The Odd Quadruple
Chapter Two
December 18 2007
En route to the Buy More
09:47 PST
-x-
The term deathly silence took on a whole meaning this morning. Who knew that it really could chill the air enough to feel as if there was a cadaver in the room?
Or in this event, the car, since he and Casey were currently taking the speed limit rule as a suggestion and muscling their way down Interstate 5. It figured that the briefing not only made both of them gay, it made them late for their shift.
Typically, Chuck spent the commute playing with Casey's push buttons on the radio, or just pushing his buttons. The ones on the dashboard were such a cool relic from the eighties that he couldn't help himself, so this would go on until Casey batted his hand away.
After that, Chuck would spend a few minutes drumming his fingers on the glove compartment to the riffs of bands he only vaguely remembered. Even Casey would turn the volume knob – which was another fun fact about the Vic, that it had one of those – and move a finger on the steering wheel when Roundabout hit the airwaves.
So when Chuck reached forward to fiddle with the radio, it made him jolt to feel the slap across his fingers. "Don't turn it on," Casey grumbled. "I want quiet."
"But it's one of your favorites," Chuck pointed out, wiggling his fingers to get the feeling back. Man, he had a hard slap. "I thought you liked –"
"You know, one of the options to get out of this is to kill you."
"Kill?" Chuck stopped fiddling and looked from his handler's stormy profile to the bumper of an eighteen wheeler, noticing that Casey's rental was getting close enough to climb inside of it. "This may be the appropriate time to remind you of one simple fact. I'm the Intersect. Precious Government Property? Your asset?"
Casey shrugged. "It's on the table, Bartowski."
"Wouldn't you rather kill Bryce?" Chuck offered.
"My first option. Yeah, finally kill Bryce Larkin. But Bryce isn't sitting in my rental car playing with the dials right now while I'm trying to decide how to kill him." He took his eyes off the road to make sure Chuck saw the death glare, and then cut around the semi-trailer with a move that would have Chuck checking his pants later. "You did notice the use of the word rental in that sentence?"
"Well, since it's only quarter to ten and you already alluded to the unfortunate event twice, I kind of guessed you hadn't forgotten."
"Still saving up your pennies? A crown jewel like that doesn't come cheap, you know."
"You do know that on a Buy More salary, it will take years to save up – what? Ten thousand dollars? Besides, Sarah told me that the government's getting you a replacement – something about a car dying in the line of duty?"
Casey eyed him, obviously wondering when Sarah became such a big mouth. Clearly, it took some of the fun out of his day. "Bet you can't wait to blow that one up too, eh, Intersect?"
"I won't even park next to it." Chuck held up three fingers like the good Boy Scout that he never was. "I promise."
The skeptical look came with a grunt. Chuck took that as damn right, you won't.
Chuck was quiet for a half minute, listening to the whirr of the tires and the ringing silence, since touching the radio was verboten. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you -"
"Don't."
"It's not about your – what is the word we should use that isn't going to get me killed? Significant other?"
Casey changed lanes in a near-violent move. "So many places to hide the body between here and the Buy More," he said under his breath, and Chuck actually caught him scoping out an old ugly building along the service drive that looked empty.
"What I meant was, where does someone go to rent a car from the eighties?" He paused, taking a moment to pretend to admire the fake wood grain dashboard and the bench seat. "You don't just go into Avis and say you want a car from the Reagan era, do you?"
"You have something against that era? Or my car?"
Two-for-one way to get killed, just by answering that question.
"You're missing my point." Chuck scooted over a bit closer to the passenger door - well, in truth he was pressed against it – and tested the handle. Locked. Why was it that the one feature the relic had was child safety locks? "I was only curious, that's all. I guess I made the mistake of trying to make small talk."
"Your curiosity got us into this mess," Casey said, giving a smirk that said finally he could enjoy the conversation.
"All right. Fine." Chuck huffed. "I'll just get to the point. Who is the fourth person?"
"Worried they're not going to find someone nice enough to hold the door open for you?" Casey made a point of sweeping a glance over the kid as if appraising Chuck's odds. "Don't you fret, Bartowski. I'm sure the agency has arranged for the man-nerd of your dreams from this year's new crop of spies. Probably took some digging, but I bet there was at least one willing to carry you over the threshold."
Chuck stared at him for so long that he didn't even notice they were pulling off at the Buy More exit. "Why is it that both you and Sarah insinuated that?"
"What?"
"Sarah said something about being a girl who doesn't have to worry about having her dance card filled? And now that? What makes you think I'm, well, you know –"
"The girl?"
The kid stopped playing with the door handle and scowled. "I was going to say emotionally balanced with the ability to communicate in times of stress rather than withdraw into a cave."
"Good, we're saying the same thing."
Chuck's scowl deepened. "You know what? You can just sit over there behind the wheel of your antiquated rental car, and live with your clogged up emotions, all bottled up and steaming – and maybe when you decide you want to talk to someone about your conflicted feelings related to Bryce –"
"Do hate, loathe, and detest sound like a conflict of emotions to you?"
