A/N: Thank you to everyone leaving reviews. They mean a lot. Not to get all up on a podium or anything, but fanfic writers put an awful lot of work into what we do and because it's fanfiction and not original characters we're working with, we don't get paid for it. Because, you know, it's illegal. And while I don't want payment of any kind for the fic I write because I'm morally against that kind of bullshit (these aren't my characters and I'm doing this out of love and respect for CHUCK, the cast, the creators and writers), it means a lot to see folks go out of their way to review, to let me know what they think. I feel your respect and I'm super grateful to all of you for it. It's better than money.

That said, I've been seeing a lot of reviewers, particularly men, who have been singling out the women writers on this site and in this Chuck fandom. They've been leaving reviews, sometimes anonymously, resorting to condescending notes, either in the A/Ns of their own stories, or by leaving reviews, offering "constructive advice" on our stories in spite of there being no trace of a single written work on their own pages, demanding things from us, and sometimes even being outright bullies, either anonymously or out in the open. I've had it, I have to be honest. Constructive criticism is one thing...patronizing entitlement is another. This isn't even about me as much, in spite of the trash I've gotten in my inbox and in reviews I've sometimes chosen to delete because they offered nothing constructive, just downright unhelpful meanness and spite. I'm seeing it in reviews people have left my fellow women writers, and that's not gonna fly anymore. Speaking for myself, I don't need your advice if you can't bother to write your own damn story. Offer sincere tips and criticism NOT anonymously, and we can chat about it. But don't come in telling us we're writing our own stories wrong. We don't care. We know what we're about. Write your own story the way you want. Maybe this will lose me some readers, but I'm all right with that. Because at the end of the day, if you don't like my writing, if you don't like me, you don't have to be here. I'll survive. I'll keep writing. With or without the mansplaining-Sarah-Walker-to-me. Cool? Cool. This behavior simply isn't gonna work for me anymore, so I just wanted to let y'all know. And now back to regular programming:

Disclaimer: I don't own CHUCK or its characters.

Last time on Steampunk Chronicles, Sarah finally spilled the proverbial beans to Chuck about sleeping with Bryce a few years earlier, and it was rough. And then she cuddled him in his sleep which was less rough. What's next? Keep reading!

It felt so dishonest, what she was doing. She skipped over the leftover puddles in the road to cross the street, sidling up against the building as she followed him, pushing the collar of her coat up around her ears a bit more to protect them from the cool afternoon air.

Sarah Walker kept her eyes on his back, making sure not to get too close.

She remembered the first time she'd followed Chuck Bartowski. It was on a journey quite similar to this one. Only, that had ended in him nearly being killed for his inherent heroism. She'd thought it stupidity then. Now? Well, she didn't know what it was. But it wasn't stupidity that made him do the things he did.

He was so different now from the way he'd been that day, all those months ago. How he'd walked with a bit of a skip in his step, staring straight ahead, a polite semi-smile on his youthful face. As though he hadn't a fear in the world.

The Chuck Bartowski she currently followed in the late afternoon light was different. He looked left and right, constantly turning his head to keep his eyes on the people he passed. His body was wound so tight, his steps quick and measured.

He moved through the city like a man who knew he was in danger. The trust he'd seemed to have when she first met him, before everything that happened since the Intersect was forced into his brain, wasn't as evident. He watched people he passed by on the street.

It was good he was like this. It meant he was safer. It'd be harder for someone to get the jump on him.

But it made her ache deep inside.

Because Chuck's trust in people, in spite of all the bad he'd witnessed even before the Intersect, was one of the things that made him such an anomaly. It still hurt her to see him so disillusioned.

Deep down, she feared the longer this went on, the more he lost pieces of himself that made him Chuck.

But that wasn't why she was following him.

She was following him because they hadn't been in the same room with one another in four days, not since they'd climbed off of the train at the Los Angeles station and had gone straight to their respective homes thereafter.

They had talked on the train. They'd talked about Bryce Larkin. It had made her feel worse than she thought she would've felt if he'd outright called her a whore for sharing a bed with Bryce all those years ago.

Instead, Chuck made sure she knew he didn't blame her, not even for keeping it a secret from him for this long.

She believed him. He was always so honest, even when it was hard, and she didn't imagine he would lie about that. He was completely forthcoming about his resulting jealousy. He was almost too forthcoming.

But that was him, wasn't it? That was every bit the Chuck Bartowski she knew.

He willingly let her see his imperfections, and it somehow made him all the more perfect.

And it was a testament to how much he trusted and respected her, as though he knew she could handle hearing the truth without scampering away from him screaming. He was always honest, even about things that weren't easy to talk about. Admitting jealousy certainly fell into the category of difficult things to be honest about.

She wanted so badly to dispel him of the jealousy she saw in him, the jealousy he readily admitted to. And he'd admitted it with no ulterior motive. He didn't feel entitled to anything from her. He didn't even have to say it—she knew—but he'd said it anyway.

He hadn't made her feel cheap, like used goods, like she was tainted, the way other men might have. She wouldn't be able to blame him if he had, in spite of her not belonging to him in any way.

But he hadn't.

That mistake she'd made with Bryce, the way she'd allowed herself to feel like there was a bubble of secrecy around them, the way she'd allowed herself to think he'd play by the rules the way she did, had not left any kind of emotional or romantic imprint on her, not on her body and not on her heart. She'd probably enjoyed herself at the time, but the trouble that slip caused her wasn't worth it.

If there was a way to convey that to Chuck without outright saying all of those things…

What she'd told him was already torture enough. She knew, she'd seen it in his face, as much as he'd tried to hide it. But he deserved the truth. She'd felt the need to tell him more than perhaps she should have.

What she wouldn't do was continue rubbing salt in the wound.

If she could tell him she didn't have feelings for Bryce, reassure him that if she had, they would've been wiped out by what he'd done to her, and to his boyhood friend… But of course she couldn't. And so he'd assume there had been more between her and Bryce. More than just physical release. Something deeper.

