A/N: Didn't expect to see this so soon, did ya? I've made you all lower your standards. That's all the rage these days. Just keeping up with the times. ;)

So anyway, I'm going to skip the ado's and just let you get into the nitty gritty of things. There's going to be a lot of plot movement and action/adventure coming up soon. Strap in.

Disclaimer: I'm not making money from this. These aren't my characters. CHUCK doesn't belong to me.

Quick refresher: Chuck and Sarah told Ishmael Grand they're IEL agents searching for the AWOL IEL traitor Bryce Larkin, belatedly finding out that the IEL sent a replacement handler after Bryce's disappearance. That agent, an Agent Marcel Gibson, blessed Chuck and Sarah with a surprise visit.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet Agent Gibson.

Sarah ran to Casey's room, anger pooling in the pit of her stomach. The tone the IEL agent had taken with her was just as distasteful as the instant liking he'd obviously taken to her as well.

And she was yet even more angry that her body had shivered the way it had when he'd stepped up as close to her as he had. She'd felt the warmth of him, and the strength of him, something crackling in the air for a split second.

She cursed herself for it, for she knew with absolute certainty that this had everything to do with the fact that she hadn't had a man in her bed for far, far too long.

The man was obviously a worm with a handsome face and a good body.

But she pushed all of that out of her mind completely, because Chuck Bartowski was currently in their room alone with a man who wouldn't blink at shooting him dead if he felt it necessary.

That she was sure of.

And it was truly the only thing she was sure of at the moment.

She prayed to all deities that Casey was in his room, the way he'd said he would be last night. The man refused to do business before he ate. It had made her roll her eyes at the time, but now she was incredibly grateful for it, because when she rapped her fist against the door, it took a few short seconds before he ripped it open, a look of disdain on his face.

"What in bleedin' hell're you—?"

"Agent Gibson found us, Casey. He's in my room."

His eyes widened. "Where's Chuck?"

"Also in my room. With a gun pointed at his forehead, I'm quite certain. He told me to retrieve you so that we could all talk. I think it's safe to say Grand found him before we did."

"Hell bats. Let's go, then."

As they walked, Sarah rushing to keep up with Casey's stride, she watched him tuck a gun in his belt, and knowing Agent Gibson wouldn't take kindly to that, she put a hand on his arm.

"Wait. The gun…"

"This bastard wants a gun fight, he'll get one."

"You're going to get Chuck killed."

Casey growled and pressed his lips together. "I'm not goin' in there without my gun," he whispered, leaning his face close to hers, gritting his teeth.

"I didn't think you would. But put it somewhere where it isn't quite so obvious, you idiot," she said through her own teeth. Honestly, men made her crazy in the worst way.

The brainless buffoons.

He narrowed his eyes for a long moment, and then he curled his lip with a grunt and pulled his gun out, stuffing it down the back of his pants this time, fixing his vest, and marching on.

"We're doing what I said we were gonna do," he told her, leaving no room for argument. "The government hired me to find Larkin. You're my assistants."

"What?"

"You and milquetoast are my assistants. Just like I said. There ain't no way around it now. He knows you're both with me. That means he knew we were up to somethin' even before Grand told him. Because Grand don't know about me."

"Good point," Sarah agreed. "Fine. I'll let you take the lead here. But if you misstep, even slightly, I'm taking over."

He sniffed at her.

Sarah shook her head as she followed him, pausing only for a moment as he opened the door and stepped inside.

He slowed significantly and put his hands up by his head as Sarah saw that Gibson had trained his gun on the newcomer instead of where it had been pointed—at Chuck.

She felt better.

"The hell you think yer playing at, buster?" Casey growled through his teeth. Sarah shut the door behind her as she stepped inside.

"Very prompt, beautiful. Can't say she doesn't obey," he said, sending Chuck especially a look. Sarah ignored the blatant jab at her ladyhood and wondered what sort of a conversation Gibson had with Chuck while she was retrieving Casey.

She could see he was actively trying to get under Chuck's skin, and she silently willed the inventor not to take the bait. He was a smart man, Chuck Bartowski, but he was still a man. And jealousy mixed with masculinity was never a good combination. No matter how morally superior the man in question was.

Thankfully, Chuck stayed silent, in spite of the thundercloud brow he was flashing in the IEL agent's direction.

"Now that we're all here," Gibson continued, moving into the center of the room, gun still at the ready, "Why don't you all tell me why you're here?"

"S'wrong with a little vacation?" Casey tried.

He received an eye roll for his efforts.

"Shall we perhaps try that again? Except this time, no deflecting. Just the truth. I'm the one with the weapon, after all."

Little did he know…

He wouldn't have it for long. Sarah was in the process of formulating a plan. One that would put her back in control of the situation.

"Arright," Casey growled, huffing and lowering his head. "Fine. I take it yer Ishmael Grand's handler."

Gibson narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything.

"Oh, come now, Agent Gibson. You think I wasn't briefed by IBoMaD about the operation going on down 'ere? I know about Big Theo, Grand bein' in the IEL's pocket, an' what yer doin' 'ere." Casey let that soak in then took a few steps closer. "Only reason we're at this hotel's 'cause we tryin' to find Agent Bryce Larkin."

