A/N: It's been quite some time since I posted a chapter of this story. Sorry about that.

I hope you're all still with me. I have to say, this is quite possibly some of the best writing I think I've ever done. Although that's just my opinion, so who knows what you'll all think? Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I'm so appreciative!

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 in the SteamVerse: Casey, Sarah and Chuck foiled the plot of a crazed assassin, saving the Prussian ambassador's life before almost meeting their fate at the hands of some patrolmen outside of the patrol depot! And then Sarah tells Chuck they're going to talk.

And so I bring you the talk. Enjoy!

Chuck sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, trying to ignore the intense silence pervading the hotel room. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and then pushed his fingers through his hair. He still had that bump on the back of his head and his lip stung something awful.

"You think you kin trust her, kid. But she's after somethin', jes' like I am."

Casey stood with his back against the door of the room, picking at his fingernails with the tip of a very sharp-looking dagger he had pulled from the inner lining of his coat. Chuck didn't want to know what else was inside of that coat. Being around one person with a hidden arsenal of weaponry was enough.

"Is she?" was all he said, not caring that he sounded incredibly tired and beat down. He didn't care what either of his companions thought anymore. He was tired. He was beat down. And he wasn't going to hide it.

"Yep. You know she's playing you like a banged up fiddle, don't ya? Walker's intentions ain't no better'n mine. Maybe even worse. She knows how ta use that pretty face, Bartowski."

"Is that so?" Chuck asked, staring at a spot in the wood beneath his feet. "And how do you know that?"

"What I said about 'er is the truth. She's one of the most notoriously messed up broads that ever walked this earth. I told ya. The Ice Queen. She din't git that nickname from pullin' an ice wagon." He snorted a little at his own joke and Chuck ignored it. "It's 'cause she's cold-hearted. She innit helpin' you out of the goodness of 'er heart, Bartowski. You kin trust me on that."

"You sure have quite a bit to say for someone whose primary choice of communication has heretofore consisted of a variety of grunts and growls."

Casey looked almost offended. "I'm lookin' out fer you, kid."

Chuck couldn't deny that. There was something in the way the older man said it, looking up from his ministrations and meeting his eyes. There wasn't even a hint of a sneer. Nothing derisive. Or mean, even. It was perhaps…sincerity.

And Chuck couldn't forget that Major Casey had saved his life not an hour ago on the street near the patrol depot. That patrolman had every intention of shooting Chuck right between the eyes, but the bounty hunter had appeared out of nowhere and dispatched the fellow before he could get a shot off.

Casey didn't know about the Intersect. All he knew was that Chuck was a toy maker who perhaps got in a little over his head trying to protect an old childhood friend. Blind loyalty. And maybe for a man like Casey, who seemed to have pride in himself and in his own work, maybe loyalty was something he appreciated. Chuck was literally useless to him yet the bounty hunter had saved his life anyways.

"I appreciate that, Casey. But at the moment, I'm not entirely sure I can trust anyone."

"But you trust Larkin?"

He paused, looking down at his hands. "No. Not even him."

Casey grunted a little, then stood up straight when there was a pounding on the door. He swept it open to reveal Sarah Walker holding a tray with three large mugs of something steaming, still in the dress she wore to the opera. She looked flawless, in spite of everything that had happened tonight. And Chuck couldn't help noticing the way her eyes seemed to instinctively sweep the entire room before she stepped in. Almost as though she was checking for traps or anything out of the ordinary—always ready to fight or flee.

For a moment, he felt depressed. He couldn't imagine living his life that way. To constantly be alert and on your guard. To never get a moment's peace. Looking over your shoulder when you're in public. It was no way to live. And yet, that was how he had spent the last few days of his life. Was this what his future would be like until the Intersect was removed from his head—if that was even possible?

He could barely handle a handful of days living this way, and he assumed Sarah Walker had lived this way her entire life.

She was a criminal, though, he reminded himself. And at some point in her life, she had made the decision to do this. Right?

He didn't know the answer to that for sure. And that more than anything made him even more depressed.

Sarah set the tray on the dresser and quickly grabbed a mug, pushing it into Major Casey's massive paws before he could take one himself. "Here. It will get the chill out of your bones."

He sniffed it. "Hmng. What is it?"

"It's just coffee with a sprinkle of cocoa."

"Cocoa? I don't want none o' yer sugary shit." He tried to put it back down but she stopped him, her eyes snapping dangerously.

"I don't care what the hell you want, Major. I tasted this coffee and it tastes like dirt. I put cocoa in it to make the taste a little better. Don't know if it helped, but you're damn well gonna drink it because I paid for it."

He growled and brought it up to his lips, taking a long gulp and swallowing pointedly. "Splendid," he groused sarcastically. "Now it tastes like dirt with cocoa. Much better."

She rolled her eyes and grabbed the remaining two mugs, walking up to Chuck and holding it in front of his face. "Come on. Drink up. It'll give you a little energy."

"What do I need energy for?" he asked glumly.

"Stop pouting and take it. We have another long journey ahead of us."

"Do we?" Casey asked suddenly, and when Chuck looked up as Sarah turned around, he found the major standing with a gun pointed at them…again. "Because I feel like that's not what you had planned, Ice Queen."

"What are you talking about?" Sarah asked.

"You told me Bartowski would take me to Larkin. Think I believed you fer even a second?"

"We had a deal, Casey."

"That's Major Casey to you, cactus flower," he sneered derisively. "Yer one of the biggest manipulators and liars that ever lived. You really think I believe you'd ever keep yer word? Heh. Not fer a second."

"Cactus flower?" Chuck muttered.

"It doesn't matter whether you believed me or not, Major Casey."

He looked uncomfortable for a second and slowly lowered his pistol to his side. "You devil woman. What'd you do to me?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"Don't worry. You'll wake up in the morning feeling right as rain."

