Authors Note: I don't own Chuck :D
I'd like to give a moment to thank Foxmac for betaing this chapter and for agreeing to be my beta reader. Without her, this fic wouldn't be near as good as it is now.
Without further ado, I'd like to present to you Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Valhalla Memorial Cemetery, Burbank
Jim Morrison, hummed softly as he tended and removed yet another weed from the tender grounds of the cemetery, listening to the soft rhythmic sounds of jazz.
Some people might have reservations in working in a cemetery. Especially when ones job required that they spend long hours in solitude with the deceased.
Not him. As a single father of five hungry kids and a house that needed its mortgage paid off, he couldn't afford to be choosy about what he could get. He'd gotten over his aversion long ago. Besides, the hours were decent and the pay was good. He couldn't complain.
"Hey there," a voice said, interrupting his concentration.
Jim jumped up, startled. "Jesus," he breathed. "It's you again," he said after he caught his breath. "You know it's not nice to sneak up on people."
Jim had been working at Valhalla for the last fifteen years and knew that the cemetery was host to a number of frequent visitors. Most of them were nothing special, just your average grandparents, parents, siblings, and the like grieving over the loss of their loved ones. Over time, most of them stopped coming having accepted and dealt with their grief and moving on with their lives.
However, one stood apart from the rest.
Long before he had starting working there, every month - sometimes twice a month a man would visit the final resting place of a Sarah Walker and place a bouquet of the biggest roses on her grave. It was a running joke amongst the staff that there were three things that one at Valhalla couldn't avoid, death, taxes and the strange man's visits.
Like many of the staff, he wondered who exactly who this man was. No one had any clue to who he was. If he hadn't alone in the cemetery, he'd be indistinguishable and would easily be lost in a crowd.
The man wore no noticeable jewelry, had no facial markings or tattoos for that matter. The only thing that they knew was that he was male, middle aged and given by the clothing he wore, was somewhat well off.
The staff had a secret running game to guess who the man was. Some thought he was a mobster of some sort, while others thought he was a tragic lover. If you asked Jim, he wouldn't answer. It wasn't his business and he had enough on his plate than to worry about the identity of a mysterious patron.
The man gave him a wan smile, his arms clutching a large bunch of blood red roses wrapped with a black ribbon. "Well, since I've been here trying to get your attention for the last five minutes, it's fair game."
"Well, in that case, I guess I deserve it," he sighed. Jim had a tendency to ignore everything around him when he was working.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to be alone for a while."
"Sure thing," Jim replied. "I'm a little hungry right now. Might as well take my lunch break early. How long will you be here?"
"Probably less than an hour." The man reached into his wallet, fishing out a hundred dollar bill. "Thanks for maintaining this place," he said offering it to him.
"You don't have to do this," Jim said, the man always gave him a tip.
"It's fine," he said. "Please, I insist."
"Thanks," Jim said as he picked up his tools and left.
Chuck looked around making sure that no one else was around before pulling out what appeared to most people was a lighter.
In reality, it was a highly sophisticated jamming device. Designed by the NSA and CIA, the TX-900 was designed to take out the most sophisticated Russian and Chinese listening devices. Chuck didn't know exactly how it worked, but with the Intersect - the massive compilation of National Secrets in his head. But if he wanted to, he could readily access the information if he wished.
The device beeped, signaling that it had finished its work. Satisfied, Chuck quickly put it back in his pocket.
"Hey, Sarah," Chuck said looking at the simple but lovingly engraved tombstone bearing the words:
Here lies Sarah Walker
Born February 15th, 1981 Died Mach 12th, 2010
You will always be in our hearts
"It's been a while, hasn't it," Chuck said simply, his eyes starting to mist up.
"I'm sorry for not visiting sooner, work has been…busy," Chuck careful note to make his comments as vague as possible.
Believing that the utilization of gathering intelligence via electronic means, namely satellites, wiretaps and as well as other means, the preceding Winters Administration had instituted a massive Reduction In Force in the intelligence community's pool of trained agents.
