A/N: What a trip you lot are! So invigorating to read your reviews and see how many of you visited the story and read it (hopefully)!

Thank you very much! I'm indebted to you all!

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.

And now I present to you...Ellie Woodcomb, nurse and women's rights activist and coalition officer extraordinaire! About to hand Chuck his own ass...Or should I say hat, rather...Pip pip!

The Woodcomb residence was dark. There was no light flickering in the space between the drawn curtains, which probably meant that Ellie and Devon were either working night shifts or they were already asleep.

So while Chuck had missed his sister, and while he wished he could get this conversation out of the way, he bypassed the short path to the Woodcombs' front door and instead snuck to the stairs on the side of the building that led up to his residence.

Alas, the steps creaked with each movement he made, as light on his feet as he attempted to be. And he winced when he heard a door down below open, then shut again.

Ellie didn't have to say anything. Because he knew she was there, at the bottom of the stairs, probably in her nightgown and robe, her arms crossed, and that look on her face. The look that meant he was in a great deal of trouble.

So when he turned to look down at her and instead found concern on her tired features, he just felt generally upset. Guilty.

"Want some coffee?"

Chuck knew that was less of a question and more of a request that he followed her inside so that they could talk. And there might also be a mug of coffee involved. One that he had to admit he needed.

He nodded and walked down the stairs, trailing after her and trying in vain to steel himself for the conversation he was about to have with her. The toy maker couldn't remember the last time he was nervous about speaking with his sister. Things were always so easy with Ellie. She knew everything about him. His trials and tribulations, the things that made him different from other people. Everything he had been through as a youngster, Ellie had been through as well. She understood him on a level that no one else on this entire damned planet could.

And that was why keeping the most intense change to his life as he knew it a secret from her was suddenly weighing heavily on him. So much so that it was as though someone was pushing down as hard as they could on his shoulders.

He had discussed it with Sarah on the train ride coming home. And she insisted that the only way to keep his family safe was to keep them in the dark. The less Ellie knew, the less important she would be to the IEL or IBoMaD. And the less likely it would be that Casey found out the truth.

Oh God. Casey.

That brought up a whole slew of concerns, so he forced his mind to focus on the situation at hand.

Ellie was silent as she began to brew the coffee, steam rising up around her as she stood with her back to him. Chuck sat at the small kitchen table in the rickety chair Devon had promised Ellie he would fix but apparently hadn't yet, trying his best not to move in order to keep from bringing it to his sister's attention.

"We are almost into the twentieth century, Charles Irving. Can you believe that?"

Chuck frowned in confusion, then sat up a little straighter. "Yes. I-I mean no?"

She turned to smile over her shoulder at him. It was a little wistful. "I know you think I'm going to yell at you for disappearing for almost an entire week without any word besides a little note slipped under my door."

He watched her eyebrows raise and then he sighed with a nod.

"I'm not, Chuck. You are an adult. You have your own business to run and despite a few bumps along the way, you have made the Buy More successful. I trust you to make decisions that are in your best interest. You don't need me to—"

"I'll always need you, Ellie," he interrupted with a warm smile.

She gave him a lengthy side-eye over her shoulder before turning to face him fully and crossing her arms, leaning back against the counter. "Don't take this the wrong way, brother, but I sincerely hope not."

He let out an amused huff.

"And you didn't let me finish. I was going to say you don't need me to lord over the decisions you make with the Buy More. I'm not upset with you for hopping a train and rushing out of town for business purposes, whatever they may have been—"

Chuck was ready for this, so he opened his mouth to tell her exactly why he had gone to San Francisco.

But Ellie held up a hand to stop him. "We'll get to that later, rest assured. But I just want to make sure you realize the repercussions that come with disappearing on a whim the way you did."

"Repercussions?"

She sent him a flat look, then rolled her eyes and turned back to the coffee pot, taking two mugs from where they hung on the rings over the sink and filling them almost to the brim. Both of them preferred their coffee black, but for some reason, he found himself reaching towards the center of the table and picking a cube of sugar out of the small sugar bowl that Ellie put there for Devon.

