Disclaimer—Recognizable characters belong to Chris Fedak & Josh Schwartz. No copyright infringement intended. Any similarity to events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Author's Notes—Been kickin' this idea around for a long time. The thought just amused me greatly. When the ticklish, silly plot bunny bit, had to run with it this time. Many, many thanks to the wonderfully incredible, superbly talented basched for her assist in the beta-ing department.
Spoilers—Chuck versus the Nacho Sampler
Holy Guacamole—Hand over the avocados and nobody gets hurt...
John Casey walked in through the kitchen door with an unmistakable air of authority. It prevented anyone from telling him he wasn't supposed to be there. He flashed his badge long enough for it to be recognizable as some sort of authentic credentials but nowhere near long enough for anyone to recognize what agency he represented. "Health Department. I'm here to confiscate your guacamole."
The head chef, a put-upon redhead, turned to see him. "Come again?" She was fully ready to hear that it was time for a surprise inspection, that he'd be checking the cleanliness, the temperature of cold storage. The normal things that were looked at to maintain adequate safety ratings.
"Your guac," he said. "It's gotta go. All of it." As he spoke, he saw one of the infamous nacho sampler plates waiting to be served. "Including this," he said, grabbing the massive appetizer. Starter nothing. It looked like it could feed a whole platoon. He salivated at the thought of getting to sample it himself.
"You want... I'm sorry, Mister..."
Casey looked at her blankly, not offering her his name.
She blustered on. "I'm not just gonna give you our guacamole. The Nacho Sampler is our best seller!"
"Then make it without the guacamole," he said.
"We've already served twenty plates. You mean to tell me we're serving some kinda recalled something?"
"I didn't say this was part of a recall. I said that I was confiscating your guacamole," Casey said. He spotted the avocados in a crate in storage. "And your ingredients as well," he said, making his way toward the green fruit. Vegetable? No, he was pretty sure it was a fruit.
"You can't just waltz in here and take something like that without some kind of authority!"
Casey growled, low and menacing, as he turned to look at her fully. "Maybe you didn't hear me when I walked in. Health Department. You'd prefer I shut you down entirely?"
"I'd prefer you give me some kinda clue as to what the hell is going on on here!"
"Just new policies. Have to test your guacamole for acidity, content, spices..."
"Since when?" asked the chef, indignant.
"Since now. Either wrap it up so I can take it to our test kitchens or the only kitchen you'll be seeing for six months is your own," Casey threatened.
In under five minutes, he had the entire batch of homemade guacamole, every last avocado in the kitchen, and the last plate of the special nacho sampler. "You'll have the results of our testing in two to three weeks. Have a great night," he said, mostly sarcastically, as he let himself out the back door again and into the nearby waiting van.
His partner, Sarah Walker, shook her head as he returned with all of his take out. "Was that really necessary?"
"It's in the interest of national security. Yes." He placed the guacamole in the cooler in the back, resting the bag of avocados on top. As he settled in to his work station, he greedily helped himself to a chip loaded down with cheesy, beefy, guacamole-y goodness. "Nacho?" he offered, looking back at her.
At first, she refused. At first, she was determined to stay above the influence.
But it smelled divine...
Rolling her eyes, she reached over, stealing a bite.
Spying never tasted so good.
End.