Pros and Cons
Summary: Pro: Chuck is a promising agent on the up and up. Con? Sarah is one. When the powers that be order Agent Carmichael to capture the elusive Sarah Walker at all cost, fireworks are the least of their problems.
A/N: Don't worry ...Big Blasty Explosions is on its way, slowly but surely - I have a tonne of Uni work and I wrote this a while ago so I polished it up a bit on one of my breaks, hope you enjoy it.
This has not been looked over by anyone, all my mistakes are my own. I apologise for any mistakes of which I' am sure there are plenty.
Disclaimer: Do not own Chuck.
Chapter 1
"—Aaaaany way you waaaaant it, that's the way you neeeeeeeeed it, any way you waaaaaaaant it—"
Everyone in the warehouse froze as Journey blared from the inside of Chuck Bartowski's jacket. Mystified, the gangly nerd peered down, took in the face grinning in the small square of the call screen and grimaced. Loosening his long limbs out of the 'Morgan', ironically enough, Chuck schooled his expression apologetic and held up one finger at the waiting crowd of weapons-dealers.
"Sorry guys I'll just be a moment." And grin sheepish he hit 'talk' without any preamble.
Looks of confusion rippled across many thuggish faces.
Similarly confused and stood to Chuck's right, his expensive suit dripping a puddle on the concrete, Bryce Larkin cracked open his own eyes and stared dumbfounded at his partner. Chuck caught the look with a wince and cupped his phone into his shoulder.
"One sec." he mouthed and flashed his best wheedling grin with discreet thumbs up attached.
What little colour was left in Bryce's face drained and the Connecticut-born spy let his gaze drift around to the other inhabitants of the room. A sea of belligerent weapons dealers stared back at him and Bryce's shoulders bounced with a trickle of uneasy laughter as heavily tattooed thugs exchanged uncertain looks and lowered their weapons down in confusion.
This wasn't exactly an enviable position to be in.
Clearing his throat Bryce directed the attention on to him. "Gentlemen, just ah—one moment please, I need to—just need a second to confer with my partner over here—" Lips thin with a brittle smile for the benefit of the C.I.A most wanted Bryce cracked the corner of his mouth apart and latched on to Chuck's sleeve. "Chuck buddy, what the hell are yo—"
Chuck waved him off and scrunched his brow low as he tried to listen to the voice on the other end. Bryce's jaw sagged open. No doubt reception was rather crackly out here, but honestly. Langley had long put up with Chuck's own brand of uniqueness as it had always turned up results and Bryce had to admit it kept things interesting but this was just plain ridiculous. They were in the middle of a negotiation for goodness sake. Spies just didn't take phone calls in the middle of a good old-fashioned standoff. He sucked a lungful of air. And God knows they needed some kind of miracle to get them out of this scrape. Catching a thug's eye Bryce bared his teeth into a weak smile and rolled his eyes at Chuck.
The henchmen responded with a blank look.
"Morg-Morgan," Chuck's nervous laugh broke through the hushed silence and hundreds of eyes swiveled on him. Chuck coughed at the sudden attention, neck curling red. Hunching his shoulders in he gathered the cell to his mouth and into the receiver he said, "Morgan, now is really not a good time." He glanced up and confirmed that with a small grimace.
The frantic burst of nonsense on the other end was cut off by Chuck pained response. "Little buddy now is really not the tim—how many heavy gunners did you say?" Chuck flinched at the elbow he took to the flank and hastily corrected, "I mean—Morgan seriously I'm hanging up right now, I'll call you later little buddy. See ya—" he snapped the phone shut.
"Are you quite finished?" Bryce gritted out as he repositioned himself once more.
Chuck readjusted his vest and cleared his throat. "Yes," and colored a little. He coughed again and transferred his gaze back onto the crowd.
"Sorry about that, guys," Chuck spoke out with an air of sincerity and dipped his chin in apology. "Now—ah where were we?"
He stared into the crowd expectant and one intimidating thug stepped forward and cleared the back of his throat. "Nuclear codes?" he supplied.
Chuck brightened. "Ah yes," he nodded his gratitude to the man and then his shoulders squared.
Instantly every weapon in the room snapped back up and the click of the guns all being cocked sounded off as one.
Chuck and Bryce shot both of their arms in the air.
"Right," Chuck started. "If you guys don't hand over the nuclear codes you stole—" Chuck waved his right hand in the air for all to see.
"—We'll blow you up." Bryce smoothly interjected.
"We strongly urge you to consider you options, gentlemen." Chuck went on as he distributed his stare evenly.
The pause for dramatic effect caused Bryce to roll his eyes again for umpteenth time that day. Across the room the various crime lords and hired thugs bristled with scoffs and snorts.