She was embarrassed, and she felt foolish for it. She'd never felt the need to apologize for her actions to anyone before. And yet, she constantly felt like apologizing to Chuck. Not because he required it from her, but because he was always such a good person. An incredible man. And she was a con woman, a liar, a cheat, a manipulator…and worse. Apologizing to him for that felt necessary. Apologizing for who she was, Bryce's actions forcing him to have to be in her presence…

And yet she knew more than anything that Chuck saw who she was, knew what she'd done, and would likely be incensed if she ever tried to apologize to him for any of it.

Sometimes that made her feel all the sorrier.

So she hadn't visited the shop, trusting Casey to have Chuck's protection well in hand while he was there working as his assistant. And she'd began tailing the inventor while he ran his errands during the day, and also when he traveled to and from the Buy More in the mornings and at night when he finished his work for the day.

Sometimes she'd thought he'd looked for her—the times he'd glanced to and fro down the street as he stepped out of the alley behind the shop. But then he'd smash his bowler over his curls and he'd set off again, his shoulders a bit slumped.

This wasn't right, this hiding from him.

But whether avoiding Chuck Bartowski was right or not, it didn't make her any less ashamed of what he knew about her now. In some ways, it felt worse than the reveal that she was a con artist had been. At least her illegal work was mostly about survival. Spending that time with Bryce had been about immaturity, lust, foolishness. Empty pleasures. And it had nearly done her in.

Sarah watched as Chuck stepped up onto a westbound trolley, using the entrance at the front, and she rushed her step so that she could hoist herself up into the back of the same trolley, careful to half wedge herself behind a man who was built like a bull.

Chuck stayed on that trolley for some time, and Sarah spent the journey gracefully slipping herself behind various individuals as the riders came and went at each stop so that he didn't see her.

Until finally, Chuck stepped off at the Vacation Point stop.

Sarah followed, hopping down and staying on the sidewalk, her eyes following him as he moved onto the boardwalk. He slowed his step significantly, then, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, almost strolling now, his head down as he distractedly kicked at the wooden planks, the toe of his boot swiping over the grains of sand someone had tracked there from the beach.

And then he hopped down the steps that led onto the sand and slowly ambled his way out towards the water. Sarah sidled up next to a shop on the boardwalk that was selling salted meats and warm flatbread, leaning against one of the posts and crossing her arms, keeping her eyes on the tall man tromping through the thick sand.

It wasn't a long stretch of sand, so she knew all he had to do was turn and look back to recognize her standing here watching him. But she stayed put, just staring after the toymaker.

He stopped where the beach began to slope down towards the waves and he lifted his hat from his head, his hair fluttering in the gust of wind that blew past him. He dragged a hand through it, as though trying to tame it a bit, before he slapped the hat back down onto his head.

Then he just stood, staring out at the water.

For a long, long time.

And Sarah stayed back.

Almost an hour passed and Sarah felt heavier and heavier the longer this continued.

He'd eventually sunk down to sit in the sand, his long legs bent in front of him, his arms resting on his knees.

So many things went through her mind, but guilt and confusion were first and foremost. She was so often confused where he was concerned. Maybe that was why she was still standing here instead of going out to him. Confusion made her feel like her control was tottering, like she was floundering. And to be like that with him, in front of him…Lord help her if she ever slipped. He was brilliant, always observant…he'd catch it immediately.

Then there was the fact that if she went out there, he'd know that she'd followed him.

And why shouldn't she follow him? Considering how much danger he was in, how often it dogged his steps, someone had to follow him to protect him. Just in case one of the many entities who'd kill to get their hands on what he had in his head decided to show up.

It wasn't that thought that had eventually gotten her to wander down the steps into the sand. It was the way he'd finally dropped his chin to his chest, as though so much was weighing on him that he could no longer hold his own head up.

She couldn't let him deal with everything alone, no matter how embarrassed or ashamed she was. She simply wouldn't let him do this alone.

The usually graceful con woman felt so ungainly and silly, trying to make her way through the sand in her heeled boots, holding her lavender gown up just enough to preserve her modesty while also keeping from tripping on it.

Grumbling under her breath, she found herself wishing they were out of sight from the pedestrians enjoying a stroll on a boardwalk so that she could untie her boots and pull them off altogether.

Alas, this was not the jungle just outside of Monterrey, Mexico. This wasn't a cave hidden behind a waterfall like the one Chuck had found a few days ago. She couldn't clamber out here barefoot, in immodest dress and soaking head to toe. They weren't alone here.

How she wished they were…

Just once more…

She was only a yard or so away when he finally seemed to hear her clumsy approach, and he spun to look at her, eyes wide. When he saw it was her and not someone who meant him harm, he sagged with relief. And then there was that warm pleasure at seeing her that never seemed to ebb, no matter what happened between them, no matter what he learned about her. It made her chest sting, almost. And she wasn't sure if it was a good sting or a bad sting.

Etiquette must have occurred to him belatedly then, because he staggered up to his feet and swept his hat off of his head, holding it at his chest in both hands, the wind whipping his hair about on top of his head again.

When Sarah reached his side, her heel sank a bit deeper in the sand than she'd been prepared for and she pitched backward a bit. Chuck grabbed her hand immediately, helping her to steady herself.

"You all right?" he asked quietly.

"Yes." Sarah felt herself blush a bit, giving him a lame smile, just a momentary one, and then she cleared her throat and gently pulled her hand out from his. "It isn't easy maneuvering about in this sand with heels on. I'd much rather be barefoot."

"Ah. Me, as well." He choked a bit. "I-I mean…I'd rather be barefoot, as well. I didn't mean I'd rather you be barefoot. Of course, that is, unless it, er, makes you more comfortable." Chuck's eyes slid shut and his jaw clenched.

She could almost imagine the voice in his head telling him to shut his mouth.

Then he must have realized how random it was that she'd shown up here, because he opened his eyes again and blinked at her in confusion. "Sarah, how—how did you know I was here?"

