enough of all of this, and his blood was beginning to boil. The flashes and the head aches and the dizzy spells. The running. Being betrayed by the people he cared about, Sarah Spy-woman Walker included. Being cold and damp. Wearing these soaked boots and feeling the blisters growing on his feet. Being tied up and threatened with loss of digits.

There was a time when all he had to worry about was whether or not he would bring a sandwich to the Buy More from home or eat at Mr. Blandings' vendor for lunch.

This was getting ridiculous. And he found himself feeling brave suddenly, rebellious…filled with courage.

"Really?"

Suddenly Chuck's chair was dragged around to where he could see Sarah, still seemingly unmoved by the situation as she watched with raised eyebrows. But then the toy maker felt the beefy fingers of his captor around his neck and his blood ran cold. Casey shoved his chair back, sending him crashing to the ground, his arms pinned painfully between the floor and the chair as he cried out in agony. The bounty hunter's other hand clamped down on his mouth to muffle his outcry, the cigar still clenched between his teeth.

"He isn't here," Sarah said calmly. Chuck's watering eyes flickered over to her face just past Casey's shoulder. Her blue eyes were grayish, a little stormy, but she still looked totally at ease. It was startling. And even as his arms ached furiously from the ridges of the chair back digging into his muscles, his weight crushing them in an uncomfortable position—her tranqility in the face of his pain hurt worse. And he felt like a fool.

"That's a lie." Casey's fingers tightened on Chuck's throat and the toy maker gasped for air, only to find it wasn't there. Nothing was there. Only the strong fingers closing around his windpipe.

"You're making a mistake, Major Casey. Chuck doesn't know where Larkin is," Sarah said, her voice a little more hurried, concern tingeing it.

"I don't believe you," Casey growled through clenched teeth. "Tell me, Bartowski. Tell me, an' I'll let go. You don't tell me, and I'll slowly crush yer wimpy windpipe."

Chuck stayed silent, gurgling and gasping for breath, unable to do anything to stop it.

"It's obvious your companion here don't give a pigeon's tail feather about whether you live or die. But you do care, don't you? You got clocks to fix. And a pretty sister to go home to, huh?"

Chuck gurgled a bit, feeling his fingers start to tingle. "I'll tell," he ground out, his eyes latching onto Sarah's. He couldn't help it. He knew he looked hurt when he met her gaze, but she still did nothing. There was only a minor flicker of something he couldn't read before she turned her eyes to the back of Casey's head. Anger flashed across her face, then.

The fingers finally loosened, probably leaving red marks on Chuck's throat as he gasped for breath. Beautiful, beautiful air flowed into his lungs again. He practically swallowed the air in lungfuls, he was so eager to breathe again.

Casey loomed over him, crossing his arms and smirking over at the seething spy still tied to her chair.

"Well? You gonna tell me, then?"

Chuck coughed a few times and let his head fall to the side, waiting until he was sure he could speak again. Even then, his voice was raspy and his throat hurt when he got the words out. "He isn't here."

John Casey rolled his eyes, grunted in annoyance, and pulled his pistol out of its holster, the same pistol he had shown Chuck minutes earlier when he first woke up. Within a moment, he reached back and pointed it right at Agent Walker's forehead. "He ain't?"

Sarah looked at the gun leveled at her face as though she were bored, but Casey must have seen Chuck panic, because his smirk was supremely satisfied. Maybe Sarah Walker didn't care about what happened to the toy maker, but it was plain to see that he didn't return those sentiments. Chuck was positive it was written all over his face. "No. He's not. Don't shoot her."

"Heh. What do you care, Toy Boy? She's a harpy. A con—"

"Chuck, don't tell him," Sarah interrupted. She waited for Chuck to look at her and repeated it slower. "Don't tell him."

A quick look passed between his captor and companion. It was strange, the way Sarah hardened even while Casey's smirk grew. His eyebrows bobbed once before he turned back to Chuck, looking incredibly pleased by whatever he thought he figured out from the exchange.

Then he cocked the pistol and stepped back, bringing the muzzle of the pistol even closer to Sarah's forehead.

"Right, then if he innit here, where is he? I'll kill your lady friend. Don't think I won't. Maybe do the world a bit of a favor, eh Walker?" He flashed her a knowing grin and she simpered back at him, her eyes still so very blue and dangerous.

Chuck hated this. The way they were exchanging secrets, keeping him out of it. He felt patronized, like a child whose parents were keeping a secret, flaunting it in front of him. Casey had something on Sarah, something he was keeping to himself for some reason, something Sarah had been keeping from him.

