Chuck vs. the Accidental Benedict Arnold

Everything's different (new jobs, new covers), but everything's somehow still the same (same enemies, same mission). Add new relationship status with the same watchers: too complicated, even for Team Chuck? Follows "Chuck vs. the Watcher," Chuck/Sarah.

Rating: T, for sporadic use of strong language and occasional interesting romantic situations.

Spoilers: Through 2.07, "Chuck vs. the Fat Lady," but I completely ignore any of the issues brought up with the Jill story arc. Shameless, I know.

A/N: Back by demand, ladies and gentlemen. Why there was a demand in the first place, I'll never know, but it's apparently there. Thanks to all who sent PMs over the past few months asking if I'd given any more thought to writing this story—aside from making me chuckle, they forced me to keep considering the feasibility and efficacy of a sequel-to-the-sequel. While the story would have (most likely) materialized down the road, a well-timed PM from jagged1 last month made the story come together sooner rather than later, and merits a special mention and thank you.

This story is the third in an arc that started with "Chuck vs. Sweet Home Alabama" and continued with "Chuck vs. the Watcher." Both stories are located here on FF. "Chuck vs. the Accidental Benedict Arnold" may make more sense if you read both of those first, but the choice, as always, is yours. Updates may be a little slower and more sporadic than usual for me, but I'm going to try my very best to post a new chapter within two weeks of the previous chapter. It may turn out that I can update more frequently (…or less…), but it's hard to say right now.

Finally, the disclaimers: I read the chapter over a few times, but typos and errors undoubtedly slipped through, despite my efforts to catch them all. Sincerest apologies for them—they'll be fixed as soon as they're found. Also, italicized sentences, or several italicized words in a row, tend to denote a character's thoughts. Finally, I don't own Chuck, because if I did, update frequency wouldn't be a problem.

-.-.-.-

Day 10 of virus release: Sunday

Cans. Lots of cans. And plates. There were quite a few of those, too.

That's all Sarah could immediately remember about the previous night as she stirred in bed. A meager amount of information for anyone to remember, really, but especially for a spy. Yet, she wasn't bothered by it.

Why wasn't she bothered by it?

She burrowed deeper under the covers and took a deep breath. With that breath, its aroma distinctive, she realized why she wasn't bothered. Her eyes opened to narrow slits, and a brief glimpse of the infamous Tron poster on the wall confirmed it.

She was at Chuck's. It was Sunday morning…early Sunday morning: the alarm clock said it was 6:17am. No, wait, 6:18am; the clock's digits changed as she glanced at it. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept so soundly, and fully intended to enjoy an hour or two more of high-quality sleep before deciding whether to worry about her inability to instantly recall every detail of the previous night.

Rolling toward the center of the bed, her eyes curiously opened when she registered the distinct lack of body heat radiating from the far side of it.

Chuck wasn't there. With how cold his side of the bed was, he'd obviously been gone for some time. And he was definitely there when she went to bed last night. That much she did remember.

Brows furrowed and grogginess dissipating, she rolled back toward her side of the bed and sat up in the same, fluid motion. She paused for a beat once she'd effortlessly perched on the edge of the bed.

Something didn't feel right.

Completely alert, Sarah quickly took stock of her surroundings. The Morgan door was still closed and locked, the blinds still shut, the bedroom door still shut, and the grape soda can still attached to the wall above the nightstand. She could hear the faint murmur of talking from the front room through the door.

For an early Sunday morning, nothing seemed out of place, other than Chuck's absence.

Still, something didn't feel right.

Sighing, she looked the room over again, more carefully than before. She'd learned long ago to trust her instincts.

She noticed something new this time—both of their cell phones were missing. They weren't on the nightstand, where they'd been tossed the night before. Noting the peculiar irregularity, Sarah allowed her eyes to continue around the rest of the room. Her evaluation screeched to a halt when her gaze reached Chuck's desk. His computer was missing.