Sarah studied Gibson closely, watching as his green eyes lifted to Casey's face, much more alert now. Apparently the name had rung a bell for him.

"You know who he is, don'tcha? On the lam from the gov'ment." Sarah pondered the deepening of Casey's accent. Was he doing it to sell the story? Why was he affecting an accent to sell something that was true? He was a bounty hunter. And he was after Bryce.

"I know Agent Larkin, yes. Word went out to all of us to keep our eyes open for him."

"They tell you why?" Casey asked, and Sarah found she couldn't help exchanging a quick look with Chuck that neither of the other two men witnessed. Casey didn't know, except that he'd gone AWOL and IBoMaD wanted Casey to bring him back. He wasn't important enough or trustworthy enough for IBoMaD to fill him in on the Intersect.

For that matter, did IBoMaD even know about the Intersect? Perhaps the higher ups. But anyone else most likely didn't know. From what Bryce had told her, the Intersect was above top secret. That was why they'd gotten him—one of their best—to retrieve it from the automaton where they'd stashed it for years.

Thankfully Gibson shook his head a little. "I don't need to know why. What are you doing looking for Larkin? Did he spurn you, ol' boy?" the agent asked, and Sarah couldn't stop the small smirk.

Unfortunately, Gibson saw it, and he made eye contact with her, a spark of pride lighting his handsome features, and she frowned immediately. It did nothing to hurt his apparent pride.

Damn it.

For some reason, she glanced at Chuck, and he diverted his gaze quickly, swallowing. So he'd seen the exchange as well. She was annoyed with how much that bothered her.

"The Imperial Bureau of Machinery and Defense hired me to find him. Got a contract and everythin'."

The agent lowered his gun just a tad, a doubtful look on his face. "You're a bounty hunter?" His gaze slid down Major Casey's brawny form, then back up again. "It wouldn't surprise me, were it true."

"I am a bounty hunter. Contract. Like I said. I can find anybody you want me to find. They know that. They pulled me in on the situation." Casey grunted and gestured with a flick of his head towards where Sarah and Chuck stood. "They kin tell ya."

"And who are…they?" Gibson settled his eyes on Sarah again. That strange softness happened again, his lips smiling, almost as if on their own, without him being aware of it.

"I can't always do this work alone."

"A bounty hunter hiring help?"

"S'wrong with that? Good to have folks you can trust to have your back when yer out there."

Gibson tilted his head and walked closer—closer to her, Sarah was chagrined to note. He swerved a little towards her and smiled again. "Is it?" he asked without any real interest, his gaze not wavering from hers. "And what's your name, beautiful?"

She didn't reply, instead turning her head to look at Casey. He wanted control, she agreed to give it to him. He nodded minutely in response.

"Agent Gibson, meet Ashley Saphead and his wife…Beth."

Sarah schooled her features before any of the emotions broiling inside of her could show, as Gibson was staring straight into her face still. She turned back to look at him again, really taking him in, studying him. There was something unsettling deep in his green eyes, something that made her uncomfortable in a new way—in a bad way, but it was just so…strangely different, this feeling. She wanted him to move away from her.

That, combined with the charm that seemed to come so naturally to him, a charm that was sincere but still somehow…lacking.

And Sarah wondered what was wrong with her that spies, particularly those in the IEL, managed to continue to intrigue her, in spite of her resistance. Was there some sort of imbalance in her makeup that made her that way?

Either way, this wasn't the sort of man that she'd ever pursue. Or maybe she would. In some other situation, with less at stake. But then there were other factors in play, weren't there? Or…factor. Singular.

Her gaze flicked over to Chuck unconsciously again.

He was glaring at Casey openly, since the agent wasn't facing him and therefore couldn't see or interpret that glare. She could, however, and she was sure he was just as unhappy about Casey's continuation of the marriage business. There was no reason for her cover identity to be married to Chuck's. But Casey found all of this too enjoyable to pass up, apparently. If so much wasn't at stake, she'd hit him. Perhaps she might let Chuck do the honors. He looked angry enough. She would provide the drawer.

"Wife?" Gibson turned to look at Casey in astonishment, and then he let out a sincere chuckle that came from deep in his chest. "Well, I suppose I'll let you all have that one."

His disbelieving gaze rested on her and he grinned, his teeth surprisingly straight and pristine. How many women were attracted to him for his teeth alone, she found herself wondering? A good smile, a nice voice, strong figure, and a handsome, angular face. She wondered if, like Bryce, he found his job was made that much easier by how physically appealing he was.

Hers was. It was something she'd learned to harness and use at a young age. Was he the same? That had been part of the draw with Bryce—it was physical, yes. But there was something about the life she led that he'd shared with her, even though they were on the opposite sides of the law.

"I do have to wonder, however…Beth? May I call you Beth?"

She could feel how badly Chuck wanted to answer, and she was impressed by him when he didn't, instead letting her handle the situation. "You may call me Mrs. Saphead." It took everything in her not to wince at the ridiculous damn name Casey had made up a few days earlier.