She just sighed and shrugged, opting to tell him the truth. "I was following you."

He frowned. "You mean, you followed me th-the whole way from the Buy More?"

"I did."

"Why?" Chuck asked, and then he must have realized why, because he huffed and nodded to himself. "Ah. Yes. The, er, secret government mess in my brain makes me rather a target, doesn't it?"

"Yes," she said with an attempted smile. She felt it fall flat, however. "I'm sorry. I just want to make sure I'm here if it ever…"

Chuck simply nodded again and turned back to the ocean, lowering his hat to his side and just staring out at the sparkling blue water.

He must be wondering why she'd stayed away all these days. She didn't want to tell him why. She felt vulnerable, raw, exposed…She didn't want anyone to know how all of this made her feel. But if he asked her why, she thought there was a chance she wouldn't be able to lie to him about it. Perhaps because he'd see through it. And while he wouldn't know the actual truth, the fact that she didn't see fit to tell it to him would probably hurt him.

But Chuck didn't ask her why. He didn't even bring it up. And it would've been just like him not to bring it up on purpose, as though knowing it would put her in a rough spot.

And she suddenly wanted to reach up and smooth his curls down, feel them against her fingers, comfort him somehow. Even if other people could see it.

She didn't.

"I'm sorry I wandered all the way out here," he said instead. "Considering everything, I should probably just stick to the shop and my home, errands notwithstanding. This probably isn't very safe."

Sarah shook her head. "No, not at all." He nodded and she hurried to correct him. "No, I didn't mean about—I mean that you shouldn't have to forfeit things like this. Coming out here and enjoying this bit of peace in your life—a life that used to have so much more peace in it, I'm sure."

He smiled a tad bitterly. "Perhaps," he admitted. "But thank you. Sometimes this makes quite the difference, coming here."

When Chuck turned his head to look at her, she swallowed thickly. "Yes, I'm sure. Like I said, it's peaceful."

"It is. And it—Well, I don't know. I suppose it rather puts things into perspective for me. Or, I should say, it helps me put things into perspective."

"What do you mean?" Sarah unconsciously shifted closer to him, just a bit, her movement almost unnoticeable.

Chuck just stared back out at the water, squinting, his profile so disarmingly beautiful suddenly. And she tried very hard not to allow herself to remember just how drawn she was to him sometimes. Like right now, for instance.

"I don't know. The relativity between this land we're standing on and that." He nodded his head out towards the ocean. "The water. The sea."

She nodded and they were silent for a while. It was surprisingly comfortable, the silence between them. She could faintly hear the activity up on the boardwalk behind them, and it was almost comforting, reassuring, to have that at her back.

Something occurred to her then. And perhaps she broke character to voice it out loud.

"Do you ever think about the way the continent almost seems to…run out, in a way? Right here?" She cleared her throat. "I mean, it's almost as though, standing here, we've run out of land. And-And behind us is an entire continent, a country full of people—millions of people. It's this overwhelmingly massive piece of land that is home to so many people, so many creatures, and trees, plants, flowers…And here we are at the very end of it. All of that behind us. Is it strange that I've just thought of that?"

Sarah turned her head to look at him, studying his face carefully. He didn't look back at her, merely smiling quietly.

"The land ends here," he said. "But something else begins where it ends. Something with just as much life as this mass of land we're standing on. It's positively brimming with life, isn't it? You can see it. And it almost feels like—like no matter what happens here…" He shook his head. "…nothing about that out there will change." He nodded out to the ocean again. "It will continue to live, the waves will continue rolling up this shore, the tiding rising and falling back again the way it does every day. Like clockwork."

Chuck twisted the brim of his hat in his hands and smiled again, finally turning to meet her gaze. "You know, they say there are millions upon millions upon millions of species that live in the depths of that ocean, deep deep deep down in the darkest depths. And we have no way of discovering, of understanding, all of them. There are species down there, who knows how deep, perhaps tens of thousands of feet below the surface, where light simply can't reach, and we may never discover them. We may never know them, even if humanity survives 'til thousands of years from now."

Sarah didn't know what to say to that. Or perhaps her heart was just stuck in her throat, hammering so hard she almost felt like she couldn't breathe past it.

Perhaps it was the way he was speaking to her, his tone so breathy, dreamlike, wistful. It made her absolutely ache. Everywhere.

"Do you know, this may make me seem completely mad, but that comforts me."

"Why?" she asked, finally finding her voice.

"I've always known there was evil in the world. I realize I might—I might come off as naive sometimes. I know Bryce thinks of me in that way. Casey does, too. And you-you might even." She didn't. She wanted to tell him. She understood. She saw him. But she was too caught up in him to speak. "But I knew there was evil before all of this happened to me. I've seen it. Ex-Experienced it. There are bad people. Not just because life's made them bad, their struggles or the way others have treated them. But some people are just…bad people. Having the Intersect, everything we've gone through in the last few months, has really put that into perspective. There may be evil people who are after me, or rather, after what I have in my head." He shrugged, looking into her eyes steadily. "But no matter how much evil there is—N-no matter how evil people are, there's life in this world that can't be touched by that. It'll remain as it is, pure and untouched by whatever we do here, no matter how bad it is. No matter how many wars rage on. They'll continue surviving, living on just as they always have. Because they're too far away for us to reach. Or because they're stronger than we are. I don't know. No matter what happens up here, Sarah, there's some strange fish creature down there in the dark that will continue to swim about, eating whatever it is that it eats, sleeping wherever it sleeps."

He swallowed thickly, his eyes quivering just a bit.

"No matter what happens to me when all of this is said and done, that out there, everything will continue on the way it always has." He swallowed again. "It's strangely comforting, knowing there are still things in this world that will remain safe from evil no matter what."

Chuck took a deep breath and huffed, ducking his head, looking a bit shy suddenly. "Sorry. I know it's ridiculous."