Chuck squinted at him, but there was no joking about it. "When you put it that way, I guess not."
"And I don't plan on getting curious with him, either. Just because we're in close quarters together?"
"You know, don't take this the wrong way," Chuck muttered towards his window, "but you can be a real dick head sometimes."
Casey snorted softly.
"Sure, you say that now. But he can be very charming – and persuasive. Just warning you."
"That's the whole reason for a CCW."
"CCW?"
"Carrying a concealed weapon. One bit of persuasion from that little prick and he gets plugged between those snake eyes."
"Casey, you can hardly call those snake eyes. I mean, come on." Chuck looked down at his lukewarm coffee which he had forgotten, sitting in the cup holder, and took a drink anyway. "Bryce's eyes could be considered an unconcealed weapon on their own. That particular hue? The only other person I know with eyes like that is you."
Dammit, he did not just –
"You curious about my eyes, Bartowski?" Casey asked.
Why was it that Casey heard only half of what he said, yet picked up on that?
"Just – it's nothing, okay. Can you keep them on the road, please?" Giving up on getting a name from Casey – and desperately needing to change the topic - Chuck leaned over to the turn up the radio dial.
'Young man, there's no need to feel down. I said, young man, pick yourself off the ground–'
No. Not now.
Don't even think it.
He should be focusing on Blosjo. The mission.
'It's fun to stay at the -'
Okay, it was only natural to daydream. Wasn't it?
And right now, Chuck had to wonder ... would there be a ... costume night on board?
Casey donned in a hard hat and low slung tool belt. Hips swiveling. Or Bryce in a feathered Native American headdress. Not to mention his future, fake, government-supplied boyfriend in full police officer regalia ...
"Bartowski, if I hear one more line of this song –"
"Oh, sure. Sorry." Chuck jolted and snapped off the radio as quick as he could move his fingers. "I'm not really into the whole – well – there. Off."
"Keep it that way."
Silence reigned over the interior of the rental car one more time. After a minute, Chuck cleared his throat and turned to Casey. "Can you really just be serious for one question?
"Depends on the question."
"Do you know who it is? Who the agency picked? Be honest."
"Relax, princess." Casey rolled his eyes. "I'm sure they found a nice boy who will go to Ellie to ask permission for your hand in marriage."
"So the answer was no, you can't be serious for one question. Let's just leave it at that."
Watching Casey wedge the huge car into a parking spot, Chuck felt sweat forming under his white shirt. God, there were times he really hated being emotionally adjusted and having long eyelashes. There were also times he hated his handlers.
Now would be one of those times.
-x-
"Bartowski! 'Bout time you and your carpool partner dragged yo' asses into work! What? You and John Casey get to spend the morning cuddled up in bed like two little homeless puppies? While the rest of us are out on the flo' – breaking our butts to make the Christmas holiday quota!"
Chuck turned vibrant red. It occurred to him that Sarah might've been on to something with the whole 'everyone is suspicious' thing between him and Casey.
And if Big Mike sounded that angry now, how would he react when he learned his head nerd and top sales guy would be coming down with matching fevers in about three hours from now?
The tardy Nerd Herder opened his mouth to protest, or at least come up with a lame excuse, but stopped. First, it was imperative to scan the area near home appliances to be certain Casey didn't hear a word of that.
Small favors. He was out of earshot. Chuck picked him out across the store, growling and roaming back and forth in front of a mildly scratched chest freezer. It looked like the one Casey had used to dent the head of La Ciudad's minion, and now Big Mike had been trying to pawn it off at a thirty percent discount for months.
Chuck passed a few green shirts as he approached the Nerd Herd desk, nodding politely as he went. His walk became a slow shuffle when he saw Jeff and Lester leaning on the desk, watching him make his way to the center of the store.
"Good morning, Charles," Lester began, and then theatrically checked his watch. "We can still call it morning, can we not, Jeffrey?"
"In Hawaii maybe. Some of us have been working like dogs for hours," was Jeff's reply, though at the moment, they were both standing around in their usual spots.
"A bit of an exaggeration don't you think?" Chuck looked down at the desk, noticing the work orders already piling up. "Besides, we're only twenty minutes late."
"And Casey looks pissed," Jeff said, and it sounded like the one bright spot of the morning for him. "Didn't get his usual breakfast in bed?"
Chuck clenched his jaw and shot a glance at the big guy. The 'Bryce is Your New Boyfriend' cover had him pacing like a trapped polar bear in aisle seven. "I wouldn't know. Why don't you ask him, gentlemen?"
The duo flinched outwardly and turned their attention back to the weaker gazelle. "You know, Charles, your ... carpool partner might lose the killer persona if you lock the break room door at lunchtime." Lester winked.
This was perplexing. "Sure, whatever," Chuck answered, and he began sorting through work orders. Casey would never lose that persona, but they couldn't know that. "Hey, did you take care of the modem on this -"
"Yeah, there's a key hidden behind the aspirin bottle in the medical supply cabinet." Jeff winked this time, ignoring the Dell's modem and Chuck. "You can lock the door. Someday, when I get Anna alone ... or myself ..."
