A/N: I don't own Chuck. If I did, things would be different.
Chuck popped 4 Advil, clocked out of the Buy More, got in the Herder and headed home. Home. What a joke. He was living with his sister and Captain Awesome, contributing minimally as his Buy More paycheck was less than stellar. And his government paycheck was… wait, WHAT government paycheck?
He was tired. Both physically and mentally. He needed a break, a vacation, time away from his two jobs, his two lives. Time away from all of it. But especially he needed time away from the people who drained him of his emotional energy for their own purposes. The life-force vampires who drained him at every turn and then criticized him for making it all so necessary.
A sister who probably meant well but whose nagging and constant badgering about the nature and direction of his life and 'relationship' (or lack thereof) with his girl friend had recently been getting on his last nerve.
"Chuck, you're not wearing that on a date with Sarah, are you?; translation from Elliespeak: "You look like a slob, go change into something I will find more acceptable".
"Chuck, you've been dating Sarah for almost two years, where is this all going?"; translation from Elliespeak: "When are you going to get serious and move in together, get engaged, get married… get out?"
A soon-to-be brother-in-law who was almost as bad as Ellie. His constant affirmation of Ellie's advice and comments was fast getting old. Chuck wondered if Devon had exchanged his right to his own opinions for bedding rights with his sister. That thought surprised him. Where had that come from?
Sarah, his CIA handler and super spy who pretended to be his girlfriend to provide a public cover for her real role in his life, Protector Of The Intersect. No doubt about it, despite the occasional lapse, she was all business and that meant the relationship was a sham, a shell, a hollow construct to enable the government to control his actions and use his unwanted gift to Protect The Greater Good.
God, how he hated that phrase and how often it was used to explain/excuse/justify her actions. Why hadn't he seen through her attempts to use his feelings to get what she wanted earlier? It would have saved him so much heartache. Well, he'd avoid her tonight and try to think of a valid excuse, erm, reason, for breaking their cover date the following evening.
And then there was Major Grunt. Casey. So far he'd identified at least 17 different grunts in lieu of sentences. He'd once considered Casey a possible friend, but no more. Not since he'd overheard him telling Sarah that he'd relish an end to this assignment of protecting a whiney, nerdy little wimp of an asset and get back to "real and meaningful operations".
As he fought the traffic and his headache, he felt something dribbling down his upper lip. Oh, great. Another nosebleed. Just what he needed to complete this incredible day. He opened the glove box and took out the small package of tissues he kept there and wiped his lips and chin, dabbing at the stains on his tie and shirt. He twisted a clean tissue and stuffed it up his nostril, hoping it would stop the bleeding until he got home. The Advil must have kicked in because his head didn't hurt nearly as much as it did earlier.
He didn't want to go home. Maybe he'd go to the beach and just chill out watching the waves. He definitely needed a vacation. "Yeah, a vacation. A road trip. Just me and the road, no destination, just go until I stop…"
Only one problem. He didn't own a car. Greyhound was so not a road trip. He thought about his options then remembered Mrs. Gottlieb in the upstairs apartment. Her husband had recently passed away and she didn't drive so her old Chevy Impala just sat there, gathering dust and rust. "I wonder if she'd sell it?" He knew it was in great shape because he'd seen old Mr. Gottlieb obsessing over his car, checking this and that. Hell, he'd bet his next paycheck that the car never went more than a mile or two over any recommended service mileage point.
Now having a plan, a way of overcoming his lack of personal transportation, he spotted a Bank of America ATM and pulled the Herder over to the curb.
He withdrew his entire checking account balance and cleaned out his savings account of 6 years. Not a lot to show for 6 years of saving but it was $7,000.00. Surely a 20-year old Chevy couldn't cost all that much. Tucking his money into his pocket he headed home to see Mrs. Gottlieb.
Chuck knocked at the door. Mrs. Gottlieb answered, opening up the door and scooting her walker out of the way and inviting Chuck in. She'd always liked the young man from downstairs and he often talked to her and her husband or helped them carry groceries up to the apartment from the car. A nice young man.
"Hello, Chuck, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"
"Well, Mrs. Gottlieb, I know you don't drive and I know that your husband recently passed away and I was wondering if you'd thought about selling your car?" The words rushed out in one long sentence.
"I'll be moving in with my daughter down in San Diego later this month and I've been avoiding dealing with the car. You know, kind of my last bit of independence since my husband died. But yes, I want to sell it. It's of no use to me now, just another bill to pay for insurance I don't need."
And so began a lengthy negotiation over price, interrupted by an offer of cookies and milk, 2 trips to the bathroom for Mrs. Gottlieb, and finally her insistence on accepting a much lower price than Chuck had been prepared to offer. It seems she really did like him. After closing the deal, he ran down to the car and pulled the title and registration out of the glove box and returned to Mrs. Gottlieb.
With her signature and a bill of sale receipt, he was now the proud owner of a 20 year old Chevy Impala with less than 40,000 miles on it and 4 brand new tires ("My husband always got new tires every 2 years whether they were needed or not").
Chuck used the Morgan door to slip into his room and continue planning his Great Escape. He didn't want to deal with Ellie and her "issues" or Captain Awesome and his constant badgering Chuck to "come take a run with me, Chuck." Besides, his stomach was a bit upset. Probably because he hadn't eaten anything but Advil since yesterday.
His phone vibrated and he saw Sarah's picture. He didn't want to deal with her now. Not after their confrontation at the Orange Orange. No, he needed some time and space to figure out how to handle this situation. He'd tried the breakup route and it hadn't worked. He could handle "just being friends". To hell with her cover. It was her problem, not his. He was sure the CIA manual had a procedure for handling any possibility. Let the vaunted Agent Walker handle her own problems. He punched 'Ignore' and put the phone down. Time to get to work on the plan.
He fired up his laptop and googled a California coastal road map. He planned a drive up the Pacific Coast Highway, enjoying the view, just cruising north until something else struck his fancy, stopping whenever and where ever he pleased.
His cell vibrated again but he saw it was Sarah (again) and let it go straight through to voicemail.
If left untreated, a subdural hematoma can lead to dizziness, muscle aches and spasms, short term memory loss as well as blurred vision and lightheadedness. Further presentations include aphasia (Difficulty finding words or understanding the speech of others and inability to concentrate. While the mortality rate is still low, less than 3%, if left untreated or if the condition is exacerbated, mortality rates increase geometrically.
Sarah disconnected without leaving a 2nd message. If Chuck wanted to be difficult, so be it. She would bring him around the following evening. God, she was sooo looking forward to being just a girl and leaving the agent behind her even for just one night but secretly she hoped it would be one of many, many nights. Casey, the NSA and the CIA be damned. She wanted this. She wanted Chuck.