A/N In order to keep with my plan for the Gretas, I had to make the second one a female, much as I liked Isaiah Mustafah's take on the role. I also have to get Morgan out of that restaurant job and into someplace I can use him better.

"What do you mean, you were flashing?"

"Officially sanctioned missions only."

"He's a little gung-ho on the baby care, isn't he?"

"How's that for fashion?"

Chuck was nowhere near Milan.

After all the events in Russia, Beckman decided that it would be best to keep his face from being seen by any of Volkoff's operatives, so he wasn't allowed in the van, or even the country. While his wife and her partner were flying across the Atlantic, he was doing a thorough, frame-by-frame, pixel-by-pixel examination of the surveillance photos taken of Miss Stefanova.

Unfortunately none of those pixels held the slightest clue as to her employer's plans. As a professional model, she wore a variety of swimwear, and the backgrounds were beaches from all over the world, at all times of day and year. It was a bust.

Beyond that, the dailies were also uninteresting, no references to Mr. Charles anywhere. A few littler items to be passed on. The Ring was big, the DSL could have been big, and Volkoff might yet become big, but for right now, all was quiet on the Western front.

Time for lunch. His Intersect duties done, it was time to put on his analyst hat, and get ready for the time when his team lead would need his input. Given the time difference, she wouldn't need him until mid-afternoon somewhere. Those high-end parties started fashionably late and ran fashionably later.

The screens showed an empty hall, his favorite kind. He stepped out of his office and made sure it was firmly closed and locked.

"Mr. Bartowski?"

His head dropped, hitting the door jamb. "Ow!" He raised his hand to rub at the spot, turning to see who had called him. He looked up. Female. And up some more. Very tall female. African-American. "You're a tall one, aren't you?"

"I can say the same about you," she said. "Thank God. I live in a world of tiny men." She stuck out a hand. "You can call me Greta."

"Another one?" said Chuck. "Is there a school, or something? Not that I'm complaining, mind you, and if it really is your name I completely apologize, but I just met another girl, woman, lady named Greta, and I have to say neither of you fit the model I would normally associate with a name of Northern European origin."

"Yeah, she said I wouldn't get a word in edgewise. " Greta smiled, like she was out of practice. "I'm not here to chat you up in the hallway, Mr. Bartowski, I'm here to train."

Against the Intersect? "And they sent you to me? The closest I ever came to training was virtual boot camp in a video game."

She nodded. "That's why they sent me to you. You're the acknowledged expert in the building in Virtual Enhancement Techniques."

I am? "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"It is. I hope you won't mind taking a complete novice under your wing, teach me the right moves."

Oh God, a newbie.

She must have seen the hesitation on his face. "Please, Mr. Bartowski. Help me. You're my only hope."

How could he refuse Greta Organa? "Fine. Let me call my friend Morgan. We'll teach you the ways of Call of Duty, so you can come with us to Alderaan."

As they left together, she turned to him and asked, "Where?"

Carina sauntered down the stairs, fashionably late in a world where fashionable lateness was an art form. As expected, there was Sarah, practically screaming 'Undercover Agent' with her strapless Versace and an untouched flute of champagne. "Tonight a school night?" she murmured into her throat mike.

"Wouldn't want to cramp your style," replied Sarah. She made a languid gesture. "Oh, and by the way, that corner of the room could use a good sweep."

"Do I look like a maid?" Carina snagged a flute of her own. Maids don't do that.

Sarah turned away. "You look like a feather-duster."

"Can I help it if I'm ahead of the curve?" She took a sip, and did a twirl on the landing. Not too much of one, these folks hadn't earned the floor show. "These will be the 'in' thing soon."

"On ostriches."

"They're fake."

Sarah smiled. "'Cause that makes it better."

Carina was bored. "You spotted our mark yet?" If Sarah was going to ruin the evening with work they could at least get on with it.

Sarah sighed into her mike. "Not yet. I'm afraid we're going to have to mingle."

Carina started scanning the room from her place on the stairs. "You? Afraid?"