"What, may I ask, is the incentive for a woman such as yourself to join a bounty hunter on such a dangerous escapade to find such a dangerous man?"

"Money," she replied easily. "Or are you confused about what it is that a bounty hunter does?"

He rocked back on his heels and laughed, holding his gun up by his shoulder jauntily and taking a few steps back. Thankfully. She was getting antsy with him standing so close.

"Hate to change the subject, Gibson—" Casey started.

"Marcel," the agent interrupted. "I've always hated Gibson. My grandfather's name. I hated him."

"Much as I'd love to hear all about little Marcy's sad childhood," that earned Casey a glare with just a smidgeon of humor in it, "I'm pressed for time. We have a manhunt to get on with. We want to know about Larkin."

"Mm. Agent Larkin. Yes. Poor sod."

"What do you mean, poor sod?" Chuck spoke up.

Gibson turned to look at him as though he'd almost forgotten he was there. "Hm?"

"Poor sod. What's that supposed to mean?"

"I can't imagine he's alive, is all." The offhand way he said it told Sarah that the man had been in espionage long enough that death had most likely become routine to his existence. Or he knew Bryce and hadn't liked him at all.

"Wut makes ya say that?" Casey asked, standing up straighter, his face alert, prepared to get news that would mean he'd get paid a lot less than he'd bargained for.

"He was desperate when he was here."

"When he was Grand's handler?" Sarah asked.

"No, no. After that."

"He was here after that?" Casey moved closer.

"Mm. Yes."

"When was this?"

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "A month…maybe more like two months ago. The days are hard to keep track of when you're rushing around in here like a damned servant. I know why I became a spy and not a waiter." He paused. "Any of you have something for me to smoke? I left my cigarettes in my room."

"No," Casey growled. "Was it one month or two?"

Gibson narrowed his eyes, his mustache twitching a little, then he swiped his finger over it. "A little over two, I suppose. It was a shock for me. I hadn't expected him to waltz right into Grand's room. Luckily I caught him before he could kill my asset."

So Bryce had returned here not too long ago. Had it been before or after he left the automaton with Chuck? Before or after he blackmailed her?

"You say he was desperate?" she asked.

"Very. Looked like he'd been tied to a train's caboose and dragged a few miles." He shrugged. "I didn't know him at first. I'd never met Agent Larkin, never worked with him. Only heard tales of his exploits. He nearly brought down the Ice—"

"What did he come here fer?" Casey interrupted, before Sarah could manage to do it. She wasn't sure if he'd interrupted Gibson there on purpose, because he knew he was going to say Ice Queen, or if it was merely a coincidence and he was tired of the agent's incessant tangents. Either way, she was grateful.

"Money."

"How do ya know that's wut he was after?"

"Ishmael told me later. I'd headed into his room because I had some orders from Langley for him. I heard another person in the room, then I heard a tussle. So I burst in, saw Larkin sitting on my asset with his arm twisted behind his back like this." He demonstrated nonchalantly. "I shocked Larkin enough that it he let go of Ishmael and stood up to face me, holding a knife at me. I didn't need a picture of him to know this was Agent Larkin. Not with the way he and Ishmael seemed to know each other. And the desperation. I knew he was on the run. It was obvious."

"What happened?" Chuck asked. "Did he run?"

"Eventually. I roughed him up quite a bit first," he said with a proud smirk. Again, Sarah ignored the glance he sent her way.

"You let 'im go?" Casey growled, stepping closer. Gibson's gun came up again and he moved away from Casey, closer to Sarah. Good. He was playing right into her hands.

"No, I-I didn't let him go. I had every intention of trussing him up and throwing him in Ishmael's closet 'til the calvary arrived, as it were." He cleared his throat and fixed the lapel of his waiter's jacket. "It just didn't happen to…work out that way."

Casey smirked and Sarah knew exactly why. She couldn't help smirking back at him as she followed his line of thinking.

"Din't work out that way 'cause he whooped yer sorry ass, din't he?"

"He didn't do anything of the sort," the man said through clenched teeth. "I'd just worked an overnight shift preparing for a morning brunch in the ballroom for Big Theo and his scum friends. I was tired, caught off-guard…"

"And he whooped your ass," Chuck finished.

Sarah heard much more glee in his voice than was entirely necessary, but she couldn't blame him. It was probably a balm on his worried heart to hear that Bryce had escaped alive, and to hear that this man had gotten bumps and bruises out of it probably made it that much better. No, she didn't blame him.

"He took my down from behind," Gibson snapped over his shoulder at Chuck.

And it was the perfect opportunity for Sarah to slap one hand down on his wrist, the other wresting his pistol away from him. A moment later she was looking up the barrel of the gun into his green, startled eyes as he lifted his hands up by his head in surrender.

Then there was slow melting of his handsome features, and he finally smiled in a charming way that showed his teeth. "My, my, you are something else, Beth."

"Mrs. Saphead," she said immediately. "I didn't much appreciate the way you were waving your gun around. Not very professional for a special agent."

"He ain't so special, maybe," Casey grumbled, taking the gun from Sarah as she reached out to hand it to him. He turned the gun on the agent and then gestured for him to take a few steps back from his assistant.

