Chuck v. The Burning Man

Special thanks to Aardvark7734 for his beta services!

[A/N: If what you read strikes you in some way, I'd love to hear about it! If you post a review, I promise to send you a scoop as I work on the next chapter!]



Chapter 4 – Missing the Warmth

It had been a stressful morning. When he arrived, he came in to find the BuyMore in its typical state of disarray. His six years of community college had taught him the expansive vocabulary which best described the staff: unintelligible, undisciplined, and untrainable. He rubbed his stomach gently and coughed. The "untrainable" one had once again proven that moniker to be true. The former corporate efficiency expert pulled out his dictaphone and spoke softly into it.

"Never let Grimes perform the Heimlich maneuver on a customer," he dictated and frowned. It was puzzling that the little insignificant man – still blackmailing him with the incriminating video – cared enough to use the life-saving procedure on him.

"What's that Emmett? Heimlich maneuver?" Chuck asked as he passed him going down the hall toward the break room.

"Huh? Oh nothing. You do know that you have your remedial CPR course this week."

Chuck sighed and responded in monotone. "Yes, Emmett, I will attend the 30 hour remedial CPR course on my own time beginning with this week because I understand how important CPR is to the health and safety of Buy More employees and I realize that it would be a terrible thing if one of our customers needed emergency assistance and I would not be prepared to provide them with adequate care."

"Glad to see you are taking this seriously Chuck," Milbarge replied.

Chuck turned, rolled his eyes, and began to walk away. As he did, he muttered, "Morgan should have given you a HIND KICK."

"What was that Chuck?" the Assistant Manager rifled back.

"I said, 'Morgan should have given you the HEIMLICH . . . better'," Chuck responded with a sardonic tone.

"That's right," Emmett responded before catching himself. "What? . . . Where are you going Chuck?"

"Lunch!" Chuck responded not turning around as he walked into the break room.

Milbarge clicked on his hand-held recorder, "Resuming dictation: Confirm enrollment of 30 hour CPR remedial course for Chuck Bartowski and . . . John Casey." He remembered that his best salesman had also missed the company-sponsored training. Even if he was a model employee, Mr. Casey needed to understand the importance of training and following orders from a superior. With that thought, the dysfunctional assistant dictator of BuyMoria looked at his watch, 11:25 a.m.

"Also, adjust Bartowski 5 minutes pay for early lunch departure."

He looked down and characteristically raised his right brow. Bartowski doesn't have lunch at 11:30. He walked swiftly and with purpose down to the break room, only there was no Chuck. He walked over to the bulletin board and slid his finger across Bartowski's name on the break schedule. He knew it! (After all, he had spent the better part of 3 weeks developing the perfect schedule—thank goodness for that semester and a half of Wordperfect tables.) Chuck was not scheduled for lunch until 12:00 p.m. I've got him now!

Milbarge moved quickly back into the hall, checked the employee bathroom, the cage area, loading dock, and even his own personal hiding places. No Chuck.

As he walked back toward the sales floor, he clicked on his dictaphone and asked, "Where does Chuck go?"

The Assistant Manager continued in his relentless search to ferret out the missing Nerd Herder. He checked the home theater room, the audio installation bay, even the diaper change station in the customer restrooms. No Chuck. (He hadn't seen Big Mike that day either but his door was closed. Little did Emmett know, but the big man was still napping after his morning 'probing' from the Channel 13 news reporter.) Milbarge continued to the Customer Exchange Area where he found Morgan Grimes manning the desk that everyone else from BuyMoria knew as "The Hole." He turned and looked outside across the parking lot. And that's when he spied something unusual.

An ambulance was outside the back of the frozen yogurt shop. He eyed Bartowski's 'blonde bimbo' get into the ambulance as Chuck waived good bye to her. How did he get to the Orange Orange from inside the Buy More? Emmett pulled up his recorder and spoke, "Perhaps, the question isn't 'Where does Chuck go?' But rather, 'How does he get there?'"