"It isn't," she said quickly. "It's beautiful, Chuck. And if you don't mind, I think I'd like to keep that idea with me, as well. To comfort me."

He smiled, blushing slightly, and she felt half-mad at how endearing it was. "If it truly helps you, even just a little, I should like for you to remember it."

They eventually turned back to hobble through the sand to the steps again, Chuck keeping her steady with his hand curled around hers. And as they climbed back up onto the boardwalk, Sarah felt a pit in her stomach.

She wanted to tell him.

She needed him to know.

That while what he said was beautifully hopeful and comforting, the part he'd tacked on the end about himself, about what might happen to him, was wrong. No matter what happens to me when all of this is said and done, that out there, everything will continue on the way it always has.

It wasn't true. Because if she failed in her oath to protect him, if something ever happened to Chuck Bartowski, it would be as if all of the light in the world was snuffed out. Things would change. So much would change. Maybe some unclassified fish ten thousand leagues beneath the surface of the ocean would be just fine.

But she wouldn't be.

So many people wouldn't be.

This broken world would lose one of the few people who cared enough to try to fix it. And nothing would be the same again.

Nothing.

She wanted to tell him.

She needed him to know.

But instead, she merely whispered a "thank you", her voice caught in her throat as he helped her up into the trolley again. And she turned her face away from him, holding on tight to the pole in the center of the aisle and watching the everyday machinations of late afternoon Los Angeles pass by the window, Chuck Bartowski's arm that was gently pressing against hers the only thing still keeping her afloat, even as he was the reason she was drowning in the first place.

}o{

Chuck lifted the book he held open a bit higher and thrust it across the desk towards Morgan, thumping his finger against the page a few times. "There. You see? I was right. Robin Hood was originally a yeoman, not a nobleman."

He heard the soft whir of the gears inside of his friend's head as he looked down at the page, and then a long, put-upon groan from somewhere else inside of him that wasn't his voice box. Finally, "All right, Chuck. I see I am wrong. This is evidence from one of the earliest texts."

"That's good, Morgan."

"It is?"

Chuck nodded. "Yes, it is. It's very human of you to step back, assess the situation, and admit that you might be wrong."

"I'm not quite sure about that." Chuck spun at the sound of his sister's wry voice at the door that led to the sales floor. "We tend not to do very well admitting when we're wrong, just…as a species, in general."

He snorted quietly. "That's a fair point."

"Humanity is a proud species," Ellie quipped, walking back into his workshop to put his broom back. "I did a little sweeping up. Not a bad night for sales. I closed up the front and locked the door."

"Thank you for using your day off to help me, Ellie. Really. I was up to my neck in clientele, while also trying to finish repairs I've run behind on, and—"

"I know, I know. What's family for? I'm sure if you knew how to treat gout, broken femurs, and dislocated shoulders, you'd do the same for me."

He chuckled and nodded. "I would. That said, I'd rather not be anywhere near any one of those things."

Giggling, she crossed the room to stand next to him. "Ah. Talking about Robin Hood again?" she asked, reaching over to pick up the book. "Do you remember how much he…" He voice drifted off and Chuck knew immediately what she'd been about to say. He reached up and wrapped his fingers around hers, squeezing comfortingly. For his own comfort as much as hers. "Friar Tuck," she said softly.

"Friar Tuck," he repeated.

"He throws Robin Hood into the river," Morgan said, then. "It is my favorite part of the story. The way Robin Hood has his hubris doused by the cold water." Ellie spun to look down at Chuck, her eyes wide. "Have I misspoken? Did I use a wrong word? Was what I said offensive to you, Eleanor? Perhaps Robin is your favorite character?"

Ellie quickly shook herself. She wasn't as used to the strange coincidences in this machine-man as Chuck was. She spent less time with him.

But sometimes Morgan sincerely made him wonder at the possibilities of things beyond the scope of just that which was visible to the human eye.

It was a lot easier to think that way now, what with the Intersect and the things he knew their government was capable of now.

"No, Morgan," his sister said. "What you said was exactly right. I love a good dousing of a man's hubris."

"Just a man's?" Morgan asked in obviously sincere curiosity.

"Yes."

Chuck laughed at that, and Morgan just blinked, confused.

"I'm going home now. Devon has no doubt already left for his night shift and I want to make sure I have food ready for him to take out of the ice box and heat when he comes back in the morning."

"Oh. Yes, of course."

He walked her to the door that led to the alleyway and opened it for her. "Thank you again, Ellie. You're the best."

She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek and squeeze his arm. "Of course. Remember, the march is this weekend, Chuck. Just because you've finished making the buttons, doesn't mean your work is done. And I know Casey hasn't been here, so you're working double duty, but as my brother, you're—"

"Yeees, Elliiie. I know. Even if I wasn't fully committed to the cause, as your brother I'm duty-bound to be at your side however you need me. Just tell me what you need, and you'll have it. You know that."

She beamed, giving him an affectionate pat on his cheek before she pulled her gloves on and fastened her hat on top of her head. "Have you seen Sarah? It's been too long since I've gotten to talk to her. She remembers it's this weekend, doesn't she?"

He smiled. "She does."

Chuck opted not to answer the first part, and was relieved when she seemed not to notice before she stepped out into the alleyway and hurried out to the sidewalk, disappearing from view. He hadn't seen Sarah for a few days, not since she followed him out to the beach.

But he knew she was around. She always was, keeping an eye on him, no doubt.

He wondered why she hadn't come to see him at all. It had been two weeks since they'd come back from Mexico, two weeks since she'd told him everything on the train, two weeks since his heart had taken quite the blow.

His feelings for Sarah Walker were truly the best example of having real, deep, unending tenderness and devotion for someone, while also not expecting anything from that person in return. At least, not romantically. He didn't know if Sarah returned his affections, but if she did she was holding back from him. He had to think she had a good reason, and so he forced himself not to have expectations.