While it was deemed successful, both parties had supported the cuts for that matter. President Winters had managed to deal a blow to the intelligence community what America's foes had only dreamed of doing so. With the number of available agents reduced and little or no money being spent on recruiting new ones, the remaining agents had been forced to work overtime in defending the nation.
Chuck with the damned Intersect in his head and who had been already been doing more work than a normal agent should be doing, suddenly had his work tripled much to his displeasure.
It was hard enough to live a dual life. But with the needs of the United States government, operatives like him were in short supply and even higher demand. Unfortunately, it was tearing a hole into the barrier that separated his two lives.
He'd been forced to miss large portions of his kids' lives: missing soccer games, birthday parties, and even the twins' graduation from middle school; and his relationship with his kids had suffered as a result. To them he wasn't really much of a father, being gone almost all the time; to them he was just a stranger who happened to be called dad.
His marriage was also strained. Michelle had been pressuring him to quit for quite some time now, arguing that despite the generous pay that LanTech offered, it wasn't worth the cost to the children or her for that matter. While he and Michelle weren't on the rocks just yet, Chuck knew that if the status quo remained much longer, there would be serious consequences.
"If only you could see me know, Sarah," he said sadly. For once, Chuck was glad that Sarah was dead. It would have killed her to see the man that he had become.
After Sarah's death, he had never been the same. And while Sarah had passed away almost twenty years ago, her death still left a mark on Chuck as if it were yesterday.
To Ellie, Awesome and just about everyone, Chuck seemed to have moved on from Sarah's death. He was happily married to one of Ellie's best friends and fellow doctor, and had fathered twins with her after all.
However, to those who really knew him, knew that Chuck had not and would never let Sarah go.
Sure he loved Michelle, she was his wife after all. But it wasn't the same as with Sarah. Even after almost twenty years of marriage, Chuck knew that deep down inside he'd never be able to share the same degree of intimacy as he had developed with Sarah.
Michelle Bartowski nee Robertson was everything that Sarah was not. He looked guiltily at his left ring finger, wedding band absent for work and, while he didn't admit it, for personal reasons as well. It was her antithesis of Sarah that attracted him to her in the first place, he thought sadly.
His thoughts drifted to his children, Mark and Sammie. Despite him not being there for them, the two had turned out to be decent people no thanks to him, he thought bitterly. While they had been taking their first steps, saying their first words, and playing their first games, he'd been in the field. Sure he was doing it to protect his family, and the rest of America's families from harm but it still didn't make it right. He was a good agent and a patriot but at the same time, had been a horrible father just as his father had been to him and Ellie.
He frowned. Sarah would have hated to see him put his Country ahead of his family and happiness. But nevertheless sacrifices must be made for the greater good he told himself, wishing that he still believed those words.
The beeping of his watch stirred him from his thoughts and brought him back to reality.
He checked the time. It had almost been an hour since he first arrived. He better go lest he inconvenience the groundskeeper.
"Until we meet again," Chuck said sadly before turning away.
Intech Computer Solutions
"Bam!" the target nearest to him dropped to the ground.
Just as that target fell, another rose up. "Bam!"
"Bam!" Yet another target down.
Chuck inhaled before letting off three more shots in quick succession from his M15 service pistol as he exhaled, each shot dropping a separate target.
If one where to ask where Chuck Bartowski felt most a home, his answer would surprise many.
It wasn't in the field. Sure, Chuck had been in the game for a long time and was good with what he did, but the constant need to maintain a cover was arduous and took its toll on you no matter how good you were. Although he didn't deny that it deep down inside a part of him enjoyed the chase and the thrill that it offered.
Nor was it at home. While being at home was nice, with no enemy agents, warlords, drug dealers, and the like out to kill you, Chuck still had to maintain a facade of a nerdy computer engineer among his family and friends. A guise while easy compared to what he normally did, was getting increasingly more complicated as time went on.
No, the one place that Chuck felt most at ease these days was in combat.