"Jeffrey." Lester lifted a hand. "What my friend is trying to say is that if you butter the muffin -"
"Stud muffin," Jeff broke in.
"- we won't have to worry all day about getting our faces plowed into a locker, now, will we, Charles?"
Chuck blinked. He'd come straight from a briefing where his ex-roommate barged in, then was told, no, ordered to be partnered with a government-selected boyfriend, and now the implication of Lester's leer was that he already had a secret government-selected boyfriend.
"You can drop your insinuation, because Casey and I are not -"
"Oh, we are beyond that, my friend," Lester said, peering over at Casey's aisle with some trepidation. Quickly looking away, the small man rose on his toes. "And may we remind you, it is your duty as -"
"Car pool partner," Jeff inserted.
"- to keep that man of yours ... in breakfast rolls." Lester gave him a look that said this dereliction of his duty was worse than being late. "We don't want to be forced to watch our backs all day. He gets angry, Charles."
Chuck accidently broke the pencil he was using to jot notes on the work orders. "Listen, guys, I don't know what is going on here, but for one, Casey and I just carpool together, and two, I don't butter his muffin in the break room."
"Okay, then my stall is empty at the moment," Jeff said, tipping his head towards the men's room. "I won't even charge you the usual fee, but I have dibs at ten fifteen, so if you can make it a quick one ... Oh, and it's not really hand soap in the dispenser." He gave that one-eyed creepy wink of his, and ended it there.
Chuck repressed a shiver. "Uh, thanks, Jeff, for the offer, but I think I'll take a pass on that." It took all his effort to keep his face controlled as he turned to Lester and handed him a stack of the work orders. "How about taking a look at the -"
"Casey's other car had tinted windows at least," Lester reminded them, pushing a hand through his hair. "Think of the possibilities, Jeffrey!"
"Okay, you know what? I'm leaving now." Slapping the work orders in Lester's chest, Chuck turned abruptly to get away from the desk, because the cage would be the only safe place this morning. There were enough dead computers to keep him busy for hours, and away from accusing eyes. "Have fun, guys."
"Hey, what – what happened to Casey's old car, anyway?" he heard Jeff call out behind his back.
Taking that as his cue, Chuck picked up the pace, heading to the back of the store and avoiding even a glimpse to the right at his angry handler now stalking a customer in the camera aisle. God help them if that was about returning defective merchandise. Talk about clean-up in aisle four.
"Chuck! You're not gonna believe it, man!"
Chuck jerked around in surprise as Morgan rounded Santa's Winter Wonder Land and Discount Printer Village. "Whoa, little buddy." While his friend slid to a stop, the kid reached out to right the plastic elf that nearly toppled in his wake. "What's up? Usually you're not this excited on a holiday rush work day."
"Dude. You're not going to be able to wrap your mind around it." Morgan got up on his toes to look over the shelves while brushing at loose flakes of imitation snow that had clung to his green shirt. "This way. We can't let anyone hear this!"
Chuck started walking again. "Then you might want to consider not shouting."
"Good point – the whole thing has me a little -" Breaking it off there, his bearded friend picked up a pile of DVDs and began to appear busy by stocking the shelves. It was code for we have to talk. "It's crazy, it is. I can't believe it ... this has never happened to me."
"Really?" Chuck clapped him on the shoulder. "Good for you. Give Anna my congrats, but I have to get -"
"No! You're joking, aren't you? Yes, you're joking. Oh, Chuck. It's waaay bigger than that." Without giving Chuck the chance to dig in his heels, Morgan dropped the DVDs and took him by the arm, steering him behind the Buy More credit card application display. "It's a Christmas Miracle!" His forehead wrinkled in deep thought. "Oh, my God. The Miracle. That is not a coincidence."
"Listen, buddy," Chuck said, even though he knew Morgan was beyond hearing him. "Whatever it is, can it wait until lunch break?" He peeled each of Morgan's tightly clasped fingers from his arm. "Big Mike is on the war path because we got in a ... little late."
"Oh, that reminds me," Morgan said, and scoping out the area, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "I've wanted to tell you – you may want to either stop carpooling with Casey, or take your lunch breaks at different times." Morgan dramatically touched the side of his nose. "People are beginning to wonder what you see in 'Mr. Scary the Way I Fill Out a Green Shirt'."
God. Why does Sarah always have to be right?
Flicking a look across the store at the tight green shirt in question, Chuck felt his cheeks going from flushed to crimson. "Why didn't you tell -"
"Because I'm telling you now," Morgan explained quickly. His hands flew up in a peacemaking gesture. "And no judging from me, right? Jill, Bryce, Sarah, Casey – I get it. It's like a poncho with you, dude. One size fits all, and I admire you for your -"
"Please, Morgan." Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose. "Stop talking."
"Fine. I get it. Whenever you're ready, you know where to find me." Morgan shrugged. His serious look abruptly turned to a grin, and whatever this was about, Chuck could see him rise to his tip toes and waggle his eyebrows. "Are you ready to hear this?"
