Written for the helpthesouth auction on LiveJournal, since wepdiggy bid. Thanks, wepdiggy!

This version is edited - you can find the full version at archiveofourown dot org or on LiveJournal.

Content warning: Adult language and situations.

"O God, I could be bounded in a nut shell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams."

-Hamlet

Chuck can't sleep. He's pretty sure Sarah can't, either; she hates waking up, but some nights, even nights they haven't had sex, she can toss and turn, her knee bumping his leg, hair tangled on the pillow. She sleeps so hard she doesn't move, after missions.

But they aren't talking, and Chuck's afraid if he opens his mouth, whatever he says will be wrong, and everything that's roiling around in his head will come spilling out.

She's pregnant. Sarah Walker is pregnant. With his child.

And they are engaged in a way that, if they act on, will mean her immediate dismissal from the CIA and a new handler for Chuck.

Sarah lets out a frustrated sigh from beside him, burrowing her face into her pillow, and Chuck thinks of earlier, and he tried to block what they were doing, but, Chuck covers his eyes with his palms, Casey will see it on the surveillance. They're doomed anyway.

"What are we going to do," he mumbles, against the heels of his hands.

"What do you—"

Sarah's voice is rusty in the darkness but there's an edge to it, and Chuck uncovers his face immediately, turning to gaze at her. "Not that," he says quickly, touching her shoulder, and her eyes are wary. "I mean how are we going to face Casey in the morning, after... what happened... on the couch."

Which pales to insignificance next to the fact of her pregnancy. She blamed it on the stomach flu and a faulty condom, and he remembered that afternoon, when she described it, the firefight with a band of Chinese arms smugglers, the wound against his upper arm and the gash in her temple and how very gently and slowly they'd made love, on the carpet beside their bed, his hands fisting in her hair, her lips parted like a prayer, their gazes locked the entire time, and it was like everything was new, he had never seen her before, never touched her before, not like this.

And underneath it all, now, Sarah Walker is afraid. Revealing the truth will mean she can no longer protect him; revealing the truth will mean he can no longer protect her.

"Don't worry about that."

"And..."

She slides over on the bed and presses her lips against his, closemouthed, very gently. "It's all right."

Chuck groans, his hand curving around her upper arm, the shock of his skin against hers. His child.

He has never been so scared in his entire life as he is right now.

"They get what they want anyway," he whispers, lips moving against her mouth.

"What?"

"If not us, Ellie and Devon's kid, and if not her, then..." He trails off, stroking her hip. "Sarah, how can we—"

She stops him with another kiss, and he knows she's thought about it, just like he has. They can't do this. Even if they've managed to somehow hide this relationship, he has a feeling that a six-pound baby won't be as easy. She'll never be allowed to stay with him, and if she does, how can they raise a child?

Chuck gives up and slides his leg between Sarah's, sucking her earlobe into his mouth, groaning as she rakes her nails across his shoulder blades.

They have all the time in the world.

They have no time at all.

Chuck and Sarah have a routine in the mornings. He makes coffee because she doesn't function well without it. They wave hello to the surveillance cameras on their way out the door.

Chuck hears the coffee maker hissing and sputtering to itself in the kitchen as he pops open the medicine cabinet and finds his migraine medication. Explaining to the civilian doctor exactly why he needed them had been tricky, and he can feel another one blooming, brought on by—

Chuck's hand is shaking when he puts the water glass back down and turns his gaze back to their bed, like it was a dream, somehow. His hand drifts up, his fingers absently tracing the back of his neck, the pale scar left after Sarah put the transmitter in.

His baby. His child, drifting in that still-flat belly. All he knows about her is that her name was Jenny in high school and she hates olives and she's good with knives. The few times he's ever flashed on her, he's seen her deadly and ruthless, the only information a sparse file listing her as temporarily assigned to Los Angeles, her cover name.

He doesn't know her birthday or her favorite color. She rubs a hand over her face and the diamond flashes on her finger.

The apartment is so quiet.

Chuck pours Sarah a mug of coffee and wonders if there will ever be a way out.

He has slipped three times. On the way to Castle, radio tuned to the college station and then entirely ignored, Chuck counts them again.

Four days after the first time they had sex. In the car during a pointless tedious stakeout, too frantic and rushed to dig for his wallet, and Sarah murmuring into his ear that it was all right, she was on the pill, as her hips sank to his, as he tipped his head back, her hair brushing his cheek.