Combat was simple. No need for covers, no hidden agendas. Combat was all about simplicity. The objective of the game was simple: kill your enemies before they could kill you. And the rules well, they were as straightforward as can be, there were none. And that was just the way he liked it.
"You just got back last night. Don't you ever take a day off Bartowski?" a gravely voice growled, brining him back to reality.
Chuck thumbed the safety and put down the pistol before turning to address the owner of said voice. "Casey, you've known me for how long?"
"Over twenty years," Colonel John Casey, USMC (Retired) grunted.
At age sixty, the former NSA Agent was well beyond the age for field agents and, according to government policy, Casey had been retired kicking and screaming from active duty. While his removal from fieldwork meant the end of him being an agent, it did not mean the end of his career in the NSA. Unlike his body, his mind was sharper than ever and these days Casey spent his days in the operations center directing and overseeing Team Bartowski as it completed its missions and assignments, something that Chuck took great pleasure in reminding him about.
"And what exactly is my training policy again?"
"You only train on days that end in Y."
"There you have it, Casey. You answered your own question," Chuck picked up his pistol and loaded another magazine.
Casey turned to the targets, "I don't think that the United States Government is in the business of assassinating teenagers."
"They aren't," Chuck turned off the safety and fired a shot, "but I am," he said calmly.
Taped on every single target was the face of a teenage boy.
"Let me guess, Sammie's got a boyfriend?"
"At the moment," Chuck replied.
"You know that despite your efforts, she's going to grow up eventually."
"She's too young," Chuck insisted. "When I was her age, I didn't have a girlfriend."
"Well Bartowski, there's two reasons for that: One, girls tend to start dating at a younger age than boys."
"True," Chuck relented.
"And two, you were a geek in high school, Sammie isn't."
"That's nerd, not geek. But you are right." Chuck replied.
While he had been the classic geek in high school, having graduated as Salutatorian in his graduating class, his kids were as far away from that as possible. Mark was the quintessential athlete, having already been tapped for the varsity soccer squad despite only being a freshman.
Sammie, however, was as far away from him as possible, taking after her mother more than himself. While his talents had always been focused on the mind, Sammie's talents lay elsewhere. She was a member of her school's cheerleading squad and a member of the Associated Student Body, or whatever the hell they called it these days. Unlike him and Morgan, who had been social outcasts, Sammie was one the most popular girls in her class. It was inevitable that someone would pursue her.
"However, I did run a background check on the twerp and let's just say I'm a bit concerned."
"Using government assets for personal use is a felony, Bartowski."
"While it could be construed that way, you do remember that I as the Intersect and a undercover agent have a mandate to use whatever means necessary to protect myself and my family and the authorization to use lethal force if need be."
"Yet I don't think that shooting a teenager is one of them."
"The majority of the local magistrates and the District Attorney have at least one daughter. Plus, the President has three daughters as well. I'm sure they'd agree with me or agree with me enough to give me a pardon if need be. Besides, the Intersect can't work in prison."
"Figures," Casey growled. "Typical Bartowski. Always making sure to twist the laws to suit you."
"I did learn from the best," Chuck commented.
After Sarah's death, Casey had transitioned from being a handler to being a mentor to Chuck, teaching him the tricks of the trade. Chuck was confident that even with the Intersect in his brain, if it hadn't been for Casey's lessons on how to stay alive and thrive in the spy world Chuck would be long dead, rotting in some ditch in the middle of no where.
However, while Casey became his primary mentor and for a long period of time partner, the two men were never able to share the same connection and level of coordination that Chuck had with Sarah.
Casey grunted in approval.
"I have his dossier if you want to read it."
Casey picked up the folder and began reading, "Derek Patrick Shaw. Well I can see why you hate the boy already," he commented on the common surname held between the boy and Daniel Shaw, a former CIA Agent turned traitor who had once attempted to win Sarah's heart and later tried to kill her, forcing Chuck to make his first kill. "Still having the same name as that traitor isn't enough evidence to warrant taking him out."