"I'll be seen with you."

"Don't worry, I'll try to deflect a little of the admiration your way. The least I can do."

"Feel free to not do the least you can do," said Sarah. At least with Carina as a distraction she might be able to get some work done. The sooner this mission was over the sooner she could get back to–

"I see her," said Carina.

"Where?"

"At your ten, fifteen yards, or meters, I guess, since we're in Europe. Slinky sequined dress, not off the rack but certainly not haut couture either."

Sarah shook her head, not bothering to say a word. "Any weapons or guards?"

"Well, there are a few people who haven't stopped and basked. None of them appear to be watching her, though." She continued on down the stairs to grace Sarah with her presence. "Maybe they're gay."

Sarah clinked glasses with her. "It's Fashion Week, Carina. Everyone here has to have a pretty high tolerance for strutting divas."

Carina had, of course, kept her target in view. "She's not strutting."

"I wasn't talking about her." Sarah turned, and they ambled leisurely through the crowd, not directly at the target but on a course that would eventually intersect hers, if they made three or four circuits of the room.

Not that Carina was willing to wait that long. She had no problem with the seeing-and-being-seen aspect of this mission, but the mission part sucked all the joy out of it. "So what do you think?"

Sarah took a little closer look, and noticed the sequined clutch, almost invisible against the all-too-revealing sequined dress. "Bag."

Carina put her empty glass on a tray, and snagged another as several waiters made it their business to let her see them. "Yeah, she has seen better days."

"A-hem."

"Oh, you mean a real bag." Carina flashed a glance. "Yeah, looks big enough." She handed her glass to her partner. "Be right back."

Sarah settled in to watch. Either Carina would get what she went for, or she'd get shot down in flames. Either one was a win in her book.

An alert signal woke Frost from her nap. She never got a full night's sleep, and hadn't for years. Alexei's interests took up too much of her time, and her own interests took up more, so she'd long mastered the art of sleeping when she could and hitting the ground running. She checked the source of the alert, a gamer tag that hadn't been used in months, suddenly activated. Han-fan and Chewie-fan were back together again, and she smiled, feeling sorry for their–who was Greta123? Fortunately the CIA didn't bug agents' residences, that left the way clear for her to worm her way into the webcam on the computer. The two men looked less than happy, but the woman sitting between them was ecstatic. "Oh, Chuck."

She shut down the worm and went back to bed.

Carina strutted right up to her target, not bothering to hide her presence as she reached for a cheese cube with one hand and reached for the bag with the other.

Miss Stefanova suddenly turned, alert for strangers approaching from any angle in an environment like this. Her bag swung away and something else entirely found its way under Carina's questing fingers. "Excuse me!" said Sofia, shocked. "Who do you think you are?"

Carina moved her hand–the other one–and placed the cheese cube slowly in her mouth, on her tongue. She chewed it slowly, reveling in the pure oral satisfaction, as she considered her reply. "I'm the one woman in this room everyone will be watching this week. You?"

"Your hand is still touching my perfection."

Carina looked down. "Why yes, so it is." She looked into Sofia's eyes, saw no compromises there. "An accident. Happy accident?" That hard gaze said there were no happy accidents in Sofia's life. "No? Too bad." Carina pulled her hand back slowly, up and over Miss Stefanova's hip.

"I'm flattered," said Sofia, not sounding flattered. She looked away for a second. "But it seems you've already got one admirer, and if she's as plastic as your feathers, I'm sure you'll be much happier with her." She smirked and walked away to the bar.

Carina took another cube and sauntered back to Sarah.

"That went well," said Sarah, and she opened her mouth.

Carina placed the cube on her tongue. "The night is young."

Later, at the debrief.

"'Virtual Enhancement Techniques'?"

Greta restrained herself from shrugging, under her superior-and-instructor's eye. "The other Greta already used the dinner ploy. I had to engage other interests."

"Yes, and very quick thinking it was, too," said Agent Montgomery. "And how did it play out?"