At the Finnish embassy, after the hostage situation, Christmas lights still winking in the perfectly manicured shrubs. Black satin and rhinestones, their mouths open but barely touching, the weight of her, shivering boneless against him as he pinned her against the rough stone. Grateful he was alive, grateful she was still breathing, her mascara tracing an unsteady line down her cheek as she gasped his name, fists tight against his shoulder blades.

The afternoon of the Chinese gun battle.

And now, last night, but that hardly matters anymore.

He tells himself silently that they can get through this, that they have enough time to find a way, before everyone has to know.

He has a mental image of a livid, fire-spitting General Beckman so vivid that his nightmares must have consisted of nothing else.

They take the back entrance into Castle now, and when Chuck parks his car, he sees Casey perched near the entrance, playing with a cigarette he actually does nothing but flick ash from. Sarah's hand idly rises to smooth her hair, her face turned away from Chuck's line of sight. When Casey sees Chuck, he rolls his eyes, and for an irrational second Chuck feels like a prom date walking in at 3 a.m. to see his girlfriend's father waiting on the couch with a shotgun in his lap. He takes his time fiddling with the radio, locking the car.

"Nice going, Bartowski."

Chuck rubs the back of his neck, fingertips tracing the edge of the scar only he can find. "Is she mad?" he asks, shrugging to indicate their base, the General's certain anger.

Casey glances over at Sarah with the same look of faint disgust on his face, and she takes a deep breath. "Casey's going to sit on the surveillance from our place. For now."

Chuck is so relieved his knees almost go weak. "For now?"

"I... have some leverage."

"What she means is that pretty soon it won't matter if there's video, audio, or anything else," Casey says, tossing his cigarette to the pavement and grinding it in. "This... problem... will be dealt with, or cease to be a problem."

And that's the last Casey says about it, brusquely holding the door for the two of them. Chuck has to fight himself to keep his hand from resting on the small of her back as he walks beside her down the stairs, from sliding into her hair and drawing her to him for a kiss, just to see the look on Casey's face.

Beckman, looking more irritated than usual, appears on the video screen with little fanfare. "We've received intel that the Ring is using Ferek Ishail, a shipping magnate, to bring in drugs to bankroll their operations. Ishail is going to receive wire transfer information tonight during a party at his mansion, outside Malibu. Agent Bartowski will go over surveillance for this mission, to discover exactly how Ishail is getting the information, since the Ring is sure to use some sort of code. Once the method is determined, Agent Walker will go in to intercept the information and we will use it to freeze the assets. Any questions."

In itself, it isn't a question, but Chuck sarcastically raises his hand, blurred by the mostly sleepless night and the migraine pulsing dully in his skull, like a fist into cotton. "The engagement party will be Friday night. You're more than welcome to come."

Beckman's lips thin even more. "Time is of the essence, Agent Bartowski."

"So you wanted us to throw dinner mints and pretzels on plates and call it good? Oh, no, General Beckman, we really have to sell this. Ellie's getting a cake and everything. And by Ellie I mean my sister—"

Beckman stabs at something just out of sight with her fingertip and the screen goes black.

"—who is probably the only one convinced by all this," Chuck finishes lamely, trailing off. "Well. And a good day to you too."

Casey immediately goes to a terminal, pulling up blueprints, schematics, photos of known acquaintances. Chuck can feel Sarah's gaze on him, but when he turns she's already halfway to the armory, going over the weapons they'll need.

Chuck sinks down to his seat at the table, puts his forehead against the smooth top and closes his eyes. For the rest of the morning and the afternoon they'll be sitting here, showing him images, writing down the intelligence and strategies he flashes on, and he'll be lucky if he isn't incapacitated before dinner, laid out in a cool dark room, flinching at the reverberation of his own heartbeat.

Sarah walks in with a clipboard, absently pressing her thumb into the diamond of the engagement ring.

That alone makes him smile.

Three days after they moved in together, all those months ago, Chuck went out with Awesome and Morgan, and Casey came along, Jeff and Lester too, gazing at Casey the entire time like they knew the truth about him. It felt like a bachelor party, and maybe it was; to them he wasn't a bachelor any more, and Awesome and Casey knew the truth, that he'd have to sleep next to Sarah, knowing the entire time that she was untouchable.

That had been before they knew something wasn't quite right with the new Intersect, when the flashes were just insanely vivid, when every new room had it whirring away, calculating exits and plans of escape.