Gibson complied, amusement in his face. He didn't seem all that threatened. He was obviously experienced, seasoned, and he'd been in these situations before.

"So he overpowered you and escaped," Casey growled.

"I told Ishmael to run. And before I could turn back, he hit me over the head with some…blunt object. Probably the ash tray. Right in the temple." He huffed and tapped his temple. "I was out cold."

Casey grunted. "And he escaped."

"He was gone when I came to. And Ishmael told me Larkin had begged him for money. Tried to appeal to his humanity." The agent scoffed. "Apparently he had no idea that word had gotten out to the rest of the agents to look for him. I caught him by surprise, as well. Anyhow, he took a lot of Ishmael's money that he kept lying about in his room. Don't know how much, or how far it got him."

To Atlanta, Georgia. Sarah was sure he'd used that money to track her down, however the hell he'd managed that, and go to her. It was after his return to Coronado Island that Bryce decided to blackmail her into protecting Chuck.

The timeline worked out.

But that wasn't information she felt like relaying to Casey. Not because she felt any need to protect Bryce, but because she had no great desire to go to Atlanta again. It had been so muggy, every night leaving her more tired than the last. As angry as she'd been about missing out on a good con to go babysit Bryce's toy friend, it had been a blessing to leave the wet heat of the South.

"You don't know where he went?"

"My guess is somewhere north of here. You go up far enough and there's just a lot of flat farmland. Even further north, you get the hills, then the mountains. Good places to hide out."

She got a bit of satisfaction out of Gibson being flat-out wrong, in spite of the self-congratulatory smirk he wore as though he knew everything there was to know.

She doubted he knew how to program an android to read a newspaper and retain the information he—it read there. Or how to make a person laugh even though she'd thought she was incapable of sincere laughter, of joy.

And she didn't know why her mind went in that direction. Chuck didn't deserve to be compared to this ball of slime.

"Yer guess is worthless to me," Casey grumbled, scratching his stubbly chin with the muzzle of Gibson's pistol. "But hell, 'least we found somethin' here. Wherever Larkin is, he's sure to be desperate still. Warrants out fer 'im. Agents lookin' fer 'im. No friend in the world."

She didn't appreciate the sneer he'd thrown in Chuck's direction. She imagined Gibson wouldn't know the significance of Casey directing his comment at Chuck, but she did. And Chuck certainly did. Instead of glaring, however, she noticed the inventor's shoulders slump. He was worried about Bryce. She knew he was. In spite of everything his boyhood friend had done to ruin his life, to put him in such incredible danger, to hurt him…Chuck was worried about him.

A wife would console her husband, set his mind at ease, perhaps she would wrap her arms around him and let him burrow into her warmth and strength. But if she did that now, it would confuse Chuck—he wouldn't know if she were acting a part or sincere. And Gibson would be suspicious of why she felt the need to console him.

It was best not to awaken suspicion in the man, best not to draw attention to Chuck's glumness.

She ached to tell him Bryce was okay, that he was a skilled fighter and a great spy. She would've surely met her end at his hands if he hadn't let her go. He was the only person to ever catch her long enough to figure out whom she really was. Bryce Larkin was a survivor, just like she was. He was out there somewhere, alive.

"Right, then. Our work here is done," Casey said, lowering the gun to his side. "Thanks fer the speck of information on our outlaw, Agent Gibson."

"Marcel." Gibson's eyes flicked over to Sarah. "Please. Marcel." And then he shook his head. "If you mean to take the ferry, you can't."

"What do you mean, we can't?" Chuck asked, lifting his head from where it had sagged. He was alert again, showing no signs of his momentary slump.

"The ferry doesn't run again until Monday. This is a weekend resort. People come on Friday and leave on Monday. The city saves money not running the ferry on Saturdays and Sundays, so few people travel those days."

"What are we supposed to do?" Chuck asked. "We only booked the room until today. Our check-out is at—"

"Easily fixed. You'll be my guests."

Sarah blanched and to her annoyance, Gibson noticed, closing the distance between them.

"Oh, that's sweet, Mrs. Saphead. I didn't mean in my room, unless…" She glared. "No, no. I didn't think so but I thought maybe I'd ask…" He chuckled and moved away, and she was frustrated that she felt heat in her cheeks. Sexual frustration was perhaps the worst kind of frustration.

But then there was a fist in Gibson's lapel and he was pushed back a few steps. Casey grit his teeth and glared down into his face. "You think bein' a pretty boy makes it right fer you to talk to ladies that way? Especially a married lady."

Gibson didn't say anything, merely giving Casey a flat look. "If she's married, I'm a snake."

"Interesting choice of reptile," Chuck spoke up, stepping in close to Sarah and stringing an arm around her waist. "What if she's married and you're a snake?"

Sarah wasn't sure what to say or how to react, so she merely placed a warm hand on top of Chuck's where he politely grasped her waist, wanting the gesture to appear intimate but not wanting Chuck to feel anything but…Lord, she had no idea.

"Where can we sleep?" Casey growled, getting them back on track.

"Let go of me and I'll take you. Meet me at the kitchen entrance in the back of the hotel with your luggage. One hour. I'll fix everything."