"Yeah right," someone –Chuck couldn't pinpoint whom exactly—sneered through a thick accent. "You're bluffing."
Chuck and Bryce traded knowing glances.
"Are you gentlemen willing to bet that?" With deliberate slowness Chuck raised an eyebrow and reaffirmed his long finger grip around the handle of the dead man's switch.
A single voice cut through the bleakness and the hairs on the back of Chuck's neck rose.
"Yes."
Chuck cocked his head to the side.
And then as if it was the most simplest response in the world, he said: "It your funeral." and he let the device slip through his fingers.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-
"That was your plan!"
The air filled with a series of grunts, groans and the odd curse or two at the Bartowski ancestry. Finally two sets of hands, bloodied and blackened with soot, curled around the lip of a rocky ledge and seconds later two disheveled, sweaty faces hauled into sight.
"I never said it was a good plan, Bryce." Chuck choked out as he made a grab for a handy protrusion and dragged himself onto his knees.
Bryce's jaw locked tight. "You actually wired the bomb, Chuck." And with more vehemence then necessary he snatched Chuck's helping hand and pulled himself to his feet. He shot his best friend a dirty look and proceeded to dust himself off. "In what universe did you think that would work," Bryce went on with jerks of his lapel, his scowl growing more pronounced with each word.
Not in the least bit fazed Chuck shrugged out his shoulders, a smile twitching at his lips. Not giving anything away he flicked up his hand. "This universe."
Bryce whipped his head around at the tone. He knew that bloody tone.
Crinkled in the ridge of two fingers, smoldering just a touch at the edges was a torn square of paper. The heavy smoke and weak sunlight made the untidy scrawl difficult to read but with widening eyes Bryce picked it out without much difficulty.
"The nuclear codes?"
"Of course." Chuck said feigning some affront at Bryce astonishment, but he was smiling openly now. "I pickpocketed it out of the commanders jacket after the first rigged explosive—"
The scowl made a reappearance.
At that Chuck looked at the very least, genuinely apologetic as he straightened out the shredded fabric of his own suit. "—If it helps, you completely sold it by the wa—"
In the distance another explosion rocked the world, blossoming huge and magnificent on the horizon like an orange fist punching the sky and a large chunk of warehouse hurtled in their direction. Out of instinct the duo ducked as a gust of heat drove into them followed by a high-pitch metallic wail of sound.
The floor disappeared momentarily from beneath their feet and reinserted itself with a knee rattling bang.
Coughing his vision clear again, Chuck frowned as the world persisted to ring oddly in his ears. A fist coaxing his heart into beating once more, Chuck latched hold of Bryce's shoulder and glanced over at the flaming wreckage burning a couple hundred feet away. His eyes wrinkled in thought. "Maybe not so much C4 next time."
Bryce shot him an even dirtier look.
"Kidding, kidding." Chuck amended with a slight grin. "Next time I'll warn you if—"
Chuck's words were cut short as 'Journey' once again blared from the inside of his breast pocket and Bryce tilted his head back into a groan.
Ignoring Bryce, he peered down at the call screen and straightened just a hair.
Face flattened into something more professional, Chuck flicked the phone open into his ear. "Bartowski secure."
"Aah, Bartowski good I was hoping to catch you after your mission. I take it was a—"
Whatever Graham said on the other line gave Chuck pause and the ganglier spy glanced over his shoulder at the still burning wreckage. "Of course Sir—" his eyes grew just the tiniest bit brighter. "It was a blast."
Chuck wedged the phone tighter to his ear so he could hear Graham's crackling response over Bryce's spontaneous coughing fit.
A smirk stretched. "Why, thank you for noticing Director." Behind him Bryce coughs turned into a loud scoff as he dabbed the cuff of his sleeve to a dribbling head wound. Chuck grinned into his phone and forced his eyes elsewhere as he listened to the head of the C.I.A.
Suddenly Chuck perked up.
"Langley, Sir?" Chuck glanced around at his surroundings as if mentally assessing something. Finally: "I'll be there first thing in the morning." The conversation dissolved into a series of 'hmm's' and 'aah's' until Chuck stood to attention once more.
"See you tomorrow, Director."
The phone snapped close and Chuck twisted a brief sidelong look at Bryce. "How's your hitchhiking thumb?"
Bryce chose to show him another working digit instead.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
"This is your major threat to National Security?"
Just to be certain he still wasn't hallucinating after his trek through the desert the day before Chuck glanced down at the grainy surveillance photo clutched between his thumb and forefinger and squinted.