They all drank that night, all drank a lot that night, Morgan because he was leaving, Awesome because it had been a while, Chuck because he hadn't had a good night's sleep in three days and he could not, definitely could not touch Sarah. Even though Awesome was giving him far too much information about how to keep their sex life active even after they were sharing a bed. When Casey had rushed out on some emergency, but gestured for Chuck to stay, he'd felt torn, relieved that he didn't have to go, disappointed that he wasn't going to be able to get out of it. Jeff and Lester were awkwardly flirting with a couple in their forties, suggesting something mildly repellant involving a hot tub and chocolate-dipped strawberries.

Chuck hadn't been sure what was going to happen once he uploaded the new Intersect. Only that it hadn't been like this.

They drank until Chuck wanted to call Sarah, especially when Awesome called Ellie to reassure her that he was fine, they were all fine. Chuck suddenly needed to make sure Sarah understood that if he could've, he would have saved Bryce, would have taken his place.

And then he felt gut-twistingly sick at the realization that part of him was glad he'd never be competing with Bryce again. Except in Sarah's head. He started wondering, in the taxi on the way back to his sister's place, if Sarah, while he was training, had ever thought, Oh, Bryce would have gotten that immediately, and—

"We're here, bro."

It was a relief to use the perfectly legitimate excuse that he couldn't see straight, to claim his old bed again. Even so, he wasn't able to sleep; he itched for his games, for something to do, to call Casey and find out what was going down, but the iPhone was suddenly too complicated for his fingers. It took him five tries to get the cab company, and only when they picked up did Chuck realize he had been trying to call Casey.

Not Sarah. Calling Sarah would be a mistake.

The beach was pitch black and deserted; his hand was gray when he glanced down at it. He tripped over a dune, and the Intersect kicked in just long enough to keep him from doing a faceplant, but the maneuver left him on his knees, violently sick. He wrapped his fist around the neck of the wine bottle he'd brought with him and staggered to the shoreline, kicking his shoes off as he went.

She'd been watching him all night, she'd said, that morning, after the night he'd spent trying to figure out what the hell was going on, what exactly Bryce had managed to get him into. This time the questions were different, harder.

Sooner or later something was going to have to change. Twin beds would be a nice start. If he could convince himself that his touch would kill her, that their skin should never meet—

But it had; he could see her so clearly, in his mind's eye, in her t-shirt and panties getting ready for bed, naked save for black satin trimmed in lace. He knew the warmth of her skin, how she had been ready, willing, in that motel in Barstow. When he had the first Intersect still in his head.

Chuck squeezed his eyes shut. If only he didn't know that.

He took another long sip of the wine straight from the bottle, winced, and fell back onto the sand. A few grains stung in the scabbed gash at the back of his neck, where Sarah had put in the transmitter.

The transmitter that, no doubt, explained why she was sitting a few feet away from him on the sand, her knees hugged to her chest. She'd been behind him for so long that he wasn't surprised to see her there, somehow.

"What're you doing here," Chuck murmured, the words thick and slurring off his tongue.

"Keeping an eye on you."

Chuck raised the wine bottle in silent invitation and she gave a half-shake of her head, then shrugged and took it. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand after a long draft and turned her gaze to the sea, the salt wind whipping her hair back from her face.

"Sarah," Chuck breathed, repeating her name a few times. He liked the way it felt rolling around in his mouth. "We can't do this."

Her sigh was so slight it was almost imperceptible, and her gaze wouldn't meet his. "We can't do what."

Chuck propped himself up on his elbows. "God, you're so pretty," he said, and the way her hair rippled was enough to tilt him off balance. "Sarah... if we live together I'm gonna do something... bad."

"No, you won't."

"Do you know why I'm here," he gestured at the entire beach, letting his cheek fall against the sand, "instead of at our place? I knew... I couldn't just let it go."

"Chuck, this arrangement is just temporary—"

"You mean like having this in my head?" he asked, and she frowned. "I can't have a relationship with you like this. Because it would all be lies. And one day I want to know you, really know you. I want to know what your birthday is and what you wanted to be when you grew up and what your favorite song is and what made you decide to join the agency, but when we're like this, I can't know any of that." He closed his eyes. "But the day you can tell me is the day you'll be gone."

He felt something touch his shirt and when his eyes fluttered open, she was lying on the sand beside him, her face turned to his.

"You know how I feel about you."

She pushed her hair out of her face and pressed her lips together, her fingers gently drifting against his, and didn't answer, but he didn't need an answer.