If that didn't constitute an irregularity, she didn't know what would.

She needed to figure out where Chuck went. Then, she could figure out where his computer went. And she'd figure it out in that order.

A weapon of some sort would be a good idea. Being Chuck's bed, not hers, she was nearly positive that there wasn't a knife the size of Manitoba underneath her pillow. She didn't remember stashing one there the night before, and sure enough, when she checked—no Manitoba-sized knife.

Getting to her feet, Sarah's eyes snapped to Morgan's grape soda can. That knife would work.

Extracting the metal knife from the aluminum can ended up being a far quieter endeavor than she would have guessed. Feeling better at having a weapon, Sarah crossed to the door and opened it enough to see the surrounding hallway.

From what she could see, it was empty in both directions. The detail, strangely, made her feel more uneasy.

Carefully, she opened the door the rest of the way, stepped out into the hall, and headed toward the kitchen, can-impaling knife at the ready. The murmured talking she'd heard from the bedroom had stopped, and the resulting silence was more than a little eerie.

It was official. Something definitely didn't feel right.

Slowing as the hallway opened into the kitchen, she finally caught a glimpse of Chuck. He was standing at the dining room table, facing away from the kitchen, and looked like he had his arms raised in front of him.

Just as she was about to step into the kitchen, Chuck's frantic voice pierced the silence.

"No no no no, there's no need for that. We're adults, right? Let's just be calm, OK? Just, no, don't don't don't!"

The piercing sound of a gun being cocked punctuated Chuck's sentence before the actual gun appeared out of nowhere, pointed at Chuck's forehead. A split second later, Sarah felt the cold metal of another gun at the base of her skull. The gun's owner quickly confiscated her knife before giving her a not-so-gentle shove into the kitchen, bringing the dimly lit front room into view.

She saw that the enemy contingent numbered three: the person holding Chuck at gunpoint, the person holding her at gunpoint (wow, lots of people were being held at gunpoint…), and the person calmly sitting across from Chuck at the table. Since he was the only one sitting down, Sarah guessed he was the one in charge.

Why did the person in charge always sit down? Did it enhance his prestige?

Table-sitter had a very ho-hum expression on his face as he fiddled with his wristwatch, adjusting the time. He reminded her a little bit of Casey—table-sitter looked as if this were a perfectly normal occurrence for a Sunday morning. A morning house call, followed by pancakes. Or waffles. But he seemed like more of a pancake guy (maybe because he reminded her of Casey).

Only when he noticed Sarah's entrance did the ho-hum expression dissipate from table-sitter's face. A snake-like smile replaced it.

Fulcrum. It had to be.

Table-sitter stood up and took a few steps around the edge of the table. He spoke with little preamble.

"You have 5 seconds to agree to our conditions, or else..."

The man deliberately trailed off his sentence and glanced in Chuck's direction to make his threat before meeting Sarah's now-blistering gaze again.

"Five…"

Chuck had done a good job cleaning up last night. The kitchen counters were completely clear…and thoroughly devoid of any potential weapons or projectiles.

"…four…"

Chuck probably knew she was behind him, even though he couldn't see her. It made coordinating any sort of plan through non-verbal communication impossible.

"…three…"

Chuck would benefit from her saying something pretty soon. Her inability to communicate her feelings, though, was rendering her mute; words refused to materialize, despite her strong desire to speak.

"…two…"

Chuck's gunpoint person set his shooting stance while table-sitter continued to count down to zero. She still couldn't speak—this situation really did not look like it was going to end well.

"…one…"

Chuck's face wasn't visible. Looking on the bright side, it was one less thing to haunt her in the years to come.

Table-sitter didn't bother to say "zero" aloud. Perfectly in time with the established cadence, Chuck's gunpoint person pulled the trigger instead.

The sound of the gunshot seemed to reach her in slow motion. Once it did, however, she instinctively reacted…

…and sat bolt upright in bed, poised to dismember the nearest human being. Her heart thundered and chest heaved, racing in time with her eyes as they bounced rapidly around the bedroom.