He toppled backwards, the mug slipping from his fingers and thunking against the floorboards, steaming coffee spilling across the wood as he grappled for the nearby chair and instead knocked it on its side as he landed.

Major John Casey was out cold by the time he hit the ground.

"I didn't think it would be that easy," Sarah chirped.

Chuck burst to his feet and rushed to Casey's side, peering down at the unmoving man. "Is he dead?"

"Now that's what they call déjà vu, isn't it?" she breathed, almost as if to herself. "And no, of course he isn't dead. It's just like I said. He'll be awake seven hours, nine at the most. He's a God damn bear of a man and it would take a lot more than I gave him to knock him out any longer than that. But if I had used more, he would have smelled it." She shrugged and backed towards the tray again, picking up a lumpy cloth he hadn't noticed until now and turning towards him calmly.

"What—Why did you—What—Why? Did you have to?" Chuck asked.

"Of course I did," she said. "We have to talk. And I don't want Major Stick Up His Ass listening in. We have to figure out what to do with him and I…I suppose I need to come clean. There's also this deal he and I discussed that I need to fill you in on and he's not supposed to know that you know and…well, it's complicated."

Chuck narrowed his eyes suspiously.

"So you poisoned him to give us a chance to talk privately. We couldn't have, say, asked him to step out of the room?"

She hit him with a flat look that made him feel rather stupid, and he rather resented her for it. "He has no intention of leaving me alone with you for even half a second. The only reason I left you alone with him was because he saved your life back there at the patrol depot. He must have some reason for keeping you alive, otherwise he wouldn't have cared a lick if you were shot."

The way the words slipped off of her tongue so easily, almost as though she didn't much care either, made him glower down at the mug in his hands. "Fine. Then let's talk."

"First, you should drink some of that coffee. You very seriously look like you need it."

"Thank you," he said sarcastically, his crooked smile a little self-deprecating.

"I know sarcasm is your defense mechanism when you feel overwhelmed, Chuck, but try to curb it a tad, will you? Please?"

He stared at her for a moment, and he wanted to defend himself, tell her she was wrong. What did she know about him, about his defense mechanisms? She knew nothing about him except that he had government secrets trapped in his head.

But he knew it was more than a possibility that she did know about him. She probably knew an awful lot about him, in reality. Because that was what she did to survive. She learned about people, made them tell her things. He had read enough books to know what con artists were capable of, and truth be told, he sometimes sided with them in stories. The way they manipulated authority, made detectives look like fools. It was rollicking good fun to read about.

But when he was the fool, it was less fun. In fact, it hurt like hell.

And Chuck Bartowski had never been less than an open book. Even now that he knew she had lied not once but twice about who she was, he didn't have the fortitude or the energy to guard his expression. He wasn't a spy. He wasn't a conman. He was just a toy maker.

"Drink your coffee, Chuck."

He automatically lifted the mug to his lips, then stopped himself and looked at her over the rim. "Nooooo," he drawled, slowly lowering the mug again.

"What?"

"How do I know you didn't put something in my coffee, too?" He felt ridiculous once it came out of his mouth, because he knew she had nothing to gain by drugging him. Nevertheless, he still glared at her dubiously. The longer he could forestall their discussion, the better. Because he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the words, "I'm the Ice Queen," from this woman's lips. He didn't want to associate the terrors of that flash with the same girl who had twirled around the dance floor with him at Mother Harriet's. The girl who had laughed at his idiotic invention in his workshop. The girl who had stolen his deck of cards at the Aviator's Timepiece to tease him, yes, but also to keep him safe.

"And what would I have to gain by drugging you?" She walked up to him and held the cloth out. "Here." He took it and looked up at her. "Ice for that lip of yours. Might lessen the swelling." She went to her wardrobe and opened it as he pressed the ice to his lip and sighed at how good the cold felt against his sore.

Chuck shrugged and tapped his temple. "The Intersect could probably fetch you a fortune." Perhaps it was foolish to remind her of that, but then it would be even more foolish to assume that it hadn't already occurred to her. A con artist was the ultimate fortune hunter. And the Intersect was the ultimate fortune.

She spoke over her shoulder as she grabbed a pair of trousers and a blouse. "Perhaps it would fetch me a fortune, but it would also put my true identity in danger, not to mention I'd garner quite a few strange looks dragging an unconscious man behind me in a crowded street." She sent him an arched eyebrow. "That's considering I could even carry you on my own."

He knew all of this, but he still blushed and scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor. "Touché."

He felt her eyes on him then, sizing him up again. "I think I should change into something more comfortable while we talk. Could you…?"

"Of course." He crossed to the bed and sat down, facing away from her, also shutting his eyes just to be safe. "So…Sarah Walker." He cleared his throat. "Is that your real name?"

"As real a name as I've ever had."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that's the only name you're ever gonna get," she answered a little saucily. Instead of being offended, though, it just made him smile.

"You aren't actually an agent with the Imperial Espionage League." He already knew the answer before she confirmed it, and nodded when she murmured a soft "no."

"Maybe instead of asking a load of disconnected and confusing questions, I'll just let you tell me your story. How does that sound?" he asked, turning his head a little towards her.

"I'm not telling you my story."

"Fine. Don't. But at least tell me the things that involve me," he said a little testily.

"I will," she replied just as testily. "You can turn around again. I'm done," she grumbled.

Chuck opened his eyes and shifted on the bed so that he could look at her. She wore a fitted pair of dark gray trousers with a wide belt, an off-white button up tucked into the waistband, a black vest over that, and she was now in the process of braiding her hair in front of her shoulder. Her hand movements were jerky as though she were frustrated.

Was she angry with him?

What had he done? He didn't ask to be put in this situation. He just wanted to feel again like his boots were firmly on the ground instead of feeling like his head was in the clouds. Was that too much to ask?