Ellie didn't say anything as she set his coffee down and watched him plop the cube into the mug, but she did blink and pause for a moment. Then she sat across from him, sipping her coffee quietly. "Chuck, you can leave me a note saying 'Be back soon' and then disappear into the night like some…phantom toy maker. I'm your sister. I have to put up with you even if you are thoughtless."

"Hey!"

She just shrugged and raised her eyebrows, swallowing her coffee.

"What point are you attempting to make, here, El?"

"My point, Chuck, is that even though you were a little thoughtless running off on a business trip without giving me a proper explanation, I know it must have been for a good reason. Because I know you. And I know you're usually incredibly considerate. But other people don't know you as well as I do."

"Other people?" Chuck pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Like whom?"

"I love you, Charles, but sometimes you haven't a clue in the world." He frowned. "Sarah, Chuck! The woman you happen to be seeing, or courting, or whatever you two are doing spending so much time together."

In spite of everything that had changed in San Francisco, especially where Sarah Walker was concerned, he felt himself blush. "Ellie, I…" He stopped and sighed.

"Please. I know if you left me a measly little note, you didn't leave her anything at all. And what do you think she has been wondering this entire time? I can tell you what I would be wondering."

"Please don't," Chuck interjected.

"I would be wondering if you cared about me, or if you were tired of me; any number of things, all of them bad." She stared at him, daring him to look away.

He did. "Ellie, things aren't as simple as that."

"Simple? Oh Lord, here we go." She pushed herself up from her seat and walked to the counter, lifting a glass cover off of a loaf of what looked like cranberry bread. "You and making things complicated. Just because you create complicated inventions and—and build machine-people like Morgan in your workshop, you think everything else in your life has to be equally complicated. In my mind, there's nothing in the world that's simpler than love."

Chuck inhaled hot coffee and began choking. He could practically feel his sister rolling her eyes as she went to the corner and pumped a bit of water into a cup and brought it to him. He thanked her in a rasping voice after he emptied the cup of its contents in two long gulps.

Love?

"Things—ahem—things haven't progressed that far, Ellie. Yes, we've been spending time together, and she seems to enjoy my company well enough, but things just aren't…progressing. On, you know, on that front, and that's alright."

"Then make them progress."

"What?"

"Do you want this woman, Chuck?" She slammed a plate down in front of him with a slice of cranberry bread on it, then leaned both palms on the table across from him and towered above him.

"I don't want to rush."

"Then you don't want her."

"I do," he found himself saying, and even though it was what Ellie probably should be hearing at that moment, his inner demons were cackling at his expense. "But I have all the time in the world, and I don't want to move too quickly and risk scaring her off."

"Well, the average life expectancy of a man in 1896, with the air quality the way it is and the crime rate at an all-time high, not to mention that whole bit with you almost being shot by a patrol two months ago, means you have anywhere between tomorrow to sixty years from now to live." Chuck realized he must have looked a little traumatized by that. "That isn't a lot of time. So you'd better not wait too long."

He paused with a chunk of bread at his lips. "Uh…"

"And I'm sure you haven't done yourself any favors by disappearing without letting her know. She must have noticed after six days of getting absolutely nothing from you, poor girl. That's no way to show a woman you care about her, Charles. You know better than that."

Did he, though?

As if she had read his thoughts, Ellie glared at him through her eyelashes.

He did.

Maybe Ellie couldn't know about the Intersect. And maybe she couldn't know that the strange information bank in his brain was the only reason Sarah Walker was in his life in the first place—why she continued to stay in his life. And maybe Ellie couldn't know that Sarah wasn't a waitress at the Aviator's Timepiece and was, instead, the Ice Queen, a widely feared and allegedly dangerous con artist wanted for too many things to list.

But this was his sister. The one person who understood him best. The person he had heretofore spent his entire life with. And talking to her in the past had always made things clearer at the very least, if not better. And the truth of the matter—deep down underneath the layers of complicatedness and sticky smelly gunk and the implications—was that he had feelings for a woman he knew he could not have. The reasons for it were immaterial, whether it was her profession or her beauty or her strength and bravery. He just knew he couldn't have her. And even if it were possible, she would never have him.