There was no human being in sight. Only Chuck's TV stared back at her. She fell back onto the bed, kicking away blankets while running her hands through her hair.

What the HELL was that?

Nightmares were to be expected for spies—occupational hazard. Yet, Sarah couldn't remember the last time she'd had a nightmare of such remarkably frightening magnitude.

She also couldn't remember the last time one of her nightmares had started so loopy and gotten progressively loopier.

Manitoba-sized knife? The ridiculous "lots of people being held at gunpoint" observation? She took a few calming breaths. And, really, the internal waffle-pancake monologue! Or the sitting-prestige comment!

She could do without such dreams. Her conscious alone could instill enough fear and worry about her ability to keep Chuck safe without her subconscious pitching in. Fulcrum gunning for Chuck, not because of him being the Intersect, but because of her new job, weighed heaviest on her mind.

Their new relationship status and everything it implied, complements of her "a-ha!" moment the previous night, came in a close second. At the very least, it certainly intensified the normal sort of fear she felt at the thought of Chuck being captured by Fulcrum.

She let out a small sigh and studied the ceiling.

It would be an understatement to say that the dream's timing left a lot to be desired.

I'm not thinking about any of this now, she thought. I'm going back to bed, because it's Sunday and it's only…, she twisted her head to squint at the alarm clock, 6:17 in the morning. Way too early.

A beat passed before she twisted around to examine the clock more closely.

It was 6:17am. The clock clicked to 6:18am as she looked at it. Her left hand stretched out to check Chuck's side of the bed as she stared in disbelief.

Coincidence, Walker. Very, very large coincidence…

She held onto the belief that it was coincidence until the only thing her left hand found was cool sheets and air. Quickly sitting up, she checked the nightstand—both of their cell phones were missing—and then the desk—Chuck's computer was missing.

Murmuring also could be heard from the front room.

Something didn't feel right.

Oh, no. No no no. Out of all the times to get déjà vu, not this time…

Not wanting to lose time rooting through yesterday's clothes for a fresh throwing knife, Sarah snatched the grape soda can off the wall and extracted the knife after leaping out of bed, clad only in her usual borrowed t-shirt and boy shorts. Opening the bedroom door completely, though cautiously, revealed an empty hallway, same as her dream.

This can't be happening. I'm imagining it.

She took the time to investigate the far end of the hallway, near Ellie and Awesome's room, and the bathroom. Both were empty.

By the time she crept back to Chuck's door, the silence was the eerie sort present in her dream.

By the time she was about to step into the kitchen, Chuck spoke, with his arms raised in front of him.

"No no no no, there's no need for that. We're adults, right? Let's just be calm, OK? Just, no, don't don't don't!"

Remembering all too well how things played out before, Sarah somersaulted into the kitchen, knife at the ready to skewer the Fulcrum agents in the front room. Just as she landed in a perfect three-point stance in the middle of the kitchen archway, eyes furiously sweeping the front room, Chuck snatched his cell phone from the crook of his neck and sent it skittering across the table, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation.

The sound of the skittering cell phone was precisely where the sound of the cocking gun had been in her dream.

Tensing up at the coincidence—and nearly launching her knife at where the agent holding Chuck at gunpoint had stood in her dream—she checked her throwing arm for a second longer while she completed her visual sweep of the front room and hallway.

Except for Chuck, the front room was empty. A glance over at the hallway showed it was empty, as it had been seconds before when she checked it. There was no Fulcrum agent sneaking up behind her.

In the time it had taken her to finish checking over the front room, Chuck had collapsed into the chair behind him with a sigh. Standing back up, she closely scrutinized the room's angular shadows as she walked to where he was sitting, head in his hands. Needing tactile assurance that he was absolutely fine, she hesitantly threaded her fingers through his hair, relaxing slightly when he didn't disappear. He jumped at her touch, clearly not expecting someone sneaking behind him, but let out a content-sounding sigh once he registered who it was and leaned back against her.

