I have another idea where they could meet... airport! Where Chuck's a male flight hostess :D Gosh I'm feeling evil.

Wouldn't that be an awesome challenge to do after WHO ARE YOU? Competition for the most ridiculous Charah set up based on the "meet cute" conversation from Music and Lyrics.

Disclaimer: I had salt and vinegar chips for brunch :)


Chuck vs. the Hotel Meet Cute


CHAPTER ONE

Late December


"Bartowski!"

Chuck sighed as he walked in through the large glass doors, feeling the warmth of the overhead heat-pump settle heavily on his bare neck like a scarf, the blustery winds of the cool winter air releasing their grip on his skin as the entrance slid closed behind him.

Big Mike stood with his brown ham-sized fists pressed against the counter at the opposite side of the forum, a fierce scowl on his face. "You're late again," He accused, as Chuck wound his way around the ceramic table and gigantic vase of flowers in the middle of the lobby.

It was late in the evening and the place was empty, the vaulted French-style ceiling echoing Big Mike's voice against the pearly marble floors and wooden-veneer walls. Chuck slipped behind the reception desk, opening the hidden panel behind Big Mike to stow his black coat in the small wardrobe.

"I'm sorry," Chuck finally replied, "I'm missing part of my Christmas dinner for this extra shift, you know. Ellie wasn't too happy at all."

Big Mike shrugged, "That's not my problem," he said, seeming to bulk up as he crossed his arms over his expansive chest with difficulty. "You work for a four and a half star hotel, and if you want to keep your job, you'd better be ready to miss New Years too."

Chuck checked the umbrella under the desk, ready and waiting for his use if he was called outside to help with luggage. The bellhop's luggage cart was waiting in an alcove by the side of the doors, and Tang was currently struggling to store bags in their overnight compartment.

There were only three people in the lobby at this time, and all were hotel staff. Chuck was supposed to be the unpaid front office manager, porter, front office attendant, night auditor all in one.

"Where's Morgan?" He asked, looking around for his diminutive friend.

The manager huffed, "He's working as dish-boy for the restaurant upstairs tonight, God help those poor folk in the kitchen."

Chuck looked forlornly at the grand staircases, two red paths on either side of the hall, leading to a balcony before conforming into a single way, the elevators and dining rooms on the ground floor.

He'd rather be washing up large porcelain plates than stuck down here staring out through the glass doors into the dark rainy Washington weather.

"I'm going to check whether the room's ready for our last registered check-in of the night," Big Mike announced loudly, "Those two clowns, Jeff and Lester had better have fixed up the bed in the long-term suite."

Chuck just nodded morosely, as he sat his hand on his palm, filling out some late paperwork that Big Mike had clearly left for him to complete while ignoring the evil glares Harry sent him from his position beside the door.

Five minutes later, as his eyes started to droop, and his smart concierge suit to rumple, the noise of the thunderstorm increased significantly as a biting wind swept over his exposed face, dying down as it traversed the length of the room.

The doors shut out the noise again as they sealed the entrance closed behind a dripping woman.

She handed an open-mouthed Tang the keys to her black Porsche sitting outside almost camouflaged against the night with an annoyed glance, before pulling her medium-sized suitcase after her.

The woman gave him a brief glance, and he paused instantly, feeling as though her electric blue eyes was pierced through his thoughts with that single look.

The woman looked away after that split second, and Chuck unfroze.

Chuck hurried out from behind the desk, palms sweaty, watching as Tang scrambled out of the side door eagerly to the car.

"Here, let me." He said as he took the handle of the pull-along from her, noticing her hesitate for a second before she let him take over.

Her movements were stiff as she returned her arm to her side, as if carrying an injury.

She leaned against the counter, peering over the high top to look at the ready computer sitting on the desk, "Sarah Walker, room 1081; top floor."

"Of course," Chuck affirmed as he heaved her single suitcase onto the waiting platform before reaching for the metallic rectangular case slung over her other shoulder.

Sarah stopped him with a single hand, and he fell back behind the desk, nodding as he handed her the key card, "Welcome back, ma'am," He greeted as he watched her shove the limply dangling strands of damp hair back from obstructing her vision.

Her eyes flickered impassively as she looked at his name tag.

"Thank you, Charles," She said. She pushed off the desk without another word, heading for the left staircase without another glance back.

He couldn't stop his furtive stare as she ascended lithely, letting out a deep breath that he didn't remember holding as the tension receded from his spine, feeling as time started up again after the strange encounter.


For once, Chuck was glad he'd chosen to work for this hotel; they let him work odd jobs around the place to gain more money.

He pushed the cart down the hall, counting the numbers on the doors dully.