"You say that like I have a choice. What is it?"
"Dude!" Morgan burst out, and he lifted a victory fist in the air. "I won a cruise!"
"Wh-what?" Chuck slanted his head at the ecstatic bearded man. If it took great effort before this to remain calm, his current acting hatchet job could only be described as Mighty Thor level of effort.
"You heard me!"
"A ... cr-cruise?"
"Yes! I'm going to be Captain Stubing!" Morgan crowed, but then pursed his lips in a little frown. "Except the ship is the Miracle, not the Love Boat – but that's the only difference, I swear."
God, no. They wouldn't.
Chuck had to fight a cough, but before he ran screaming, he told himself that it was ridiculous to even think it. It couldn't be. It was just a ... a funny coincidence.
"How ... how on earth did you – are you sure?"
"Of course. It was KROC station 107.5. A contest! And I won it!"
Words and voices were sloshing around in his head as he tried to play catch-up, so the kid thought it pertinent to ask, "The ... radio? Like, songs?"
Morgan just looked up at him and shook his head. "You okay, man? The radio? What else would it be? Yes, the radio! You know, 'Wake up with the Boozer?' Charlie Booz?" The smaller man started to hum the tag line and chuckled. "I always think of Jeff at that."
"What – Morgan, that's ... that's great," Chuck said, panic beginning to swirl. "So you leave next week ... next year?"
"No, see, that's the great thing about it. There was a stipulation when they called to announce moi and yours truly as the winner."
"Stipulation?" He felt the blood drain from his face. The government wouldn't do this to him on top of the whole little ruin-your-life-with-the-Intersect thing, would they? "Morgan, are you sure about this?"
"Here's the deal. I have to be able to leave this evening."
"This evening?" Chuck tried to keep his voice steady, but the screechiness had begun to creep in. "Where ... are you going?"
"They said put on your best swim trunks – that's the way the said it, just like that with the little excited emphasis on trunks! - because the destination is Puerto Vallarta." The last bit was said in passably decent Ricardo Montalban accent. "That's not the best part."
"Morgan, I have to ask. Do you even remember entering a contest?"
"Oh, you know ... more or less." Morgan scratched a hand through his beard. "Nah! But who cares. Dude, I'm going to Mexico – tonight!"
"Are you sure it wasn't a ... scam?" Chuck shoved his hands in his pockets and made fists, because if Morgan knew how much of a scam this was, there would be no end to the – well, let's face it, freaking excitement of having a best friend for a robot-spy-computer. "How do you know it was real?" Chuck asked. "I mean, you didn't even enter the -"
"This," Morgan interrupted, and he reached under his shirt and pulled out a Fed Ex envelope, flourishing it in front of Chuck's startled face. "It was all in here. Tickets, vouchers, hell, even a limo to the port! I'm going in a limo! God, I hope its black, and not one of those tricked-out Hummers? You know what I mean, Chuck? Especially the white ones? Because those things are just embarrassing – hey, would Bond be seen in one? Or Dirty Harry -"
"Um, that's great, Morgan." In his nervousness to spot Casey, Chuck dropped the work order he had been absently crumpling.
"Hey. Are you okay?"
"Sure. This is great," Chuck said, scooping up the papers. He had to think he was doing all right at not showing the fact that his brain was shutting down. "You know what? I have to go find Casey, but you can tell me all about it ... at lunch?"
Morgan took hold of his arm and got on his tip toes to get closer to Chuck's ear. "Chuck. The best part – you forgot to ask."
"There's something better?"
"You! I get to take one person, and I choose you!" Morgan froze there with his spindly arms wide, waiting for Chuck to jump up and down or do something.
Chuck went stock still. "Me?" His eyes darted to aisle four, because where the hell was Casey! "Not ... Anna?"
"Man, I know you're okay with this," Morgan said, leaning in closer, "but it's a g-a-y cruise."
"But – but you're not gay!" Chuck hissed, since it seemed important.
"Details, smetails!" Morgan dismissed this with a wave of his hand, grinning. "And you're – well – enough for both of us, man."
"Morgan, we've talked about this," Chuck remarked between his teeth, and he made a ploy of reorganizing the work orders to avoid looking up. "Back at school, I was just trying to figure things out, okay?"
"Buddy, look at you." Morgan nodded at him sagely as he tucked the envelope back in his pants. "Not even your hair is straight, okay? Oh, and think about it – I already have the hat and jacket that I wore on the Taiwanese guy's yacht. Mr. Muckety-Muck? Just need to get the shrimp sauce out of the lapel. Hey, does Ellie have anything for that?"
Chuck took a moment to stare. "You know, I'm leaving now," he announced, craning his neck to find a certain green shirt. "Not ... not that I'm not happy for you, Morgan, it's just that -"
"Happy for us, man!" Morgan corrected.
Seeing that Morgan was beginning to deflate, Chuck flashed a quick smile. "Yes – us, but I need to take care of something and – can we talk at lunch?"