"I know it's going to be so hard—for me, anyway. But if we can't really be together—"

"Chuck," she whispered.

"I'm gonna do everything I can to keep my hands off you."

It had seemed so important. Chuck has always been painfully aware of who he is (a computer nerd), who he wants to be (hopefully someone with moderately awesome superpowers), and the ever-widening gap between. Now he remembers the first Intersect with something that is almost fond nostalgia; although it had made him into a glorified consultant, thrust him into a life he was repelled and fascinated by, the clean sequence of a flash in that first iteration was almost refreshing, in retrospect.

He has no way to describe or explain the headaches that come with prolonged or intense use, now. A gun battle leaves him so nerve-racked and photosensitive that he can imagine his entire head is filling up with black-tinged blood. His skin is warm and whole and solid when Sarah rubs a reassuring hand against his forearm, but the migraines try to make any touch feel like sledgehammers splintering through bone.

He is not unaware that the Intersect is, at its simplest, a set of hallucinations, that the abilities it gives him are not unlike some elaborate form of schizophrenia, and without Sarah and Casey, Chuck feels that he would have resigned himself to a mental institution a long time ago.

In the cell Chuck is curled in the fetal position, face against the cool pillowcase, arms wrapped around his chest. The only light is from the emergency sign over the door at the end of the corridor. The cell door stands open.

The Intersect picks up on the footsteps far before his ears register them.

So many things that seemed important had faded when Sarah told him that she was pregnant with their child.

He can almost see it, now. He almost has it.

The Intersect has halfheartedly plotted how to use the ledge over the door as a prop in unarmed combat and the quickest route to the exit in case he is outmanned, when Sarah walks in with a glass of water and two pills in her hand. Her face is almost always eerily serene, or at least that's how she imagines it. Sarah Walker always looks like she is struggling to appear impassive, like a single slip in her iron-fisted control will leave her exposed, vulnerable.

Now, he can imagine her radiant with joy, too. He's seen her on the cusp. Their job just doesn't lend itself to that particular emotion often.

"Feeling any better?" Her voice is just above a whisper, and when he doesn't immediately move to take the pills, she puts them down on the table next to him, very gently, and sits down on the edge of his cot. The click of the glass on the table and the squeal of the bed pound through his head.

"There's one picture still bugging me," he says cautiously, because his voice tends to echo just as painfully as anyone else's.

Sarah rubs his back. "Don't worry about it yet. We have time. I'm not leaving for a few hours."

It's cut and dried. The code will be in the serial numbers on the receipt with the jewelry delivery just before the party. Sarah has a lipstick camera and a suitably distracting dress. The key to the code will be a little trickier, but all the intel indicates that it's a standard drop; they need the key if they have any chance at freezing the accounts.

There's no way out of it; he's going to have to watch the surveillance tonight. He'll be lucky if he can move at all tomorrow.

"Sarah," he says, wincing as he turns onto his side. "Be careful tonight, okay."

She nods, a cool palm gently cupping his forehead before she brushes his hair back. "We'll figure this out," she says, her fingertips drawing small circles at his temple. "It's okay."

He meets her gaze and they hold for a second.

He's almost there.

"Chuck, you really have to come to the hospital." Ellie is stirring a pan of scrambled egg whites at the stove. "We need to get you in the MRI machine."

Sarah had given him a similarly concerned look when she had come home from her mission in a tight turquoise dress with her hair sleek and her lashes invitingly dark and he had only been able to brush the backs of his fingers against her cheek, smiling wanly as she curled close to him.

Chuck has to force his eyes open, to focus on the black coffee in the mug Ellie handed him when he walked in. "I'll be fine."

"I haven't seen you looking this awful in..." She gestures with the wooden spoon. "Since that time Morgan and you spent all night playing that—"

"Grand Theft Auto," Chuck fills in without hearing the rest of it, propping his chin on his hand. "It's just, things have been so busy at work. A good night's sleep is all I need, really."

"Or a vacation." Ellie deftly lifts the toast from the toaster and divides the eggs into portions on the plates. "You and Sarah really need some time together, to just be alone before the wedding planning starts, because, believe me, that is some crazy stuff. You think you're stressed now." She shakes her head and offers him a plate and he concentrates on the weakening belief that his need for food is stronger than the nausea.

"I'm sure you and Devon need a vacation more than Sarah and I do."