"I'm so sorry, did I wake you up?" he asked quietly, tilting his head back to look at her.

Well, not technically. About to give a non-reply, she was preempted by Chuck's cell phone ringing. She involuntarily sucked in a breath as a barely perceptible chill crawled down her spine.

The ringing precisely coincided with the gunshot in her dream.

I don't know what's more bothersome, she thought, instinctively searching the room again for threats, the fact that the damn phone rang period, or the fact that I can somehow sense that it occurred at the same time as… Her train of thought abruptly stopped once she realized where, exactly, it was going.

Having lunged for his phone to silence it, it wasn't until Chuck settled back in the chair and glanced back up at Sarah that he noticed her eyes darting around the room. The eye sweep was the sort she performed during missions…and it was more than a little disconcerting when performed in the front room. Did I miss something?

"Hey, you OK?"

Hearing the concern in his voice, she dragged her attention back to him. Ensnaring her fingers more securely in his curls—he was still there, and absolutely fine—she let out the breath she'd been unconsciously holding.

See: COINCIDENCE. There's no one here. Relax already.

"You know," she said as lightly as she could while the tension slowly ebbed away, "I thought you were kidding about the whole not sleeping together thing."

Before he could stop himself, Chuck let out a groan and let his head thump to the nearest surface—the dining room table.

"You and me both. My employer apparently thought I was serious. I don't think they believe in weekends."

Lifting his head, he grandly gestured to the table and TV. Papers were scattered around the dining room table, and from what she could tell, the TV was hooked up to Chuck's computer, currently displaying lots and lots of code.

"Your phone's been ringing, too," he added, fishing it out of his pajama pants pocket and holding it up for her to grab, "but I figured one of us should get to sleep in."

So, his cell phone and computer were missing because he moved out here to work, and when my phone started ringing, he grabbed that as well. All because he wanted me to sleep. Unbelievable. A small, incredulous smile broke across her face as she lightly lobbed the knife the short distance onto the table, freeing up a hand to take her phone from Chuck.

"Is that who you were talking to just now—someone from work?" she asked while expertly tapping her phone's display. That would certainly explain the hand motions. With her attention mostly on the phone, she didn't immediately register the nervous stutter in his voice.

"Uh, what? Oh, um, yeah. Work."

In the few hours of sleep she'd managed to get—party cleanup had lasted until well after midnight, after which they'd both fallen into bed, exhausted—she'd missed five calls. The numbers weren't familiar ones, either. Three voicemails waited. What the hell—I don't think I've ever had FIVE missed calls before 7am on a Sunday. It was her turn to groan and thump her head against the nearest flat surface while squeezing her eyes shut.

In her case, it was Chuck's forehead. She didn't realize it until he whispered, his voice so very close. When he did, the stutter in his previous response made much more sense.

"I'm sorry, wa…was that a knife?" Even whispering, his voice was an octave normal than higher. "Did you just casually deposit a KNIFE on the table? What'd you think was going to happen out here!"

Eyes snapping open, Sarah lifted her head enough to make eye contact with him. One good look at her slightly haunted expression had Chuck haphazardly pushing his chair to one side as he stood and spun to face her.

He spoke in hushed tones, mindful of the surveillance. "What is going on?"

"Chuck…"

"No, seriously." He took a step closer, yawning into his shoulder before continuing. "Did I miss something?"

Crossing her arms over her chest with a sigh, his persistent concern was enough to prompt a simplified, halting version of the truth.

"You, your phone, and your computer were all missing. What was I supposed to think?"

He obviously hadn't thought of it that way at all, because once he did, his eyes went wide and hands came up to punctuate the sincerity of his words.

"Oh, oh crap, no, nothing like…no, no! I mean, I didn't even th…I suppose it wo…" He suddenly stopped talking before blurting the first full sentence that came to mind. "I'll leave a note next time."

