A/N: This is one on the long side, and I apologize for the delay. Real job and deadlines. Part two of Wookiee (I hate that that is spelled wrong.) This was fun figuring who knows what and when, when you go back and think about it. That conversation between Sarah and Carina in her hotel after the Wienerlicious had to have occurred (something like that) because Carina knew Chuck had a "big brain," and Sarah had explained it to her. How did Sarah's uniform end up in the stolen Hummer? All of that is one day–Sarah and Chuck fighting, the compound, the beach, the Buy More, video games with Morgan, the hotel. Why was she back and forth from her cover job? Chuck knew her middle name was Lisa (on the back of his Tron poster.) I contend he heard her. My story, my interpretation. Here goes.

It made sense to me right then and there why any kind of personal interaction between asset and handler was considered unacceptable. We were only pretending to be a couple, despite my random but desperate longings in the dark for more, and it was already causing problems. Problems I had never had working with Bryce, who I was actually sleeping with. Bryce and I had drawn a line that neither one of us crossed. The mission took priority. As sensual as our encounters in the bedroom could be, it was still just glorified fucking. We got each other off. I had convinced myself I mattered to him because he made sure I was satisfied before he finished. I then later convinced myself he had tricked me into thinking I mattered simply by ensuring I had an orgasm before he did. The truth lies somewhere else entirely, but that's for later.

Chuck was angry at me, thinking I had lied to him, despite my previous warning to trust me, not believe me. It was worse for him because it was Bryce. I was in agony, thinking for sure that special look I saw when Chuck had always looked at me would somehow be different now. I was angrier at Carina than I was even after she'd drugged me.

And in a few hours we needed to be a cohesive team and infiltrate an opium cartel financier's home.

Sitting there in the Wienerlicious, my first instinct was to run after him. But I didn't. I had no idea what I could say. And I know I was afraid of that look…being gone, never to return. It took a few moments before I could think clearly.

Carina had called him to her hotel room…in the middle of the night…to tell him about Bryce? No, damn it, she was trying to seduce him, I realized. Proposition him, the way she had Bryce. The thought made me feel physically sick, knowing full well what she was capable of. Thinking rationally, I would have realized Chuck would never have obliged her, not like that, even as I dreamed of him doing something similar with me. Jealousy interferes with rational thought. The pictures in my mind made me feel almost possessed. I told Scooter I had a migraine and that I needed to leave.

He got frustrated and told me I had exhausted my allotted number of sick hours. I told him I had to leave, but I would work the closing shift for him, not even thinking about what I was saying or how that would work around the mission. I charged out of there and drove straight to Carina's hotel.

I felt ridiculous in my stupid hot dog uniform, but I just rolled with it. I was fiercely angry, and almost not able to control it, which was unusual for me, but happening now more than I wanted to admit.

She had just stepped out of the shower when I arrived. Her long red hair was up, twisted inside a towel that was wrapped around her head. She wore a short, black satin robe that clung to the parts of her that were still damp underneath. She leaned on the door frame, a wicked smirk on her face. "Cute Walker, but you'll stick out like a sore thumb at the compound dressed like that."

I stormed past her, bumping her with my shoulder when she wouldn't immediately step aside. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I snapped at her.

She shut the door slowly, biting her lips like she was trying to contain laughter. "Plenty, most of which you know all about," she said flatly. She crossed her arms defiantly. "The better question is what's the matter with you?"

I couldn't resist scanning her room, looking if I could see any clues about what had happened the night before. She must have seen me, because she barked out a laugh and said, "Don't worry, I didn't fuck him. Oh, believe me, I wanted to. He may not be into girls, though, just so you know."

I could feel how hot my face was, hating that I couldn't be cooler or calmer. "A Nerd Herd call? What would you have done if it was Lester?" I asked, crossing my arms.

"Which one was he? My date last night?" she asked, genuinely not sure.

"Damn it, Carina, he's an analyst," I said, trying to keep my outrage professional, unable to process that it could be anything but professional.

"He most certainly is not. He's G6 at least. He's an agent of some sort. Something pretty significant if Graham was content to leave you here babysitting him instead of out there cleaning up after him like you've always done," she concluded.

"He's an asset," I confessed, knowing she already knew more than she should have after Chuck's careless blurt. "But that is classified information. He has…an extraordinarily unique ability to retain information. That's the most I can tell you."