"I feel like I'm lost," he finally said, his voice quiet and resigned. "Perpetually in a fog thicker than this gunk outside of our window right now." When he glanced at the window, he saw that there was, indeed, a thick fog lurking on the other side of it. "I feel like my entire life is balancing on this fence, and I don't know what lies on either side. I'm being royally taken and I don't know if it's by him, or by you, or both of you at the same time. I've been betrayed by one of my best and oldest friends. I have an entire bank of dangerous information in my head, information that could potentially mean the end of the world if the wrong people got their hands on it. I was just almost killed twice. And I've had more than my fair share of guns pointed at my head in the last three days. So I'm sorry if I'm asking too many questions, or if you feel like I'm being a nuisance, but what else can I do? What would you do if you were in my shoes? I don't mean to be presumptuous, but I have a feeling you would be combating all of this a lot harder than I have been."

Sarah's eyes flicked up to him from her braid, so incredibly blue in the low lamplight. And he hated that he still got lost in them, even now. She tied the braid off with a short black string and let her hands fall to her sides limply. "Perhaps I owe you an apology. Probably more than just one, but one is all we have time for. I lied to you because I believed at the time that it was safer than telling you the truth."

He sent her a flat look, which she studiously ignored.

"I may have been rather harsh. And perhaps I forget you aren't used to this sort of life. The running and fighting and…"

"Shooting and lying and…running," Chuck added.

"I said running."

"So you did."

She smiled a little, though it wasn't necessarily at him, more like in the direction of her feet somewhere. And then she crossed the room to sit on the bed with a few feet of space between them. He felt as though there was an extra barricade of something thick and gritty between them as well as empty air. Something he wouldn't be able to penetrate, no matter how hard he tried. And it made him feel worse.

"So I apologize."

He shrugged quickly. "S'alright. Nobody is perfect."

She let out an amused huff, then cleared her throat and rubbed her hands down her thighs. "I've judged you harshly because I was projecting my expectations of myself onto you. It was unfair. But I have to—I have to ask that you perhaps try to resist judging me too harshly. I don't know what Major Casey may have told you about me, about who I am, but I have a guess and it's probably not very complimentary."

"And untrue?" he asked quietly, a little hopefully.

He knew she heard the hopeful tone because it took her quite a while to answer, and when she did, her features were steady and proud, but her voice had a soft quiver to it. "No, it-it's true."

"Then you are the Ice Queen."

"I am." Her blue gaze didn't flicker once as she stared him down, daring him to lose control or try to run out of the room to get away from her.

So he just sat, staring back. And then he nodded minutely. "What do you want with me, then?"

"What do you mean?"

She knew exactly what he meant, so he just stared at her until she became uncomfortable enough to answer. "It's exactly like I told you on the train, Chuck. The only difference is that I'm not a royal agent. I'm…"

"The opposite of that."

"Right."

"That's all well and good, Sarah, except that it doesn't make any sense. Is Bryce not an agent then? Is he a conman?"

She shook her head vehemently. "No. He is an agent. And I thought you were going to let me talk."

He just shrugged and gestured for her to continue.

"Bryce is an IEL agent, just like I said. And I told you the story about Prototype 534 and the Intersect in almost exactly the same words he used when he told me."

"Why would he tell you? You're a criminal."

There was a flicker of something he didn't understand in her stormy eyes when she looked away. "He had no one else he could trust."

"And he trusted you? That doesn't make sense."

"I wouldn't say he trusts me, exactly." She paused. "But I went to Los Angeles to protect you, just like I said. And my job still is to protect you. As out of character as it may seem, I have no intention of doing anything else."

"If he doesn't trust you, why did he ask you? And why—why haven't you sold me to the highest bidder? You don't owe him anything." He squeezed his knee when he realized he had no idea whether or not Sarah owed Bryce anything. So he added, "Or me. You don't owe me anything."

She watched him quietly for a moment. "I owe him a punch to the nose. That's what I owe him. He asked me because he knew I wouldn't have any other choice."

"What do you mean?" Chuck almost asked, but then he caught something in her blue eyes. Perhaps it was an unwillingness to say much more on the subject…or even an unwillingness to say something that might hurt him? That thought stilled his tongue. Because even though he felt like a coward, even though he was brimming with curiosity, he didn't want to be hurt anymore. Not today. And if there was even the slightest chance that it would hurt to hear her tell him what she meant, Chuck didn't feel like going in that direction. He simply couldn't handle it.

So instead, he moved the ice to the back of his head.

"Did you hit your head?" she asked quietly.

"Just a bump. I'm sure it's alright."

Sarah was suddenly close again, and she was reaching around behind him to gently move his hand and the ice away, replacing it with her fingers that combed through his curls and rubbed at the bump on the back of his head.

Chuck swallowed and felt heat rise up from his collar and he silently cursed himself for it.

"The skin isn't broken, but that's rather a large bump." Then she looked directly into his eyes and his throat seized at the intensity of it. "Your pupils look fine. Are you particularly tired?"

"Uh…nuh," was all he seemed capable of murmuring as he gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. "Well, I mean, of course I'm tired. I've had rather a trying day." She smiled a little and another wave of heat surged up into his face. "But n-no worse than…ahem."

Sarah pulled away then, nodding. "You shouldn't have a concussion then. Keep the ice on it to reduce swelling."

He reached behind his head and followed orders, the cold of the ice behind the cloth a startling contrast compared to the feeling of her probing fingers beneath his curls. "You said you have a plan. Having to do with him." He lifted his foot and pointed at Casey with the toe of his boot.

"Yes, I do. It's going to be complicated. All I can do is ask you to trust me. Again." She shrugged one shoulder a bit sheepishly.

"Again?" Chuck raised both eyebrows. That made her do that thing she did when she was trying not to smile, which turned into an actual smile.