Hard to tell if she blushed. "Not well, sir."

"Telescope, give me a sitrep!"

Sarah walked away from the party, the lobby, the whole damn building. "The target left an explosive surprise in her bag, Eagle-Eye. Microscope threw it into a fountain and it fizzled."

"She made you?"

"Or she really didn't like my hand on her 'perfection'." Carina rolled her eyes.

Must be something wrong with the signal. "Her what?"

"Nothing, Eagle-Eye," said Sarah. "We're heading upstairs."

Roan felt a headache coming on. Being called a 'noob' by a tiny man was the high point of Greta's report. And what kind of insult was 'noob', anyway? Not an ethnic slur. Charles wouldn't associate with one of that ilk. "'Not well' is a bit of an understatement, isn't it? Did it ever occur to you to lose?"

She always tried to do her best, and to get better. "No, sir."

"Next time try to keep your competitive instincts in check, 'Greta'. Men are much more gracious in victory than they are in defeat." He barely noticed as she shuffled out of his office. Neither brunettes nor gamers had the desired effect on this subject. Valuable lessons learned, but at this rate he wasn't going to graduate anybody. What is the key to you, Charles?

Sarah and Carina waited behind the dresses filling the closet from side to side, listening as the great, ponderous, hulking footsteps of the burly bodyguard faded away into the main room. The man hadn't seen them, which was no surprise. Sofia Stefanova was an exception to the rule that spies always travelled light. It made Sarah's 'weird unpacking thing' seem doubly weird by comparison, and she was doubly glad Chuck wasn't here to notice it.

Why had it taken so long? Being a fashion model was Stefanova's cover, and these closets they stood in sold that cover very well. She'd been Chuck's cover girlfriend for years, and his wife after that, but the closet her things didn't occupy would have given her away immediately.

Miss Stefanova walked into her closet, bringing Sarah's thoughts firmly to the here-and-now. Neither of the two spies moved a muscle as Volkoff's agent stripped off her dress, folding it neatly into a case, followed by her underthings, not so neatly deposited into a laundry hamper on the way into the bath. When the water started, Carina stuck her head out and looked into the other room. "Translucent," she whispered. "Better than nothing." If the showering woman turned around she'd see something moving in her closet, even if she couldn't tell who.

"I'll get the guard," said Sarah.

Carina nodded, and went back to the safe with their electronic lockpick. As the numbers counted down she heard Sarah say something to the man outside in a thick Russian accent that sounded nothing like Stefanova's, but the guy apparently bought it. Was he deaf or something? The lockpick stopped, and the safe clicked open. Inside were the bullets they sought and Carina took them out, standing to put them into her secure pouch.

"Don't move," a woman with a thick Russian accent from behind her. Probably not Sarah. She raised her hands.

"Turn around. Look at me."

Carina turned and looked. "Not seeing much. There's more and better every day in my bathroom mirror, honey."

Something heavy fell down in the other room, and Stefanova grabbed Carina as better protection against bullets than the air she was currently wearing, as Sarah ran into the room.

"You're kidding, right?" asked Carina mildly. "You do know she'll shoot right through me to get you, don't you?" Just as well Chuck isn't here. She'd never do it then.

Sofia watched as Sarah's face hardened. Before she could shoot her red-haired prisoner, Sarah fired, and Carina moved in tandem, a true partner. Stefanova released her prisoner to save herself.

Sarah and Carina ran, rather than risk getting caught between Sofia with her guns, and the guard outside. They had what they needed. Sarah stood guard as Carina hooked the two of them up to their climbing ropes, in case Sofia aaand there she was. Keep moving. Sarah fired again, and Miss Stefanova gave her a clear view of her bottom as she dove for cover.

"You call that perfection?" asked Sarah. Then she and Carina leapt from the balcony and were gone.

A/N2 I would have loved to keep Morgan's demonstration to Beckman of the Buy More's unbelievable quality, one of the shining moments of the series. Maybe I'll come up with something like it later on.