Morgan's ears perked up when he overheard the name of his best friend come from the nosy Assistant Manager's mouth.

"Emm-ett," Morgan said with a sideways glance as he pulled out a minidisk from his back pocket.

The Assistant Manager grimaced as he recalled the blackmail images of him yakking in Big Mike's office after that second fuzzy navel wine cooler.

Morgan gave a characteristic mocking nod and put the blank disk back in his pocket. The little bearded one had covered for his friend again, and this time, unbeknownst to the prying Milbarge, with a completely blank disk.

Emmett frowned and walked outside.

As Chuck approached the store front, he asked, "Ahh Chuck, did someone get a sick off a Fro Yo?"

Caught off guard, Chuck responded, "What? Why . . . do you say that Emmett?"

"I saw you and your lady friend outside the 'OH' 'OH' putting a customer into an ambulance," he responded making "O" hand gestures with his left and right hands.

Chuck reacted with a wide-eyed half-sneer at the odd man's lame attempt at humor.

"Your girlfriend should watch what she serves in her tasty treats, because we wouldn't want the health inspector to shut her down," the meddlesome Milbarge responded.

"Well, it's not like she served a severed toe in her establishment."

With Chuck's retort, Emmett turned green and started to hyperventilate for the second time that day.

His work there was done. Chuck's sneer gave way to a snicker as he moved through the front door and bellowed to his best friend, "Hey Morgan, Emmett needs the Heimlich again!"

Perhaps Chuck was being harsh but he just wasn't in the mood to deal with Emmett for the second time in an hour. The Special Agent that was his girlfriend had just pointed a gun at his head. The same one that he had seen only days ago shoot an unarmed man. And now he had just helped her load his drugged up co-worker into a vehicle so that he could be probed by her at some undisclosed off-shore location.


Although Agent Walker was heading up the interrogation, it was determined that she would remain out of sight in the off chance that the subject didn't remember anything. In addition to herself, her team consisted of two interrogators and an analyst. To maintain plausible deniability (in the event the interrogation was later exposed), the identities and backgrounds of the other team members remained unknown to one another. Even still, Agent Walker could tell that she was the only field agent among them. As needed, she provided context and behind-the-scenes direction due to her unique understanding of the subject and the situation. But more importantly, Agent Walker was there to ensure that no information was leaked regarding her real protection responsibilities. In such an event, she was under orders to eliminate all persons with this knowledge — her team and Jeff included.

It had already been a long trip. As the sun rose over the waters off the Mosquito Coast, they were finally arriving at the CIA detention facility just off the east coast of Nicaragua. Agent Walker thought about one of the recent movies she had seen in the Bartowski living room on one of her many cover dates with Chuck—Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. It was not a particularly great film (especially the alien bit), but it sure would have been easier for her team to have reached their destination a matter of seconds by just following a trademark Indy red line on the map.

But there was no thin red line from Burbank to their secret destination. The trip started at LAX when they boarded the C-130J and flew south to Managua. Six hours later, they changed over to a smaller prop plane – a Pilatus PC-6 Porter – and headed to Bluefields and then on to Big Corn Island landing an hour and a half later. Under the cover of night they took a Carolina DLV218 skiff north to Little Corn Island arriving roughly an hour later. The last leg of their journey only took about 30 minutes to cross the half mile overland on three modified golf carts — Agent Walker and her blind-folded cargo in the center vehicle flanked in the front and rear by the rest of her team.

During the nine hour trip, her detainee remained heavily sedated. Through her time with the CIA, Agent Walker had never developed a taste for this part of the job. She wasn't soft and she didn't let her emotions enter into it, but there always seemed to be some residual affect on her subconscious. She was changed by her subjects each time. She always remembered their eyes. The rabid fear of their pupils gave way to the shock-induced panic, ultimately ending with dilated resignation. She knew those stages well. She had even experienced them first hand. But as difficult as it was to bear the brunt of such horror, she found that perpetrating those acts was what haunted her.