1077.. 1078, 1079, 1080.

"A thousand and eighty one," He murmured as he rapped on the door, listening intently for any sound of the occupant being present.

Oh my god.

Chuck looked around desperately for a hiding place, his face burning as he stepped quickly back.

Before he could turn, his eyes wide open and panicked, the door half-opened quickly with a jerk.

"Can I help you?" The man asked, face dark in the dim light inside, his voice clipped and impatient as he looked at Chuck distractedly, his hair tousled and bare chest gleaming with perspiration.

Chuck's fingers shook as he pulled the trolley into view, trying to block out the sound of a soft feminine sigh from inside.

"Uh," He said, sure his cheeks were beet red and his neck flushed, "I have your breakfast… that you, uh, ordered to be brought up this morning at, um, seven-thirty."

The man looked at him properly for the first time, "Ah yes, you're right," His dark blue eyes scrutinized him sharply, the shadow of facial hair tickling his jaw as he paused.

Chuck turned, heart pounding nervously as he offered the cart to the man, who pulled it in after looking thoughtfully at him.

Now the door was nearly fully open, Chuck could see the suitcase lying splayed out on the floor, and clothing draped haphazardly over the dresser and chair.

"Charles?"

Chuck looked up to see a beautiful woman peer around the door at him, her blue eyes familiar as those haunting his dreams the last few days after he'd first seen her.

The man appeared again, blocking out the dark form of his companion, and Chuck was relieved to see he had boxers around his waist.

"Charles…" His eyes suddenly brightened, and he moved forward, his hands reaching out to grasp his, "Chuck! Chuck Bartowski?"

Chuck was startled, but he bemusedly shook the other man's hand, looking at him for a closer inspection.

"Bryce Larkin!" Chuck gasped, half in horror and half in surprise, wondering how he'd ever have missed the chiseled chin and wavy hair, as well as the bright blue of his eyes.

Even now, Bryce was scoring with all the good looking women.

Bryce moved outside, utterly un-self-conscious, closing the door quietly behind him so that he and Chuck were alone in the long, lavishly decorated hallway.

"Hey buddy," Bryce greeted, looking delighted as he clapped Chuck on the shoulder. "How's it been going?"

Chuck frowned, wasn't it obvious enough with him in his uniform? "Fine," He answered, a little aloof and on guard. Surely Bryce hadn't forgotten their last meeting the day he had been kicked out of Stanford.

Now he was working at a hotel at thirteen dollars (before tax) an hour, without having a girlfriend since college, and living with his sister.

Sue him if he wasn't allowed to be angry with his former best friend-turned-nemesis these five years.

"It's been okay," Chuck said with a forced smile, and he was almost afraid to ask- "What about you?"

Bryce just smiled brilliantly, white teeth gleaming in a perfect row, "Life's been good, Chuck. Girlfriend, executive accountant, jetting all over the world…"

And it seemed his arrogance was still pretty good too, Chuck thought, deep seated resentment in his heart.

"Good for you, Bryce," Chuck said, wincing as a little of his dislike leaked into his tone.

Bryce noticed, his demeanor growing more somber as he fidgeted awkwardly. "Look," He started, "Chuck, buddy, I'm sorry about the Jill thing. It was for your own good…"

Chuck's hands curled into fists behind his back as his gaze hardened, "What do you mean? Kicking me out of Stanford? Sleeping with my girlfriend I planned to marry after graduation?"

His voice grew progressively louder as he spoke, and Chuck willed himself to calm down, glancing if he'd disturbed anymore out of their rooms on their floor.

"Don't tell me it was for my own good," Chuck said evenly, eyes still ablaze.

Bryce looked imploring as he opened his mouth, but was suddenly cut off by another voice.

"Chuck, hey," Said Morgan as he approached tentatively with an empty cart, looking from one man to the other. "Is everything all right here?"

Chuck sent Bryce one last piercing look before turning to address Morgan, "Yeah, of course," He said. "I was just leaving. Enjoy your breakfast, Mr. Larkin."

He strode back down the corridor, ignoring Bryce's call.

"Larkin? Ah, the legendary Bryce-freaking-Larkin," he heard Morgan exclaim behind him.

"Who are you?" Bryce answered defensively.

Morgan responded, "I just so happen to be his life-partner, Morgan Grimes, and the person who's gonna send you back to the future!"

Chuck faced the hallway again, stepping into the elevator. The door closed just as he saw disdain and amusement flash across Bryce's face, his friendly face suddenly looking haughty as he entered his room without another word, leaving Morgan in his kung-fu pose outside.


A day later, Ellie strode into his room, newspaper clutched in hand and an unidentifiable mixture of emotions in her eyes.