And yet, his lack of romantic expectations hadn't made hearing what he'd overheard, and then what she'd told him thereafter, any easier to bear. He still felt the stab of upset, of jealousy honestly, when he thought of it now, all these days later.

Chuck groaned and ruffled his curls with both hands in frustration. He didn't want to think about it. He'd go crazy if he did.

It had happened years ago. He didn't blame her.

But it was still such an awful feeling. Maybe it was worse that it was Bryce Larkin, his best friend from boyhood. Or maybe it was that, combined with the fact that Bryce was the reason why he had the Intersect in his head, and the reason why he was so consistently in danger. The amount of times he'd almost died in the last few months was all on account of Bryce bringing that prototype to him.

Chuck ambled back to Morgan who sat rigid in his seat, staring straight ahead. "Morgan, I'm headed home. Will you be all right charging yourself tonight, or would you like me to do it?"

The android turned his head towards him. "I will. Thank you, Chuck."

Chuck nodded and grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the chair he'd been sitting on, shrugging it on and straightening it over his shoulders. "Good night, Morgan."

Before Morgan could respond, however, there was a slight knock on the side door. Chuck exchanged a look with his machine friend and then walked to the door, opening it to find Sarah standing there, dressed in her Aviator's Timepiece uniform, her cloak tied at her neck.

"Good evening, Chuck."

He smiled, the thoughts he'd been drowning in a minute earlier gone. "Sarah. Hello."

She bounced up onto her tiptoes to glance over his shoulder, then frowned a bit. "Is Casey not here today?"

"No, not today. I had Ellie giving me a hand cleaning up earlier, because she's an absolute gift."

"Where's Casey?"

"Head cold. He sent a note and I felt it best not to badger him about it." He gave her a toothy grin. "I'm not susceptible to things like that, but I felt the need to protect Morgan. I don't want him getting a cold."

Sarah giggled a bit. "Yes, of course. Can't be too careful."

His grin dimmed then as he took his watch out of his pocket and looked at it, having to tilt it towards the dull streetlamp light just barely fighting through the fog and making its way down the back alley behind his shop. "It's almost seven. Did you just end your shift?"

"About a half hour ago."

"Ah."

He couldn't think of a way to ask her what she was doing here without sounding rude, so they just stood there together in the cool night air, the fog surrounding them. He shuffled his feet. "Would you, er, like me to walk you home?" He blushed. "Or I suppose, you might walk me home. I've seen what you can do with those knives you have strapped underneath your uniform."

Then the young toymaker realized how that sounded and he winced, looking up at the sky and shaking his head.

It made Sarah chuckle, at least, and it sounded genuine. "Actually, I was going to ask if you might be free to join me for dinner."

Chuck blinked. Then he frowned a little. And finally, he blinked again. "Join you? For dinner?"

He swallowed thickly, his eyebrows going up.

"If you haven't supped yet, of course."

"No, I haven't," he rushed out, regaining a bit more of his equilibrium. "I just—" He shook his head at himself, a voice in his mind telling him to just be quiet for once, stop overthinking, and take advantage of the opportunity to spend time with Sarah Walker, just the two of them. Especially because things had been so strained between them since they returned from Mexico.

…Or perhaps he was just a glutton for punishment.

Stop overthinking!

"Yes," he said quickly before he could think anything else. "That sounds lovely."

She smiled. "My treat this time."

Chuck opened his mouth to protest but she gave him a stern look, her eyebrow raised, and he shut his mouth again, chuckling softly and ducking his head. "All right. As you wish."

Her smile widened and she gestured over her shoulder with an almost teasing flick of her head. "We should head out if we want to catch the trolley. We've only got ten minutes to get to the stop."

Furrowing his brow, he watched her slowly back towards the exit of the alley. "Wait, what is this place that we need a trolley to get to it? Is it that far away?"

"Mmhm. By the water."

Chuck's eyebrows shot to his hairline as he put his hat on his head. "By the water? I—" An idea struck him then and he reached out to gently take her by the wrist, stopping her. "Wait, maybe we don't need a trolley after all."

Sarah frowned. "What do you mean we don't need a trolley? That…moving…thing you put me in when we first met and were…" She paused. "Well, it isn't here, is it? We'd have to go all the way back to your house."

"M-My house—?" Then he chuckled and shook his head. "Oh, you mean my steamobile! I drove us to the cliffs when we were cour—er—um—" He stopped himself and realized that must have been why she paused. He hurried on quickly. "No, I've got that parked in the barn back home. It broke down on my way back from work and I've got a lot of improvements to make on it."

"Not surprised," she mumbled.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Hm? What? Nothing."

Chuck narrowed his eyes dubiously, then shook it off and pulled her back towards the shed nestled up against the back wall of his alley and he fished in his vest pocket for the key to the padlock. "You're absolutely going to go mad, Sarah," he breathed in excitement, unlocking the padlock and removing it, lying it on the nearby workbench and pulling open the double doors. "There it is," he proclaimed then, brimming with pride as he looked in on one of his newest inventions.

Sarah stepped up next to him, her shoulder brushing his. "What…is this?"

He turned to stare at her for a moment, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and wrinkling his nose. "Sarah Walker, this is a velocipede."

"A…bicycle? Why aren't there pedals? And why does it look so…strange and, and these odd metal tubes, the pipes coming from the back by the wheel there…?"

"That's for the steam. It works rather like a steamboat."

She gaped.

"Well, see…The—Er, the fuel burns here under where my feet are, then this is the boiler and the steam then…powers the steamcycle."

"Steamcycle?" she parroted in a dry voice. "I honestly don't understand how you even thought of this."

"Similar concept to the steamboat and my steammobile, which I adapted from the steamnibus and how that works. But it goes faster than a bicycle because there is rather something of a, er, a steam engine of sorts, which powers it better than if someone is sitting on it and pedaling."

Sarah just continued to gape at it. "So what you're saying is, you-you can just…sit on it and it…goes by itself?"