Ellie points her fork at him before she picks up her toast and rips it into pieces. "Don't get me started. I've been leaving travel brochures everywhere. Then Devon bought that." Ellie smirks dismissively as she gestures at the workout bench in the corner of the living room.

"Then why don't we surprise them?"

Ellie's dark eyes brighten at that, as she swallows a bite of egg. "I'm sure I could wrangle Devon's schedule at work. But Sarah's?"

"Leave it to me." Chuck forks egg onto the toast and folds it, manages to get through a bite. Maybe he can do this.

By the time Ellie hugs him goodbye and heads for work, Chuck has depleted the small amount of energy he had managed to regain. The drive back to his and Sarah's apartment seems almost insurmountable, but the impulse to stay at Ellie's instead of going back is brief and easily mastered. He has to be there for Sarah, especially now.

And he has some plans to make.

The last dying gleam of sunlight is slanted in thin orange bars on the blinds when the mattress dips, and Chuck opens his eyes to find that his headache is now a dull sore ache, and his fiancee—

Oh, he will never get used to those words.

His fiancee is gazing down at him, concern in her blue eyes, her hair framing her beautiful face. She is as bare to him as she has ever been with that unguarded glance, and he reaches up for her, to touch her cheek. She smiles as soon as his fingertips brush her skin.

"How are you feeling?"

"Only half-dead," he manages, "instead of seven-eighths."

"Let me see if I can get you the rest of the way up to speed." She glances down at her watch. "Meet me at the Wescott in twenty minutes."

"Sarah—"

She puts her finger over his mouth. "Shhhh. Twenty minutes."

He knows what that code means, knows what she's doing, and so he packs a little bag for them, tossing in a nightie he hasn't seen on her before, and throws back a few more aspirin before heading out. During the drive he imagines it: Sarah sauntering into a back entrance, filching a maid uniform from the washing machines or the lockers, bluffing her way into the inner offices to access the computers. Then she'll change into something jaw-dropping and present herself at the front desk, confident and radiating sexuality, rolling over any of the clerk's protests until the room is theirs. Chuck is expecting the tap on the car window, but she's a few minutes later than her initial deadline and it still startles him, when he glances up to see a stunning, fiery redhead in a tasteful low-cut dress, paste jewels gleaming on her fingers, blue eyes sparkling into his.

Sarah. Sarah, who can work miracles with double-stick tape and a smear of vaseline and two minutes with her makeup kit. His gaze can't help but trace the line of her gold necklace down into her cleavage, the way the clerk's almost certainly did.

He rolls down the window and she leans in invitingly, her eyes dancing when he finally manages to drag his gaze up from her breasts.

"We're in."

They have done this once before, on his birthday. He would feel guilty, if not for the visible thrill it gives Sarah to con her way into the lush, obscenely expensive Regal Suite, the suite that's not listed on the online availability chart, the suite that requires access via a special elevator. It's meant for the entourage of movie stars or the honeymoons of royalty, not Chuck and Sarah who share a one-bedroom apartment and shop at discount warehouse stores.

And, once they're inside, the adrenaline has left him feeling almost normal.

The room is amazing. His feet sink into the massive pile carpet, the sleek furniture is spotless, the television is the biggest he's ever been close enough to touch, but the real centerpiece, the real reason he will brave the repercussions to con their way into this room, the reason Sarah is hastily undressing in the middle of the floor, is the pool, lit under a glass awning on their private balcony, just for them. There's a jacuzzi too, but it's that pool, serene and cool in the blistering heat, a handful of scattered yellow petals drifting on its surface, that draws him, and he tosses the bag onto the bed and starts to work on his shirt.

"I brought a suit for you."

Sarah steps out of her panties and stands in the middle of the floor completely naked, save for her jewelry. She takes off the paste rings, leaving her engagement ring on. "Yeah, don't think I'll be needing that."

"Sarah—"

With a wicked grin, sweeping her hair back, she walks out onto the balcony. While there might be a few leering men out there with high-powered binoculars, they're too far away from the closest buildings for this to be as public as it feels to him.

"Come on!" She dips a toe into the water and lets out a delighted squeal.

This is who she is, when she's away from all the surveillance and the lies and the facades. She glances back at him and beckons him with her fingers in a lascivious curl, and then she sits down at the edge, planting her palms behind her as her legs dangle in the water.

His hand keeps trying to sneak modestly between his legs, as Chuck nervously shoves the tumbled pile of his clothes out of the way and walks out after her. She tips her head back, her hair tumbling down, and his gaze goes immediately to the welcoming slope of her bare breasts.