"Ohhh," she said, drawing out the word, like something finally made sense. "So you can't fuck him."

"Damn it, Carina, that is not what this is about," I growled in reply. "I am not, nor was I ever, remotely like you." It came out more harshly than I wanted it to be.

She crossed her arms again, her face alive with amusement. "Of course not, Ice Queen. Although it's nice to see you've gotten in touch with your anger. You never used to let yourself feel anything." She was right, of course, and I hated her for it.

"What did you tell him?" I demanded to know. Bryce somehow had come up. There were a thousand things she could have told him, none of which I ever wanted him to know. I told myself it would complicate our working relationship, but it was more about that look than anything else, a look I was already convinced I would never see again.

"That you scream when someone fucks you from behind. That you like it when girls go down on you," she snickered. There was no genuine malice in her, I know this, and I think I even knew this right at the moment. She was teasing, but her teasing was never good natured; it was provocative. She wanted me to get angrier. I had the sense to not take her bait.

"You're hilarious," I snapped sarcastically.

"What?" she retorted, feigning innocence. "You do…and you do," she said, biting her lip and raising her eyebrows.

"I don't remember any of that," I snapped back. "Thanks mostly to you," I added. Internally, I was horrified. Somewhere in my drugged haze, in bed with more than one person, Carina had done that to me? I wouldn't have put it past her to lie about it, just to upset me. It also could have been the truth. I wasn't sure which was worse. Most definitely, I couldn't let her see the full extent of my horror, or she would have harped on it.

"Some men like watching that," she said with a brief shrug. "Maybe Chuck does," she added with a wicked smile.

I flushed hotly, both at her bluntness, and the sudden picture that was in my head of him putting his mouth on me…there.

I don't know what stopped that line of discussion, but she decided somewhere, whether it was because she saw something on my face, or wanted to and didn't, that she was changing the subject. I used to be in control of what I displayed. It was disconcerting to know that there were times and instances when I couldn't any longer. "He was just as boring as he seemed. Excused himself, was polite, and wouldn't lay a hand on me. Then he left."

She looked at the clock on her nightstand. "This is all fantastic, but we're going to be late, Sarah. We have to get dressed, then pick up Chuck's party attire, then rendezvous with Casey and him. And you're here…in your uniform."

I was relieved, more relieved than made sense, more than I could admit to myself. Not because nothing had happened, but because it confirmed what I already was almost certain of. Fucking Carina for the fun of it was not in Chuck's nature. She was right about the time, and I chastised myself for allowing a frivolous distraction to upset our mission.

"I have a dress and shoes you can borrow," Carina offered. She unfolded her garment bag, quickly running the zipper open down the side. She pulled down the canvas flap and pulled out a dress, folding it over her arm and handing it to me.

As per our past and known routines, I dressed in front of her. We got dressed in front of each other. Carina was taller than me, but otherwise similarly proportioned, with the same shoe size. The dress was a little longer on me than it would have been on her. It was revealingly short but just on one side…on her, scandalously short. It was a halter dress, with the deepest plunging neckline I had ever worn. It completely exposed the skin between my breasts, all the way to my navel. I felt barely dressed.

I must have been distracted, because I never noticed her donning her bikini under her dress in place of undergarments. That would have saved a lot of problems if I had. She definitely had me off kilter.

I fixed my hair and borrowed her makeup. We headed back to Echo Park to get Casey and Chuck. Carina sent me to get Casey, telling me she would bring Chuck his clothes for the party. I never saw him until he climbed in the back of the limousine Casey had procured as part of our cover.

He ignored me almost completely…and it bothered me like hell, but I did my best to pretend that it didn't. Carina practically sat in his lap. He talked to her, random chit chat, Chuck's usual rambling when he was nervous. Now thoughts were festering. I should have asked her what she told him about Bryce. How graphic she got, the words that she said. I had run out of time…and now the whole mission was at risk.

Casey waited and we went inside. There were a lot of people, and I moved through the crowd, trying to look casual and mingle. Somehow Chuck and Carina and I were separated. I saw them talking, walking on the edge of the massive pool. I went to get a drink at the bar. On my way back towards them, I watched as Carina closed the space between them, tucking her hands under his cream-colored lapels, close enough to kiss him. I only saw his profile, so I couldn't read his expression, but I was…troubled. The best word I can think of.