"Yes. Well, I mean, not by itself. I built it so that all the work happens in here and then it goes," he said, gesturing to the boiler. Sarah was still inspecting it, frowning a little in curiosity. But he thought he detected the edge of her lips tilt up just slightly.

"It's so much faster," he growled, with a particular gleam in his eye. It was almost a daredevil gleam, a joy of speed and danger. And he had no idea it was there, nor did he notice the particular way Sarah was studying him, the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "I'll show it to ya."

She kept her eyes on him as he went inside to grab the steamcycle by its handlebars, still feeling her gaze as he walked the heavy-looking machine out to stop it beside her, flipping the kickstand out with a graceful kick.

"Shall we see what it's made of?" he asked then, gesturing excitedly to it.

"No!" she breathed. He'd not missed how often Sarah had gasped, held onto her seat, and winced when he took her to the cliffs for a picnic all those months ago, before he knew she'd been blackmailed by Bryce to protect him. But she'd been fine on the dirigible trip to Monterrey, in spite of them actually crashing the way they had.

She was such a curious person, and perhaps even inconsistent about what did and didn't frighten her. It was adorable. He wondered if it was just a fear of something new, a fear of change, or if she'd experienced something traumatic with a steam-powered vehicle when she was younger.

Chuck continued anyway, opening a little pod on the side of the steamcycle and pulling the key out, sticking it in the ignition. He cranked it, and with one quick turn, the beast roared, the sound echoing through the alleyway and exploding out into the Los Angeles night.

Sarah squeaked and covered her ears at how loud it was. He took a good bit of enjoyment out of her reaction and she glared at him for it, but the displeased, almost prim look on her face was incredibly endearing.

"Oh, come now! Isn't this magnificent?" he asked, raising his voice over the now-purring steamcycle.

"Turn it off!" she said. "It's loud!"

"Whaaat?!" he yelled, grinning cheekily.

"I said—" She must have realized then that he was teasing her and she laughed, trying to reach around him to turn it off herself. "Turn it off," she said again, laughing harder as he grabbed her hands and pushed them away.

He chuckled as she managed to break his hold and grab him so that she had the advantage. And she wrestled his arms behind his back, their fronts pressed together. He just beamed down at her, unaware of just how bad he was flirting with the con woman.

She grit her teeth back at him and called him a nuisance, making him laugh harder.

Then he gave her a gentle bump with his hips and chest, making her stagger back a bit so that he could hurriedly swing his leg over to mount the cycle, squeezing the levers on the handlebars to make it rev a few more times. It was such an incredible cacophony that she widened her eyes, covering her ears again and then lunged at him to grab his wrist, yanking his hand away from the lever.

"Chuck!" She made a play for the key to turn it off, Chuck realized, but he just laughed and smacked her hands away easily.

"No! No, you'll break it! You'll break it…" He turned it off then, chuckling. "There. It's off."

Without the loud roaring and purring in his ears, the world suddenly sounded eerily silent. Strange, that. He caught her shivering a little, even as she chuckled with him.

"You are mad," she panted, still smiling. "That thing is so loud, it might get someone to call the patrol on you. And then what would we do?"

Chuck smirked at her, then shifted a bit onto his left foot so that he was leaning closer to her. "It's a good thing I've got you, Sarah Walker." He shrugged as he watched the tension ease in her shoulders, her eyes both soften and get a certain mischievous look all at once. "I'm confident I'd be all right."

"Yes, you may rely on the fact that I'd protect you." Then she paused, raising an eyebrow and gesturing to the steamcycle he still mounted. "But you should know that I'm letting them take that thing."

He laughed, catching the pleased, almost shy look on her face. It warmed him from the top of his head, down to the very tips of his toes as he swung himself off of the cycle, kicking the stand up and raising his eyebrows as he slowly backed the vehicle towards the shed again. "I'd better get it out of sight, then, hm?"

She continued smiling at him.

Chuck locked it up, then joined her, the makeshift couple emerging out of the alleyway and walking down the narrow sidewalk towards the main street where the trolley stop was. As they rounded the corner, they saw that the trolley was already there, the last passenger stepping onto it.

"No, wait!" Sarah tried, but Chuck had already pressed his hat into her hands and dashed towards it.

"Stop!" he yelled, waving his arm over his head. "Stop, there!"

The driver turned his head and touched the bill of his cap, sending relief through Chuck. As he nearly skidded into the side of the trolley, he turned to find Sarah wasn't all that far behind him, his hat clutched under her arm, her other hand holding her own hat to her simplistic but pretty updo.

Chuck held out his hand and she placed his hat in it, straightening her skirts and raising her chin elegantly, as though she hadn't just sprinted a full block like a madwoman. He smacked his hat onto his curls and bowed to her primly, receiving a slight nod back, before she let him help her onto the trolley.

They exchanged an amused look as she brushed past him, climbing up the steps, and he followed close behind, taking their tickets and pressing some coins into the driver's palm.

"Thank you," he said, tipping his hat.

The driver shrugged and they were off.

At that hour of the night, there were seats for them in the back, and so they sat side by side, waiting for the trolley to make its way across town in companionable silence. Halfway there, they even exchanged a warm smile, and Chuck's spirits steadily climbed.

And by the time they climbed out of the trolley and she tucked her arm through his to lead him to the restaurant, with the way the lamplight was dancing on the water, an orchestra playing some sort of romantic waltz from one of the dockside eateries, he had built himself up into thinking that there was more to this invitation.

He had taken quite the knock on the way back from Monterrey, his confidence cut off at the knees, his self-worth damaged, jealousy piqued, feelings of inadequacy and inferiority jostled awake in his breast and in his brain.

When Sarah had kept her distance, it had made him feel worse. As much as he guessed she'd done it because she was embarrassed about her revelation, about the relationship she'd had with Bryce. Or…whatever it had been. He didn't know and he didn't necessarily want to know. He chose to just believe what she said and push it out of his mind. Or, rather, try to.