She lets out a soft chuckle. "You are the worst."

"Hey," he protests. "I'm a guy and you are a ridiculously attractive woman. You should be flattered." He sits down next to her, hissing at the cool slide of the water against his legs as he dips them in. "And thanks, by the way."

She shrugs and looks away. "Don't mention it."

Chuck clears his throat. "Sarah, do you remember, right after we moved in, when you found me on the beach, and—"

"And you said that if we couldn't really be together that you didn't want to be together," she says. She hunches her shoulders, her arms crossed over her lap, and she still isn't looking at him.

He nods. "I was wrong."

She meets his gaze, then. "But, Chuck—"

"But we are together. And I do know you. You're this amazing, fierce, incredible woman, who puts up with me for some reason—"

Her lips curve up. "Oh, you know. Some reason."

"And maybe I don't know everything about you, but I know the things that matter. Who you are. Who you were, isn't important." His fingers brush hers. "Unless, you know, you want to talk about it."

Her smile turns wan. "But we're not together."

He gestures between the two of them, sitting naked at the edge of the pool. "We live together. We have sex a lot— well, as often as we can— and you're going to..." He shrugs, his gaze on her bare stomach. "I kinda think that means we're together."

"Yeah. And you think that we're going to be able to do things together? Actually live here like nothing's changed?"

She's getting angry. She's been angry with him before, but he hates it, hates to be the focus of her rage. "We're here, aren't we? After all those times you told me Beckman would throw a shit fit—"

Sarah pushes herself up and grabs one of the ridiculously fluffy bath towels, wrapping it around herself. Chuck turns, his wet legs cooling quickly out of the water, and watches her walk over to the low table where she left her costume jewelry. She picks up a ring and squeezes the housing, and he sees a tiny red flash deep within the oversized stone. Bug-killer.

"Do you think she doesn't know we're here? That she doesn't know what we've been doing all this time?"

"Then what's the problem? Isn't that good?"

She walks back to the pool, stripping off the towel, tossing it onto one of the lounge chairs. Her face is pale. She's never been particularly good at this.

"It's not like she's said anything, right? I mean, I thought you said that if she knew, after all that stuff with the 49B, that she'd reassign us both or something—"

Sarah takes a breath and slips off the edge and into the water, and he follows, glad to finally be entirely out of sight of anyone who may be watching. The water is deep; on his toes, his chin is barely above the water.

"Sarah. Talk to me."

She turns to him and her cheeks are flushed high, her eyes bright blue in comparison. "I'm not good at that part."

"I know."

He catches her waist under the water and draws her to him, and she comes willingly. She feels different under the water, not quite slippery, but her legs come up easily to wrap around his waist and she presses her lips just behind his earlobe.

"What will they do, when they know?"

She shakes her head. "Reassign me."

"But—"

"You know that."

"How can they do that if you're going to have my child?"

"How on earth can I be your impartial handler if I'm the mother of your child?"

"But... if you weren't my handler..."

"I wouldn't be in L.A. I'd be inciting coups, smuggling secrets, infiltrating enemy groups."

"But what if you weren't."

"What are you saying, Chuck?" She leans back to gaze at his face.

"I mean... is being a spy all you ever, ever wanted? Everything you ever wanted to do? What would you do if you weren't?"

"You saying you want me to quit my job?" He'd think she was angry, if not for that look in her eye. "What would you do if you weren't a spy?"

"I asked you first. And technically I'm not a spy."

She sticks her tongue out at him and without thinking he ducks in and kisses her, for the first time in what feels like years, even though it's probably only been a day. The headaches make everything blur together into florid color and fluid time. She slides her hand into his hair and kisses him back hard, her spine arching to push her hips against him in premature anticipation, and when he pulls back her lips are a glistening red.

"I wanted adventures," she admits, and she looks almost embarrassed again, her voice soft. "I wanted to be with my dad, and I thought that if I was a very, very good girl he would come back for me. And then I thought that if I was the best con artist he'd ever seen, he would come back for me. The CIA took me in, when he went away. They made me feel like I wasn't a terrible person anymore."

"Anymore?" he says, unable to help himself, but she shakes her head.

"I... Chuck, this? Us? I never, before, never ever wanted this. Never wanted the whole wedding dress and kids and picket fence thing."