What did "troubled" mean here? I had already had the argument with myself, and Carina had confirmed it, that nothing had happened the night before with Chuck. I reminded myself if Carina and Chuck had actually had sex, she would have described it to me in graphic detail. She didn't, which was another reassurance. He was angry at me, and she was coming on to him. What I didn't know yet was how Chuck would react in that situation. Sure, he was gentlemanly and decent. But as angry as he was? All bets were off. Was he spiteful? Would he kiss her in front of me…just because?

But what did it matter? I forced myself to acknowledge. He was just a cover, my asset. Carina throwing herself at him was a problem because it was my job to protect him and she was complicating the mission by doing so. So what if he kissed her? Or let her touch him? I kept telling myself it didn't matter…but it did. My jealousy, what I was still calling heartburn to myself, was as caustic as acid poured down my throat.

Trying to shake it off, I did a quick scan of the property for security cameras, guards, all points of exit…all the things my spy training told me to do. It was harder to focus than I had anticipated. Damn Carina and her stupid games.

I made my way back to the pair as they stood beside that pool. Chuck's back was to me. He saw me when he turned to walk away, darting his eyes downward and saying nothing. He did, however, scan me with his eyes almost so quickly even a trained spy like me almost didn't notice. Carina's outrageously sexy dress, I reminded myself. I didn't plan it, couldn't have planned it, since I had run out of time and had to improvise in Carina's hotel room. But I felt better, feeling I looked sexier than Carina. As if it were a competition. My innate competitiveness was real, known to me, but I had never felt this way when it came to a person. I know this looking back, but then, I was just confused, out of my element.

Chuck's continued ignorance—ignore-ance–of me was also troubling. Granted, we had only been in this situation for three weeks, but this was the most upset I had ever seen him. And, it wasn't blowing over. I, in no way, believe that I underestimated just how much animosity Chuck held for his former friend, Bryce, but I think I overestimated his resilience in the face of continued undercuts to his ego and confidence caused by Bryce. Or more accurately, I underestimated how those past events with Chuck had completely devastated him, destroyed him. I believed Bryce had done worse to Chuck than he had done to me, so I know I should have understood. In fact, I did, which was my primary motivating factor for lying in the first place…or parsing the truth as it was. Everything just fumbled over itself, it seemed.

Those jumbled emotions, that debris in the hurricane now showed as anger again, directed back at Carina, almost as if the previous conversation didn't occur. I wanted the rest of the story. "What did you tell him about Bryce? You compromised my cover," I accused her sharply. She had explained Chuck's refusal, but never what it was she had actually told him. Tossing the barb about her professionalism did it, though. I finally irked her.

"We're on a mission here, Sarah. Try keeping your private life and work life separate for a change," she said haughtily.

The irony in her criticism of me was the first thing I wanted to throw back in her face. What did she know of any of it? For as long as I'd known her, I had no private life. My work was my life, hence the Ice Queen nomenclature. She, on the other hand, made her private life and work life into a stew. She, unlike me, just never let it get to her. I didn't say anything, because I saw Chuck as he was strolling along the edge of the pool. I ignored her and rushed up to him.

"Hey, we ok?" I asked him as I approached. "How are you?" I asked him again. I was trying to be calm, generic, refocusing him on the task at hand and not his feelings. His face was still tense when he looked at me, a deep crease visible between his eyebrows.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm cool," he replied, a little hesitantly. But he was still slightly scowling, and he looked at me strangely, out of the corner of his eye. Then he shifted back into business mode, telling me about the surveillance equipment on the grounds of the compound that he had spotted. He continued to explain where every camera was located while the three of us slowly made our way through the back garden to the backside of the main house at the compound.

Carina moved to pick the lock. I made sure no one was watching.

"So, I guess if this were you and Bryce, you'd be breaking into the bedroom, huh, Sarah?" Chuck said. My head swam when I realized what he'd just said. He had spoken slowly, spacing out the words, in control of his emotions, but not enough to not say something like that to me. That was his bitterness, his festering feelings of being betrayed, that made him say that. I don't think he intended to hurt me, but he did.

Oh, I could also write a book just about hurt. Ironic for someone who did what I did for a living…a brutal assassin, a cold-hearted spy, and yet ultimately so intensely fragile.