"Good thinking." Morgan lifted his head like a periscope to scan the area near Big Mike's office. "We need to come up with a plan to get out of here for six days without losing our jobs," he whispered urgently. "I was thinking alien abduction in the desert where they find us both naked and dazed in one of those circular impact craters?"
"Consider me crazy, Morgan, but you may need to -"
"Or pirates! Pirate kidnapping. Not like a pirate from the movies – argh, matey – no, no, no – nothing like that. I mean real pirates. The ones that ambush ships off the coast of Gambia and -"
"Might need some refinement as well, buddy." Chuck felt panic winding up and down his spine, but he managed to hide it by giving a polite nod to a passing customer. When the man walked by, he turned to Morgan. "Have you seen Casey?"
"Wait. We have to make our plans," Morgan said. "Lunch today. You. Me. The loading platform. A large pizza from the food court. Let's sort this out." Morgan moved out of his way and made a hm noise. "I like this plan. It'll kill two birds with one stone."
"How is that?"
"We get our plans lined up, and you'll be seen eating lunch outside of the break room without your – I mean, without Casey."
Chuck didn't point out that because of surveillance that would rival Fort Knox, he was never without Casey. "You know, this time I am leaving," he said, turning towards the Employees Only exit.
"Lunch – don't forget," Morgan said behind his back. "Oh, and Chuck? You're going the wrong way. He went into the Home Entertainment room a minute ago." There was a pause. "This is good. You can break the news to him without prying eyes."
Chuck did a one eighty turn and strode towards the media room.
-x-
"Are you insane!" Chuck scrambled into the darkened room and closed the glass door behind him. He very carefully tried not to shout at the much larger man, but it was a struggle. "The answer is no."
"Five – four – three – eh."
Chuck heard a beep. "What are you doing?"
Casey grunted and looked at his phone before waggling it in Chuck's direction. "Right on time."
"No, you don't get it. This is not happening." Chuck pointed a finger at the NSA agent, who looked like he had taken a break from cleaning up wrappers some kids had left behind in order to mock him. "You need to get Beckman on the phone and tell her –"
"Not bad, Bartowski."
"Are you listening to me? What's with the phone?"
"The bosses just sent a text outlining the final detail of the mission," Casey said. "Knew it would be a matter of sixty seconds before you came running in here screaming like a little girl when you had a chat with the troll." He examined the countdown display. "One of your best times, sport. You got in here with less than two seconds to spare."
Chuck folded his arms over his chest. "I said the answer is no. That is my rule and it's non-negotiable. I think I've given up enough to protect our country."
Casey snorted.
"Really?" Chuck answered, affronted. "Maybe you've forgotten a few things, Casey. In the past four months, I've had bullets whizzing by my head, I've admired the view of the street from a seven story balcony – while I was tied to a chair. I've been drugged -"
"You lived," Casey said, going back to picking up wrappers.
"- and I found out the hard way that I do indeed fit in the trunk of a car!"
"Good thing you fold up like a tent, eh?"
Chuck did his best to square his shoulders. "This cannot and will not happen. My family and my friends? They stay out of your spy work. End of discussion."
"Or else what?" Casey asked.
"Or – or else the Intersect might stop working, that's what else," Chuck answered. He took a timeout to wisely pull the blinds closed for privacy, and the last thing he saw before the curtains met was Jeff giving a thumbs up. He tried not to think about it.
"Stop working?"
Uh-oh. The fact that he had just threatened a man who could gut him with a spork should bother him, but hell. He had already gone all in.
"That's right. I may not flash anymore." Chuck put more force in his voice. "Or if I do – I may forget what was in those flashes. Did our government, in all of its wisdom, think of that?"
The truth was he would never put lives at risk by withholding data, but with emotions rocketing, it felt good to say it.
But that struck a nerve with Casey.
One second he was standing toe to toe with the big guy, and the next, Casey had grabbed hold of his shirt front and yanked him within a hairsbreadth of his face.
"Casey –"
"Did you just threaten me?" Casey rumbled.
Chuck's vision was immediately filled with intense, bright blue eyes – and yep, they were exactly like Bryce's. "Uh, that might've come out wrong."
"And there might be other ways to get the Intel out of you. Did you think of that?"
He swallowed. The amount of body heat that man could throw out doused the room in warmth. The whole confusing shot of fire made the kid curse the agency drones, who in their wisdom, sent a man equal parts hot and terrifying to watch over him. "I – there's no scientific evidence that physical violence would provide the appropriate triggers."
"We can find out," Casey suggested, giving him a little shake.
"For once, can you be reasonable?" Chuck questioned why he asked that, though, since Casey had never shown a sign of that particular characteristic when he was angry. Or ever.
"I'm reasonably sure I could find a trigger."
"Come on, there has to be another way. This is the NSA! Can't they come up with anything else?" The pleading look, coupled with the boot-licking comment about Casey's agency, was the only hope he had of getting the strangulation hold loosened a bit. "Don't you think they're above pulling something like this?"
"You'll be fine. Both of you," Casey told him, and bit by bit, a few fingers unclenched. "The bearded gnome won't even know he's being used as a pawn in bringing down a nuclear technology dealer."