Another lie.

It didn't surprise him in the slightest.

And yet, he couldn't let Major Casey pull that trigger. He couldn't let Agent Walker die.

"I'll tell you, Casey. Just…Please, John. Please lower the gun." Sarah looked at him with no small amount of scorn and disappointment, but he did his best to ignore it. She could go ahead and be upset with him for saving her life. What did he care?

But he didn't expect what he saw in the older man's gaze as he finally lowered the gun and put it back in its holster. It was pity. Pity directed at him, at Chuck. He felt sorry for him. Chuck couldn't figure it out, but it was humbling in the worst possible way.

He reached down and hoisted Chuck's chair upright again, taking a moment to brush off the shoulders of Chuck's still damp shirt. "Alright, Bartowski. I put it away. Where's Larkin?"

He nodded his thanks at the man, collecting himself, a thousand different ideas surging through his mind, before he finally settled on one. "He was in Los Angeles." There was no response. Chuck didn't dare look at Sarah. "I knew he was in trouble somehow, but I wasn't sure. He wouldn't tell me. He said it was for my own good th-that I didn't know." Chuck decided not to speak of the Intersect, unsure if Casey had been made privy to that information, or if he was just going after Bryce because he was being paid to do so by some higher power. IBoMaD, did Sarah say? Chuck had no idea what the devil IBoMaD was. But he was sure whoever or whatever it was wanted the Intersect and thought Bryce had it. Which was both good news and bad news.

In spite of everything, Chuck didn't want this IBoMaD thing getting its claws in his friend.

"Yer lyin'. Why'd you two run off? Cleared right out o' the city like the place was on fire."

"I walked in on you trying to kill my—Sarah!" the young man slipped, catching himself at the last second. He was somewhat repulsed by how easily lying came to him. Perhaps Agent Walker was rubbing off on him, now. "I thought you would want to kill us both when you woke up, so it seemed like a good idea to get out of town. I didn't think Los Angeles would be safe for either of us if we stayed."

John Casey's eyes slid over to Sarah but she seemed to be keeping quiet, instead continuing to glare at Chuck's chest.

Something was going on, Chuck feared, something he wasn't privy to…And it was niggling at him something awful.

"Larkin is still in Los Angeles. Is that what yer sayin'?" the hunter asked.

Chuck shrugged as well as he could with the way his shoulders and arms ached. "As far as I know, he was probably still there when Sarah and I left. In all honesty, Bryce was the last thing on my mind, so I didn't think you had any connection to him."

Sarah was watching him closely, her brows furrowed thoughtfully. Chuck truly didn't know whether he was digging himself into a deeper hole or not. But the words kept coming. He figured if he got out of this alive, Agent Walker would lay into him for this.

"I still think yer lyin'," Casey groused moodily, causing the toy maker to break his gaze from Sarah's.

"I'm not lying. You just held a gun to her head and tried to choke me to death. You should know, I've a low threshold for pain. I don't lie very well when I'm in pain!" Chuck rambled, his voice raising in pitch.

Casey waved his cigar, sending ash to the wooden floorboards, and grunted in confusion, turning to look at Sarah. "Is what he said true? Larkin's still in Los Angeles?"

Sarah didn't respond, only glaring openly at Chuck. He hoped against all hope that it was an act. He didn't exactly relish having both a bounty hunter and a woman trained in fighting upset with him at the same time.

"You hear me, Walker?" he growled, tugging on her collar and pulling her as close as her bindings would let him. "Is what the loggerheaded malt-worm said true?"

"L-Loggerheaded what?" Chuck asked, offended.

"I don't know anything about it," she growled through her teeth. "I didn't even know he was in Los Angeles in the first place. But I'm sure once he found out Chuck left town, he put the pieces together and ran." Her eyes glinted in frustration, causing Chuck to wonder for just a moment whether she was lying to Casey, or whether she lied to him. Who was this woman and what was she after? It was only a momentary concern, though, because he immediately reminded himself that it was a part of her job to be able to lie well, and that was just what she was doing at this moment. God, she was good at it. Casey reached back to slap her and Chuck winced, but was relieved when the brute lowered his arm again and grunted with a curl of his lip.

He took the cigar out of his mouth and threw it onto the ground, smothering it with the heel of his boot.

"Hell," he muttered, stomping to the door of the hotel room. He spun. "Don't either of you move. I'll be right back."

The door slammed loudly behind him and Chuck let his breath out, his shoulders sagging in relief. His arms still ached something fierce and he knew his neck was bruised, but he was alive. And Sarah Walker was alive, too. Still lying to him about something—probably many things—but alive nonetheless.