And then he wrested himself out of Casey's grip, fixed his jacket, winked at Sarah, and brushed out of the room.

}o{

"You know, Mrs. Saphead, I could finagle a bed in the hotel somewhere for you, I'm sure," Gibson threw over his shoulder as he walked them down the back path towards the place he'd called "Tent City".

The man refused to relent.

She slid her arm through Chuck's, her hand squeezing his elbow. "I only sleep with my husband. Thank you."

She forced herself not to blush as she felt Chuck tense next to her. Maybe she could have phrased that better.

"The tents are much more grandiose than they sound. They're all fully furnished. But I must warn you, for a married couple, the two bed arrangement is—"

"Arright, cut the crap and stop bein' such a piece o' sh—"

"What is the Tent City?" Sarah interrupted Casey as fast as she could. Even though the bounty hunter was doing right by calling the IEL agent a piece of shit, the fact was that Agent Gibson was capable of destroying Casey, and by extension Sarah and Chuck. Casey was a contracted bounty hunter. All Gibson had to do was send a telegram to his superiors and Casey's contract would be over. And what would happen to her and her charge?

Gibson outstretched his arm, gesturing at the rows of tents that stretched quite a ways down the coastline. There was a main street of sorts that cut down the middle of Tent City. Carriages drawn by horses with guests on the back avoided the rail on which a trolley carried passengers down the rows of tents and back up again.

"It's for our busiest season, usually. But there's been a big boom in tourism even during off seasons the last two years thanks to the fishing industry and folks settling in the area. The tents aren't quite as expensive as the rooms in the hotel, and to be honest with you, it's a way to bring people in for a new experience," he said, turning to walk backwards as he explained the city to her.

"A new experience?" Chuck asked. "Ah. Roughing it, hm?"

"Exactly. But as you'll see, it isn't exactly 'roughing it'. Each tent has a floor, cots, furniture. Only thing they're missing is electricity and running water. If you want those, you need to book a room in the hotel."

"Rather bohemian, isn't it, Ashley?" Sarah mused, mostly in Chuck's direction.

"If it has a floor and is furnished, it's definitely not the worst place we've slept." He grinned down at her in that way of his that made her think perhaps they'd be alright in the end.

He was such a funny man. Snapping out of his funk and joining in on the fun with their married banter, even looking like he was enjoying it a little. She thought maybe she might take a page out of his book, be optimistic. Maybe it would help her think.

They eventually wound their way through the first row of tents moving outward from the main street, a little boy chasing a puppy very nearly missing slamming into her skirts and shouting an apology as he kept running.

It made her giggle and she felt Chuck's eyes on her. She didn't know what he was thinking but she sought not to meet his gaze. She had a feeling what would be there, and she didn't have it in her to see it. It would just complicate everything.

"You asked for two tents. Here is the first. Major Casey, I assume you don't need two cots. So this one is yours. A bit smaller than the other."

Casey just grunted and shrugged, starting for the entrance that was revealed by one of the flaps being tied to the post, out of the way, letting the cool air waft into what might've otherwise been a stuffy interior. Sarah could see the dust wafting about in the sun's rays that stretched in through the entrance.

But then the bounty hunter stopped and turned towards them. "Where the Sapheads stayin'?"

He ended up following them one row down, two tents over.

"This is where the Sapheads will be. And with that, I have lunch to serve. Bloody kitchen staff can't do a damn thing without me there." He sent one last small look in Sarah's direction, then tipped his head and sauntered off, mumbling something about "I went into the IEL for this?"

Casey gestured for them to go into their tent. Having left his own bags just inside the entrance of his, he grabbed a few things from Chuck and walked in, setting them down and looking around, before turning to wait for them to stalk into their tent after him.

He rushed to the entrance, looked out left, then right, and yanked the flap closed. The tent walls and ceiling glowed enough under the sun's light that it wasn't too dark, at least.

"Christ, Casey. At least let me light a lamp firs—" Chuck tried to say, but Casey interrupted him as though he didn't say anything at all.

"That bastard wasn't lyin' about the ferry. I checked while you two were packin'. The next one don't leave 'til Monday. In fact, there ain't no ferry here. They're all docked back in the San Diego port." He grumbled. "So we're stuck here for a few nights."

"No," Sarah said, looking at both men who seemed resigned. "We're not stuck here. You heard Agent… Bighead." That seemed to please Chuck a little. "He's going to be in that kitchen all the way up there in the hotel, and most likely for the rest of the day. We need to leave."

"But…Sarah, no ferry. We can't leave without a ferry. I'm not swimming that." Chuck gestured towards the water that separated their peninsula from San Diego proper.

"I'm not suggesting we swim, or even get off the island. But we can at least find rooms somewhere on the other side of the peninsula. Somewhere away from…him."

Casey smirked. "Why's that, Walker? Is Mrs. Saphead feeling little flutterings in her chest at the attentions of the strapping mustachioed agent?"

She didn't owe either one of them an answer. She caught the way Chuck's jaw clenched and he looked away. Jealousy didn't suit him at all, and she couldn't help wondering if all men were inherently stupid where women were concerned.