You see, the one thing I learned about being emotionally hurt–no one had the power to hurt you, on the inside, unless you gave it to them. If no one mattered to you, one way or the other, nothing anyone ever did or said would ever affect you. I had kept myself sane in high school by telling myself this. People like Dick Duffy and Heather Chandler wanted to hurt me, make me feel inferior, but I had to let them hurt me. By not caring, by teaching myself not to care, nothing made its way inside me. It became a mantra, and relieved that source of trauma for me quite effectively. Problem was, it was so easy to not care. I never knew where the line was drawn.

My father, Zondra, Carina, Sam…Bryce. Sometimes, you could be unaware that you had given that power to someone else, especially when you were constantly in the process of shutting people out. They had all hurt me in some way, even though I was thoroughly callused over now from all of it. Admitting that those words, out of Chuck's mouth, hurt me was admitting to myself that he mattered to me. What he thought mattered. The way he looked at me mattered.

I have seen more than my share of people who intend to harm others—enjoy it, relish it. Sociopathic, soulless animals they were. We are all hurt, over and over again, in everyday life, because no one intends to hurt others. People are, in general, kind, something I learned from Chuck while unlearning my father's view of the world as life moved along. I wish I could say with exuberance that my husband has never hurt me, that I have never hurt him. But it wouldn't be the truth. We hurt each other quite a bit, many times, over a long course of years.

Loving someone doesn't mean that you never hurt them. It means, to me anyway, that when and if you do hurt them, you work to make it better. You understand the whys and the hows and you make a conscious effort to be better, for each other.

At Peyman Alahi's compound, this was the very first time that Chuck hurt me. I never told him he did. I wasn't that skilled at communication that I could have told him without letting him know more about how I felt about him than I wanted him to know. Truth be told, Bryce would remain a sore spot between us until months after Bryce died, mostly because I know I never set the record straight, ever, when it came to him. Once I told Chuck about Bryce and me while we were on the train in Switzerland, when we were first thinking of running away, he apologized, for this and every transgression or misunderstanding, although by then, it was water under the bridge, as Casey would say.

At this time, I whirled on Chuck, my face hot. I covered quickly, scanning the woods to make sure we were alone, a little too intently. "Chuck, now is not the time," I said dryly.

"Okay," he replied, in the same flat, un-Chuck-like tone.

Carina opened the door and we snuck inside. We made our way down to the lower level of the mansion, not that difficult since almost everyone at the party was outside. Carina unscrambled the lock on the door to what she believed was his gallery, where he would have kept the diamond. She opened the door.

The diamond was on a pedestal in the center of the room. There were what looked like priceless paintings and sculptures all around it in the small room, but the diamond was the centerpiece. Mission accomplished, considering, with Chuck here, our mission was only reconnaissance. The actual staged heist was to be for the following day. I told her it was time to go, before we were discovered where we didn't belong. Her reply was no, we should just take it now. Exactly what Graham told us not to do. Exactly what I had warned Chuck Carina liked to do on missions–improvise.

Not a minute later, Alahi was at the open door with armed guards. Something about Carina's entry had alerted his security somehow. I gave Carina a look, and then I went to work, doing one of the things I did best. I played dumb blonde. I raised my voice, batted my eyelashes, and played total bubble-head. We were just lost, it was an accident. Carina and Chuck were quietly assessing. My act worked, because Alahi engaged us.

Carina jumped right in, following my lead, referring to herself as my sister and Chuck as our brother. She called him Chuckie (something she never stopped calling him, by the way.) He dismissed his armed guards, then leered us both up and down and pulled us uncomfortably close to him. Chuck called him both a wooly mammoth and something called a Wookie, which is from Star Wars, but I had no idea back then, for it was true, he was disgustingly hirsute, with enough chest and back hair to give the semblance of him wearing a sweater when he wore no shirt.

I implored Chuck with my eyes to just stay quiet, which he did. Carina continued to improvise, getting as much information out of Alahi as a good spy could. He divulged the extra security measures in place.

All the while, he ogled my open-front dress, and then unabashedly leaned over his arm to check out my ass. I was groped. He let his hand follow his eyes, cupping my ass with his hand and then lightly pinching me. I giggled like a floozy, not breaking the role. It didn't go unnoticed by Chuck, though. He was nervous in the current situation, but he seemed even more nervous, then his eyes got slightly dark. I hated that he saw that, that he saw me doing my job, which included letting disgusting marks grope me. I worried, bizarrely, that Chuck could think I did more than that on a routine basis. I forced myself back to the moment, in the mission.

