May 3rd, 2010.

When he looked back on it, years later, it was a day that Chuck Bartowski would never, COULD never forget. Of course, he had no idea that morning that it would be so special. It had started just like any other Monday morning – way too early.

The sun hadn't even begun to wrap its tendrils around the horizon when Chuck left his apartment in Echo Park that morning. Neither, however, was there a marine layer – something that Chuck found curious. It was dark, it was clear, and remarkably, it was quiet.

As with any other morning, Chuck was dressed in his usual uniform – white button down shirt, black tie, black Armani suit, and – of all things – a pocket protector. The entire outfit was a carry-over from his college days, when he had been employed as a Nerd Herder by the Buy More in Palo Alto. And sure, maybe Chuck's job didn't involve fixing the computers of technologically incompetent Californians anymore, but his degree WAS in computer programming – and besides, he liked the pocket protector.

Opening the driver's door of his white Prius (with, God help him, red and black trim), Chuck leaned into the cabin, setting his coffee in the center console cupholder, and then folded his six foot four inch frame into the hybrid. It was always a bit of a pain getting into the car, but once he was in it, it was plenty comfortable – and that was important the fourth Monday of every month, when Chuck had to drive up to Las Vegas and check on the operations of the Monte Carlo, Woody Woodcomb's lone casino outside of the great state of California.

Ah, Woody Woodcomb. The consummate pain in the ass. He was an arrogant bastard. He thought the sun and the moon and the entire state of California revolved around him – which, Chuck had to admit, the last of those three was, to a certain extent, very true. Governor Schwarzenegger was decidedly in Woody's back pocket – indeed, Woody had on more than one occasion bragged to Chuck that the two of them were among maybe a half dozen people who knew that the governor had an illegitimate child as the result of an affair back in 2001.

Chuck was going to believe that one when he saw proof.

Woody had, more than once, wondered out loud – and in front of influential people, which Chuck found embarrassing, obnoxious, and completely unnecessary – why Chuck would drive such a "pedestrian" car as a Prius, and for that matter, why he drove at all. "You're the chief operating officer of Woodcomb Hollywood Entertainment, for Christ's sake!" Woody had once exclaimed, as Phil Jackson and Pete Carroll had looked on in amusement. "You not only merit a better car, you get your own driver, too!"

Chuck knew better than to remind Woody that he was a card-carrying member of the Sierra Club and had worked as a union organizer when he was at Stanford – especially in front of other influential people. It would just lead to mockery, which was something Chuck could do without.

And so, he just soldiered on, with his $700,000 a year salary serving as more than an effective balm against the idiotic wit of his boss – especially since Chuck donated a solid third of that to the causes he believed in each year. And in spite of Chuck's charitable largesse, the fact that he drove a Prius and lived in his sister's old apartment in Echo Park, coupled with some very shrewd investments, had left him with a net worth of just over ten million dollars barely three years into his employment with Woodcomb Hollywood Entertainment.

Chuck thought that that was kind of cool.

However, one thing that Chuck did NOT think was particularly cool – especially at five o'clock in the morning – was what started happening almost as soon as he pulled off of Laveta Terrace, out onto Sunset Boulevard. For it was at that moment that his iPhone started spewing forth the Dragnet theme.

There was only one person in Chuck's entire contact list for whom that particular bell would toll. And the truly unfortunate fact of the matter was that there was only one reason for why that particular person would be calling him at that time of the morning.

Chuck reached up to his ear and pressed the button on his Bluetooth earpiece. "Hello, Sheriff," he sighed, for all the world sounding like a man with the weight of a thirteen hotel casino empire on his shoulders.

Oh, wait, he thought, I AM.

"Oh, Chuck," Kate Beckett deadpanned at the other end, "you KNOW how much I love it when you call me that."

In spite of himself, Chuck laughed softly at her response. Leave it to the Los Angeles County Sheriff to make a joke like that at five in the morning. "Please tell me he's not at it again," Chuck sighed, deciding it was best to get this phone call over with.

"He's very much at it again," the sheriff chuckled. "Full garb and everything."

"Jesus," Chuck groaned. "I swear to God, the day he found out he was part Chumash –"

"Worst day of your life, I'm sure," Kate Beckett finished for him. "What do you want me to do with him?"

Chuck shook his head, looking blearily out at the empty boulevard in front of him. "Where is he?"

"In front of the Viper, per his usual."

"Blocking traffic or the entrance to the casino?"

"Neither."

"Just leave him alone, then. I'll deal with him when I get there." Chuck rubbed his forehead, trying to make the building headache go away. It was too early.