"You alright?" she asked, wiggling and squirming in her chair. She poked her tongue out between her lips as she concentrated on—what, Chuck didn't know. His first thought was to snap, What do you care? But this was no time for childishness. They had to get out of here. So instead, he just muttered in the affirmative.

"That was quick thinking, Chuck. Good work. Set him back on his smug heels, the damn bastard." She growled. "I should have known they would hire a bounty hunter, those yellow-bellied pigs."

Chuck just gaped at her as she continued wriggling. Did she just praise him? That was new. And certainly unexpected. "It…uh, it was nothing. I have to ask, though, what was the point in making it sound like I hid Bryce from you?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, still squirming about.

"Never mind. Uh…What exactly are you doing?"

"Escaping." She brought her arms to her front, one of her knives in her hand, then bent to sever the ropes that attached her legs to the chair. She had him cut out of his bonds in no time, standing up and blowing hair out of her face.

"What—How—How did you—Where did you—?"

"I snuck a knife into your coat this morning so it was there when you gave it to me, and it was there when Major Moron tied me to that chair. He probably knew it was your coat and didn't think you would have a weapon." She pulled his coat off of her shoulders and tossed it onto the bed, instead shrugging her leather duster on. "That's better."

"There was a knife in my coat all day and I didn't know it?"

She just shrugged. "What of it?" she asked, lifting her boot to rest on the chair between Chuck's legs. She pulled her pant leg up to her knee and sheathed the knife securely in a leather sheath. The inventor received a good flash of smooth, pale, toned leg—a flash he could get used to, he'd decided, unlike the other blasted ones he had been subjected to ever since Bryce Larkin reentered his once normal life.

He looked away quickly, clearing his throat and staring at the same spot on the ground until Sarah lowered her foot again. He turned back. "Uh…so…"

"Let's go."

"Right!" he chirped, getting to his feet. He stopped. "Wait, what—what if he's in the hallway?"

"Then I'll deal with him." She grabbed Casey's rifle from where he'd leant it against the foot of the bed.

"But wouldn't it be better if—?" He didn't have time to finish his thought because Sarah grabbed him by his shirtfront and pushed him hard against the wall beside the door's hinges. Her sturdy length was pressed against his gangly one and all semblance of logical thought left his head.

The door opened.

There was a short pause, then a confused, "Hnmg?"

But John Casey didn't get much further, as Sarah pushed the door shut behind him and brought his own rifle around to crash into the back of his head. He collapsed like a sack of potatoes.

"That's right, you son of a bitch," she gasped, blowing the hair out of her face and slinging the rifle strap onto her shoulders so that it hung at her back. "That felt good."

Chuck was still frozen against the wall, terror on his face. "Oh? Did it?" he asked in a high-pitched squeak.

She turned and regarded him for only a moment. "What?" she snapped. "He's a smirker."

As if that explained everything.

Spinning back to the limp body on the ground, Sarah knelt down and hogtied him much like she had the first time in her bedroom in Los Angeles. Was that only a few days ago? He shivered and stepped away from the wall. "So we're running again?"

"Not this time."

That stopped him cold. "What? We're not?"

"No." He thought for a moment that he saw her hands shaking as she finished the knot around the major's ankles, but if he did, it was gone now. "He may be an ass, but he's an ass who knows something about all of this. I want to know if IBoMaD actually did send him and if anyone else knows about us. About you." He wondered if he was hearing things when he heard her mutter a very soft, "About me", her lips barely moving as her hands stilled for just a moment.

"But what if we just run?" Chuck couldn't believe what was coming out of his own mouth. Run? Again? Away from his family? His friends? Well…Granted, there weren't a lot of friends, but who would care for Morgan? Who would help Ellie with her cause? Who would eat her pea soup? Surely not Devon.

"He will find us again. You wouldn't believe how talented I am when it comes to covering my tracks, but that's when I'm alone."

"Of course," he nodded. "With me in tow that makes things a lot more difficult for you."

She seemed to not have anything to say to dispute that and it made him feel rather surly. He knew he was being unfair. But the residual memories of how it had felt to laugh with her over a biscuit, sipping nutmeg, staring at the sunset over a picnic of pigeon sandwiches…those memories were trapped in his head and worse, in his heart. He was having a hard time separating that woman from the real Sarah Walker. Or…whoever this Sarah Walker was.

"So what do we do now? Dump a bucket of water over his head? It's still raining, you know. It should be easy enough." He shrugged with a crooked grin, receiving a quick glance and a twitch of her lips.