"And if I didn't have this, I'd be fixing computers for eleven bucks an hour, applying for the assistant manager job and sabotaging myself during the interview, and probably drunk-dialing Jill every weekend and wishing I could meet a girl even a third as hot as you."

She chuckles, shaking her head. "So we're all the better now, right? So why do I feel like time's running out?"

"I don't know. It's not like Beckman could stop us from getting married—"

Sarah shakes her head. "She would."

"So you're saying she'll look the other way as long as all we're doing is having sex. Which makes no sense, by the way."

She loosens her legs and moves away from him, her gaze downcast again. She clutches the rail along the pool's side and he follows, unable to look away from her face. She looks almost ashamed.

"When we first met, when I was trying to figure out if you still had the intersect, there were two ways to do it," she says. "Seduce you and get you to tell me, or tell you the truth."

"But you told me the truth."

She nods, slowly. "But you trust me, now. You'd trust me with your life."

Chuck nods, feeling like ice water is surging in his stomach. "What are you saying."

"That Beckman knows and one day she's going to ask me to persuade you to do something. It's the Hail Mary, it's a one-shot, but it's an incredibly powerful one-shot, and when the agent—" it hasn't escaped him that she's shifted to third person, taking herself out of it— "is good enough, the mark isn't even aware of that first little nudge, the second, the third."

"She's okay with us being together because she can use it."

Sarah starts to nod. "Because she thinks she can use it," she corrects him. "And if I tell her no, she knows I'm compromised, really compromised, and it's over."

"A con within a con."

"Yeah."

He shakes his head. "You would have done that?"

"I have done it," she admits. "Not to you, but I have. Chuck, I never wanted to fall in love with you."

"I know—"

"You don't understand," she insists. The tips of her hair are wet and the reflection from the lights glances over her cheeks, the line of her jaw. "Everything would be so much easier. I was stronger before this. Before us."

"And you were so happy."

She shakes her head. "I was never this happy. And I never had so much to lose."

"We're not going to lose this."

She puts her arms around his neck again. "Even if I quit right now, Chuck, they'll never let you go. And for as long as you're here, I can't leave you."

"Of course they'll let me go."

"Oh, Chuck. As long as you have the intersect, you're theirs."

"But if I quit—"

"If you try to quit they'll kill you."

He goes still, then. His throat is tight.

He can't do this.

He has to do this.

"Will it be you?" He can't stop himself from asking.

"I don't think so."

"Well, there's that."

On his back he can see the stars. Under the water he can hear the water lapping against the sides of the pool and imagines he can hear the slow beating of his heart, the swish of her feet as they flutter in the water.

He hasn't said anything about the baby, not since she mentioned it. Not really. He was just getting used to the idea of being an uncle. Sarah with a baby. Sarah with a child and a station wagon.

When they were living in the suburbs for that brief few days, it had felt like a joke. Not enough time to grumble over toilet seats or nail clippings or drinking out of the carton, no fighting over stealing the covers or a late notice on a bill or who was going to pick up the drycleaning. They had still been on eggshells. He wasn't alone with her enough to feel any other way. Not yet.

The thought of Jack Burton makes Chuck uneasy with the idea of Sarah in an apron, bending over the stove. Like a wild tiger in a fenced backyard. It would only be so long before she would ache to escape.

She had never wanted this kind of life.

Never before, anyway.

"Sarah?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you think we should do?"

She sighs. "You don't want to leave your family, do you."

"Would you?"

"I'm used to thinking that the only thing I can't afford to lose is myself. What I want hasn't ever been a part of the equation."

The intersect is trying to find patterns in the stars. He closes his eyes and that dizzying feeling doesn't entirely go away.

Chuck pushes his legs down and stands again. "I'm sorry about not telling you about the ring. I didn't mean to spring that on you, and I know this is all really sudden—"

She stretches. "I think we're even."

He swallows. "Do you want... this? To get married, have a child?"

Her eyes are wide. "Do you?"

"Sarah—"

She looks down. "Every single instinct I have is telling me that we can't do this. Chuck, I... for a while I didn't want to tell you."

He nods a little, stiffly. He's suddenly cold. "That's what Casey meant. That it would be taken care of."

She rubs her face with her hands and he can hear the slightest tremble in her voice. "I'm so sorry."

It takes him a long time to speak through the lump in his throat. "Are you still thinking about that?"

"It would end us. Wouldn't it."

He nods. "Yeah. It would."