"Stop that," she said through her smile, twisting her lips to the side. "I'm serious. You have to pay attention. I may even confuse myself trying to explain."

He lifted his free hand beside his head. "You have my full attention."

Chuck watched as Sarah Walker's eyes slipped shut and she stayed silent for a few seconds, as if she was preparing herself, gathering the right words, and perhaps even stealing herself for his potential chagrin. He couldn't be sure what must be going through this enigmatic woman's head at any given moment.

Part of him wanted to give up trying to figure her out. It was a futile effort. But then there was a larger part of him that knew he would never be able to stop. She was too fascinating. And God save him but he enjoyed puzzles. She was the most challenging one yet.

Finally, her eyes opened again and she sighed. "I made it up as I went along, to be honest with you. So bear with me." He nodded. "I thought there was a chance you and I might not be able to lose the major after all. And even if we did, how long might that go on? As much as I dislike the man, he's an incredibly skilled bounty hunter. He would find us again eventually. And for as long as we could go on running, there might come a day when we won't be able to escape him again."

Chuck had to agree with her on that.

"So I thought up a bit of a charade. But for it to work, I need you to be on my side. We need to be a team, you and I." She paused long enough for him to realize she needed some sort of answer from him. He nodded quickly and she continued. "Good. God, I can't even figure where to begin. I have been thinking about it all night, and I still can't pin it down." She huffed and tucked a bit of hair escaped from the braid behind her ear.

He wondered at how out of character this was for her, being a tad bit frazzled, unsure, lacking the control she probably craved as a con artist in a society where control and power were…well, a grey area. To say the least. A part of him felt rather privileged to be what must have been one of the only people to see her this way, and then he felt like a cad for it. He didn't know her, he didn't know the Ice Queen. He hadn't even known her, really, before he found out she had been sent by Bryce to protect him, when she was a beautiful, mysterious, sweet waitress and his friend.

"It's all just a jumble in my head and speaking it aloud is going to be…Well, it'll be difficult for me," she continued.

"Take your time," Chuck found himself saying. Odd how some parts of him—namely his mouth and heart and soul—could make him do or say things without the rest of him having any say on it. Sarah's eyes met his for a long moment, then flicked away quickly, almost nervously.

Then she straightened, and he marveled at how he could almost see what he thought might be the Ice Queen take over. Her jaw twitched and her eyes were suddenly full of confidence, sureness, strength. It was as impressive as it was startling.

"I saw in Major Casey something I've seen in plenty of men. Right in the beginning, I saw it. Almost as though he's a little boy trapped in the body of a middle-aged bounty hunter. You challenge him to a race and he's going to accept. Because he likes a good challenge and because he thinks he's going to win." Chuck nodded even though he couldn't figure out where she was going with this. "So I challenged him."

"You challenged him to a race?" She sent him a look and he shrugged sheepishly, readjusting the ice so that a colder part of it was pressed against his head. "I'm sorry. Defense mechanism, remember?"

She blinked. "No, actually I did rather challenge him to a race…of sorts." It was Chuck's turn to send her a look. "It's something of a race…to Bryce Larkin. And that's where you come into play."

"Bryce? Me?"

"Casey knows what I am. Who I am. But he doesn't know what you are. He doesn't know about you…about what Bryce gave you. What's in your head, I mean." She pursed her lips. "He was hired by the government to retrieve Bryce Larkin, and I'm almost certain he must know it has to do with something big, something important. He's smart enough to figure at least that much out. But he can't know about the Intersect. They would never let top secret information like that out of the bag, especially not to someone as unpredictable as a bounty hunter."

"That makes sense."

"And I figured Casey must assume there's a massively important reason for why I have stuck by you all this time."

Chuck caught onto that tack immediately. "Why would someone like you be hanging around an insignificant toy maker otherwise?"

She just looked at him closely for a moment, and he tried not to show how much his own words stung him. "Something like that," she admitted quietly. "So I made him believe it was for the same reason he stuck by you."

The toy maker's brow furrowed and he readjusted the ice again, feeling the water seep through the cloth and drip down the back of his head, down his neck, soaking into his collar. He shivered a little. "To get to Bryce," he answered.

"Exactly." She turned her eyes to Casey, the bounty hunter still seemingly lifeless on the floor across the room. "He was your assistant for about as long as I was your…friend. Wasn't he?" Chuck swallowed and nodded, trying not to dwell on the way she had paused before she called herself his friend. "He wouldn't have stayed that long if he wasn't sure you would lead him to Bryce somehow. So I made him believe the same was true for me. I stuck around to get information out of you about Bryce so that I could find him myself."

"But what would a con artist want with a spy? As someone who is generally running away from the law, why would you willingly go looking for someone who enforces said law?"

She shrugged. "Vendetta. Everyone has someone who has done wrong by them at some point in their lives."

She couldn't have known exactly how much he saw in her face just then, the way her lips turned down and a line appeared between her eyebrows, the way the vibrant blue color of her eyes dulled to a quiet grey. Maybe Bryce Larkin hadn't been the person she was thinking about when she said those words, but Chuck knew now that there was somebody, or multiple people—some entity that had done wrong by her. He wanted to know so terribly what had happened, who it was, how he could make it better. But he was reading too far into things, he knew. Because no sooner had he seen all of those things brimming in her features, that mask slipped over them once again.

"And you made Major Casey think Bryce was that person for you," he breathed.

"I did."

Chuck tilted his head in thought. "I'm following you so far, save for the fact that you're both going after the same thing. Which makes you competition, his adversary. There's no reason for him not to do away with you the moment he wakes up." Chuck paused. "Well, he might try anyway. I'm not sure how successful he would be. My thinking is not very."

Her eyes were somewhat brighter as she turned to look at him, and he thought he detected a hint of a smile, as well. "That's precisely it, Chuck. I'm his adversary. His competition."