"Keep reading," Chuck said as he let off another shot.
"Okay, where were we? Born March 19th 2013 to Andrew and Mary Shaw. Both parents, still married and happily according to the reports." Casey whistled, "Damn you don't see that often these days.
"Hmm… currently a junior at Providence High School. Has decent but not spectacular grades with an overall GPA of a 3.1. Currently the quarterback of the varsity football squad, chances of any football scholarship however are nil. Typical dumb High School Jock," Casey snorted.
"Girlfriends… well it seems like your boy has been around the block a couple of times," Casey paused, "Suspected of impregnating and fathering a son with a Kelly Richards, a fellow classmate in the same year. He denies parentage. However her family is asking for a paternity test," Casey's face scrunched up. "Ah hell. You know what, I'll join you."
"I knew you'd say that," Chuck paused. "You want me to get you an M15 from the armory?"
"I'd rather use my own piece thank you very much." Casey grunted. "I like real American weapons that have been tried and true on the battlefield, not some foreign made piece of trash, made by people who haven't fought a war in years."
Chuck snorted. Casey's preference for American designed and made weapons, especially those made by John Moses Browning was well known.
Naturally, when the US Government selected a design made by Steyr, an Austrian company to produce its next generation service pistol, Casey wasn't happy at all, refusing to turn in his current service pistol and opting to use it for the remainder of its service life. While such actions were heavily frowned upon, Casey was able to get away with it due to his service length and record as well as his current status as a retired Field Agent.
"I was planning on that," Chuck replied, "I brought out a box of .45 ACP just for you."
"Whoa there, what about me?" a new voice interrupted them.
"Aren't you supposed to be in the hospital?"
"Nah. The docs wanted to keep me there for another day or so but I kept on annoying them to the point that they couldn't stand me any more," replied Major Morgan Grimes, US Army replied.
"Only you, Grimes, could annoy your way out of a hospital."
"Hey I'm good at it."
If one had asked any of Morgan Grimes' old classmates in High School what he would turn out to be, government agent was probably near the bottom of the list while the career choice of professional slacker would be near the top. Inducted as an NSA Agent and a part of Operation Bartowski as a favor from General Beckman after the mission in Paris, the rest of the team, save Chuck, had believed that Morgan would be an annoying nuisance at best and a liability at worst.
However, much to the surprise of many including General Beckman, over time Morgan had proved to be a valuable member of Operation Bartowski and had evolved into a competent analyst and field agent.
When Operation Bartowski had been temporarily disbanded after Sarah's death, Morgan had been offered an option: He could quit, leave the spy life forever and return to his old life or fully embrace the spy life, making it his career until he either retired or fell in the line of duty. To the surprise of everyone but Chuck, Morgan had opted for the latter choosing to stand by his friend. While Chuck had been sent to the Farm, the CIA's secretive training facility, Morgan had been assigned to Fort Benning in which he completed Basic Training and Officer's Candidate School in record time and had been commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in the US Army with an MOS in Signals Intelligence.
Morgan had been a true friend, a rare thing to have these days. He stood by Chuck when his mom left, even when he didn't know the gravity of the situation. He'd been there when Chuck got kicked out of Stanford. And when Sarah died, Morgan Grimes, even though he had the option to leave the spy world and return to safety, had stuck by Chuck in his moment of greatest need. Through thick and thin, Morgan had always backed up his friend and Chuck was pretty sure that Morgan would charge into hell for him if he asked for it.
"Don't worry, Morgan. I didn't forget you." Chuck handed him a M15.
"Goody," Morgan put on his earmuffs before loading the pistol.
"Don't forget to hold the grip tightly," Casey snickered. "Unless you want it to fly out of your hands when you pull the trigger.
"Casey, that was almost twenty years ago," Morgan protested referring to a certain unfortunate incident between the two men, "you're never going to let me forget it will you?" Ironically Morgan nowadays was an expert shot with a pistol, and had represented the NSA in a number of Inter-service Tournaments over the years.