"With a spy from the Imperial Espionage League hovering around us, not any one of us is safe. You realize that, don't you?"

"You're the only one who isn't safe, Walker. Being a con woman. And not just any con woman, but the Ice Queen. An upstart like that bastard," he tossed a thumb over his shoulder, "would sell his soul for the chance to bring in the Ice Queen."

"Well, he isn't going to find out she's the Ice Queen, is he, Casey? Because you aren't going to tell him." Chuck closed the distance, putting his face close to Casey's. "You heard what he said. Bryce was here. And you had no idea, did you?" Casey diverted his gaze, narrowing his eyes. "Gibson surely told his superiors about his run-in with Bryce, and they surely sent agents down to investigate. And yet, they didn't see fit to give you that information, did they?"

Casey was silent. He didn't seem to have an explanation for that. And Sarah wondered if Chuck had just helped along Casey's distrust of the people who had hired him. Her toy maker was brilliant. She had to actively work not to let her features lighten with pride.

"Anyway, Sarah…We can't leave. He would only find us," he said with a shrug as he turned back to her.

"We keep moving so he can't find us. Nothing good can come from us staying in Tent City where he'll absolutely know where we are. He has time to get word to an informant in the city who will pass that along the way to the IEL's California headquarters. They'll be able to confirm that Major Casey doesn't have assistants. He never has."

Casey shrugged. "I've always been a bit of a lone wolf. S'true."

"He'll know you lied. And if you lied about having assistants, he'll know you lied about something else, something bigger. Then he'll wonder who we are," she argued, gesturing between her and Chuck.

"By the time he gets any of that information, we'll be long gone," Casey shrugged. "And you don't think it'll arouse his suspicion if we up and disappear next time he comes back to check up on us?"

She folded back into herself moodily, crossing her arms.

"What-what if we just use this as an opportunity, you know?" Chuck offered, facing them both, clasping his hands together in a soft clap, his smile tentative and a little crooked. "We can maybe just…enjoy ourselves for a few days. Like-Like a vacation! Yes! I don't ever get to vacation, and Sarah, I'm sure you haven't vacationed in awhile, and Casey—Casey, you—You probably hate vacations, don't you? That seems like something you'd hate."

Casey sniffed, looking a little offended. "I love vacations."

Chuck blinked. "Oh. Well, see? One of the brochures in the Del lobby said there's an exhibit in the gift shop at the end of Tent City. About the tar pits. Fascinating! There's also a swimming pool. That'd be rather nice, huh?"

He frowned a little at the lack of response.

"We're stayin'," Casey announced, pointing his finger at the ground, and then he left the tent, throwing the flap out of his way.

Sarah spun on Chuck before the flap even closed again, pinning him with a glare. "What the hell was that all about?"

"What? I just think it's best we stay. We can't afford to piss of the IEL agent, can we?" He shrugged. And he was right, but she was miffed that he'd gone against her. They were supposed to be a team. Honestly, she might've just been miffed in general. All of this was enough, without the added stress of figuring out what they would do once they got back to Los Angeles. How would they continue to fend off Major Casey? It was merely by chance they found the postcard that led them here. And she was sure there weren't any other clues just lying around Chuck's bedroom.

Apparently Chuck wasn't thinking that far ahead. She supposed that was her job.

"I don't care who we piss off. I just don't want to be here anymore," she snapped, walking to the cot on the other side of the tent, lugging her suitcases with her, and plopping down on the cot with a huff.

"Well, maybe we can…" He frowned thoughtfully, then snapped. "There's the cliff house down at the pier. They sell carnival treats there, and you can swim, or just look out at the ocean. Might be a nice distraction from…well, from everything. Maybe we can find sandwiches, like the old days. Won't be pigeon, of course, but—"

"No," she interrupted, more snappy than she knew was necessary. She was upset and tired, though. "I have to think. We have to stay at least one step ahead of this agent now, on top of staying a step ahead of Casey, and I have to think."

He sighed and his shoulders slumped. For some reason, that made the storm cloud over her grow even darker.

There was a defiance about him as he turned towards the tent exit. "Well, I'll go alone, then. Or do I have to ask for permission first?" He turned back and bowed mockingly, which didn't help matters.

She bit down a mean reply, instead ignoring him. And he swept out of the tent, leaving her alone in the gloom. She slumped over in her cot and pushed her face into the pillow.

This just kept getting worse, didn't it?

}o{

He walked through the dust kicked up by a passing carriage, squinting through the mid-morning sunlight at the tourists enjoying themselves.

All of them were very obviously wealthy. Women wearing their finest jewels and baubles that perfectly complimented their expensive and fine gowns. Men in perfectly tailored suits who had watches with gold chains hanging from their pockets, beautifully shined shoes with intricate broguing, and flawless top hats that practically glittered in the sunlight.

He was almost envious. But this wasn't an appropriate place nor time for envy.

It took awhile for him to wander through the tents, tipping his own less perfect hat here and there when he passed families who sat outside of their tents. A young lady's maid even sang to the child she bounced on her lap as he walked past. She smiled up at him in a happy way—he found he couldn't help smiling back, glancing at the scene over his shoulder one last time before he continued on.