Their quiet moment out by the water the other day had made him feel that kindling of their friendship again. The awkwardness, the discomfort, that had been there when they arrived back in Los Angeles had petered out by the end of their talk. Not completely, but at least somewhat.

And now she had invited him out for dinner. There were warm looks, and she'd made him feel free to tease her, as though he'd sensed an openness in her mien, a willingness to tease back. And she had.

It felt wonderful.

Just as her hand on his upper forearm felt wonderful.

Everything was just wonderful.

He clung to it as the host inside of the restaurant took them to a table that was next to the window that looked out over the water. In spite of the gunk in the air high above them, blocking out most of the moonlight, the sight of the Pacific Ocean stretching out for miles upon miles upon miles was stunning.

And he said so, adding, "I wonder what deity I'd have to pray to in order to be successful enough, and live long enough, to eventually have a house by the sea." He turned back to her to flash her a small, crooked smile.

She just watched him closely for a bit, and damn it, he couldn't read her. Again.

"I don't know. Perhaps when you retire, close up shop." She paused and then looked away, continuing. "Retiring with your family to the beach. What a dream that is."

Chuck stared at her, took in her beautiful face as the candlelight played on her cheeks, her forehead…making her blond hair seem almost reddish. And not for the first time, he wished so hard that she was his. Because he was hers, and the longer he resisted admitting that truth to himself, the worse he felt.

He smiled at her, pushing back any yearning she might be able to see behind his eyes. "Every day it seems less and less likely." He was interrupted by the waiter pouring the wine Sarah picked out and taking each of their orders. "Unless I just pack up and run away from everything, put all of my finances into a flight to some far off beach in some other country. I'll make do with nothing but the clothes on my back…a little shack on the water. Climbing coconut trees, fishing with a makeshift spear…"

Sarah giggled and shook her head. "That sounds ridiculous."

He frowned inwardly, but shrugged, keeping the smile on his face. "It sounds much better than this existence, at the moment."

The silence continued between them for an uncomfortably long moment, and then she said, quite softly, "It does, doesn't it?" When he looked up to meet her gaze, he was struck anew by her beauty. "I retract my prior statement. It doesn't sound all that ridiculous after all. It sounds…"

"Peaceful."

"Mmhm." She nodded slowly, not breaking his gaze. "Though I'd certainly have to cut down on the layers."

Chuck laughed and she got that pleased look on her face again. After a moment, she broke his gaze and sat back against her chair again, pulling her shoulders back, looking almost uncomfortable as she met his gaze. "I'm actually really glad we could get away from the shop tonight, and that Casey's not here."

He blinked. That was unexpected. "Oh. Uh…I'm glad, as well."

"I need to talk to you." She paused, taking a long sip of wine, he noticed. "I've been thinking quite a bit about Bryce."

Chuck felt like someone had yanked his chair out from under him.

Bryce?

She might as well have thrown her drink directly in his face. It had been so sudden, so out of the blue.

"About the letter he wrote to Ishmael Grand." She pulled her cloak that she'd draped over the back of her chair in front of her and dug in an inner pocket, pulling a folded paper from it and opening it quickly, setting it on the table between them and flattening it for him to see. "I thought maybe I shouldn't bring it into public. But we should be all right here. It's why I chose this place. It isn't particularly busy and it's far enough away from the shop, you know?"

Chuck could only stare down at the letter, wondering why he kept letting himself be fooled. It wasn't even Sarah that was doing the fooling. It wasn't her fault. He was fooling himself. She'd been on the level with him. She'd told him about Bryce, and she'd been candid. And nothing in her manner had suggested this outing was anything other than business, a way to get him away from Casey, away from prying ears. So that she could talk about the letter that only they knew about now.

This was just him.

He was letting that insufferably relentless desire to be more to Sarah Walker than he was make him see and imagine that which wasn't really there.

Chuck swallowed his disappointment as best as he could and nodded. "Yes," he said with a nod. "The things we read in that letter were…startling, to say the least."

"Downright unnerving," she added with a shiver. "But that's the thing, isn't it? What he described…" She leaned in. "It sounds so farfetched. It sounds like utter madness."

"But he told Marta Ruiz the same things."

She nodded. "He did. And Bryce isn't someone who weaves tall tales. I believe him, and what he wrote about. I don't know how it's possible, but…"

Chuck simply pointed to his head.

"Exactly," she murmured, tucking some hair behind her ear, her eyes darting away uncomfortably. "At this point, after all of this, I have to believe that just about anything is possible. But it's gotten stuck in my head and I haven't been able to get it out. It can't just be underground, can it?" Chuck frowned in confusion. "I mean to say, a movement—if you mean to recruit, if you mean to actually make a difference and start working towards your goal, you have to come out from the cellar at some point."

Chuck furrowed his brow in thought. Perhaps he was catching on.

"Do you mean to say they're making noise somewhere and people simply don't know what or who it is?" he asked.

"Yes, precisely." She bit her lip, eyes sparkling as she really started thinking about it. She leaned in even more. "If it's truly a violent movement Bryce stumbled upon, they will need the tools for it, but they'll also want to make things easier for themselves…A platform already in place so that they're a step ahead of their targets before they actually attack."

"What do you mean?" he asked, sipping his wine.

"Mobilizing," she explained, as though that answered his question at all well. "Sending scouts out, sewing seeds of discontent, division. Feeding off the general sense of disillusionment we both know everyone feels to a certain degree."

"Listen, Sarah. I spent my childhood reading about the knights of the round table, and Ivanhoe, and-and Robin Hood," he said, remembering his conversation with Morgan earlier. "You're going to have to give me a lot more than that if you want me to understand."

He hadn't come here for business, even if she had, and his chest still hurt enough that his brain hadn't made the shift just yet.

Sarah looked frustrated, her jaw clenching.

And maybe he shouldn't have used a tone with her. But he was tired of feeling as though everything was crashing in around him. He was tired of having a few moments to breathe freely before something swept in to constrict his air again. His life had never been easy, but he'd found a little spot of what had felt like happiness. Was it everything he'd ever dreamed of? No. But it had been good enough. He'd been happy enough. And in this world, that was better than a majority of people had.