"A note?" A relaxed smirk finally crept across her face. "That's not really how this works."

"How does it work, then?" he thought aloud, lack of sleep affecting the functionality of his normal brain-to-mouth filter.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. Did he really just say that? Smirk transforming into something a bit more devious, she moved in to kiss the sleepy look off his face before hesitating, sudden shyness overtaking her. Oh my God, this is real, not because we have to, or because we're being ordered to, or because Ellie's watching, but because we w…

Chuck's lips brushed against hers before disappearing, moving her focus from her very-Chuckesque thoughts to the man himself, who had noticed the shift in her demeanor and tentatively finished what she had been about to start. He was now watching her carefully, brows slightly raised, waiting for a response of any kind. Telegraphed across his less-sleepy face were the same thoughts and realizations she just had—yes, if what she said yesterday wasn't a dream and she'd meant it, they could really do this for them, not feel guilty about it, and they'd work it out as they went along.

Shyness mixed with her previous deviousness, and became infused with the knowledge that she'd meant what she said—even if she had no idea how they were going to make this work or if it was truly a good idea. Before she could stop herself again, she leaned forward to gently kiss him back, hands coming up to cup his face and relaxing into it when he wrapped his arms around her and, just as gently, began to kiss her back.

As things slowly heated up—And I thought our making-out-on-demand kisses were dangerous. If things had ever gone like this in the middle of a mission…—Sarah trailed her hands from his face down to his chest. Goosebumps unexpectedly spread all over, producing simultaneous shivers for both of them and a realization from Sarah.

…oh my God, he's still shirtless. How did I miss that?

She remembered that part of last night, now: it had been her one, half-asleep, mumbled request before he'd crawled into bed last night—no shirt. Being as tired as he was, he'd taken it off without protest or embarrassment before falling on the bed and passing out as soon as his head touched the pillow.

It had been a great request, she'd decided last night, since she hadn't gotten to enjoy the similar shirtlessness Friday night. Now, in the light of the morning, she didn't think it wasn't a great request—it was outright brilliant.

He seemed to remember his state of undress the same time she did, because things started escalating much more quickly after that. Sarah found herself turning to lean on the table before her knees decided to give out. Breaking their latest searing kiss with a surprised gasp as he kissed up her jaw before settling on ravaging her neck, she buried her face in his shoulder while reminding herself to breathe.

Just as he shifted so one of his hands came to rest on the small of her back under her shirt, with the other resting on the outside of her bare thigh, gently tapping some rhythm, Chuck's phone started ringing. Lacing her fingers through his hair to prevent him from even thinking about going anywhere, she breathlessly spoke.

"Ignore i…" The rest of the sentence was quickly eclipsed by a moan as he tapped the hand resting on her leg a bit faster.

"Ignore what?" he gasped in a ragged voice before catching her lips for another kiss in response.

The call finally went to voicemail, silencing his phone just in time for hers to come to life with a call of its own. Neither of them paused to contemplate answering it, the most recent kiss resulting in a blistering look and a mutual decision to stumble toward the couch.

Tumbling over its arm, Sarah's full weight landed squarely on Chuck's prone form, causing eyes to dangerously flicker and soon had Sarah playing with the drawstrings on Chuck's pajama pants. In an attempt to counter her progress, Chuck had no sooner flipped them over, rolling his hips against hers, when a series of firm, short raps on the front door caused both to freeze.

Willing the interruption to be imaginary, the second, more firm set of knocks seconds later dispelled that notion entirely.

"I don't suppose we ignore that, too?" he asked with forced levity, shifting some of his weight off her and resting his forehead on her shoulder as he fought to catch his breath.

A third set of knocks sounded. Whoever it was, the person at the door wasn't going anywhere.

If it's Morgan, I swear to God, Chuck's best friend or not, I will end him. Eyes smoldering, her answer came out in a dangerously low tone as she gave Chuck a shove off the couch, leaving little room for misunderstanding.