She let out a long breath and turned to look back at the oblivious captive in the back of the plane. Captive? Subject? Cargo? He has a name, she told herself. His name is Jeff Barnes. She opened the file on her lap and read. He had well over a dozen misdemeanor drunk and disorderlies, but he had never gotten in a car and harmed anyone. The restraining order that prohibited him from DUIing — dialing under the influence — Tara Reid had long expired. Besides, the Agent thought, that computer hack of the Grand Seville actually lead to the capture of Russian crime boss Victor Federov. It wasn't like 'Serial Killer Jeff' (she could hear Ellie Bartowski's words ringing in her ears) was a real serial killer. But before she could finish partially redeeming the burned-out drunk, she saw the next entry. Wide-eyed she read aloud, "He installed video cameras in the women's bathroom stalls at the BuyMore in the late 80s?" Even the Patriot Act didn't let the government go that far. Surely, these cameras were overhead, she hoped. She abruptly closed the deviant's file. Well, Jeff Barnes may be a perv, but he's not a perp.

She turned back to look at Jeff again. Maybe they and he would catch a break. There was a chance that he didn't know anything. Considering the amount of alcohol that he normally drank, that was a real possibility. With any luck the next couple of days would be uneventful, both Jeff and her team would receive a reprieve, and she would be able to get back to her real job of protecting that which was most important to the government, and to her.


It had been an uneventful Saturday morning. It somewhat reminded him of what things were like before the Intersect had invaded his brain. There were no headaches, no flashes, no lies, no assassins, no excitement, and no adventure.

After a couple of service calls, Chuck found himself back at the Buy More as the lone Nerd Herder in a sea of green shirts. Since Skip was on an off-site install, Chuck had to man the service desk during lunch. He didn't mind really. Manning the tech support station was the only down time he had since being sent the Intersect. What he would give for a real day off.

That's when his best pal in the whole world surprised him with a little surf & turf from Lou's deli. Admittedly, it was a strange sandwich combination—half meatball, half tuna. The two buddies had acquired a taste for this combo long before they had actually developed discerning taste buds. In truth, Chuck would have preferred one or the other but he couldn't deny Morgan's consideration. It was his friend's gesture that brought the first smile to Chuck's face since Christmas.

For his part, Morgan could tell how much Chuck was missing Sarah and it had only been a couple days. Morgan too, was missing his main squeeze. He didn't like the way he had left things with Anna on Christmas Eve and he hadn't had a chance to talk with her before she left for Taiwan to visit her parents over the holidays. Morgan thought it just like the old days, with him serving as Chuck's wingman while sharing a sandwich. Unfortunately, they weren't allowed to eat together due to the Milbarge staggered lunch schedule. So Morgan had to leave Chuck by himself at the Nerd Herd desk.

While Chuck was munching on the meatball portion of his sandwich, he found himself wondering about how things were going down in the surf and turf of Central America. He wasn't the only one thinking about the missing Nerd Herder. Those in the land of BuyMoria were also concerned about Jeff. No one had heard from him since Christmas Eve. Chuck had wanted to make up some explanation—that Jeff had gone to Tijuana for a couple days, followed Widespread, went on a Twinkie binge—any number of things could have kept his co-workers from asking more questions. But, Casey said no. He could hear the grumpy agent's words in his head, it was best that he just disappeared. Then, if the government did have to take care of him, it would be easier. Take care of him, Chuck sighed with impending resignation.