I asked Alahi to take me to see the paintings in the hallway, thinking his explaining to me about whatever they were would give Chuck and Carina time to finish sizing up the additional security Alahi had mentioned, so we could just hurry up and get out of there. He made lewd comments about how I looked while I feigned interest and twirled my hair like a ditz.

While I was standing there, it sounded like all hell had broken loose inside the gallery. Things crashed. Chuck yelled, Carina yelled. I could hear the hissing of the gas that Alahi had warned about. Carina struck again, I realized. Changing her plans on the fly. An alarm started blaring. I hit Alahi as hard as I could across the face, knocking him out cold. I stepped over him to see Carina sliding under the security door as it was closing, propped up on a fallen pedestal. I called her out on her improvisation, but we didn't have time to get into it. Armed guards were on their way after us. Carina took one; I took the other. Chuck was last out, and he had the diamond in his hand.

I pulled him to his feet. He was frantically babbling, but he showed me the diamond. We took off running. Carina and I were in the lead, Chuck behind us. The two of us plowed through all the additional security Alahi had available. The party was in an uproar. We overturned tables, crashed over chairs, and sent food and drink flying. In the melee, I briefly lost track of Chuck, only to see him again as an armed henchman approached. I threw a ceramic plate like a frisbee into the guard's head, protecting Chuck. I called Casey on my wrist communicator, explaining what Carina had done, and that we needed him to get us on the beach, which was directly behind the house.

Carina and I both ditched our heels and started running. The ground was rough and rocky, but eventually we made it onto the sand. The heavies were right behind us. We emerged onto the sand with Chuck right behind, panting as he ran to keep up with us. I asked her what next, thinking she might have some sort of idea as to what to do. She told us to run, give her the diamond, and she would deal with it. Then she wanted us to double back to save her.

I had known Carina for a long time. Granted, I hadn't seen her in a few years, but she was still Carina, even if she was a little better focused. Like I said, we kept tabs on each other. I knew, because of the error she had made in Pakistan, she had to work extra hard to prove herself at her job. She took risks, sometimes crazy risks, because she was trying to make up for past failures, if you will. She had asked for our (meaning the CIA's) help, but she had no intention of sharing the success with anyone. I knew she was lying. I could read Carina, and when I wasn't distracted by the fog of my own emotions, pretty well. I told Chuck she was lying. It was a bad choice of words.

Carina asked Chuck to trust her. I told him to remember what I had told him about her.

Again, here, Chuck let his emotions get in the way of the mission. For all his bravery and skill, he wasn't a spy. Three weeks was a crash course, and he had in no way even come close to even trying to control his emotions. His eyes were burning and his lips were taught over his teeth. "Oh, yeah? To which lie are you referring? Hard to keep track these days." It was worse than what he'd said near the house. There was an icy chill in his voice that made me feel like an iron fist had closed over my heart. He tossed the diamond to her…as I watched helplessly.

She called up her jet ski, ripped off her dress, revealing that bathing suit that I'd not noticed, and took off running, leaving us alone to face the armed men chasing close behind us. I turned and there they were, ready to shoot us.

Luckily, Casey arrived in the nick of time, somehow now driving a Hummer instead of the limousine. He placed the vehicle in between the gunmen and us, shooting at them through the driver's side window. I yelled for Chuck to get in the front and I jumped in the back. I saw immediately that Casey had remembered to take my uniform, which I had left in the limo from Carina's hotel room. I had told Scooter I was coming back…and I was perilously close to getting fired from my ridiculous cover job.

Casey drove away. I started changing in the backseat, while at the same time berating Chuck for his behavior on the mission. Mission first, feelings second. No other option. That was how we operated. Maybe not how Chuck operated before he was the Intersect, but it needed to be how he operated now. This time, it had almost gotten us killed.

It took Chuck a while to realize I was changing back into my Wienerlicious uniform. I pulled on the blouse first, then the skirt. Everything was askew, including my hair. Carina interrupted me when she called my cell phone. I was mad as hell, and I let her know it. She was flippant and hung up quickly. Casey traced her phone, thankfully, and told me it was fine to go back to work. That he would take care of retrieving the diamond.