"Damn straight, Grimes."
Later on that day
To say Chuck Bartowski hated paperwork would be like calling a Ford-class Supercarrier a boat or Bill Gates rich. It was a gross understatement. Chuck hated paperwork with every fiber of his being and there was nothing that he hated more.
Adversaries like the Ring, Fulcrum, and other enemies could be eliminated with extreme prejudice via his service pistol or other methods. But paperwork couldn't be dealt with in that way.
No. Paperwork couldn't be shot, bombed, burned, or even nuked. Paperwork was the immortal fiend that just wouldn't die no matter what one did. Just as one finished one form, another five would pop up in his place.
Chuck groaned as he stopped typing on his console, rubbing his head. He'd been wracking his head trying to remember every single detail on his last mission in Moscow. Why the CIA needed to know if the borscht the enemy guards had been eating contained potatoes before he took them out was beyond even him.
Fucking pencil pushers. Chuck mentally grumbled. He hated bureaucrats.
Chuck took a swig of his coffee, emptying the cup and savoring the bitter taste as it went down his throat. It was one of the few things that he enjoyed these days.
His appreciation of Turkish coffee had been an acquired taste. While undercover in Ankara nearly fifteen years ago, Chuck had been forced to stake out his mark from a Turkish coffeehouse for several days before the orders came to take him out. And while his target had been eliminated a long time ago, his appreciation for the beverage still stuck.
Chuck looked at his watch. It was nearly five but nevertheless his stack of paperwork looked as if nothing had been done.
He rubbed his eyes. He wasn't the spry young agent he used to be. He definitely needed another cup of Joe to keep him going.
However, before he could leave his seat, Chuck's flat screen monitor came to life.
"Good evening, Agent Carmichael, or afternoon in your case," said the middle aged man the uniform of a Vice Admiral.
"Admiral Cunningham, what can I do for you?" Chuck asked the Director of the National Security Agency and one of his superiors.
"Carmichael, you've got yourself another assignment."
"Already?" Chuck asked, exasperated. He had just come home from Moscow less than a day ago.
"Well Agent Carmichael, you're preaching to the choir but you know how it goes," the Admiral said sympathetically.
"Well, give me one moment. I'll get the rest of the team in my office."
"No need. This is a solo assignment."
Chuck's eyebrows rose. He hadn't been assigned a solo mission in quite a while.
"What's the intel on this one?"
"I don't know. I'm out of the loop on this one," the Director admitted.
Chuck whistled. This one definitely came straight from the top. "What can you tell me?"
"All I know is that you've got orders to report to Washington. A helicopter is on its way to Bob Hope Airport and will arrive within the hour to take you to your next destination. Don't be late."
Bartowski Household
"This is Doctor Bartowski," Michelle said automatically as she picked up the phone.
"Hey honey," her husband greeted her over the phone.
"Where are you?" she asked knowing that Derek, Samantha's boyfriend - she still couldn't believe that her daughter was dating - was going to arrive any minute now.
"I'm still at work."
She sighed. While her husband did bring home a six-figure salary, the fact that he wasn't home most of the time was putting a sizable dent in their relationship.
"Do you want me to set a place at the table for you?"
"About that, honey…"
"Let me guess, they sent you out on another job?"
"Yeah. Meyers Industries has got a big problem on their hands as of last night. With everyone else out on field calls, I'm the only one available."
"Again?" she asked in exasperation.
"That's what I told them."
She sighed. "Honey, when are you going to tell them that you need less hours and more time for your family?"
"I'm sorry. I'll do it after this job. I promise."
"How long will you be gone?"
"Three, four days tops."
"Be safe."
"I will. Love you."
"Love you too."
Well I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
To spur on my creative muse, I'm presenting you readers with a challenge.
Give me the name of a character in the Chuck series in your review and I will write three facts about that character at the end of the next chapter.
Have fun and lets keep our fingers cross for a Season Four of Chuck!
Best,
Cast2007