"Ellie, the truth is that I'm constantly reminded, whenever I see her, that a fellow like me…" He stopped and waved his hand around a bit, searching for his words. "…I don't fit into her world. And she doesn't fit into mine. I mean, on a completely superficial level, have you seen her? She's the single most exquisite thing that has ever existed."

"You're right," she replied easily, a small smile on her face as she plopped down in her seat again and folded her arms on the table top, tiredly resting her chin on them. "That is superficial. Sarah is certainly a beautiful woman, Chuck, but what has that got to do with anything else?"

He huffed and rolled his eyes, dropping his head against the table.

"Get your head off the table. I put food there," she muttered and he lifted his head to give her an offended look, narrowing his eyes and gaping. "Sorry," his sister shrugged sheepishly. "Chuck, I seriously urge you to consider Sarah as a person instead of some living, walking, talking piece of art or something."

"I do consider her a person!" he snapped, straightening his shoulders defensively. For Ellie to suggest otherwise hurt a little.

"But you think because she's particularly pretty, she wouldn't be interested in a silly looking fellow like you," she said, smirking in an apparent attempt to show she was teasing with him. "Chuck, that's very urbane of you, attempting to save such a glorious creature from the grasp of an incredibly responsible, upstanding, thoughtful, hard-working, sincere, loyal, honest, and handsome man like you." She gave him a highly sarcastic look, lowering her chin and peering at him through her eyelashes.

He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. He was going to tell her the truth, and maybe there were a million other things he was forced to keep a secret from her, but this one thing…this he needed to say. This he could say.

"I just don't want to create a false sense of excitement for a relationship that seems doomed." It hurt to say it out loud, but this was Ellie. He had at least this that he could be candid with her about.

She looked incredibly confused, and the pessimistic voice in his head reminded him that he could credit her confusion to Sarah Walker's acting talents. "Well, why is it doomed?"

"Because she doesn't have feelings for me. Not like that." Not like anything, the pessimistic voice in his head piped up again. He wished the pessimistic voice in his head would shut up.

Ellie scoffed, her eyes glittering in her tired face, the gaslight she had turned up when they first entered the room illuminating her features even further. "Hm."

"Hm?"

"You amuse me greatly. That's why 'hm'." Chuck blinked and she let out a soft groan of frustration. "Chuck, trust me. I have seen the way that girl looks at you and she does have feelings for you. Absolutely 'like that'."

He couldn't help the small, slightly surprised smile that lifted only half of his mouth. "Really?"

She waved her hand and shook her head, putting both palms against the table and pushing herself up to her feet again. "It's none of my business." Chuck tilted his head and gave her a flat look, pursing his lips. She caught it and put her hands on her hips. "What? It isn't. I shouldn't be prying into your romance with Sarah. Like I said earlier. You are an adult and if you think it prudent to presume things about that girl's heart for her, then go on ahead."

"Ellie…" he drawled in a low voice.

"No." She held up a hand to stall him. "I won't pry."

"Fine. Fine, Eleanor…Tell me what you think I should do."

"I don't have any right, telling you what to do."

"I am asking you, though. Please."

She was silent, her hazel eyes fastened on the wall behind him. And then she burst to life suddenly and sat again, scooting her chair in and leaning close. "I have one question."

"Ask."

"Really?"

"Ellie…"

"Alright, alright. Here it is." She leaned even closer, her fingers surrounding the coffee mug in their grip. "Do you have feelings for her?"

"El, you already—"

"No, I didn't. I asked you before if you wanted her. There is a difference between wanting someone and having feelings for them. I am asking you if you have feelings for her."

His sister's hazel eyes were so intense that he almost had to look away. Instead he looked right back and took a deep breath. "I do. Definitely."

She made a soft squeak and quickly pressed her fingers over her lips in an attempt to calm herself when he sent her a stern look. Her features ironed out significantly and she lowered her hands to smooth the table top unnecessarily, considering there was no tablecloth laid upon it. "Sorry. I'm sorry. No excitement. I'm sorry. I'm composed."