"Answer it. Fast."

Groaning and grumbling, Chuck half-jogged to the front door and peered through the eyehole. Seeing who was on the other side, he rolled his eyes and tried to even out his breathing before tugging the door open a little bit.

John Casey stood on the other side, with his excessively cheerful I-know-we're-being-watched face in place.

"Hi, Chuck. Sorry to bother you so early, but is Sarah here?"

Chuck ground his teeth. WORST TIMING EVER.

"Yeah, she is, but she's…asleep," he lied. "Can it wait?"

"Not really." Casey tried his best to look sympathetic, but the resulting look was far from it after he noticed Chuck concealing half of his body behind the door.

Sarah silently appeared next to him, blanket from the back of the couch loosely wrapped around her lower half. Mustering as much pleasantness as she possibly could, she joined Chuck in peering around the door and addressed Casey.

"Morning, John!" I swear, if you did this on purpose, John Casey… "Thanks again for all your help yesterday. Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I did, thank you. Can I borrow you for a minute?"

…what? Her brain shifted from girlfriend mode into agent mode, though not exactly willingly with Chuck inches away. Why does Casey want to talk to me outside? Maybe because Chuck isn't supposed to know Casey's NSA…but Casey and I aren't supposed to be talking shop. This can't be good.

"Sure," she replied, for lack of a better answer. "Hold on a minute."

Reaching behind Chuck to push the door shut, she whispered to him once it latched.

"Before you ask, I have no clue what he wants. I don't know if it's cover-related or real. I'll be right back, alright?"

Opening the door and stepping out before Chuck could respond or tempt her to reconsider, she fashioned the blanket into an impromptu sarong as Casey stood patiently.

"What is it, John?"

Casey blatantly examined the windows to make sure Chuck wasn't peeking from one of them before taking small steps parallel to the front door, away from the apartment. Sarah pulled the door shut as Casey started talking with a slight smirk.

"Sorry to wake you up…"

Ha, ha. Funny, Casey. Biting the inside of her lip, she kept the curious expression on her face as the NSA agent stopped at the small archway leading into and out of the courtyard next to Casa Bartowski.

"…but I glanced out my window and saw these folks snooping outside of Chuck's place." Casey turned to face her, innocently raised his eyebrows while folding his arms, and nodded once toward the archway. "They friends of yours?"

WHAT?

Sarah quickly took two large steps and found a series of handcuffed, roughed-up ninjas sitting in between the two archways, up against one of the walls. With their blank expressions and the vacant way they were staring at the opposite wall, they weren't amateurs—worrisome in itself, but not excessively so. It meant they weren't part of the normal surveillance team that'd been present in the courtyard for the past week or so. Besides, the normal team only has one person in the courtyard at a time, not…

Sarah's skin crawled once she registered how many ninjas were against the wall.

…three of them. Oh. My. God.

Her dream. She'd forgotten about it, courtesy of how her morning had drastically improved. It was apparently was anything but a dream.

Her instincts had been correct—she'd learned to trust them long ago.

She felt Casey's eyes on her, waiting for some sort of response, unaware of her scary case of spy déjà vu. Planting her hands on her hips, Sarah forced in a deep breath and took a few steps toward the fountain before letting it out slowly.

There goes the morning. Focus, damn it, and think. We need a plan…

-.-.-.-

While Sarah's unwelcome metaphorical bucket of ice water was furnished by Casey, Chuck was getting his from another source.

Oh my God, what is up with people today!, he thought with the sort of tired exasperation only possible after multiple nights with little sleep. First the guy from work, and now…this one. He should have just ignored Sarah's phone. That much was now clear.

But, no, he'd curiously picked it up when it started ringing (yet again) while she was outside. The number wasn't familiar to him, but it'd already called three times this morning. After a brief moment of hesitation, Chuck had decided to answer—four calls before 7am suggested something fairly substantial. If Sarah was pissed at him for answering her phone without asking…well, he'd figure something out.