Something clicked in his brain. "It's a challenge. You're racing each other to Bryce…through me?" That made him frown. "That's where we reach a snag, though. What about me?"

"Casey wants you to help him find Bryce, and that's what you'll do."

Chuck blinked. "No, I won't." The con woman sighed, her eyes slipping shut in slight annoyance. "I'm sorry, but I am not selling my services to the highest bidder. And I'm certainly not going to lead a dangerous man to Bryce Larkin, whom I consider my friend, in spite of the hell his actions have put me through in the last few months. Even if I were willing, I haven't any idea as to where he might be."

"I know that, and Casey knows that. But you are the one person on this entire damned earth who knows him best. And he did visit you. Recently. If anyone can find him, you can."

"Perhaps. But I won't."

"Then don't. But make John Casey think you will. If we can keep up the pretense that you are searching for him, we can perhaps forestall the man long enough to figure out how to get him off of your back."

"So we keep him around to get him off my back. That makes an awful lot of sense."

"Cut the snark, Bartowski," she growled through her gritted teeth. "Look, I realize it might seem…rather dicey."

"More than rather. Extremely dicey. What if he stays around long enough to figure out our ruse, or worse yet, he realizes that I have the Intersect—that I am the Intersect?"

"We will just have to be careful. Don't flash in front of him."

"Don't f—Ha! You do realize this is something I have no control over whatsoever, don't you? I never know when I'll flash at any given time, and it happens so suddenly that I've been known to end up on my backside, or very near to it. I don't think chronic vertigo will work as an explanation."

"I know, Chuck. But this is the best idea I can come up with outside of dropping his body in the bay—Before you say anything," she rushed on, holding up a hand as he was a millisecond away from arguing against that option, "it is never my first choice to murder another person if I can deal with the situation another way. I know how vehemently against that option you are, and I'm against it as well. So what other choice have we got? Do you have any ideas?"

"I don't want to run anymore," Chuck found himself muttering. "I've only been on the run for a few days and it isn't—I don't want that lifestyle. It's alright for a con woman and it's alright for a bounty hunter. But I've lived in Los Angeles all my life. I have a home there. A business. And sure, maybe it isn't the most profitable business, but it's my business and I like it."

"Then we take him with us."

"One thing."

"What's that?"

The toy maker looked up at the Ice Queen and met her gaze somewhat boldly, which seemed to surprise her just a bit. "Why would I ever trust the Ice Queen, an infamous con artist and assumedly skillful liar and manipulator? Why wouldn't I turn you in? Or at least refuse to give you the time of day? Why wouldn't I be afraid of you?"

"I was hoping you might have a few ideas on that. Because I only have one and I'm not—There's a chance it might not sit well with you—with either of us."

"What is it?"

"Your sister."

"What?" A chill wracked through his body. "No. No, we are not getting her involved in this. Ellie is not going to be involved in this. I'm not involving her in this. No!" he rambled, his voice dying in his throat when Sarah's hand suddenly clenched onto his arm.

"Chuck, she doesn't have to be involved. But Casey knows how important Ellie is to you. And it's probably just as evident to him as it has been to me the last two months that her opinion means a great deal to you."

"What are you getting at?" he asked, tilting his head a little. "Of course her opinion means a great deal to me. Her happiness is one of the most important things in the world to me and I'd do anything to…" His voice faded a little as he realized where she was going. At least, he thought he did. "Sarah, you're not going to make him think you've threatened Ellie, are you?" He almost added that she would never do that, but then he wondered if she was capable of something like that. She was a criminal—though he still knew nothing about her except that Bryce somehow got her to agree to protect him. And that included his sister. Perhaps he wasn't being fair to Sarah, but everything was just so confusing…and hurtful…

"No, of course not. Casey knows you aren't a fool. If anyone ever threatened Ellie, even someone who's as allegedly dangerous as I am," she diverted her eyes to the floorboards, "you would never allow anyone to hold Ellie's well-being over your head like that. I know that."

Chuck just stared at her, taking in her profile and the way the candlelight flickered on her face. The dull tapping of the rain moving down the drainpipe outside of the window was the only sound in the room as Sarah's words echoed in the toy maker's head. She had said it so matter-of-factly, as if she was certain of his good character. And he fancied that perhaps she respected him for it, or better yet, she might admire him.

"Casey would see right through it. He must know at least somewhat the sort of man you are." He wondered if there was any hidden implications in there that meant she thought he was good sort of man, but he decided it was wishful thinking.

He nodded. "Then what do you propose?"

He thought he saw her squirm a little. "Full disclosure, Chuck, Ellie may have asked me a few days before we hopped the train for San Francisco…Well, she asked me if you and I were courting." The toy maker went white as he spun on her but Sarah seemed determined not to look at him, instead keeping her eyes fastened on her hands in her lap. "I wasn't entirely prepared for the question…"

Oh God, no… Chuck squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He could only imagine.

"And she apologized for being so forward," Sarah continued, "but I knew things would be awkward with her if I replied in any way other than…yes."

Chuck cracked one eye open and peered at her, screwing his face up in a wince. "Yes?"

She met his look with an immovable mask over her pretty face. "Yes. I told her we were courting. She was very diplomatic about it, but I could tell she was on the verge of positively bursting."

"Oh Lord save my soul," Chuck breathed, letting his face fall into his hand, the other still holding the ice to his head.

"The last thing you would want is to disappoint her. If I can spin it just the right way with him, it might work. You cast me off and your sister will not only be disappointed, she will be disappointed in you, which is a thousand times worse, isn't it?"

Chuck groaned and pulled the ice away from his head, sitting up and looking at her pitifully. "This isn't exactly making me feel any better about the situation. I don't want my sister to be disappointed, but more than that, I wouldn't want her to be put in danger. By Casey's point of view, bringing home the Ice Queen is the best way to do just that. It's like shoving her in front of a moving steam engine, for God's sake."