Which in a way was too bad, because Chuck was certain Morgan would find that the epitome of awesome.
"So, you didn't know about this?" Chuck tried not to squirm since Casey hadn't completely let go of his neck, and if there was ever a time to man-up, this would be it. "Not until Beckman contacted you a few minutes ago?"
"Don't believe me?" Casey asked. It took forever, though, with only the low hum of the ventilation system filling the room, for Casey to fully release him. Obviously, being challenged by a nerd had given him a bad moment, and therefore he was duty-bound to reciprocate the feeling. "See for yourself."
Frowning, Chuck read the display on Casey's phone. "That's the General's text?"
"Orders that the troll will be your beard of a bunkmate."
"I still hate this."
"He'll be fine. He won't even know what's going on. And think of it this way: you get six days on board, eating lobster, lounging at the pool, and losing money in the casino – all on the taxpayer's dime." He growled at the last bit of news.
"Will the government be floating another hundred thousand at the casino? Intersect work isn't even minimum wage."
"So that you can crap it out at the roulette table?"
"You should've warned me," Chuck said defensively, but knowing it was useless to argue, he blew a breath. "Is that all there is to it? Morgan and I get to hang out on the cruise ship ... and wait for me to flash?"
"Not the usual way the two of you nerds hang out, Bartowski. No roast beef sandwiches and kiddie games while you're locked in your room. I want you taking part in every activity. Mingling and flirting with every man on board."
"What – flirting? I'm not so sure about –"
"Because the sooner you flash, the sooner we get the hell out of there."
"The real motivator shines through, hm, Casey?" Chuck fixed in his mind, however, to do a deep dive on the cruise's website. He needed to read up on the onboard activities, since who knew what the government expected?
"That's right. And after you flash, do you want to know what you do?"
"Uh, well –"
"You do nothing," Casey finished for him, picking up an empty pop can that had been left between the cushions. "Just sit back in your lounge chair, get the hell out of the way, and leave the spy work to the adults. Can you handle that?"
"Eating, drinking, and lounging by the pool? It has promise, I'll give you that much. "Maybe there's one of those giant waterslides?" More importantly, would his Xbox fit in the suitcase? "Okay, a bit of clarification on one point. Do Morgan and I have to hold hands?"
"Figure it out," Casey said.
"That's not an answer."
"Time's up." Casey steered Chuck towards the door. "Get back to work, and tell those imbeciles out there that when I find out what's amusing them, I will rip those smiles from their jaws."
If he found out, Jeff and Lester would be lucky if that was all he ripped from them.
"You're still wrinkling my shirt," Chuck reminded him, wriggling out of Casey's hold.
"Can't have that, can we, Intersect?" Casey let go, combining it with a little push. "Gotta look nice for your boyfriend today, eh?"
"That's what this little burst of violence is about, isn't it?"
Casey glared. "What."
"It's not about me getting angry with Beckman," Chuck explained, tentatively backing up to ensure the sofa was between them. "It's about the agency's choice of a fake boyfriend for you, so I get it. You must be feeling ... trapped right now, and believe me, I can relate to your emotions."
Casey adjusted his stance. Warrior-mode. Thankfully he did not turn and kill him with his elbow. Since Chuck was pretty sure he could do that.
"Why are you still here, Bartowski?" Casey's voice held the ring of a quiet threat. "Get back to work."
"Because I need your help."
Hearing that, Casey paused in the middle of turning off the TV. He eyed him up and down. "Is this one of your nerd jokes?"
"Not quite. Here's the thing: are you going to keep plotting the dozen ways to kill Bryce while we're on the ship - or are you going to help me come up with a plan to deal with Morgan Grimes?"
Casey thought long and hard for a moment, then crushed the can between his fingers.
"Both," he said.
-x-
"You're supposed to be the Master here, aren't you? Trained assassin and overall Major Kickass? So what am I supposed to do?"
"First, get that whiny sound out of your voice."
"I was not whining. I have allergies, you know."
Casey made a skeptical noise and adopted a stance Chuck recognized as the 'time to get schooled, Intersect' posture. "You have to look like you are going to have fun, Bartowski. Excited, not ... sweaty. You have to keep your girly feelings tamped down."
"Can we do this without the usual putdowns and sarcasm?"
Casey arched a brow, a warning that he was not to contribute to the lesson.
When the kid's mouth snapped shut, he continued on in that matter-of-fact way of his. "You will join in all of the activities from bow to stern, and get a good look at every man on board."
"Every activity? Because some of these events may be physical in nature, and you may have noticed that we're not built for kick boxing or Hatha yoga –"
The low growl of warning shut him up. "And the millisecond that you flash on Blosjos's contact, you will inform Agent Walker and I of the whereabouts and get your bony ass out of the way."
"What about Bryce? Isn't he part of the spy team for this mission?"
Casey gave him a bland look. "Does any of this sound difficult to you, Bartowski?"
"For the record, the NSA might've left out few planning details in the mission parameters that we should discuss."
"Such as?" Casey demanded, sounding doubtful.