"But that doesn't mean that this is going anywhere."

"Chuck, she told me you were courting. She wouldn't say that if it weren't true."

Chuck blanched. That was right. Sarah warned him about this. "She-She didn't mean it in that way."

"What?" Ellie giggled shortly. "What other way is there? Either you're courting or you aren't courting."

"Well, we aren't but it's fine and I'm happy," he lied.

"You better not be stringing that lovely girl along. You do realize she helped me pass out flyers three Saturdays ago, don't you? She's smart. She has gumption. And she likes you. Do not ruin this for yourself." Chuck blinked at her and she backed off a little, having the decency to blush. "I apologize for that outburst."

"That's alright. But you know now. Where I stand, at least."

"I do." She nodded once and surprisingly didn't say anything further.

"And?" Chuck prompted.

"And what? That was it."

"What?" He gaped around the crumbling morsel of cranberry bread he had just tossed into his mouth.

"That was it. I don't need to know the intimate details. I just want you to be happy and as long as that's the case, it's enough for me. And I don't—I don't want to nag you about your future and your job. I don't want to be the sister that pesters you into oblivion—"

"No. No, no. Ellie, you are not a pest."

Her slightly frazzled look softened a little at that and she sunk into her seat comfortably. "I just know what an incredible fellow Charles Bartowski is…and sometimes, I'm not so sure that he knows it." She reached across the table and laid her hand over his, squeezing affectionately.

"Well…" He let out a small huff of shy humor, looking down and laying his free hand on top of their joined ones. "I shall make a real effort to remember that, then."

"Good." She winked and pulled back then. "I had a long shift today, so I am going back to bed." Ellie stood from the table and pulled her robe a little tighter around her. "I won't tell you what to do about your romantic troubles, Chuck. Only you can figure that out for yourself. But something I have always found helpful with Devon…Maybe try talking to her. Settle things. Figure out where she stands, and maybe that will help you figure out where you stand."

"I know where I stand, El."

She smirked a little, that all-knowing look in her face. "Do you?"

He made a face at her as she turned down the light and he got up to follow her into the entry way.

"Had a fellow come into the hospital today with a shattered hand. Got in the way of a broken piston. It was incredibly nasty, poor man."

Chuck made an entirely different face then as he paused by the front door and looked over his shoulder at her as she stood a little further down the hall that led to the bedroom she shared with her husband. "Is there not some sort of rule about patient confidentiality or something?" he asked in a dry voice.

She scoffed. "No. Do I look like a lawyer to you?"

He chuckled, watching her walk down the hallway. "G'night, Ellie."

"Mhmm." She lifted a hand over her shoulder and disappeared into her bedroom, the door shutting softly, and Chuck turned to leave, locking the door with his own set of keys behind him.

As he trudged up the stairs towards his own floor, he felt just as close to his sister as he always had, he realized. Even with everything he had to keep from her, there were certain things he could confide in her about. But even as he felt close to his sister, their conversation had made him feel that much further from Sarah Walker.

The fact of the matter was that she was tied to Los Angeles by some inexplicable…something…that Bryce held over her head. And if those ties were cut, there would be nothing left to keep her here. What he had told Ellie was true. She had her world and he had his. And never the twain shall meet. But that didn't mean the rushing of his blood in his ears was any less deafening when her stormy blue eyes looked into his. Or that his heart didn't pound furiously against his ribcage at the sight of her smile, especially when it was a sincere one that snuck out when she wasn't paying attention.

Before he opened his door, he let his forehead thump against the thick wood, and then he slipped his key into the lock and went inside to sleep for as long as his body would let him.

}o{

It had been two long weeks since San Francisco. The last person in the world she had wanted to reveal her secret identity to knew everything now.

Well, not everything. There was still so much about her left to reveal, but there was no chance in hell that would be happening any time soon. Or ever.