What he wouldn't give to be one of these people. He wasn't naive enough to imagine these smiling, laughing people with money had no troubles at all. Of course they did. Everyone did. To be human meant having cares and worries.

But none of these people had the Intersect. None of these people had to fear the government catching them and locking them in some laboratory to study them, or throwing them in a deep pit and covering it with a mile of dirt to keep others from obtaining the secrets in their head.

And he would take any of their cares, any of their worries, if only it meant he didn't have his own anymore.

Chuck stopped and looked up at the massive building that towered above him. It hung half over the bay, held up by stilts that disappeared into the sea underneath. The windows were large and glass, the royal seal imprinted on a flag that flapped majestically at the end of its pole jutting up from the roof.

He turned and let his eyes feast on the vivid colors of the carnival surrounding the cliff house. He hadn't imagined a carnival would be here when he read the Tent City brochure.

A man strode past him on stilts, looking down at him and miming for him to smile, before moving on his way. Chuck did, but only because he imagined how much he'd enjoy having stilts such as that. He didn't think he'd ever be able to do it without breaking his arm, or his neck.

But higher powers be his witness, he'd damn well enjoy trying.

Then there was the dart vendor, handing a young dapper fellow some darts so that he could impress the pretty brunette standing beside him, a parasol held over her head, adorned from head to toe in pristine white.

Once, the toymaker had tried to invent darts that hit the target every time. He'd thought if he did the right calculations, he could weight them perfectly and it would make it easier to get a bullseye. But he'd eventually scrapped that idea when he realized it'd be used for cheating.

That said, this poor fellow could've used a dart like that. Chuck winced and moved away from the then stopped to stand behind a small audience who sat under a tent and watched as a man behind a large box on four legs slowly turned the crank and projected a moving image onto the white screen he'd hung before them.

They ooo'd and ahhh'd as the woman on the screen danced to her right, touched her toe, then danced to the left to do the same, dipping to and fro, before turning to look out at them all and smile.

It was beautiful. Mesmerizing.

And as Chuck moved on, he imagined another lifetime in which he might have the money to recreate a machine like that—one to record and another to project. In that lifetime, Sarah might dance the way the woman had in the moving image he'd just watched, her blond hair flowing down over her shoulders, and when she smiled at him as he stood behind the camera, turning the crank to record…

But it was silly to let his mind wander like that. Because that lifetime wasn't this one. In this one, he'd allowed himself to slip again, to imagine a connection where there was none. Or perhaps he hadn't imagined the connection between him and Sarah. But if that were the case, he then had to realize that connection could never truly amount to anything.

He didn't begrudge her for not accepting his offer to join him in exploring the cliff house and carnival at the end of Tent City. He wasn't bitter at her, though he was bitter.

A distraction from their troubles, he'd said. When in reality, he'd just wanted to spend time with her. And not in the stifling warmth of the tent in which the reality that he was a prisoner in all of this, completely helpless, was so apparent.

No, he wanted to spend time with the Sarah who had every so often allowed herself to lower her guard and enjoy…Well, just enjoy.

But he was such a fool. Always with his head stuck in the clouds, and not the mucky ones that stayed unmoving over Los Angeles and its people. He had his head stuck in white wispy clouds he'd seen in portraits painted before industry and steam and overtaken everything.

Every time he let his yearning to connect with her take control, extended a hand in friendship and enjoyment, it was like she slammed the door in his face and said hand got caught in it.

It hurt him.

But he didn't blame her for it.

Someday, if some higher power was looking out for him at all, the Intersect would be gone. And with it would go Sarah Walker. The Ice Queen. It would wash away all of the terrible strife, the headaches, and the mental stress of seeing everything he saw in his flashes. And Sarah Walker would be washed away as well.

Off to continue her life of crime. Away from him. Far, far away from him. With some other identity, a new name. Sarah Walker no more.

And his constant need for her attention, for her approval, for that look she got on her face when he impressed her by improvising with Grand…All of that would make watching her go that much worse. He needed to stop seeking even more time with her.

So that he could stop hearing the tone in her voice when she shut him down. The way the ends of her words were so clipped and hard. The way her voice and features held no reciprication of what he felt for her.

She was upset, he could tell as he'd left the tent. Not at him, he thought. She had said it before, and he believed she meant it: none of this was his fault. He hadn't asked for the Intersect.

But this must be so frustrating for her. She had to do everything, think of everything. Their plans, their next move going forward, their attempts to keep Casey from finding out the truth, how to stay safe from everything that threatened.

It was all on her shoulders. He had a lot to lose, of course, but she was the one who had all of the responsibility. He basically just had to do his best to not die.

And he felt personally responsible for her stresses, even though he knew he wasn't responsible.

Chuck turned the corner and peeked down the row of vendors, wandering past a puppet show, a man selling fried treats, and another selling wooden swords for children.

This wasn't his fault, but she was stuck here because of him. And he hated that. For so many reasons. The first of which was that she was trapped in a place she didn't want to be in, and with a person she didn't want to be with.

He ignored the ache in his chest as best he could, sticking his hands in his pockets and staring at the man blowing glass as a group of teenagers looked on in fascination.