"Not a problem, Chuck," she replied… but it was clear she had something else to say.

"What?"

Kate Beckett sighed. "Chuck, why do you keep putting up with him?"

Chuck laughed quietly. "Kate, let me ask you something. You and Rick have been together what, six, seven years?"

"Seven, yeah."

"And he's got some quirks, right?"

Now it was Kate's turn to laugh. "Chuck, his quirks would make a Tourette's ward look like a Buddhist monastery."

Chuck frowned. "Uh…"

"Politically incorrect similes are my specialty, Chuck. I'm a cop in Los Angeles, what do you want from me?"

Chuck laughed again, but decidedly louder this time. "Nice, Kate, nice," he replied. "Anyway, when somebody's been in your life long enough, you learn to put up with their inherent idiocy, right?"

"HAH!" Kate laughed at the other end. "I suppose that's true. I guess you've known him for a long time, then?"

"Since second, third grade, Kate," Chuck replied, his mind registering that he was getting closer as he crossed over Normandie.

"Fair enough. Alright, I won't bother him unless he starts making a nuisance of himself."

"He's always a nuisance, but I get your point," Chuck said. "See you in a few."

Fifteen minutes and a number of strategically aimed middle fingers later, Chuck's Prius silently glided to a stop in the driveway of the Viper Hotel and Casino at 8852 Sunset Boulevard, in West Hollywood. The valet came running up to the Prius, pulling open the door before Chuck's fingertips could even graze the door handle.

"Thanks, Lester," Chuck said, standing up out of the car and handing a five dollar bill to his former Buy More co-worker. Then he paused, looking down at Lester in confusion. "Wait a second… what are you doing here? You don't have the AM shift today…"

Then Chuck stopped. "Lester, where's Jeff?"

Lester sighed and rolled his eyes. "Where do you think he is, Chuck? Drunk in a dumpster somewhere."

"Lester… you're here, covering for him. If he was drunk in a dumpster somewhere, you would probably still be asleep."

Lester just shook his head. "Drunk in a dumpster behind Bennigan's. He's been there since about 3:00."

Chuck frowned and raised an eyebrow. "Does that mean you haven't been to sleep?"

"Sleep is for the weak, Charles."

"No, no way," Chuck shot back. "I am not having you drive around expensive cars that belong to people who could make us both disappear without so much as a second thought if you haven't slept since yesterday."

Lester looked up at Chuck. "And what would you propose I do?"

Chuck shrugged. "Skip will be here at 7:00. I'll cover the shift until then. If it gets busy, I'll drag guys over from a couple of the other hotels."

"Oh, come on!" Lester laughed. "You're the chief operating officer. You don't park cars."

"Believe me when I say, I am MORE than happy to get the hell out of my office and park expensive cars for a couple of hours," Chuck replied. "Besides which, it gives me the chance to avoid dealing with something."

Lester looked at Chuck, then looked out toward the street. "You talking about what I think you're talking about?"

"None other," Chuck said, heaving a huge sigh. "Now get out of here."

As Lester turned tail and skedaddled back toward the entrance to the casino, a silver Ford Crown Victoria pulled into the drive. "Well, I guess my problems are coming to me today," Chuck muttered to himself as the Crown Vic slowed to a stop in front of him.

Smiling ruefully, Chuck rounded the front of the Crown Vic and pulled open the driver's door. "Good morning, sheriff," he said, looking down at the occupant of the driver's seat.

"And good morning again, Charles," Kate Beckett said, standing up out of the car. As he always did when he saw her, Chuck had a momentary if only she wasn't married to Rick Castle, that lucky bastard moment, moving past it quickly. "Avoiding your problems, are you?"

"No, taking care of them, actually," he responded. "My 5:00 AM valet is apparently drunk in the dumpster behind Bennigan's."

Kate frowned. "You only have one valet at 5:00 AM?"

"Five to seven," Chuck told her. "Slowest hours of the day for the Viper. Well, on a Monday morning, at any rate. 5:00 AM on Saturday, I'll have two or three guys on."

"Gotcha," Kate replied. "Well… how do you want to handle this situation?"

Chuck looked at her, then out at the street. "Um… you want to park cars for a few minutes?"

Kate snorted. "Come on, Chuck, I'm not one of your valets. Besides which, can't I get in trouble or something?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, I work for the most powerful man in Los Angeles, and you're the highest ranking law enforcement official. I think if there's any trouble, we MIGHT be able to find a way to overcome it."

"You know," Kate told him with a grin, "you're cute when you're corrupt."