She has to work to put a calm expression back on her face. He's never really seen her as someone who wasn't lonely, closed in on herself, almost unreachable, despite everything, but in that moment her face tells her everything he's never even tried to ask.

"Stop it."

"What?"

He grabs her wrists. "Even if I'm not good for anything else, Sarah, you have to be honest with me."

"I'm so fucking scared," she says, and her face was already wet but then a tear streaks down her cheek. "If I stay with CIA then I lose you and if I stay with you I lose everything else, and if I lose you, I..."

He pulls her close and she's shaking, her face wet against his wet shoulder. "I just wanted us to be able to relax for a few hours, and look at us."

"How much longer will the battery in that bug killer hold out?"

"We've got plenty of time."

"Then come on."

They shower and she walks out barefooted in the cream silk nightie he brought for her, her hair damp, to see him sitting on the bed waiting for her. She steps between his knees and gazes down at him as he rests his hands on her hips.

"This is all I've ever wanted," he tells her, his gaze locked on hers. "You, a life with you. If you want that then I'll move heaven and earth to be with you."

"If."

He smiles but it's only in reaction to the faint smile on her face. He feels breathless. "But if you don't, you have to tell me now, because there won't be any coming back from this."

"Back from what?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not telling you. You're a terrible liar."

"I am not. A terrible liar." She folds her arms. "I'm a spy. I'm a great liar."

"Sure. You're a great liar. You just suck at lying to me."

She shoves him and he falls onto his back, and despite his impatience, despite his fear, he can't help but tighten his grip on her hips as she climbs over him, the gown sliding forward, the hem pooling over his belly as her damp hair falls against his cheeks.

"I'm a fantastic liar."

"Then tell me you don't love me."

Her gaze falls on his mouth. and her lips quiver as he slides the nightie up, until she's practically naked again. "Shut up," she whispers, and when she kisses him he trails his fingers up her spine to the back of her neck and she lowers herself to him, her knees spread and her breasts against his chest.

"Sarah, stay with me. Promise you'll stay with me."

She kisses his earlobe. "You've never understood that I'll never be able to walk away from you."

He closes his eyes. "We have to find my dad. Just us."

She freezes. "Is it getting worse?"

He chuckles, mirthlessly. "I have three missions left in me, maybe four. Then Beckman won't have to worry about this."

She touches his cheek and he can feel her concerned gaze on his face before he even opens his eyes. "Have you been to the hospital? Talked to Ellie?"

"If Ellie did a scan like she wants, she'd have me on the table the same day. You know that. And if we bring Dad in and he's killed like the others, that's it. It's over. And I wouldn't mind so much—"

She squeezes his shoulder. "Don't you say that," she whispers, almost hisses. "Don't you dare say that."

"Okay." He pushes himself up and she sits on his lap, obediently lifting her arms as he gathers the gown and pulls it over her head. "I got a nosebleed after the last one and the pain hasn't really gone away."

Then he looks up at her and doesn't say anything.

"Chuck—"

"I don't want you to stay because you feel bad or guilty or anything. I uploaded the intersect. It was my choice."

"Then we'll find your dad. He'll find a way to fix this."

"If he can—"

"He will." Her voice is low and fierce.

"I don't know what happens after that. I... we'll see."

"We'll be together."

He nods. "We'll be together."

Then he flips her onto her side, gently, and starts with his mouth on hers, her palm cupping his jaw, and she pushes against him, strains, her leg sliding over him to wrap around his waist and draw her to him. He trails kisses down her neck, her collarbone, and she arches. She lets out a soft moan and he pulls back, drawing a breath to tell her to stop, before he remembers.

"We don't have to be quiet."

She nods, running her hand through his hair. "We don't have to be quiet," she agrees, smiling, and her cheeks are already a little flushed.

After, his headache has gone from a pulse just behind his eyebrows, a copper taste at the back of his tongue, to a cleaver through his scalp, as his heartbeat echoes between them. He pants his breath back as her legs go loose around him, the soles of her feet sliding against his hips.

He goes boneless and falls to his knees on the floor, and she slides with him, her hair a tangle down her back, her cheeks flushed.

She whispers his name and kisses him, and he can still taste her on his tongue. She slides her arms around his neck and when she pulls back, he sees blood on her upper lip.

"Sarah—"

Her gaze falls to his mouth. "Oh God," she whispers, and as he touches her lip, she swipes under his nose and shows him her fingertips.

Blood.

"I think you'd better tell me what you're planning," she says. "Before I lose it."