There was another reason why he hated her being stuck here because of the Intersect being in his head.

She wasn't here willingly. She'd been blackmailed to stay by his side. It had nothing to do with…him. If the Intersect wasn't in his head, she wouldn't be in his life. That one thing was what trapped her here. Never could he imagine her staying by his side for any other reason.

And that was driven deep inside of him, banging painfully against his chest, every single time he thought of the Intersect in his head while thoughts of her were also in his head.

The two went hand in hand. And when he got rid of the Intersect, the woman he'd come to rely on in so many ways would have no reason to stay.

She wasn't here for him.

She was here for someone else.

To protect someone else. He felt that was how Bryce had blackmailed her.

Because in spite of the way she seemed resistant to acknowledging it every so often, she was human. She was a person in this upside down world. And he couldn't imagine her going through these lengths for something trivial. He couldn't imagine something like money, or any other material object, being the reason why she put herself through this. It had to be a person she cared about greatly. Someone she…loved.

And protecting him—protecting some inventor and toy maker she'd never have any reason to care for in any meaningful way—was the only way she could protect that other person.

Maybe he should've just agreed with Sarah.

Maybe if he had, she wouldn't be sitting alone in their tent being forced to find some way to get them out of a predicament again because he'd resisted her the first time.

He coughed up a few coins for a bag of popcorn, the red and white bag he held in his palm matching the tent where he'd bought his snack.

If he'd just agreed with her, they'd be on their way somewhere, running again, yes, but safe again…for now…

And then he stopped dead in his tracks as he turned to leave the popcorn seller.

Because the woman he'd just been thinking about, the woman who'd just made his heart ache and sing simultaneously like nothing else ever had, was slowly moving through the crowd of carnival goers. Her long black skirt hugged her slight waist, the white blouse tucked into it. One sleeve went all the way down to her wrist, and the other, he observed, had bunched up halfway down her forearm.

She didn't seem to care as she swept her gaze over a gaggle of children playing with marbles in the dirt. Her hair was flowing nearly halfway down her back, naturally wavy, save for the bit she pulled up and tied behind her head in some sort of twist that gave her such an enigmatic appeal.

Sarah Walker stood out in a way he thought no one ever had before, in any time, in any crowd. Helen of Troy might weep in envy at the sight of this woman, he thought, not giving any mind to how sappy he was.

He saw the weight of everything in her even as she smiled at the children and moved past them. He saw her strength, her curiosity…her wonder, as she took in the sights and sounds and smells of the carnival.

And then he realized what her being here meant.

After her biting brush off in the tent, she'd found it in her to wander out here anyway. Was she looking for him?

How much did it take for her to leave the tent and follow him? Something told him it wasn't his protection that brought her here. It was her humanity, that kindness in her he saw so often, that kindness in her he was afraid she didn't recognize in herself. She followed him because she was good.

And in that moment, the one thing he wanted more than anything—even more than he wanted the Intersect out of his head—was to find a way to make her see what he saw, to make her see she was good in spite of the bad she'd done. That good people did bad things…but that didn't mean she didn't deserve to be treated like a person. He wanted so badly for her to know in herself what he knew in her.

Right then, her blue eyes lifted across the dust-filled air to meet his amber-colored gaze…And he saw the flash of regret in her face that told him he was right, that she'd come here to be kind and not just to make sure he wasn't harmed. Then there was the soft flash of relief, and then a smidgeon of sheepishness. Before the mask was back.

They met in the middle, stepping together and stopping.

He watched as her cheeks took on a soft hue of pink, and her eyes diverted a bit, and her mouth opened, no sound coming from between them as she obviously tried to find the words that might make up a good enough apology.

But he didn't want or need her apology.

He just needed this moment to last a little longer. He needed this day. He wanted it so bad, every part of him ached with it.

Instead of saying anything, instead of requiring her to say something, Chuck simply pushed the bag of popcorn out between them and tilted it in her direction.

Her eyes rose to meet his and he smiled, shaking his head just enough to visibly set her at ease. Her tense shoulders eased and her fingers that had been twisting together in front of her lowered to her sides.

Suddenly a grin stretched over Sarah Walker's face. She almost seemed to melt towards him. And then she schooled her features a tad and delicately picked a kernel of popcorn out of the bag, popping it between her lips and chewing.

He shifted the bag into his other hand and turned towards the water, offering his free arm.

She took it willingly then reached across both of them to grab a handful of popcorn this time, letting a couple of kernels fall into her mouth and chewing much less gracefully.

The ice broken between them, they laughed and he led her further into the carnival.

A/N: Look up pictures of the Hotel Del Coronado's Tent City. You will not be disappointed. It was an amazing, completely genius way for the hotel to continue making money and having guests stay at the hotel when it was undergoing improvements/construction. It caught on, so many people were enthralled with how revolutionary it was, and it lacked nothing in service and accommodations, but guests felt like they were roughing it. Like when people go "camping" and stay in cabins with electricity and toilets and running water.

I've added plenty of my own SteamVerse flourishes to it, of course, so it fits my alternate universe, but there was a carnival there and a vibrant marketplace for visitors.

'Til next we meet, lovely readers...

-SC