"Oh, shut up," Chuck laughed, even though the word corrupt stung more than he was willing to let on. "You gonna help me out, or am I just gonna leave him out there on the curb?"

"GO," Kate replied. "Just… could you see if you can get him to stop?"

"No promises!" Chuck called over his shoulder as he jogged down the driveway, back toward Sunset.

And, oh dear God, there he was. Standing on the sidewalk, dressed in what Chuck could only assume was supposed to be a psychedelic rendering of an outfit from a John Wayne movie, glowsticks dangling from his sleeves like fringe, and an actual electric street sign which kept flashing back and forth, "SHAME ON THE VIPER CASINO – AN INSULT TO THE CHUMASH PEOPLE."

Now, the fact was, Chuck could understand that particular sentiment. Excavation below the old Queen's Hall Casino, torn down to make way for the Viper, had revealed what appeared to be a fourteenth or fifteenth century Chumash settlement – including a burial ground. And furthermore, Chuck could even understand why this particular person was protesting – after all, it turned out that he was legitimately a quarter Chumash.

But still…

"Good morning, Morgan!" Chuck called out to him as he approached. "You realize that Kate's gonna bust you like a piñata if you don't take down that signboard, right?"

Morgan Grimes looked over at Chuck with a grin on his face. "Now, now, Chuck," he shot back, "quoting Sam Seaborn out of context – that's just bush league."

Chuck grinned in spite of himself as he approached his oldest friend. "I'm telling you that Sheriff Beckett is about five minutes from throwing your ass in the back of her car, and you're criticizing me on my West Wing quotes?" he asked. "Come on, now…"

"Hmmm," Morgan mused. "Truthfully, I wouldn't mind being thrown in the back of Kate Beckett's car. Is she back there with me?"

"You're incorrigible," Chuck laughed. "And no, you're in handcuffs."

"Oh, it gets kinky," Morgan replied. "And don't tell me you wouldn't mind being in the back seat of a car with Kate Beckett."

"That's neither here nor there, Morgan," Chuck replied, trying to ignore the blush he could feel creeping up his neck. "The fact is, you may have finally given her ammunition to arrest you."

"Bring it!" Morgan shot back. "Sheriff Beckett isn't going to arrest an American Indian protesting the desecration of one of his ancestral villages!"

"Morgan," Chuck sighed, "you do realize that between the Chumash and the Kumeyaay, there are over nine thousand Native Americans in the Southland with a legitimate claim to being pissed off about this, but you're the only one out here… what?"

Morgan had started grinning at Chuck, and was clearly trying to fight down laughter. "I'm sorry, Chuck, how many was that again? Between the Chumash and the Kumeyaay, I mean?"

Chuck frowned. "I said it was over nine thou- oh, shut up," Chuck groaned, realizing where Morgan was going. "And thank you for proving my point. How many protesters do you suppose get distracted by an accidental Dragonball Z reference?"

Somehow, though, while Chuck had been talking, Morgan's attention had wandered. "Morgan? Hello?"

"Vicki Vale, Chuck," Morgan whispered reverently, his eyes wide. "Vicki Vale!"

Chuck turned to look where Morgan was pointing, and saw a jet black Porsche 911 roaring down Sunset Boulevard, an exquisite looking blonde sitting behind the wheel. Barely decelerating, the 911 turned into the driveway of the Viper, barreling toward the entrance.

"Uh, excuse me," Chuck said. "I need to see –"

"Yeah, I'm right behind you," Morgan replied, his protest apparently forgotten in favor of finding out who the blonde in the Porsche was.

As the Porsche came to a stop in the driveway, Chuck saw Kate Beckett park herself by the driver's door, and he could tell just from her posture that she was pissed. "What the HELL was that all about?" she barked, as soon as the door opened.

The blonde woman stood up – and when Chuck realized she was actually taller than Kate, he came to a stop. She looked unreal – angelic, and yet amazonesque. "I'm pretty sure she could kick your ass and mine, dude," Morgan said from behind him.

"I'm sorry, since when does the valet criticize the driving of the casino's customers?" the blonde woman shot back at Kate – and with that, Chuck's mind kicked back into gear.

"Well, when the valet is the LOS ANGELES COUNTY SHERIFF –" Chuck reached the two women just as Kate dragged her badge off her belt and was preparing to shove it up the blonde woman's nose.

"Okay, okay now!" Chuck said, interceding. "Let's maintain calm, shall we?"

He turned to the blonde woman. "Nice car. Can I help you?"

"My name's Sarah Walker," she informed him, casting a frosty glare at Kate Beckett. "I'm looking for Charles Bartowski. Do you know where I can find him?"