I leaned forward in the vehicle, grabbing my hair elastics from the console on the dashboard. I sat back down and started buttoning my blouse and adjusting the black corset that was part of my uniform. I was focused, but I heard Casey say "Eyes up front, soldier" and slam the visor mirror in front of Chuck back into place. The anger, directed at multiple targets, parted for a moment when I heard that. Had Chuck watched me getting dressed? I convinced myself it was accidental, even as I felt that now familiar feeling of my insides feeling like liquid and gushing through me down to my feet.

Casey dropped me off at the Wienerlicious. I knew he was taking Chuck back to his apartment to change back to his regular clothes, then following the tracker to find Carina and the diamond. As Casey was pulling away, Chuck turned to look at me, smiling that lopsided, toothless grin of his, perhaps a little sheepishly. I had been proven right, and he was acknowledging it, accepting my paraphrased I-told-you-so humbly. That flashing anger I had seen on the beach was gone, thankfully. So little, but it was something.

For once, the Wienerlicious was actually busy. I had a steady stream of customers for the remaining two hours of my shift. I was waiting to hear from Casey…and nothing, for a solid hour. Right after he texted me to let me know he was at Carina's hotel and she was there.

I finished up my end of shift tasks and ran across the parking lot to the Buy More to tell Chuck. He wanted to come, offer his help, as he put it. I told him to stay home. We needed to discuss his lapse in judgment and his emotionally compromised status. We had to get that under control, and I couldn't do that mid-mission. He was crestfallen, frustrated and defeated, but he sighed in resignation, and I left.

I changed my clothes quickly and drove to Carina's hotel. I had already been to her room, so I knew where to go. The door was locked, but I was able to pick it easily. I drew my gun and kicked the door open.

The room was empty…except for Casey, in his t-shirt and boxer shorts, handcuffed to the headboard of the bed. I knew about Prague, snippets here and there, spy gossip if you will. Weird, like I said, and maybe a part of me always thought something was exaggerated a bit…until I saw it again with my own eyes. Carina really was a seduction master, if she could get John Casey in that position…Mr. Uncompromisable himself. Well, she had certainly practiced enough, I reminded myself. I teased him, because I could. Opportunities like that were too rare to pass up. I took a photograph of him.

I wasn't there for two minutes when Alahi and his men, obviously having tracked Carina here as well, broke in the door and took us both at gunpoint. Five against one, with Casey indisposed. Alahi had a golden gun, which was unusual, but seemed to fit him somehow. He held it to my head and told me I needed to bring him the diamond right away, or we were dead. I told him we didn't have it, that Carina did, and she wasn't here. He told me I needed to find Carina and the diamond, as my life, and Casey's life, depended on it.

Chuck happened to call me, in the middle of that stand off. Alahi nudged the gun, showing me I could pull the phone from my back pocket. "If it isn't Carina, don't answer it," he ordered me.

"It's not Carina, but it's someone who can find her. Will you let me answer it?" I asked him.

"No funny business or you're dead," he barked at me.

I answered the phone. Chuck started talking, 100 miles an hour and not letting me say a word. The intricate details–that Carina had slipped the diamond into Morgan's bag to hide it from Casey, that Chuck had found it in his apartment and flashed on it–I found out later, the next night. What I surmised from what he said here was that he flashed somehow and now had new information about the diamond. I was very precise and crisp, trying to relay the severity of the situation. Get Carina and tell her to bring the diamond back to her hotel.

In my head, my plan wouldn't have worked. Chuck tells her that I need help, and she comes. Maybe. She had already left us to die once. Why would this be any different?

Because of Chuck. This time, because of Chuck.

Not only did he already have the diamond, but Carina knew he had the diamond. She was already on her way to get it back from Morgan, to hell with the both of us. Even after Chuck told her I was in trouble, she was ready to bail…again. Alahi would have killed us, I'm sure of that. We were useless if Carina wasn't willing to deal.

With or without Carina, with or without the diamond, Chuck himself was coming…because he knew I needed help. For the second time in three weeks, Chuck was going way above and beyond his comfort zone of danger…for me. Not only that, but it turns out (and I never knew this until after Chuck and I talked about the CATs, after our engagement party) Chuck convinced Carina to come with him to help me. Again, I found out much later, in that same conversation, but he brought up Pakistan, even though he didn't know what that entailed, as a way of telling him I would have helped her if the tables were turned. And again, he was upset with me, and put it aside, risking his own life to save me.