"As tempting as that is, I think it's best if we let him wake on his own." Suddenly Sarah was right in front of him again, her eyes swirling with something undefinable as she set her gentle fingers to his neck. "Are you sure you're alright?"

He nodded wordlessly and she pressed her lips together in a quick, mirthless smile.

"Good. I'm going to get something for the bruising. You watch this one carefully. I will only be gone for a minute, so…" She paused, squeezing his arm. "Don't freak out."

Chuck snorted a little. "Ha. Of course not." She went to the door, but he quickly stepped in front of it. "Wait, I—I don't know how people feel about rifles here, but I'm thinking you might attract attention with that one."

Sarah glanced over her shoulder at the muzzle poking up by her head and smirked. "You make a mighty fine point, Bartowski. Here." With grace and speed, she swung it off of her and thrusted it into his chest for him to take it. "Don't shoot anything. Or anyone. I'll be back."

He nodded and she disappeared, shutting the door behind her.

"You have no idea, do you?"

Chuck yelped and spun towards Casey, who was watching him with that pitying look on his face again. "My God! Is your head made out of stone?"

"Heh. No. Hard skull. That don't matter. What matters is yer a sap."

"You—You aren't supposed to be awake, nor are you allowed to speak, so…stop." Chuck knew he could point the rifle at his captive, but the major had to know by now that the toy maker was not a gun toter. Chuck had only handled a gun once and it was not a pleasant experience. Not even in the slightest. "I'm gonna go 'head and tell you something I'm sure you don't know about Little Miss Knife Wielder. If you knew what she really was, you wouldn't be so quick to trust 'er, I can tell you that right now."

"What?"

Casey shook his head. "What'd she tell you? What'd she say she is? You think she some kinda sweet innocent thing you gotta protect or somethin'?" He barked out a quiet laugh, most likely because he was aware that she could be back at any moment. "That's why I always say the pretty girls is the most dangerous ones. Jes' like a sap, yer blinded by that face o' her'n, ain't ya?"

"Stop mincing words. What do you mean?" He shouldn't be listening. Casey was trying to get under his skin. But all of those looks… The secret Casey seemed to know that Sarah seemed to not want to share with Chuck. There was something else she was keeping from him.

"That trouser wearin' harpy gets off on manipulatin', bamboozlin', an' oh ho ho, here's the best part, killin' folk who're easy targets." Chuck frowned in confusion. "She's a con artist, numb brain. She's playin' you like she's played e'eryone else. I don't know what she's doin' around you fer—maybe you got a rich uncle I don' know about—but I know this much, you better not trust 'er further'n you kin throw 'er. An' judgin' by them wimpy arms, that ain't far."

Chuck tried to school his features, but he was having a hard time keeping everything straight. "A con artist?" he muttered.

"Mhm. A con artist. She's a wanted criminal. Nobody I ever wanted to cross paths with. Dangerous as shadows is dark. Black heart, they say. If she's even got one."

"You're a liar," Chuck said easily. It was too far-fetched. Sarah had been protecting him from the beginning. Yes, she had lied, but…She had lied.

She lied.

He shook it off. She asked him to trust her. And who was John Casey? Major Casey?

The man was sitting on the ground in a desperate situation. He was liable to say anything that might get Chuck to let him go. That meant sewing the seeds of distrust between his captors. Chuck had read enough adventure dime novels to know what villains did to manipulate the protagonists. And this fellow was definitely a villain.

"I ain't lyin', kid! I wasn't sure about it before, but then she pulled all o' that knife stuff in her room back in Los Angeles. She ain't innocent. She ain't on the side o' the law, or whatever it is she told you to git you on that train. She lied to you. And I warrant she's lyin' to you about yer ol' pal Larkin, too. Who knows? Maybe she killed him 'erself." Casey struggled against his bonds. "Let me go, Bartowski, and we can take 'er down together. Find out what she knows about Larkin."

"Stop!" Chuck barked, grabbing a length of rope and walking up to the bounty hunter. Chuck set the rifle down at his feet and knelt behind his captive, meaning to use the rope as a gag.

"Bartowski, don't be an idiot! She's the Ice Queen!" Casey got out as Chuck slung the rope into the man's mouth and began tying at the back of his neck. But then he felt the throbbing sensation of a flash again, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as images flickered across his vision.

The violence he saw in his flash, the fire and blood and brutality…These were all things left in the wake of the infamous con artist, the legend, the Ice Queen. A conniver, a thief, a manipulative murderess known across the map, not just in the Empire. There hadn't been a face in the flash, and if there was, he couldn't recall it now as he blinked in the aftermath, now sitting on the floor, thankfully still behind Casey who seemed to be none the wiser about what had just happened to his captor.

