Special Agent Chuck

Alexnandru Van Gordon

A/N: Last night, after watching Bryce return from the dead (but was he ever truly dead?), my little sister brought up an interesting question: Why hasn't anyone tried to exploit Chuck's newfound knowledge yet? Well, first off all, Chuck probably wouldn't be all that cooperative, and secondly—wouldn't you need someone slick enough to get past the government and strong enough to oppress Chuck (not just physically, mind you, because I can't see Chuck beating the baddies to a pulp)? So vola—here you have it, a story in which Chuck gets to put all that information to use, chalk full of mental torture, conflicting morals and a dose of iffy amnesia. Which reminds me…I should probably put up a warning. Chuck fighting the baddies all on his own won't be a pretty sight…

WARNING: Mental torture (along with a bit of normal pain, mind you), conflicting morals and a dose of iffy amnesia. Stockholm syndrome may, or may not, be present, but that depends on Chuck's mental state—however there will be nothing to the extent of rape. That's where I draw the line.

SUMMARY: Tall, masked, menacing and unknown – the worst combination in the world. Why couldn't Chuck's kidnapper be a small, sweet, old lady? "I came for you, Chuck." He clarified impassively. "And I plan on showing you all that you can be."

CHAPTER ONE: Subtle introductions

Despite what Sarah and Casey might think, there were many things Chuck could handle without batting an eyelash. He could run out and buy milk in the middle of the night, rain pouring down like the first flood, without an umbrella or a flashlight and still manage to make it home almost as dry as when he left. He knew how to reach in and pull something wretched hot out of the oven fast enough without oven mitts and without permanently burning his hands. And he knew how to handle a long, hard fall down multiple flights of stairs should Ellie ever 'accidentally' knock him down them again. Alright—so he couldn't shoot a gun like Sarah and, sure, he couldn't run half as fast as Agent Casey, but each man his own little world and in Chuck's world there was nothing really wrong with him.

Admittedly, Chuck knew his limits.

And this was one of them.

Staring down the barrel of a gun, not quite sure how the man found him or what he planned to do with Chuck, the computer nerd swallowed the bit of bile rising in his throat and resisted the urge to run. But usually when Chuck couldn't move, he found the need to talk rise above the need to live, especially if said holder-of-the-gun hadn't specified whether or not he wanted him to remain silent.

"Um…if you don't mind me asking…who exactly are you?"

The man didn't reply right away, probably because it was a stupid question, but (much to his surprise) the fellow decided to humor him… "They call me Grey."

'Grey'…no flashes, no information, no nothing.

Chuck swallowed again, trying hard to keep his voice level. "Who do you mean when you say, 'they'? I know they aren't with the government, and telling me your name is 'Grey' leaves me stranded in a…well…a grey area, so to speak…"

He could hear the smile rather than see it behind the black cloth mask. He saw a glitter of something mischievous in his captor's eyes, the only part of him that wasn't covered in cloth or armor, before he continued. "But of course. If I told you what the government dubbed me, you'd know everything in a heartbeat, including what I've done and what I plan to do."

Chuck's heart skipped a beat. Part of him was hoping that this tall, dark, menacing figure was just a regular thief here to break into his house late in the night while his sister was away at the movies. Then he could just let the man have what he wanted, call Casey over when he was gone and have the agent kick his sorry—

When the man reached behind his back and produced a pair of plastic hand-cuffs, the kind Chuck knew you couldn't remove without a sharp blade and a steady hand, he knew that this wasn't just some ordinary thief. The man wasn't in any hurry, and he was well aware of Chuck's latest (most annoying) secret. This was the real deal.

"Tell me, aren't you the least bit curious as to what it is I want?" The man asked quietly. His voice was dark and steady, knowledgeable and calm…Chuck was really starting to hate him. "Is there nothing that teases your imagination at the moment?"

"N-not really." Chuck squeaked, clearing his throat immediately after he spoke. Now was not the time to let the man know how afraid he was.

His captor chuckled. "It's only fair that I'm honest with you. At least you'd be able to trust me after a while…"

Chuck didn't need to be told to know he was being taken. And learning that the man was planning on seeing him for a 'while' meant that this spy/agent/whatever wasn't just some crony working for some wacked-out overlord. He was too collective to be a goon.

"It's a wonder no one ever tried this before—or at least tried and was successful… I came for you, Chuck." The man clarified impassively. "And I plan on showing you all that you can be."

He should scream. Yeah—he should just scream, or shout, or yell, or holler—anything to get anyone's attention, because right now he couldn't understand what the hell the man was talking about. Not only that, but Chuck was pretty sure he was already all that he 'could be'.

The man noticed Chuck's slight step back and the heaving in his chest as he took in air. "Don't." He said, somehow not sounding half as worried (or as angry) as Chuck thought he would be. "Even if I shot you in the foot, no one would come. You're friends are comatose, and I don't expect them to find you missing until the morning."

"They're alive?" Chuck blurted out before he could stop himself. Most of the time, everyone wanted to kill Casey and Sarah.

"For now, in any case." He remarked. The man wasn't missing a beat. "That all depends on your level of cooperation."

Chuck never knew there was an actual 'level' of cooperation. In his experience, someone could take you along quietly or drag you away kicking and screaming into the night, neither of which looked all that appealing to him at the moment. He really didn't want to go anywhere.

"Isn't there anything I can say to change your mind…?"

"I doubt it." His captor replied honestly, and with one hand holding the gun steadily, he handed him the cuffs. "Clip them on one wrist. I'll fix the other…"

And to think, tonight he could've joined Ellie and Captain Awesome at the movies.

Chuck took the cuffs hesitantly, rolling up the sleeve of his sweater to clasp it around his wrist. Pulling the long plastic tab through the loop, he winced as it bit into his skin. Perhaps he pulled it a little too tight.

The man, stepping forward to be nearly eyelevel to Chuck ('nearly' in the sense that he was the slightest bit taller than Chuck, another surprising and disappointing feature of his kidnapper), grabbed Chuck's other hand and held his wrists closer together. The mouth of the gun was pressed gently inside his side, a direct indication that the stranger would be more than willing to do Chuck a bit of bodily harm should he try anything stupid. Fiddling with the other end of the plastic cuffs, his captor fastened them around Chuck's other wrist successfully and tugged on them to test their tightness. Satisfied, he averted his eyes to Chuck's face.

"Comfy?"

"A bit tight." He replied quietly. "But why are my hands in front of me? Aren't you afraid I'm going to try something?"

"No."

And before he could ask yet another dumb question (or point out another flaw in his captor's method) the butt-end of the gun connected with the side of his head and the last thing he saw before he collided with the floor was a glimmery cloud of multi-coloured stars and the faint, misty outline of his enemy's boots…

A/N: Sorry for the short chapter. This was, more or less, just the introduction.