Sarah shook her head. "As long as you're looking for Bryce, I have no reason to threaten or hurt Ellie. And for the record, I wouldn't ever—"

"I know," he interrupted. "I might not know…well, anything else about you, but somehow I just seem to know you won't hurt me or my family. I don't know. Maybe I'm a fool." He turned to glance up at her face. The mask was still there, but there was something about it that gave him the minutest of thrills. Because he couldn't help but wonder if the mask was there to hide a mass of emotions beneath it. He hadn't the foggiest what emotions lie beneath the mask at this very moment. But there was something. There had to be something. And for the time being, that was enough for him to trust her. The Ice Queen.

"You are rather trusting, it's true. But I'm not altogether certain you're a fool for it. I mean to prove to you that you aren't a fool for trusting me. Leave Casey to me, and know that if you hear or see anything pass between the two of us, I'm only playing a part." Her eyes were beseeching, and it was something he had never seen on her before. It made him want to give her the entire world. God, if she was playing him for a fool, he would have no defense against her. And it was terrifying.

"We're a team," he said quietly, drying his hand on his pant leg and thrusting it out between them. He wasn't sure how far he trusted her just yet. She had lied to him twice over. And now she had concocted a plan that was so convoluted it put the mind-boggling "Mr. Goldenblatt's Labyrinth" serial that he read in the papers each week to shame.

But Chuck Bartowski found himself needing something to cling to. And when she slid her hand into his with a small, slightly unsure smile, he felt like his feet were firmly on the ground for the first time since before she whisked him away from Los Angeles a few days earlier. The world settled around him, the fog cleared from his mind.

He squeezed her hand a little and took a deep breath, effectively stemming his disappointment when Sarah let go and stood up from the bed. "I'm not entirely sure when Major Casey will wake up, but I'd give it 'til morning." She went into her pocket and pulled a watch out that he hadn't seen before, with what looked like a golden rim and diamond flecked hands mounted on the face. Where had she gotten that? "And it is late. You should rest."

"I'm not tired."

"You are tired. We won't be catching the train until tomorrow morning anyways, whether he wakes up now or ten hours from now. I'll keep watch."

Chuck kept his gaze on her watch. She must have noticed and he detected a hint of a blush as she tucked it away, along with a tinge of frustration and perhaps even a bit of spite that disappeared just as quickly as the watch did. Chuck blushed himself and rubbed his hands down his legs. "I'm not sure I can sleep with everything going through my head."

"Did you flash?"

He shook his head and let out a soft one-syllable laugh. "No. No, I didn't flash. I just—This plan and everything else. I guess I just need time to think."

"Well, then you can help me get this lumpy bastard on the bed so that we can clean up that coffee. If the drug I gave him works the way it should, he'll be waking up with a minor headache and no idea how he happened to fall asleep. I'd rather not have evidence that I drugged him slopped all over the floor."

Chuck raised an eyebrow as he stood and joined her beside Casey's body. "That's a hell of a drug. Where do you even get something like that?"

"Why, the apothecary, of course," she answered with a line between her brows.

They knelt down and each grabbed a shoulder. "Of course," Chuck muttered, which turned into a grunt as they hoisted Casey to sit. "Lumpy, did you say?" he panted. "The man is made out of…Hnnnggg…" They had him slung between them, Sarah holding his ankles and Chuck holding him under his armpits. "He's made out of…" They both grunted loudly as they lifted him enough to flop him onto the bed. The effort caused Sarah to topple onto the mattress breathlessly. "God save us both if he wakes up and finds out he was drugged. I don't think there's an ounce of fat on his body. He is sturdy and not lumpy. Absolutely and definitely."

She rolled to her feet and let out a short huff of laughter. "You're tellin' me."

Chuck immediately grabbed the ice where he'd left it on the floor by the foot of the bed and found that it was just a soaked cloth with pebble sized, nearly melted chips of ice inside. Deciding it would be perfect to soak up the coffee, he ambled over to the spill and began mopping it up efficiently.

"A man who cleans. Now that's certainly a rarity," she drawled, crossing the room. He watched as she leaned back against the wall in the corner near the window and slid all the way down to sit on the floor.

"Cleaning was something of a privilege for me when I was a boy." He looked up from his work and met her gaze across the room.

"A privilege? One of the best parts of being something of a nomad is the fact that I don't have to clean anything except for myself and my clothes." Chuck focused back on the coffee spill, scrubbing a little harder than necessary to distract himself from the burgeoning images of Sarah Walker "cleaning herself". It was indecent and certainly disrespectful. Whether the woman in question was a criminal or not, those sorts of thoughts were completely uncalled for.

Chuck felt his eyes slip shut for a moment as he got lost in a memory. The other kids were out in the yard behind the main building and ten year old Chuck was in the dormitory, scrubbing the floor of the dirt he had tracked in on his boots earlier that day. His ear still ached something awful from the yank the headmistress had given it when she saw the streaks of mud leading to his feet. But he was happy to be there, scrubbing away, because it gave him something to focus on, something to keep him from dwelling on the other things.

"It's easy, cleaning. Everything else goes away." Without looking at her, he turned his face into his shirt to scratch the itch on his nose and went back to scrubbing. "When I lived in the orphanage, the matrons all thought I was odd because I cleaned without having to be asked. The other boys practically had to be beat over the head with a ruler before they even made their bed." He chuckled softly. "In hindsight, I realize it didn't make me many friends." He finished up and pushed back onto his hind legs to admire his work. "Good as new."

She was silent as Chuck picked up the mug Casey had dropped and walked over to set it on the tray.