While he'd anticipated the potential pissed ex-spy on his end of the phone when he answered, he hadn't anticipated the actual pissed ex-spy on the other end. As a result, he was currently half-sitting, half-standing on the corner of the table as he dealt with a furious Abigail Knox. She clearly wasn't used to being unable to get in touch with her employees at the drop of a hat. Chuck suppressed a yawn while wielding his best placating-an-irate-customer voice as he tried to calm Abigail down.

"Yes, I will make sure she checks her voicemail and calls you when she gets back, I promise. … No, I'm not sure where she went—she just said 'out' and left her phone h… … Ab…Abigail, I answered her phone because this is the fourth time this number's called this morni…"

Abigail cut him off in mid-sentence to launch into another tirade. God, please please please let Sarah be back soon… Glancing toward the front door to reinforce his silent plea, he was surprised to see her leaning against the door—he hadn't noticed her come in. Letting out a sigh of relief, he interrupted the still-ranting Abigail as Sarah's head snapped toward him at the sound of his sigh—she evidently hadn't noticed him, either.

"Actually, I think I just heard the front door. Let me go check, hold on."

Quickly clamping a hand over the phone's mouthpiece—I think Abigail might try to climb through it—his eyes went wide with incredulity as he mouthed "OH MY GOD" to Sarah, thrusting the phone in her direction. With a slight tilt of his head at the object in his hands, Chuck slid off the table as she silently acknowledged his request and crossed the room.

"It's Abigail," he whispered once she was close enough, "and she is FREAKING out about something. I mean really REALLY freaking out."

Sarah gave him a sharp look before muttering, "You've got to be kidding me" under her breath and extracting her phone from Chuck's two-handed grip, putting it to her ear and speaking without hesitation. Stoically taking in Abigail's ire, Chuck did a double-take as he noticed Sarah's mood for the first time since coming back inside, its haunted, serious sobriety starkly contrasting with what it had been before.

The longer he looked at her expression, the more he could feel uncertainty and worry cloud his own. Something's wrong, he realized with sickening clarity. I wonder if Casey heard something from Beckman. Or if he found out something. Watching Sarah pointedly stare into space as she tersely gave Abigail a one-word answer, another possibility came to mind. …or Casey saw us on the surveillance, said something, and now she's reconsidering…

It made him want to throw his arms up in the air. He settled for scrunching his eyes shut and rotating his neck around in a slow circle. Of course, this would be so much easier if we could actually talk. Then I wouldn't have to guess which one it is.

Rubbing his eyes before opening them again, he was surprised to see Sarah looking at him with concern; only vestiges of her previous expression remained. He couldn't stop his eyebrows from shooting up, conveying his rampant confusion and the question on his mind—What?

A sad smile crossed Sarah's face as she relaxed and responded far more calmly to something Abigail asked before giving him a lingering kiss. Resting her forehead on his chest after, she continued her much more civil-sounding conversation with Abigail without missing a beat. Surprised, it took Chuck a minute before his brain caught up. …so, probably not the last one, he thought as he wrapped his arms around her. That's helpful.

Chuck felt, rather than saw, Sarah let out a small sigh after she finished talking to Abigail and hung up. She made no effort to move, and seemed to work multiple things out mentally before picking up her head.

"Looks like your employer isn't the only one who doesn't believe in weekends. I've got to go into work for a little bit." She gave him a forced smile that didn't reach her eyes—she was staging the conversation for possible surveillance. Judging by what her eyes were really saying, she needed him play along…and to trust her, among other things.

"Your esteemed leader did sound especially cheerful this morning..." he mused aloud, acknowledging her silent message with a quick eyebrow wiggle.

Coughing to control the unanticipated almost-laugh, she shook her head with a slight grin before giving him a peck on the cheek. As she did so, she subtly angled them away from the front window to conceal what she whispered to him a second later.