Then the Intersect happened and stolen away any semblance of peace he'd enjoyed before.

There were so many people who would want him dead or on an operating table if they knew about the Intersect. And if he wasn't dwelling on that, drowning in worry and fear that he might never see his thirtieth birthday, then he was dwelling on Sarah Walker.

In spite of being jealous of Bryce after what he overheard and had told to him by Sarah herself, knowing that Bryce had been blessed with stolen moments that Chuck wouldn't even dream about ever enjoying himself with the extraordinary woman, that wasn't what Chuck kept fixating on.

Jealousy was a pernicious, terrible thing that he'd much rather rid himself of altogether. Sarah wasn't his, she never would be, he was genuinely starting to realize…

But then he couldn't stop fixating on those little moments—maybe moments—when he spotted something in her eyes. A certain light or brightness, a sparkle. Or when he felt her gaze on him when he wasn't looking. How easily he could make her laugh sometimes when it was just the two of them. Or how eager she was to reassure and comfort him sometimes, and at other times, opting to give it to him straight to show him respect. Sure, he might be seeing what he wanted to see. There were just those small moments when he thought he might be witnessing an inkling of something more from Sarah Walker, his protector.

It was almost as though she might care for him more than she was willing to show, willing to admit, even to herself, perhaps? As though she didn't want those feelings—whether they were strong or not. As though she didn't want to want him. And if that was the case, he didn't know why. All he knew was that it felt terrible. It hurt worse than it perhaps should.

He was no stranger to being dismissed and passed over by women. And he wasn't bitter about it at all, because it was part of life, wasn't it? Human interaction, especially when it came to romance, was strife with rejection.

But Sarah was different. He'd never trekked through the Mexican jungle with any of the other women he'd admired. He'd never gone through a dirigible crash with any of the other women he'd found attractive. He'd never been shot at beside them, or had saved them when they were dangling from a hotel window. And none of them had ever killed another person to protect him. He'd been intimate with a few women, and it had paled in comparison to that moment in the jungle he kept clinging to… After he'd pummeled Constantos' men, he'd crumbled to the ground, and in spite of being so close to unconsciousness, he'd still been alert enough to hear her voice close to his ear, repeating his name, her hands stroking over his face, and the feeling of her arms cradling him close to her body as she and Casey hoisted him off of the ground. It had been the last thing he'd felt before losing consciousness that day, a gentle hand squeezing his hip, almost as if to reassure him he'd be all right—or perhaps reassuring herself? But that was wishful thinking…

They'd been through so much together and it was hard not to feel a little lost when he thought of her. Lost and confused and just…sad.

"You read Robin Hood?" she was asking, and he blinking, shaking himself out of his thoughts.

"Yes. A few versions."

"Well, think about Prince John, for instance. How did he keep his subjects under his thumb for so many years while his brother was away?"

"The sheriff of Nottingham and debilitating taxes?"

She tilted her head and pressed her lips together. "Well…Yes, that. Really anything to make sure they were all miserable, tired, desperate…hopeless."

He completely understood the feeling. He had been wallowing in all of those things the last few weeks now, even considering he had gained another ally in Casey.

"He made certain to keep his subjects in a perpetual state of hopelessness and disillusionment. They ended up having Robin Hood to alleviate their misery, provide them a savior, someone they could depend on and follow and give them hope. But our world doesn't have a Robin Hood. Outside of the pages of a folk tale, in reality, there's nothing like that. There are just people, humans, with our mistakes we make, our flaws, those bad things we all carry inside of us. I don't mean to sound so bleak, but that's just how it is."

Chuck nodded in agreement. "You're right. The world is bleak. Everything is rotten."

He missed the incredibly long look she gave him, the way the edges of her lips turned down, sadness emanating from her blue eyes in the candlelight. It was all gone by the time he lifted his gaze to her face.

She cleared her throat delicately. "This cult religious leader Bryce wrote about in this letter," she tapped it with a finger, "the one he told Marta about—" She paused and lowered her voice. "The Inquisitor—It would be so easy for him to prey on the discontent, the disillusionment, and cause some real trouble. Worse trouble than there already is. What if he has an aim to kindle the fires of anger that are popping up around the world. Like what we witnessed in Mexico, the strife between the government and Constantos. The Central American Union oil crisis. The way things always feel like they're ready to boil over at any moment here in our own empire. What if the Inquisitor is already starting this and it's just gone unnoticed because it's so beyond anything we can imagine happening."

"It isn't anything I could imagine before…the Intersect," he said quietly, shivering. And then something occurred to him. "Last year's first issue of Inspector Idle's Inspection Chronicles," she made a face at that but he ignored it, "Sinister Sam Sakover killed Maximilian Barley, head of the Barley crime family, and he framed Barley's rival Teddington Talbotton, head of the Talbotton crime family, for the murder. It caused mass violence in the streets, a full-blown turf war…"

She gave him a slow smile, nodding. "Exactly, Chuck…"

"The city was a raging fire of anger once the innocent got pulled into it. And Sinister Sam took advantage of it to stoke the fires of discontent and disillusionment against the leaders of the city, the mayor, et cetera." He shivered again. "Make the world tear itself apart so that you have less to burn yourself…"

"Then finish it off," Sarah added. There was silence as they both paled, meeting one another's gazes. And then they both chuckled quietly. He felt the air between them lose the chilliness, and the candlelight and sweet smell of the wine and sea outside of the nearby window entered his senses. "Perhaps we might be going overboard?" she asked, sending him a crooked, self-aware smile.

"I think so," he said, sniffing in amusement and smiling back. "Perhaps you've spent too much time around me and my farfetched dime novels."

"That may be so."

She beamed and they both looked up to see the waiter approaching with their meals.

A/N: Thanks for reading! And for your patience. I'm still out here plugging away.

-SC