Sarah's plan had worked so far, and for the last two weeks things had been going as smoothly as was possible, considering the circumstances. Casey sent her looks whenever she visited the Buy More and Chuck led her into the workshop. Some of them she could decipher (outright spite, dislike, annoyance), and others were mysteriously calculating. Those looks made her keep a closer eye on Chuck, and if ever she found herself finishing an overnight shift, she walked the short distance to the Buy More that morning and spent the rest of the day helping Chuck, Casey and Morgan. The second time she had shown up after an overnight, she was forced to wonder if she looked completely terrible, because Chuck had promptly led her into the small back room with a cot, and fixed it up for her to nap to her heart's content. Since then, she had used that cot a handful of times in the last two weeks. It was important for her to tell herself Chuck was playing the part of the besotted and therefore doting sap that Casey was supposed to see, but she knew it was just that the inventor cared for others on impulse. It was in his nature.

It helped that napping in the room behind the workshop meant she didn't have to go all the way home, and instead was at hand in case Major John Casey the "toy maker's assistant" decided to pull anything underhanded.

Even after the deal she had struck with the bounty hunter in San Francisco, the fear that she had misread him as an honorable man permeated nearly every moment she spent away from the toy maker.

Like now, for instance. She frowned deeply as she wiped the counter with a damp cloth, wearing her typical Timepiece uniform. Right at this moment, Chuck was probably tinkering away on some toy or another, sitting at his work space, waiting for closing time. Perhaps he would work past closing time, even. He had a habit of losing track of time, especially if Morgan was there to close up shop for him.

That android truly was a marvel. Even with his—its metallic appearance, Sarah sometimes forgot she wasn't speaking to an actual human. Only for a moment, because then he would misunderstand what she was saying. Or he would slouch over as though someone had turned the off dial, before standing up again right as rain a few minutes later. As though he had to recharge for a spot of time.

So strange.

Shaking her head, she sighed in slight annoyance as a gust of warm wind blew in from the entrance, alerting her to the fact that a patron had entered the Aviator's Timepiece. She cocked her hip and looked up, only to see the lanky toy maker himself.

"Chuck. What are you doing here? The Buy More doesn't close for…" She turned to look up at the clock. "…four hours."

"I sent Casey on an errand that might take him a few hours, then I plugged Morgan in and closed up shop."

Sarah furrowed her brow. "A few hours? What could possibly take him a few hours?"

He suddenly looked rather tickled, his grin crooked, as if he was well aware of his own cleverness. It was a good look for him, and as he leaned his elbows over onto the counter, his face a little closer to hers, she could smell a mixture of metal, fire, and…meat?

That is unexpected.

"I sent him on a delivery. A box of toys, as a matter of fact."

"Yes, but that shouldn't take him hours unless he is delivering the box to…San Diego."

Chuck's grin widened a little and her hand unconsciously clutched onto the cloth a little tighter.

"No, no. He isn't leaving Los Angeles. As a matter of fact, it is only a twenty minute walk from the store. It all hinges on the customer in question. She's actually one of my favorites. One of a kind woman, Mrs. Duncan. Very special. Actually, she ordered the toys I made because she wants to have them delivered to a boarding house for children over East ways." He was obviously waiting for her reaction, so she smiled a little. "Casey thinks he is going to show up, give Mrs. Duncan her box of toys, and be on his merry way once again. Only thing is, Mrs. Duncan is elderly, lives alone, has a caretaker visit once in the morning and once at night, and she has plenty of stories to tell. Especially when she meets someone new. Even a stony-faced bounty hunter like John Casey will be defenseless against her tea, cakes and conversation. You mark my words, he will be there for a good two hours. And he will enjoy it."

Sarah couldn't help it. A bubble of laughter erupted from her, ending in a soft giggle. "Why, Chuck Bartowski, you are quite the sneak when you want to be."

He grinned widely and shrugged, and the con woman had to literally turn away from him to rearrange the glasses on the shelves behind her when she felt a wave of heat rush up from beneath her high collar. Perhaps she had overworked herself today.