"Abigail was calling about Reed's office—Quentin discovered the break-in this morning. Type out how you covered up Casey's mission while I get dressed."

Ha, well, Abigail going ballistic makes much more sense in light of that little tidbit. Giving Sarah a small squeeze of acknowledgment, Chuck dropped his arms and headed toward the kitchen. Oh, we're definitely going to need some coffee today, he thought as he yawned again, because this whole awake-one-minute-and-crashing-the-next thing is going to get super old, super fast. I used to be able to pull this next-to-no sleep stuff off without a problem. Maybe it's old age or somet…

"Hey, do me a favor?"

Her tone stopped him in mid-stride as he spun on his heel to face her, caffeine sources and rambling inner monologues forgotten. It wasn't her fake conversation tone—it was her real one, the one he rarely heard. Taking in her conflicted look, Chuck couldn't quite tell if he should move closer or farther away from her…and accordingly decided not to move at all.

"Anything, you know that."

"Stay here until I get back?"

His face undoubtedly displayed his confusion as he opened and shut his mouth once before tilting his head to look at her quizzically. I know I'm supposed to be playing along with something, but where did that come from?

"Wait…what? Why?"

"Just…" The rest of the sentence refused to come out, prompting an aggravated sigh. She was never good at communicating when feelings were involved. Slowly walking into the kitchen, she stopped right in front of him and tried again, choosing her words carefully and forcing them out. "Just…humor me. Please. I need to check something."

About to ask why again, she gave him a long look, filled with everything she couldn't say aloud. Chuck found himself nervously swallowing a few times before hesitantly nodding his head.

"Alright, yeah. I'll stay put today."

Her eyes fiercely narrowed, his acquiescence coming too easily. On the verge of angrily reiterating her point, she was derailed when Chuck mouthed one word: "Promise." Waiting a moment to gauge her reaction, he quirked an eyebrow before tentatively opening his arms for a hug.

"God," he muttered quietly into her shoulder as she immediately took him up on his offer, burying her face in his neck, "and here I thought our day couldn't get any more interesting…"

Her quiet, muffled reply, preceded by a rueful chuckle, qualified as the understatement of the day.

"You have no idea."

-.-.-.-

A minute or two after Sarah's understatement, one of the courtyard's large garbage barrels randomly tipped over. An individual clad in a mismatched black outfit tumbled out, and didn't hesitate before bolting for the courtyard exit like someone possessed.

Mere seconds after the individual had cleared the apartment complex, a serious and resolute ex-Agent Walker emerged from Casa Bartowski, fully dressed and armed with Chuck's explanation and requisite cup of coffee. Casey, waiting patiently by his apartment door as she requested immediately after her spy déjà vu moment, gave a small grunt as Sarah coolly walked past him. Once they had entered his apartment and shut the door, she described her tentative plan to keep everyone's new cover intact while adjusting for Fulcrum's persistence.

By 8am, Casey had her first plan of the day in effect. At that point, Sarah was already across town at Reed Associates, enacting Plan #2 while efficiently assessing the cause of the break-in. Unbeknownst to any member of Team Chuck, a new email appeared in an inbox a few hours later, begging to be read:

Marilyn,

Thanks for the report. Your general plan of action sounds good. However, you're right: I don't believe Sarah Walker is truly done with the CIA, nor do some of the others I talked to this morning. (Even though Abigail is convinced, which shocks me.) We'll have to see it to believe it. In the meantime, keep an equal amount of surveillance on Walker and Casey, if you can.

Are you sure Walker and Casey being in LA together is a large coincidence? From what you've said, I believe you, but a few of the others were shocked that there was no official connection between the two. I would go so far to say they were disappointed. Do you mind looking into this a little more, just to make sure?

A few of us are flying out to LA tomorrow for a bunch of meetings. I'd love to get together for coffee or something to catch up, and the others would like to meet you to talk about Walker and Casey. Are you available at all tomorrow for a meet-up?

All the best,

Tim