"Chuck, sweetheart, have you seen this?"

She handed him the paper, and rested a hand on his arm as he straightened the front page.

Accountant dies in unfortunate car crash.

Chuck's hand falls limply to his side as he stares at Ellie, the greyscale professional photo of Bryce printed on the front page smiling up between them.

"No, I-"

Ellie looks at him, as if unsure whether to look sympathetic or supportive.

Thrown, Chuck just gapes, "-I. No."

She sits down on his bed; hands clasped together as she watches him absentmindedly fix his tie. "How do you feel?" Ellie probed gently, patiently waiting for him to answer.

Chuck looks at her absently; he's not sure whether a million feelings tumble through his chest, or none at all in his state of shock.

"I don't know," He replied honestly, "It's hard to hate the guy now that he's gone," He explained, remembering their encounter a few days ago.

Ellie nods, chocolate eyes softening as she looks at him. "Well, I think it's a shame. Even though… you know. He was your best friend."

Automatically, Chuck responds, "Morgan is my best friend."

His sister's smile wanes noticeably as her expression sours, "Way to spoil my mood," She says, "I was being properly sisterly until you had to mention that."

Chuck laughs quietly, still confused as to what he should be feeling.

Ellie takes over his tie adjusting, smoothing his collar and pulling his suit sleeve straighter over his shoulder.

"I think it's time to move on, Chuck," Ellie finally says as she stands back. For a moment, he just gazes at her thoughtfully, before she smiles at him and makes her way out the door.

A small ball of regret fizzles in his chest as he remembers his and Bryce's last conversation, and with a heavy sigh, picks up his iPhone and keys before making his way to work.


After making his way through the day with his mind unfocused while completing his tasks, Big Mike finally sends him off duty, threatening him with extra shifts if he was unable to get it together by tomorrow.

"Go have a drink, boy," He says, pushing Chuck roughly towards the hotel bar.

Being in the hotel had reminded him the whole day of Bryce. Despite everything he tried to make himself think of the other man, he couldn't stop feeling guilty.

Chuck sighed as he plodded to his favourite spot on the other side of the room from the entrance, where it was relatively free from cigar fumes and people.

His face dropped when he saw a hunched figure already sitting on 'his' stool, three bottles of alcohol propped in front, two empty, and the third well on its way.

As he approached, intending to sit a couple feet away, the person looked up, and he found himself looking into her eyes.

"Charles?"

Sarah Walker's voice was clear and lucid, eyes wary as she watched his approach.

Chuck took the seat next to her, and signaled the barkeep for his usual.

"Chuck, actually," he replied. Clutching his new drink, he downed a large mouthful before continuing, "Look, I just wanted to… I just wanted to say sorry. About your boyfriend. Bryce."

Sarah stared at the rim of her bottle before she looked at him with empty eyes, "He wasn't my boyfriend."

Chuck looked questioningly, and she reluctantly added, "It's complicated."

He looked down at the cherry wood counter under his elbows as he leaned his forehead on his fist wearily. "Well," He said finally, "Whatever you are to him, or he was to you… I'm sorry."

Sarah leaned her head on her arm that rested along the table to bring her head down to his eye-level. "Thanks," She said, eyes so tired and jaded and painful that Chuck wanted to go all Ellie-mode on her.

With great effort, he continued, "I'm sure he… was a … good guy."

For a moment, Sarah's expression wavered, and a indescribable anger lurked underneath. "Actually-" She hesitated before confessing, "He betrayed me."

Chuck looked taken aback, but he relaxed for the first time in their conversation. "I know how that feels," He mumbled, "That wouldn't be the first time he's done that." He sighed, wishing he could just be nice about Bryce for once. The guy had just died for god's sake!

Sarah chuckled quietly in agreement before she let her drink settle on the table.

"Well," She said, looking distinctly cheered up a little since their first exchange of words. "Thank you, Chuck."

He swiveled in his seat, offering his hand for her to shake, and she grasped it, her hand sliding easily into his.

"I don't know what I did, but you're welcome," He replied, wondering at the familiarity between them they had managed to build through a couple sentences about the death of a mutual acquaintance.

Sarah Walker offered one last wan smile before her features slid into an impassive expression, and she walked back out of the room along with Chuck's and most of the male population of the bar's attention fixed on her retreat.


No, I didn't bother going over this at all before I posted straight from FL's head. Should this be continued? Because it works fine as a one-shot.

This was going to be my entry for WHO ARE YOU, but... yeah.

.net/u/2098131/WHO_ARE_YOU_challenge (Go chuck it out!)

...that was pretty dry. And a complete slip of the finger, I swear.

:D