Anyway, I hung up the phone and Alahi handcuffed me, my hands in front of me. He took my gun. He asked me who I worked for. I was bitchy and snarky as he leered at me through his black eye, the one I had given him while he was talking to me about all the naked women in his paintings. He dragged me out of the room where Casey remained handcuffed to the bed. Apparently, they were guarding Casey. Why, I wasn't sure…but regardless, we were both almost as sure as dead unless Carina had a plan. I wasn't hopeful. I didn't know yet that I should have been…because of Chuck. I learned after this incident, rest assured.

Somehow, Alahi had cleared out the entire lobby at the hotel, probably with money. He kept me under guard. Through the lobby windows, I watched the sky turn brilliantly orange as the sun set and dusk swirled up at the horizon. This was mid-October, so dusk turned dark relatively quickly. I didn't know how long Alahi would wait before he killed me…but he had been waiting for what felt like a very long time. He was impatient and irritated.

The practical thought of my death was not frightening, never had been. It was an anticipated unknown. Early was sure, even if the exact day could never be known. Regardless, it could always be today. That's true with anyone…more so someone with a dangerous job, like a firefighter or police officer…or a spy. Perhaps it would be today. Maybe Casey would survive, and the only buffer between Chuck and a permanent bunker would be gone. If Alahi managed to kill Casey too, Graham would have free reign to completely take Chuck's life from him.

Chuck would think I was still angry at him, for something that wasn't really his fault.

Regrets. Up to this point, I'd had none. My life had been too empty, too out of my own control, to have any. Regrets are rethinking decisions you've made. All my decisions had been made for me. And yet, everything about Chuck…was causing that feeling, that regret. It was a warning sign, should have been a warning sign, but I was still very good at denying my own feelings, burying them instead of acknowledging them.

Alahi had the gun to my head when I saw them both walk into the lobby…Carina and Chuck. She was her usual cool self, but he looked worried. Nervous, anxious…but he was here.

She was snarky too, while Chuck looked horrified at her lack of restraint. I was communicating silently with Carina, moving my eyes to let her know where my first move would be to launch my counterattack, taking them by surprise. Chuck was unaware this was happening, just stuttering nervously and ready to hand over the diamond, as if they would have just let us all go. More inexperience on his part.

I spoke to Carina in Polish. She replied in Swedish. Silly lines that didn't mean anything, but they were code. We had done that before. She was moving right, I was swinging up. I pivoted my eyes sharply, telling her to make sure Chuck was out of the line of fire before she moved. I swung upward and disarmed Alahi at the same time Carina shoved Chuck down by pushing on his chest and knocking him flat, then diving at the gunman nearest her. She tossed me the diamond, then went down in a flying tangle of arms and legs. I fought off a few, tossed the diamond back to her, but she dropped it. I found out later Chuck had picked it up and ran. We continued the hand to hand combat in the lobby. Carina and I together finished off the last few, and I saw Chuck run out of the lobby and down a short corridor.

Casey emerged from the elevator in his underwear, handcuffed to a broken piece of headboard, as we dropped the last gunman. "Chuck, Casey," I shouted to him, pointing to where I had seen Chuck run, to be pursued by a final gunman.

I called for backup, and the CIA ensured us the unit, along with cleaners, would be dispatched to the hotel. They were masters at cleaning up a scene like that and making it look benign. They would also take the criminals into custody to be processed properly. Casey emerged with Chuck. Chuck was still jittery, but he was ok.

"You guys ok?" he asked Carina and I right away. His eyes lingered on me a beat longer than was necessary.

"We're fine, Chuck," I told him, smiling.

Carina smiled, but it was mischievous. "Lucky us. We survived," she almost purred, looking him up and down like she had at the Buy More.

"Yay, team," he said, a little squeak in his voice. Carina was looking at him strangely. Whatever it meant, he seemed to ignore it, which seemed to irritate her. Something else I learned after the CATs reunion, Carina actually propositioned Chuck three times on that first mission. Once in her hotel room, once in the lobby, and a third time in the courtyard at Echo Park before she left. She was fond of saying no one had ever said no to her, and that was in fact the initial reason why she hooked up with Morgan (a story for later,) but Chuck in fact said no three times. Once I knew this, I said it right back to her. Her response, at that time, was Chuck didn't count because he was mine. He was always mine, and mine alone. I know that was true, is true, but it took a long time for me to know and accept that.

