A/N1 The second of two chapters posting tonight. Still describing the pieces and putting them on the board. The story proper about to begin.

Don't own Chuck.

Chutes and Ladders

CHAPTER THREE

Miniature Golf?

Later, Saturday, March 25

Chuck captained the Crown Vic into the parking lot of Grimes' Miniature Golf. He had nothing to do with the rest of his evening, now that he had taken a job from Sarah Walker and said goodbye to her. He had hoped she might like him enough to want to extend the evening, maybe to get dinner or take a walk.

Something.

He sighed. Difficult to meet a woman like that and know she wasn't into you. A painful reminder of one's place in the Greater Scheme of Things. And those eyes...yeah.

Sigh.

He shut off the car. It shook as the engine died. It always did. He knew eventually the shake would be a death rattle, and the old girl would never start again. He patted the steering wheel in encouragement and reluctant fondness. He got out.

The putt putt crowd was thinning out. But it looked like it had been a good evening. Alex's taco truck was open still, the interior lights blazing. Chuck strolled over and got to the window. Alex was standing in front of the grill, arms akimbo, in deep thought. Chuck laughed to himself, then spoke softly, wanting to get her attention but not startle her.

"Another taco challenge from Morgan?"

Alex wheeled toward him, grinning before she was facing him. "Chuck! How's my favorite dick?"

Chuck blanched, waving his hands. "Alex, would you please stop that? There are kids around. Adults too."

"What? A grown woman can't say hello to a dick when she sees one?"

An older woman approached the window. She stopped when she heard the conversation. She retreated.

Alex noticed and watched her go with a shrug. "No shirt, no shoes, no sense of humor: no service." Her eyes glinted in malice. "Hey, lady," she called out, sweetly, loudly. "I have a taco named after him. It's called Tall, Dick, and Curly. You'd like it! I think you need it." The woman picked up her pace, after looking back over her shoulder in horror.

Chuck shook his head, embarrassed for everyone. "Morgan is not going to be happy, you running off more customers."

Alex shrugged again. "If that moron would just go ahead and ask me out, I wouldn't be so uptight and disagreeable on Saturday nights."

"The little bearded man still scared of the question?"

She pinched her face into a giant frown and nodded.

"You could make it easy on him, just ask him out?" Chuck suggested.

"No, dammit. If he wants me, he had to earn me. I'm like that sword, you know, the one in the stone. He's gotta pull me out."

"Excaliber? Yeah, well, I think Morgan's imagining his sword going the other direction," Chuck quipped, blushing at his own words.

In response, Alex closed her eyes, bit her lower lip, and sighed sensually; she shook gently all over, finishing with another deep, annoyed frown. When she opened her eyes, she saw that Chuck's blush had deepened as he watched her.

"See what I mean? Uptight and disagreeable. Morgan had better get it together soon, or I'm gonna park my taco truck somewhere else. - So, you wanna Tall, Dick and Curly?"

Chuck winced. "You know I can barely eat it after you call it that...but, yeah, two. And a coke."

Alex turned and made his food. Chuck put took a ten from his wallet and put it on the counter. She traded him the food for it. He carried the tacos and the coke into the side door of the small building out of which Morgan ran the course.

Inside, Morgan was perched on a stool, watching the final groups head into the Back Nine.

"Hey, Morg. Alex is...um...ready for you."

Morgan's eyes got big. "Don't talk to me like that, Chuck. You know I'm trying. I just like her so much. I'm afraid she'll say no."

"She won't. She's told everyone she will say yes. She is waiting to say yes to you. And I mean yes, Morgan."

Morgan's eyes got bigger. "God, now I'm even more terrified. You know I have performance anxiety..."

"Morg, at the risk of being cruel, no one can know that you have performance anxiety. Pre-performance anxiety, yes. Performance anxiety, no."

Morgan looked hurt. "That is not cool, man. Not cool. You can't be letting people know that."

Chuck put his food and coke on the counter and sat down beside his friend. "Just kidding, Morgan. But not about Alex saying yes. And, if you don't ask soon, I worry she's going to give up and find another venue if you know what I mean."

"I do. Tonight. I will do it tonight."

"You've made the same promise the last three Saturdays, Morg. I just don't believe you. But that beautiful little redhead is out there, waiting for you to pull your sword from the stone." Chuck stopped, thought. "I think the metaphor is getting a little twisted now. Anyhoo…"

Morgan interrupted. "So, another Saturday night stalking the Jill-bot?" Morgan's nervousness around Alex was only outstripped by his dislike of Chuck's old girlfriend.

"I haven't been stalking her, Morg."