"Such as this: Morgan thinks Bryce is dead – what about that? Did any of the geniuses at your agency think of that? Oh, sorry – sorry," Chuck blurted and backpedaled, watching Casey give him a squint. "Forget the last part, okay. Just tell me what on earth I'm supposed to say to him."
Casey rolled his eyes. "Mistaken identity in cadaver dental records happens all the time. Just make something up, and remember, keep it simple."
"Bryce is alive?" Morgan almost sputtered out a mouthful of root beer at the revelation. "How – I thought he died in a robbery."
"I guess ... I hear these things happen all the time," Chuck said, fidgeting. He covered up his discomfort by flipping open the pizza box and scooping up another slice. "They said it was a case of mistaken identity."
Morgan took a bite and chewed as he thought about it, staring out over the back parking lot. The best friends sat on the end of the loading platform, feet dangling as they polished off the Meaty Delight special. "Why didn't he come forward right away? You know, say 'Hey, you're burying the wrong insanely good-looking guy'? I mean think about it, dude. How many people are there walking this earth who look like Bryce Larkin?"
"Um." Why was this not covered in the twenty minute tutorial on how to build an ironclad cover? "Well ... he was out of the country."
"Not reachable?" Morgan managed between bites.
"I ... I think it was on a mediation retreat to ... India?"
"To see the short guy in the yellow robe? Glasses?"
"The Dalai Lama? Of ... course." Chuck grabbed his drink cup. "I don't think he's that short. I think it's just the angle of the pictures. He's ... on his knees a lot?" He so wanted to strangle Casey and the NSA for this.
"Man, I didn't realize Bryce was into the whole internal quest for peace thing."
"I think ... after he became an accountant, he was looking for something to relieve the ... stress of his job." Chuck cringed at the stupidity of his argument, and filled the time by picking off a suspicious looking mushroom that had somehow made its way onto a Meaty.
Seriously, was Morgan really going to believe that accounting was a profession that required the intervention of spiritual teachers?
"Bryce couldn't handle the bookkeeping. Huh."
"I think spreadsheets with financial algorithms have been proven to ... cause anxiety ... or something?"
Morgan considered it as he took a long slurp from his drink. "All right, man, I can picture Bryce shaking hands with the leader of the Tibetan Buddhists, but I have to ask you the million dollar question." He set down his drink and took great care to wipe his mouth. "How did John Casey meet Bryce Larkin?"
Crap. Because now that Chuck had dumped the news on Morgan that Bryce was alive, he had to inform his best friend that his nemesis was also booked on same cruise that they were taking, and that Bryce was John Casey's boyfriend.
Two reactions, really. One, he wanted to slam his head against the crates of side-by-side refrigerators, because really, God? Two, he couldn't help it - Chuck snickered into his pink lemonade.
That was the only part of the mission making this scenario even remotely palatable.
"Um, I think ... well, I believe Casey said ..."
"Hey, man, I get it." Morgan didn't look up as he pawed around the inside of the box for another slice. "Bryce is Casey's accountant, right? So, Casey went to him for tax advice and it was love at first grunt? That's how they met?"
"He's never going to believe the two of you are dating."
"Why the hell not?" Casey frowned and glanced at the curtain. "He thinks Wookies are real, doesn't he?"
"Casey, can we focus here for just a moment? I know to the NSA this is a bit of a humorous situation –"
"Humorous. Eh. So you won't be crying when Bryce's body washes up to shore? "
"See? That's what I mean. How can I convince him you and Bryce are dating?!"
"Don't make up any nerd stories about this. You keep it as simple as you possibly can. Got it?"
"Uh, skydiving – that was it. I think Casey said ... skydiving?" Chuck took a huge bite, since he really needed to stop talking for a minute. "Not the kind where you strap yourself to an experienced diver – it wasn't tandem jumping."
"Right," Morgan said, "because that would be too wussy for Casey."
"Of course," Chuck said, looking over at him quickly. "So Bryce and Casey have the same ... hobby, and they were assigned to the same plane at the diving center."
"Don't embellish the story with any of those damn fantasies you get from watching too much TV," Casey warned. "Details just create nets to get caught in later."
"But how? I mean, even in an airplane, Casey wouldn't talk to anyone unless he had to, right?"
"Well." Chuck rubbed the back of his neck. "Bryce's chute didn't open on the way down. When they were supposed to pull the cord? Nothing."
"Whoa, dude. He almost died – again?"
"Except for Casey – he – he ... swam through the air to get to him."
Chuck repressed a wince at his own inanity, but hell, he was already in up to his chest. Besides, this was the NSA's fault for not thinking through the details. Why would they leave it to a person with a rather vivid imagination to embellish?
"Swam?" Morgan asked.
"You ... you know how divers can do that before their chute opens?"
"Like a ..." Morgan set down his drink to imitate a modified dog paddle. "Like that?"
"Well, more like this," Chuck said. Naturally, he had answered too soon, and now he would have to demonstrate, so he cringed before scooping his arms out to the side. "Casey did this. At four thousand feet."