Chuck's heart skipped a beat. This woman was looking for HIM?

"I, uh, I'm Chu – er, Charles Bartowski," he told her, his mouth suddenly dry. "How can, how can I help you?"

"Well done, Chuck," Morgan groaned softly. Stepping around Chuck, he extended his hand. "He's Chuck Bartowski, chief operating officer of Woodcomb Hollywood Entertainment. I'm Morgan Grimes, Chuck's best friend and video game consultant extraordinaire."

Sarah looked at Chuck and Morgan, the glare still on her face – but a clear hint of amusement in her eyes. "Your names are Chuck and Morgan?" she asked. "I didn't realize parents still named their kids Chuck. Or, well, Morgan, for that matter."

"Chuck's parents are sadists," Kate Beckett muttered. "And I'm pretty sure Morgan's were carnival freaks who found him in a dumpster somewhere."

"And they made me one of their own," Morgan declared proudly.

Chuck, on the other hand, didn't seem so amused. "You know," he said slowly, turning to look at Kate, "I can always contribute to the other guy when you run for re-election."

"Oh, Chuck," Kate replied, batting her eyes, "but then, who would you turn to when you get speeding tickets?" Then she paused, as if thinking. "Oh, wait, I forgot, you drive a Prius. It doesn't go fast enough for you to get speeding tickets."

Chuck looked at Kate incredulously, then turned back to look at Sarah Walker. "Miss Walker, I'm sorry," he said to her. "Apparently, even though I'm one of the most powerful men in Los Angeles, I wore my Rodney Dangerfield disguise today."

Sarah's forehead crinkled, a look of confusion crossing her face. "I'm sorry, your Rodney Dangerfield disguise?"

Chuck stared at her in disbelief. "Are you kidding?" he asked. "You know, 'I get no respect?'"

Morgan sighed. "Worst Dangerfield ever," he muttered.

"I'm sorry," Sarah said uncertainly. "Is this a bad time? I can come back later…"

"No, it's fine," Chuck replied. "As unbelievable as it may seem, this isn't even the most humiliating morning I've had in the last week. Not even by a long shot." He took a deep breath, and then smiled at her. "What can I do for you?"

"I need a job," she said.

Chuck sighed. Well, that was disappointing. "I'm sorry," he said, trying not to let the disappointment enter his voice. "You're talking to the wrong person. You need to come back in a couple hours and talk to somebody in HR."

"Mr. Bartowski –"

"Please, call me Chuck."

"Mr. Bartowski," she persisted, "I'm very good at certain things."

THAT set off warning bells in Chuck's head. "Uh… what exactly do you mean?"

And then, something happened that made Chuck think he was in the Matrix. Without warning, Sarah Walker did a backflip, and then, as she was on the downswing from it, used her right foot to push off of her 911, sending her up and over Chuck. Grabbing Kate Beckett's right arm with her left arm, she slammed the sheriff into the hood of the Porsche, her own right arm whipping around Kate's waist and then out toward Chuck faster than Chuck could even react.

Before he knew it – "What the hell?" he asked in astonishment. He was handcuffed to Morgan, and Kate Beckett was face down on the hood of the Porsche, her own gun to her head. "Okay, that is not at ALL what I thought you meant," Chuck admitted.

Sarah Walker looked at him – and for the first time since arriving at the Viper, smiled. "Oh, I'm good at those things too," she said.

"Uh, okay," Chuck replied, his face getting hot very rapidly. "Um, well, I tell you what, if you uncuff me and Morgan and let Sheriff Beckett go, we can go upstairs and maybe talk about a job?"

"Sure," Sarah replied, setting the gun down on the hood of the Porsche and stepping away from it. "Sheriff, can you uncuff them?"

"I could arrest you," Kate growled, standing up and putting her gun back in its holster.

"Unlikely," Sarah replied. "And I apologize. That was just a demonstration for Mr. Bartowski –"

"Chuck, please."

Sarah stopped and looked at Chuck, the smile turning into a full-blown grin. "For Chuck's benefit," she conceded. "I have nothing but respect for the Los Angeles County Sheriff."

As Kate uncuffed Chuck and Morgan, Chuck looked at the blonde. "So, what job exactly did you have in mind?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Is yours available?"

Chuck laughed. "Don't tempt me," he replied. "Don't tempt me."

CAST
Zachary Levi as Chuck Bartowski
Bruce Boxleitner as Woody Woodcomb
Stana Katic as Kate Beckett
Vik Sahay as Lester Patel
Joshua Gomez as Morgan Grimes
Yvonne Strahovski as Sarah Walker