But somehow he knew. He just knew.

The door opened and Sarah Walker stepped inside of the room, glancing down the hallway first left then right before shutting the door again and deadbolting it. She smiled a little at Chuck before seeing that Casey was awake and now had a gag in his mouth.

"That was fast," she said with a raised eyebrow.

"H—Ahem—He was getting too talky at me. So I shut him up." Chuck heard the other man growl menacingly at him. At least, it would have been menacing if the toy maker wasn't so distracted by his own numbness.

"Why are you still on the floor?"

"Uh…I don't know." Chuck climbed up to his feet very slowly as she handed him a cloth with a bulky something wrapped up in it.

"Ice," she explained when he raised confused eyes to her own secretive ones. "For your neck."

"Oh. Thank you."

"You alright? You look pale as a ghost…"

"No, I'm alright. Tired."

She nodded and nudged Casey with the toe of her boot, earning another growl. The man looked rather like a bull, the way he was snarling, his eyes red with rage. Hopefully he had not witnessed what his words had just done to Chuck. "This is the second time this has happened to you in the last few days, Major Casey. You should be more careful."

He snarled a bit more viciously at that and she smirked.

Chuck watched her closely, trying to keep calm then as he looked around the room for something he could use…anything.

"Sarah. Um…Agent Walker. I need your help. With something."

Sarah raised both eyebrows and frowned. "Alright," she drawled dubiously.

"Out, out there, though. I need to speak to the owner and I need my wife with me."

"What? Why do you have to talk to the owner? And why do I have to be there?"

"It's about money and you might be good to have there. With me." God, he was so terrible at lying all of a sudden. But he thought perhaps she was more confused and curious than she was suspicious and that would be good enough for now. It made him hesitate for a moment, because that meant she had to have at least a little trust in him. But did she trust him? Or did she trust that he was a naive, innocent simpleton?

"Please. Casey will be fine here alone for one minute."

"Why are you acting so strangely? Did he say something to you?"

"What? No."

He went to the door and opened it, glancing to and fro down the hallway. Then he reached in and gently took her by the arms, leading her out and reaching behind him to shut the door. "What is going on?" she hissed, turning around to face him, refusing to budge. "We can't just leave the major in there alone. That's what he did to us and that's how we escaped. Did you even check his boot for a knife?" "No, I didn't—Hey, you didn't either."

"Damn it, you're right. I didn't. I should—"

Chuck began moving her down the hallway again. "Not now. In a minute. He is more of a gun-toting sort of fellow anyways. Wouldn't you say?"

He saw what looked to be a broom closet at the end of the hall by the stairs, a chair set next to the door. He just had to get her there.

"Chuck, I've had it. What is wrong with you? Did you flash on something? What did he tell you?"

"He didn't tell me anything."

"Wh-What are you doing?"

He reached around her, pushed open the closet door, shoved her inside, and shut the door again, jamming the chair under the doorknob. "Ha!"

Sarah immediately opened the door and the chair fell into her, Chuck's triumphant sigh dead in his throat as he realized that only worked if you were locking someone out of a room. "Oh."

She was caught up in the chair just long enough for him to make a break for it, darting back down the hallway to the hotel room and bursting through the door. He heard her close on his heels as he scrambled to shut the door.

"Chuck! Stop!"

He forced the door shut, even as she pushed against the other side, then he deadbolted it and backed away, shaking from head to toe.

"Chuck! Chuck, open the door!" He heard a muffled curse.

"You lied to me!"

There was a short pause, only a moment really, but it was enough. "Chuck, what did he tell you about me?"

"I know who you really are. And I'm not opening that door."

"Chuck, please! He's dangerous!"

He didn't answer, instead stepping over the man wiggling on the ground, trying to talk through his gag. It was apparent he thought Chuck would untie him, that they were somehow on the same side now, but Chuck continued to ignore him, grabbing his jacket and shrugging it on before crossing to pick the rifle up from where he had dropped it earlier. "Good luck, Major Casey," he said, moving to the window and hoisting it open.

"Chuck, open the door!"

"No!" he barked petulantly over his shoulder as he stuck one leg out and braced his foot on the ledge beneath the window.

"Damn it, Chuck, if you don't open this door, I will."

But Chuck ignored her, focusing on the task at hand. He had business in the city, and there was no room in his plan for either a bounty hunter or an inconstant con woman.

A/N: Well damn...

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