The face, just bright enough to make out under a thick thatch-like fringe, glared up at him with such frightening intensity Chuck blinked. The girls slip-thin figure furled out across the page aggressive and uncontained, fist balled and eyes rimmed red. Clearly a girl on the run—with nothing and everything to lose. Defiance and fear twisted her young face incomprehensible and upon closer inspection, hardened resolve shone bright in startling blue eyes. Clearly a girl on a mission. An acute shiver worked its way down Chuck spine.
A deep breath and still not bothering to hide the skepticism, Chuck's cut his gaze back up. "...A teenager?"
"No." Graham drew out in a calm voice. He met Chuck's gaze dead on. "A fugitive."
Chuck's eyes widened in surprise. "What?"
He inspected the photo again. The girl was barely out of her teens, aged beyond her years by some trauma or another. Although she looked capable of a lot, she barely looked capable of earning the attention of the C.I.A, much less the Director.
"That—" Graham spoke again. "—was the last ever captured footage of Jenny Burton."
Chuck's head snapped up. "Jenn—" Rumors, he had heard rumors, whisperings about a girl, a girl with such incredible skills she would have little qualms about quelling a revolution with only an eating utensil.
"—Aka Rebecca Frankel, Melissa Hart, Fiona Drake and every alias under the sun." Graham's disgust faded and his gaze drifted out of the window. "She currently goes by the name...Sarah Walker."
And the way he said her name, savored it on the tip of his tongue Chuck realized with a jolt there was some sort of history between the two. Graham stroked the side of his face in deep thought.
When the long stretch of uncomfortable silence became almost unbearable Chuck cleared his throat. "...Sir?"
Snapping out of whatever trance he was under Graham suddenly whirled back in his seat, all business. "The surveillance footage you hold in your hand was captured over ten years ago and since then Walker has been a ghost, swindling millions like her no-good father, intelligent enough never to leave a trail back to her." Graham steepeled his fingers together and Chuck knew what was coming. "...until now."
Chuck felt his breath catch.
"Yesterday analysts picked up chatter pertaining to a meet between Walker and Sheikh Rajiv Ahmad."
Chuck's eyes sparked with recognition. "He's been on the terror watch list for years, he's suspected of funding terrorist activity."
"Yes" Graham's eyes darkened with excitement. "And this is our opportunity to nail him to the wall and freeze his bank accounts."
Chuck absorbed this with a sage nod. "What's my mission?"
"You will pose as a new client of Walkers, the C.I.A has already set up a meet between the two of you and you will draw her out and then convince her to help us with Ahmad."
Chuck's teeth flashed slightly. "Consider it done, Sir."
Graham straightened in his seat. "You're the best the C.I.A has to offer Bartowski." Suddenly all the warmth left his voice and his eyes suddenly narrowed. "Do not let me down."
Chuck forced away the gulp. "Of course Sir, you can count on me."
Graham's eyes lingered on him a little longer then necessary. "I hope so, Bartowski."
The moment broke when Graham pulled open a draw and dug inside. "This is everything the C.I.A has on Walker and your mission brief."
Careful to maintain eye contact, although it twisted his insides slightly, Chuck accepted the decidedly thin dossier Graham held out for him and dropped his chin. "Thank you, Director."
Effectively dismissed Chuck turned on his heel, the folder slotted beneath his armpit, the innocuous paper-thin sleeve burning a hole of curiosity in the flank of his jacket. Just as he reached for the door handle, Graham's calm tenor carried across the room once more.
"Before I forget Bartowski, you'll be liaising with Major John Casey of the NSA," Something in Graham's tone spiked as if he knew Chuck's next response would be nothing but agreeable. "I hope this won't be a problem."
Opening his eyes, Chuck sucked in a deep breath and half-turned. He flashed his patented Bartowski grin. "Of course Sir, I revel in every opportunity to work with my NSA counterpart." That was a lie of course. Casey was a by-the-book burnout who liked to shoots things. A lot. Chuck wouldn't shoot anything if he could help it. They got along splendidly.
Grahams eyebrows rose. "Indeed." And there was a faint note of skepticism. Sensing this was his final dismissal Chuck wound an arm behind him and—
"—Bartowski—"
His hand froze atop of the door handle. He bit back a curse.
"—One more thing." Sunlight chose that moment to pour in through the floor to ceiling windows. "Me and Walker..."
Graham leaned in and a thin scar, ragged and discoloured over time, came into sharp focus along the side of his face snaking down from his brow to the curve of his jaw. Chuck felt a strange pull in his mid-section at the sight. "...have some unfinished business—
Chuck bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from saying anything stupid.
"—Capture her at all cost."
Chuck blinked.
"Yes, Sir."
And the intensity of the Director's gaze looked far more ominous then it should have been.
Until next time :)
Dontfreakout