We all went straight home after what felt like the longest day in the history of days. I slept like a rock, dreamlessly, for once.

We three were back in Casey's apartment in the morning for our end of mission debriefing. Graham and Beckman were full of pride for our job well done. That was the first time Chuck was included in that, and I know he felt proud, hearing it come from the top like that, instead of just from me telling him what a great job he had done. I found out at the end of that briefing that while Carina and I were fighting off bad guys, Chuck had shipped the diamond FedEx to General Beckman's office. We saw that in living color on camera as it happened. They were not happy. I told Chuck to take the good with the bad.

We were leaving for our cover jobs when Carina was saying her goodbyes. She had a quip for Casey about his boxer shorts, which made Chuck's eyes bug out. I hugged her, gave a polite goodbye. She snipped back about my boring cover life. I hated that she said it that way in front of Chuck, as if I had told her that instead of it being her opinion. I told him we needed to talk that night. He said pizza, and I left. I thought Carina was following, but she lingered. That was proposition number three. I didn't suspect anything, however.

The day was uneventful. I continuously ran the conversation through my head, what I needed to say to Chuck, how I could explain in a way that was effective and not upsetting. That was handling him, was it not? That was my job. I didn't seem to be doing that well at it, and I needed to get a grip.

I got home smelling of sausage, like always. I showered and changed. This was a private meeting in my hotel room. We weren't leaving. I had no one to fool. But I chose my outfit carefully, casual as it was. I put makeup on and blow-dried my hair. No one to fool…but myself.

He showed up with the pizza he promised. I could see his apology on his face, written there perfectly without words. Everything I thought of saying, all that conversation preparation dissolved inside my head when I saw his face. I don't know what my face looked like. I can only imagine. Chuck has always told me despite my inborn reticence, my emotions always showed in my eyes. Not good for a spy, but turns out, not everyone could see that. Just him. For all his inexperience, he could read me better than I could read everyone. I know I saw his eyes soften when he looked at me, and I know I was smiling.

He made a point of opening the pizza box in front of me while he stood in the doorway. "Vegetarian, no olives. That's the only thing I know about you that's true. You don't like olives." He was right, of course. He did some investigative work on his own. But it was about me, only about me. So simple, yet so profound when it came to affecting me. I invited him in.

He started apologizing before I could even say anything. Saying perfectly that he knew his feelings shouldn't have affected the mission. Of course. But he was new at this, and I was harsh. I wanted to tell him that, to put him at ease. Tell him we would work on that together. I sat on the edge of my bed and he sat on the table in front of me, which, though he was sitting, he was a few inches beneath me and I was looking down at him. He immediately brought up Bryce again, and everything else I wanted to say fluttered away.

I was looking at his face, listening to his voice, but not quite hearing all the words at first. I know he was trying to tell me he shouldn't have been so upset about the fact that Bryce and I were a couple, which was worse than him being upset that I didn't tell him. All I could think at that instant was wondering, and not believing, if Bryce knew I didn't like olives.

"I just wish I knew something real about you," he said softly, with a tender honesty in his voice that went through me like an arrow. I had been looking down, and now I couldn't look away. I wanted to explain, but I was fighting my emotions, afraid if I spoke, that I would show him too much. He asked where I grew up, my name, and my middle name. It hurt me to stay silent, an ache in my chest that I couldn't dispel. I think he understood, because he stopped pushing. He got up to get the napkins.

My chest hurt so badly, I closed my eyes and whispered, "It's Lisa. My middle name is Lisa."

I never knew for a long time, but he heard me. Across the room and in a broken whisper. Giving no outward sign whatsoever that he knew I had even spoken. Things like that would come back later, when he was sure he wasn't good enough to be a spy and I tried to convince him that he was.

In retrospect, it makes sense that he heard me. I was too emotionally charged to figure it out then. When he returned, his smile was brighter, his muscles more relaxed. More at ease. How he always seemed to be. I was probably the most dangerous person he had ever come across in his life, and I put him at ease. Everything about this life was hard. If I could be that source of comfort for him, I wanted to be that. I was glad to be that.

For someone who had never been at ease in her life, it took me so much longer to admit that, with him and him alone, I was at ease. That feeling changed my life. And it started here.