Because there weren't any other patrons in the Timepiece, she instructed him to have a seat, then she went into the kitchen and brought him a freshly baked muffin and hot nutmeg. She set them in front of him and took the seat across from his, resting her elbows on the table and gently massaging her wrist. Waitressing had been doing her no favors where her wrists were concerned.

Practicing throwing her knives in the privacy of her home had certainly lent her some strength in that area, though.

"So why did you send Casey to Mrs. Duncan's? Is he fighting with Morgan again?"

"If you can call it that," Chuck said a little distractedly. "Uh, no…" He seemed to snap out of it a tad. "No, it wasn't that. Well, they do get into one-sided arguments that I have to step in the middle of to keep Casey from tearing Morgan's arm off. But I can handle those."

Sarah watched as he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and produced a silver flask, unscrewing the top and dumping a bit of the amber-colored liquid into the hot nutmeg. He almost put the lid back on, then thought twice of it and tipped the flask, pouring a bit more in. Apparently satisfied, he tucked it away.

Since when had he carried a flask with him? A spike of worry assailed her. Had she been looking after his physical safety for the last two weeks so closely that she had neglected signs of mental or emotional distress? Was that even in her job description?

She silently reminded herself that there really were no guidelines where this job was concerned. She had to create them herself. Outside of making sure Chuck Bartowski didn't die, there really was nothing else that could be expected of her. At least, Bryce hadn't specified anything.

But was this all affecting the toy maker so much that he had taken to drinking? She was skilled in the art of discerning a drunk—the bloodshot eyes and slurred speech, repetition, that special sheen on the skin of their faces, mood swings. They made for easy targets, definitely. But Chuck wasn't her target. He was her charge. And the truth was that even though it might not be in her job description, she couldn't let Agent Larkin's thoughtless actions cause Chuck Bartowski to fall into the same downward spiral that his erstwhile best friend had fallen into. She refused to allow him to lose his footing just because things were hard.

He must have recognized her confused, and perhaps even startled, reaction to the flask, for his eyes widened and he sat up a bit straighter. "I'm sorry. I realize it is terribly rude to do that in public, but I've—I've had a day that would make dinner with Vlad the Impaler feel like a tea party." She let out an amused huff of air at that. At least Chuck was well read on historical figures. "You must know I don't—I don't indulge as often as the regular fellow, but after…" He sighed gustily. "After today I decided this was necessary. If only to calm my nerves. Erm, Devon—my-my brother-in-law bought the flask for my birthday last September. Said it'd put some hair on my chest. Ha." His smirk faltered as he met her gaze. "That's definitely not something I meant to share. I have—There's hair on my chest." He looked mortified. "This has been a really long and horrible day. I'm going to drink this now."

He did just that, half-guzzling the hot brew before setting it down and gasping a little.

As relieved as she was to see his characteristic rambling and his inherent need to explain his actions and thoughts to her, as relieved as she was to know that he hadn't developed bad habits out of some sort of depression or malfunction in the Intersect, she felt unsettling prickles of worry in her breast. "Your nerves? What are you nervous about?"

"Besides everything, you mean?"

She gave him a flat look.

"I apologize. I came to you. I'm interrupting you at your job. I'm sorry. Really, I don't mean to be rude." She shrugged her acceptance of his apology. "It's Casey, Sarah. You made a deal with him, and by extension, do did I. He wants to find Bryce. And I see him sitting at his work space every day…literally vibrating. Today, he came up to my desk and asked me about our favorite agent of the Imperial Espionage League. He asked me how I expected to find him. And I haven't the foggiest idea. I had no answer for him, I tried to deflect, and I think that's made him suspicious. Suspicious that his leg is being pulled by both of us."

Sarah sat back against her chair and stared thoughtfully at the table top. "It has been two weeks."

"Exactly. Two weeks and I haven't made a move to even try to find Bryce. Any longer and I think he might try to kill me. And I am being supremely literal when I say that." Chuck leaned close over the table. "I saw his finger twitch at his side when he asked me about Bryce today. That finger. You know, the one that is required to pull a trigger? A trigger on a gun?"