Morgan looked skeptical. "Call it what you will, Chuck…"

"I'm doing a favor for Casey. You know that. Besides, Jill is out of town tonight."

"See! Stalker much? Stalk her much?"

"Stop saying that so loud, Morg. You know Casey's suspicious of her big client, the pharmaceutical company, FARMA. He's been curious why, Jill, their top corporate lawyer, suddenly seems so eager to date someone higher up the law enforcement food chain."

"'Cause a detective is a bottom feeder, right, Catfish?"

"Watch it, O He Whose Sword Has Never Known the Lady of the Lake - Or Any Lady."

Morgan looked suitably chastised.

"Yeah, Chuck, I know all that. You've explained it. But it seems like Casey's got nothing but suspicion and like you've agreed just so you can tail the Jill-bot."

"I admit. It looks like there's nothing to be suspicious of, other than her changed taste in men."

"Right, from catfish to fish eggs." Morgan paused, grinning. "You get it? 'Cause Larkin's got tiny…"

Two young boys arrived at the counter, putting their clubs and pencils on it, and Chuck cleared his throat loudly. He smiled at the two boys.

"Balls. My friend here was wondering if you had your golf balls?"

One of the boys gave a nonchalant shrug. "Nah, mister, that big clown head on 18 ate 'em and didn't spit 'em back up, like the sign said it would. It's a cheat."

Chuck looked at Morgan. "Chesko's acting up again? Jeez, every Saturday night, it's the same thing…"

Morgan collected the clubs and pencils. He grabbed a wrench and a hammer from beneath the counter and jumped over it. "You coming, Chuck? The clown head awaits." Morgan gave an evil laugh as he turned to look back at Chuck.

"Morg, you know clowns creep me out. Especially Chesko. Those spinning eyes…The spittle...I mean, I know its just water from the garden hose, but it's warm!"

"Oh, come on, you big baby. I can use the help." Morgan's voice became sing-songy: "I won't let the big mean clown head spit on the tall, gun-toting private detective…"

"Oh, shut up, Morgan." Chuck vaulted the counter. He stopped, slipped his hand in the pencil box, and grabbed a couple without Morgan noticing. His long legs let him catch up with Morgan immediately. Both men laughed as they headed for 18.

Chuck would eat later, after facing Chesko.

ooOoo

Sarah had taken off her clothes and put on her pajamas. She had her phone in her hands.

She was debating. She wanted to call Chuck and tell him that she had not meant the evening to turn out as it had. That it had been a date, and a good one. So good she wanted there to be more. But she didn't know exactly how to say it. She'd gotten so involved in Sasha and the possibility of Chuck helping that she had lost track of how it seemed to Chuck. God, he must have thought I agreed to the date only to see if I could hire him.

Sarah started to call Chuck when she had a thought. She was bad at relationships. Always had been. Trust issues. Fears about commitment. Not about making a commitment herself, but whether she could trust any man's commitment to her, trust his motives, his intentions. She meant it when she told Chuck she trusted him. She had a good feeling about him. But if she labeled this thing between them a romance, she worried that the good feeling would fleet and leave her the mistrustful former conwoman she normally became when she started dating.

Maybe she could see Chuck without exactly dating him?. At least for a little while, during the time he was looking into Sasha and her family? He said it wouldn't take long...But maybe it would be long enough for this...whatever this is...feeling she felt for him to take. Maybe she could keep herself from her usual skittish responses by not treating their time together as dating time. Even if it is. They could have...meetings...they could...consult. And maybe, once they'd figured out the Sasha thing, maybe then she could ask him out, but already be past the mistrust thing, ask him out when he was already her boyfriend. But before he knew he was her boyfriend.

It sounded stupid in her head, but for some reason, it felt like a good plan. All her earlier attempts at romance had flopped or fizzled or faded. Maybe she could sneak up on something, something good, something real, if she came at it indirectly, sort of on tiptoes.

Did it make any sense to think you could sneak up on love, like a spy, capture it unawares, before it saw you coming?

She wasn't sure.

Did I just think the word, 'love'? Don't dwell, Sarah. Move along. He's just working for you.

A/N2 Tune in next time as Chuck starts working on the case and Sarah commences her strategy for dating-not-dating Chuck. Will Morgan ever pull his sword from the stone, or whatever? An answer ahead in our story, although it may not be in the next chapter.

If you are following (Mis)Ed, expect a chapter of it soon - in the next few days. I probably won't return to this until the New Traditionalist arc is completed in (Mis)Ed.

Let me know your thoughts on this chapter and the last, please.

Zettel