"Bryce hated cleaning," Chuck continued, trying to fill the silence, trying to force himself to feel like this was a normal, regular situation. And that there wasn't a bounty hunter drugged into unconsciousness on the bed behind him, or the jaw-droppingly gorgeous con artist wearing trousers staring at him from where she sat on the floor in the corner. "He would give me his treacle if I did his chores for him, sometimes. And other times I wouldn't get the treacle, but it didn't matter much since I liked doing it."

Chuck finally turned to face Sarah and removed his jacket, leaving him in his shirtsleeves, vest and tie. He leaned against the dresser and sighed, crossing his arms and looking down at her. She looked so small and young, sitting all curled up with her chin resting on her knees, peering up at him through her long lashes, her hair weaved into a long braid that draped down in front of her. He wondered again just how old she was. And then he shook his head a little.

"Either way," he went on, "the habit stuck with me. What time is it? By the way?"

"Half past one," she replied, reaching up to tuck a few wisps of hair behind her ear.

Chuck sighed and trudged across the room, slumping down to the floor beside her. "Do you always sit on the floor?"

Sarah smirked a little. "It's safer on the floor."

"Are you afraid the chair might break and you'll land on your backside?" He chuckled when she sent him a half-hearted glare, broken up by an amused pursing of her lips.

"No," she muttered. "I'm harder to see down here. But I can still see this entire room, from the door to the window. If an intruder burst into the room right now, I would see him before he saw me."

Chuck nodded. "I see. That makes an awful lot of sense. I don't see how you can be entirely comfortable sitting this way for so long, though. See, I don't have much…erm…padding." He waved his hand around, gesturing to the backside he was at this moment sitting on.

That made her giggle and it was a glorious sound. Because she had already laid everything on the table—well, perhaps not everything. She was still a question mark, a beautiful question mark but a question mark all the same. But she wasn't a sweet, pretty waitress with a refreshingly progressive attitude about life. Nor was she an IEL agent. Chuck had finally gotten to the layer beneath; she was a con woman. She had no choice but to be here, protecting him. She was trapped in this situation by a force Chuck knew nothing about. And the fact that she had let herself laugh at something he said lit a flame in his chest that wouldn't extinguish no matter how many times he repeated to himself that she wasn't here because she wanted to be, but because she had to be.

"Why don't you sit in the chair then?" Chuck shook his head.

"Why not?"

"I wouldn't dream of it. It isn't very often a man as tall as I am gets to know what it feels like to be small and invisible." He smiled to himself and tilted his head back, trying not to lean against the bump that had lessened but was still evident.

She let out a soft huff of amusement and copied his pose, blinking up at the ceiling as he shifted his face to look at her profile again. The candles they had lit in the room didn't reach quite as far down here and there was a strip of shadow across her face. Her eyes shone so brightly still. And the rain was pounding down rather torrentially outside of their window now. "That's what survival feels like, Chuck. It's so easy to survive when you're invisible."

He suddenly wanted to drop his hand on top of hers, but instead he flattened his legs and clenched his hands together in his lap.

They sat in silence for awhile, and Chuck rather fancied that it was a companionable silence. The more moments he had with Sarah Walker, the less he understood why she was labeled as the Ice Queen. Had she started it? Or had someone else? Either way, it just didn't seem to fit.

There were moments of coldness, and then there were moments like this when things seemed rather…warm. Or at least, warmer.

It didn't take long before the low candle light and the rhythmic tapping of the drainpipe lulled him to sleep, and his last thought was a distant musing over how warm and soft his pillow was.

}o{

Sarah Walker didn't move a muscle. She had surreptitiously watched as Chuck's eyelids fluttered. And his hands clenched in his lap loosened a little and fell apart limply, his head bobbing a little as he slowly fell asleep.

And with the images he had awakened in her mind's eye of a little boy version of himself on his hands and knees, mindlessly scrubbing away at the floor, and the most debilitating image yet, a little boy version of Chuck with his curls all askew on his head, straining as he carries a heavy bucket of water around the orphanage, having it slop over the sides as he sways under the weight…

She couldn't help thinking he looked like a little boy as he nodded off. But the heartwarming thought was interrupted when his head tipped and he slumped to the side, his weight pressing against her.

Here she sat now, not entirely sure if she should risk waking him to sit him upright again. She didn't have the stomach for awkwardness after everything else that had happened today. But he was so warm, his face pressed into her shoulder, his nose dangerously close to the underside of her jaw. She could feel his breath against her neck, his weight against her arm, pressing her into the corner.

Sarah Walker shut her eyes and tilted her head back.

She had to get out, if only for a few minutes. To clear her head, to smell the rain, anything that meant she could be alone. She hadn't really been alone for days, and truth be told, she had begun to feel it acutely. And just now she felt as though she were in a shipping crate and the sides and top were closing in on her, crushing her.

She had to get out. Just for a few minutes.

Sarah eased herself out from his warmth and cursed herself for the disappointment that wrought within her. The rain was making the air in the room that much colder, she told herself. And Chuck had been so warm.

But she needed to go somewhere. Anywhere. She knew just where.

With expert skill, she gently laid Chuck against the wall he had just been pressing her against. Because it looked rather awkward and she feared he would awaken with a strained neck, she reached over to grab his jacket from where he had laid it a few minutes earlier and balled it up to jam it between his cheek and the wall. With his makeshift pillow in place, he smacked his lips, hummed a little and readjusted himself to a more comfortable position in his sleep.

She stared at him with a small smile, then shook her head and stood up, refusing to look at him again as she pulled her duster on and grabbed the umbrella leaning against the wall by the door. A moment later, she was stalking down the hallway. And not five minutes after that, she was perched on the roof of the hotel, her boots propped against the shingles to keep from sliding down, her back pressed against the chimney, the umbrella opened and tilted just so to keep her dry.

Some might call it foolish, sitting on top of a roof during a rainstorm, holding an umbrella. But Sarah Walker had long since stopped caring what others thought. And there wasn't any sign of thunder, which meant there wasn't any lightning, either.