Chuck looked a little pale, so she gently reached over to push his nutmeg closer. "Drink more of that and don't freak out." She paused and took a bit of a whiff. It smelled delicious…the spice of the nutmeg and she thought perhaps the rum that must have been in Chuck's flask. And still…that tinge of meat.

"Right. Right, thank you." He took a large gulp and winced again when it was most likely still too hot. "Oh, I almost forgot that I brought you lunch."

Sarah's eyes lifted from his mug to watch as he reached into his jacket to produce first one thing wrapped in paper and then another from a different pocket.

How many pockets does he have?

She supposed an inventor required a multitude of tools that he always had to have at his disposal. Perhaps one day, someone might invent something handy to carry your tools on your person in one accessible place.

He handed one of the wrapped things to her and it was warm to the touch, though that might have been his hand from holding the mug of hot liquid. She looked down at what she realized was a pigeon sandwich now that she could smell it properly. "Compliments of Mr. Blandings, of course," he quite nearly chirped.

"Thank you. You really shouldn't have brought me lunch. I would have made do with a muffin." She flicked her gaze to the honey and oat muffin she had given him a few minutes earlier.

"It was nothing at all."

They took a few minutes to enjoy their lunch in what felt to Sarah like companionable silence. It was strange, sitting here with this man, alone in the pub where she waitressed, eating their food with a content sort of gusto…when he knew about her. He knew she was a con artist. He knew she was the Ice Queen. And perhaps there was even a chance he had seen other things about her in one of his flashes. She couldn't be sure and she didn't think it would be helpful to ask. It all depended on how much information the government had collected on the Ice Queen over the years. And whether she had made it into the Intersect or not.

How was he not running in the other direction? She was grateful to him for it, but mostly she found herself just plain confused. And perhaps even more curious about him than she had been before. What sort of a man was this, and how many more surprises did he have up his sleeve?

"Chuck, Casey is getting restless. And frankly, I'm surprised he has been patient for this long."

"Maybe he realizes that I'm rather helpless in this situation."

"Perhaps. But you have to make an effort to find Bryce," she said.

"How?"

"Let him see you…looking around the workshop for something having to do with Bryce," she tried. "Is there any chance at all that he might have left you something when he first brought Prototype 534 to your shop?"

"The only thing he left was this damned Intersect," Chuck grumbled in a worryingly resigned tone of voice. She honestly could not blame him even a little. But she had to pull him out of his dark cloud of self-pity. She needed his brain. It was a good brain, she knew. He was clever, intelligent. And two heads were better than one. (Which was something she never would have found herself saying before she met the man who was now unwillingly harboring the government's most important secrets.)

"Chuck, I need you to think."

"Sarah, he didn't leave anything behind."

"Alright." She believed him. "When was the last time you saw him before that day, then?" she asked.

"Years ago. I was around sixteen at the time, I think. So…ten years. Give or take some months."

Sarah cursed inwardly. "Well it wouldn't hurt for us to try, would it? I mean, when Major Casey returns from delivering Mrs. Duncan's toys, you can make a bit of a show of it, rummaging around through your things…"

"How long will that forestall him, though? Today, perhaps. But what about tomorrow or the next day or the day after that? This cannot last forever. He's smart. He won't be fooled for much longer," Chuck reasoned. "And besides, if I did have something from Bryce, it wouldn't be in my workshop, it would be at home."

She looked up at him as he idly sipped his nutmeg and rum. "Let's finish our lunch and look there, then."

"What?" He blinked. "Don't you have to finish your shift?"

She daintily finished the last bite of her sandwich. "No," she shrugged.

He seemed incredibly confused by that and she wasn't entirely in the mindset to explain further, so intent was she on thinking of some possible way they could ward off Major Casey for another extended length of time. It wouldn't be easy, and perhaps it would require action on both of their parts.

But Chuck was right. This wouldn't last forever.

And soon she would have to come up with a more permanent solution.

A/N: I would love one o' them review thingies...

Adventure is on the horizon...as well as a layer of soot and possibly some grease or something. Careful, don't slip!

SC