"Man! That is so cool!" Shaking his head in amazement, Morgan polished off his last bite. "Hey, do you think we can find that on YouTube?"
"Um, unfortunately, witnesses were too flabbergasted to take out their phones."
"Wow. He's still cool."
"And by the time they ... floated down together, Bryce had Casey's cell number."
You say nothing else, Bartowski, about Bryce and I being ... together - besides that fact that we are. At least for the next six days or 'until death do us part'." Casey smirked. "He'll be too excited to think straight, anyway – not that straight is the term here."
"Chuck, I'm such a fool," Morgan said. He frowned to himself and ran a hand over his beard. "How could I be so cold?"
"Why would you say that?"
"You are my best friend, and here I am gloating over the trip – when your heart has to be torn to little shreds, man!"
"I'm fine." Chuck busied himself with folding up the empty box. "Really, whatever this is about, it's okay."
"'Whatever it's about'? Are you kidding me?" Morgan looked past his shoulder to make sure they were alone on the loading dock. "Chuck! Your ex-college roommate and college experimentation is now going on a joy ride with one of your current infatuations? I'm sorry, okay? I think I could show a little more empathy to the guy who shares every one of my life secrets."
At that exact moment, Chuck hoped Casey didn't have the foresight to install surveillance on the back loading dock. Checking the upper corners under the roofline, he then glanced down at his tracker watch. "I think our break is over. Want to run through it one more time?"
Morgan stuffed the two-for-one coupon in his pocket. "In the next hour, both of us will have a fever and slimy coughs. I will meet you at Ellie's apartment at three, and then away we go – off to paradise." Morgan wrinkled his nose. "Are my clothes going to be okay, or do I need something a bit more – I don't know? Metrosexual?"
"I hear they have a sale in that department at Large Mart."
"You're joking." Morgan gave him a self-conscious smile. "Yes, you are joking."
Chuck grinned back at him. He also made a mental note to raid Awesome's closet. "Looks like ... we're going to Mexico, little buddy."
"And just so you know, there are times like this I hate our government for its deviousness."
Casey lifted a shoulder. Though he was in a green shirt, everything about his deportment said 'tread carefully'. "Don't care."
"What do I tell Ellie?"
"Your usual stammering and stuttering routine should suffice, Bartowski."
"Ellie. Hey. It looks like I missed you again – you must be in the midst of saving lives or whatever you crazy kids do for fun. But I'm guessing from your last message, you Googled the cruise I told you about."
Chuck sighed heavily, bracing himself.
"And I'm surmising from the tone of your voice that you put the words 'Morgan' and 'gay cruise' together, your heart exploded, and that's why I had twenty-four urgent messages from you? Ellie, listen to me. I am not in a relationship with Morgan – no wait. That might not be true ... we have a relationship per se, but it's the kind where we share pizza and cheat codes, okay? Not ... anything else."
"Hey, El – sorry, I was with a customer who needed his 212 evo fan replaced - um – Anyway, I can tell you got my message ... and yes there is a chance I could lose my job if I take vacation days this close to Christmas. I think you figured that out, based upon the enthusiasm I heard in your voice? Because honestly, the high pitched squeal of delight gave it away. But the thing is, I don't want to discuss my future when we get back. I'll call you when we get onboard. Love ya, sis.
"Hey, Morgan. One last thing." Chuck put a hand on his friend's shoulder and gave him a cautious look. "You might want to hold back on the enthusiasm until we're out of range of the store."
"Last rule. Do not show any levity towards this situation, because if I see that troll even smiling at me ..." Casey breathed out heavily through his nostrils and left it at that.
"Uh-huh, uh-huh." Morgan slapped one hand on his butt and then the other, jiggling out his impromptu Macarena right there on the loading platform. "What's uupp." He added a head dip to the right, to the left. "Got my game on, got my game on ..."
"Oh, and one more thing, sport."
"Yes?"
"Either try to keep your dress down," Casey said, his eyes cutting over Chuck from head to toe, "or pack your birth control pills. Rumor has it there will be two thousand horny men on board. Don't need any unplanned Intersects running around LA, do we?"
Chuck blinked at him. "You're a bit of an asshole, you know that, Casey?"
The other man looked back and wadded up a wrapper, then banked it off the rim of the trashcan.
"Okay, then." Knowing the pep talk was now officially over, Chuck walked to the door, and then turned to his handler. "You know, you can't shoot Bryce, right?" He waited a second before clarifying. "Or Morgan?"
Casey hooked a thumb in his pocket. Awfully close to his SIG, Chuck noticed.
"Yeah," he said. "Let's go with that."
-x- End The Odd Quadruple Chapter Two - x-
A/N: Anyone taking bets yet on whether Bryce Larkin will survive this story? Or Morgan? And now that I think about it, Casey?
Did you know it was Morgan? The possibility of Morgan's obliviousness with Casey and Bryce's friction was too much of a call of the Siren for me ;)
I have to say it again because that's who I am – I appreciate any and all comments, and love to hear from you. I can only hope you're having as much fun as I am. : )
Up next, anchors aweigh!
Til next time,
-skye
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