Taking a deep breath, she stared out over the rooftops of San Francisco, the rain pelting against the shingled roofs and brick faces of the buildings. Ever since she was a girl, she went to the roof when she wanted to be alone. A place where no one would find her. No one had ever been able to climb like her, not even her brothers.

She had climbed to get up here, after all, when she discovered the drainpipe beside the hallway window. Even with the cumbersome umbrella and the rain making the pipe slick, the con artist found herself on the roof without even an ounce of difficulty.

But she had known beforehand that getting to the roof would not be the difficult part. The difficult part was sitting here, being alone with her thoughts.

Because Sarah Walker was afraid. She thought things might be clearer up here. Things always became clearer when she was high up on some roof somewhere. It was a place where she could see everything. There was nothing between her and the sky. She could reach up and touch it, even. But tonight, right now, in the darkness where she was completely alone, things were just as murky and just as…hard…as they had been inside.

She thought if she climbed onto the roof, the feeling of being pressed so close to the toy maker would go away. But even in this cold rain, the wet roof her duster protected her from, and the dark aloneness of the night, Sarah Walker was unable to escape Chuck Bartowski. The warmth of him beside her was still very much there, surrounding her, keeping the chill away. And she resented it.

Well, she tried to resent it. She couldn't fully comprehend what this was. And she didn't want to comprehend. She wanted to ignore it completely.

Her forehead fell to her knees and she groaned in frustration.

She could still see a thread of unsureness in his eyes while they were speaking tonight after she had drugged Major Casey. She couldn't blame him for it. She had lied so much, and absolutely she had hurt him, a few times over, perhaps. But the important thing was that he was still alive. As close as he had come to…not being alive…he was still alive. And the Intersect was safe.

Sarah shook her head and sighed. They had thwarted an assassination attempt tonight. Moreover, Chuck had done most of it, and had nearly gotten himself killed in the meantime.

Who was this man? What was he? Besides the superhuman information bank in his brain that held the empire's, no the world's, deepest darkest secrets (and apparently numerous skill sets though she had yet to see evidence of that), there was so much about him that threw her for a loop almost hourly. He went from being foolishly brave, bursting into an opera house to stop an assassin with no concern over his own safety, to going into shock outside of the police depot when he was nearly shot. And then he would be quiet and subdued, morose almost. And not a moment later, he would turn around and be candid, forthcoming. She didn't know if it was her or if he was struggling with things on his own. Did he still not trust her?

But then he had shaken her hand, told her they were a team.

That was another thing. She couldn't figure out why he didn't cast her off the moment he found out who she was—what she was. Sarah was allegedly one of the world's most dangerous and violent criminals. Instead of running again when she finally told him the honest to God truth, he sat and listened. He had paid attention to her when she outlined the most convoluted plan she thought she had ever drummed up in her life.

With the few things she had heard about his childhood, his mentioning of Bryce and the orphanage, apparently his life was much more complicated than she had given him credit for all of this time. How much of it had affected his outlook on life? Had his life been bad enough that when faced with a notoriously dangerous criminal, he didn't run screaming bloody hell in the other direction as others might? Or had she so effectively worked her way under his skin that he shirked aside his better judgment and trusted her? That thought made the darkness around her seem that much darker.

If she were honest with herself, she wanted to know everything about him. Not because it would help her to understand the way his mind worked, thus making it easier for her to manipulate him into doing what she wanted him to do. But because she just wanted to know.

What she really wanted was to go back into that room and wedge herself in between Chuck and the corner again, except this time she would wrap her arms around him. But she couldn't. She wouldn't.

Things were hard enough. She didn't want to think about that anymore.

And then there was Casey. She was scared her plan wouldn't work, and she would come into the Buy More after a shift and find it empty. Or she would find Morgan standing there alone. And he would tell her Casey and Chuck had left suddenly. And she would never see Chuck again, because he would be locked away in a government lab near the Imperial Espionage League headquarters, having tests done on his brain.

Or maybe she would find Chuck dead, with no sign of John Casey anywhere.

But there was something in the man that made her hesitate. A sincerity in him that was hidden beneath grunts and scowls. Perhaps if she played her cards right she could utilize that. He was a capable bounty hunter, but might he also make a choice protector as well?

She shut down that thought immediately. He couldn't ever know the truth about the Intersect or about Chuck. Or he would take the toy maker away, ruin his life, leaving sweet, incredibly boisterous Eleanor Woodcomb without a brother. The woman was quite obviously strong, capable, independent, and definitely intelligent. But losing her brother would shake the very foundations of her existence.

Sarah only knew that Ellie and Chuck had grown up in the orphanage together, but anything outside of that remained to be discovered. She wanted to know everything about Chuck and Ellie, and she wanted to keep the toy maker safe, to do what she could to make sure his life was as normal as possible.

And God, why did she still feel that warm flutter in her chest? Even alone. In complete darkness.

As the rain lightened to a drizzle, Sarah Walker stared over the rooftops, listening to the hum of an airship passing high over the city, its silver hull obscured by rusty grey-brown clouds.

In the few nights she had spent with Bryce Larkin years ago, she would escape to the roof and let the cold London wind strip the handsome agent's hold on her. She would rediscover herself, revel in being alone again. It had only been two days, perhaps three at the most, and she barely remembered the details now. But what she did remember was that her nightly trips to the roof had rub Agent Larkin out of her mind, off of her skin.

And that made it all the more confusing that it wasn't working this time.

A/N: What'd I tell ya, huh? So much packed into one conversation. My only hope is that you're all on the same page as I am...or I should say, you're all on the same page as Chuck and Sarah. If not, send me a PM. I'll do my best to clear it up for you! Thanks to mxpw for letting me bounce my ideas off of him when I hit a brick wall!

Please leave me a review if you can! I love feedback!

SC