As he reached for a napkin to wipe his mouth, Chuck couldn't help but think back to when Jeff interviewed with him for the Assistant Manager position. Chuck reflected on the event with somber amusement as he examined the soiled napkin. He could visualize the hasty red scribbling of Jeff's improvised resume, rendered on a napkin not unlike the one in his hand. Jeff's now going to get to add new bullet point to his resume. Along with 'I know where the bodies are buried' and 'I've worked here forever,' he's going to be able to add, 'I found the Scooby Doo secret passage way to a super-secret government operation and my co-worker has a computer for a brain, a fake relationship, and a cold-school killer for a co-worker,' and oh yeah, 'I am being tortured by the CIA.'


Torturous paradise, the Agent thought stoically as she looked out the window at the secluded sand and surf. The few people that lived there knew nothing of what went on at this ramshackle of a place. It was just the type of remote frontier seclusion that one could get lost in forever. There was little to no police presence, the islanders didn't ask questions, and thankfully a few decades ago the Nicaraguan president had backed out of the treaty which had made this island subject to American law. It was this last fact that lead to the CIA's development of this facility. No American law meant no extradition, no habeas corpus, almost no 'inconvenient' limitations of any kind. Not that any of those things were on Agent Walker's mind at that moment.

She found herself spending most of that morning not thinking about the mission details that brought her down to this distant island, but instead she thought about the bigger 'what if' questions. As she closed the blinds to the barren sands outside, she contemplated, the prospects in front of her – not only for herself but for everyone involved. What if Jeff Barnes did indeed discover the truth? That his de facto manager, Chuck Bartowski, was the most valued piece of intelligence on the planet? That Chuck's girlfriend was a CIA agent assigned to protect him? And that his ill-tempered co-worker, John Casey, was also a government authorized assassin?

Who cared if he knew about Casey? She thought for a moment and then she paused. She did. Yeah, the NSA agent was rough around the edges and his sarcasm grated her last nerve. Yeah, he was a cold-school killer. But, wasn't she? She sighed. Casey was her partner. They had come a long way in the last year in a half. They had developed a trust when it came to the Intersect's protection. However, she couldn't help but think that there were still limits to that trust.

Trust. Her mind moved from the grumpy member of her team and on to the one that got under her skin in an altogether different fashion. Would he ever trust her? He had been a little 'off' ever since Christmas Eve. He definitely knew something that he wasn't telling her and it was really starting to affect both of them. The panicked looks he gave her at Christmas were a little unnerving. And just before she left with Jeff, he brought up Lt. Mauser again. Could Chuck have seen her shoot him? It would make sense especially in light of the fact that he was practically begging her not to harm Jeff. And now he had no idea what was going on down here. How am I ever going to get him to trust me now? Her mind went blank.

Meanwhile, in the adjacent room two of her agency's finest had spent the better part of the morning subjecting themselves to torture but not by their own hands. Even they were beginning to think that they should have shot themselves up with some of the Triazolam that they had given the other person in the room. They sure wanted to forget the morning and the foul things their captive was spouting off.

"Pay back is a bitch," he remarked from inside the interrogation room.

Apparently, Jeff Barnes knew something about interrogation techniques. His incessant rambling about the 'mother ship' and the 'visitors' was clearly torturing this team of CIA interrogators. The two men across from him gave each other a look which expressed the feeling that Antero-grade amnesia was looking more and more like a viable option for them.

"Why don't you come over here lizard head and see if I can peel that fake skin off your face," said the crazed geek.

"Huh? Mr. Barnes, we're here to help you," said the shorter man dressed in a black suit.

"Yeah right, first you beamed me up and now you're just going to fatten me up so that you eat me later," Jeff sneered.

"Eat you?" the other agent questioned.

"Yeah, eat me. I've seen V, V-The Final Battle, and even V-The TV Series, and if you ate my ferret, so help me, I WILL CUT YOU!" The wide-eyed rage-filled nerd was definitely in prison-mode.

"Wait, on second thought, don't come near me. I don't want you sticking any worm in my ear or some Kuato in my belly. Then the next 'Thing' I know my head pops off and sprouts spider legs," said the deranged captive.

The two interrogators looked at each other in unison and mouthed, "What the . . . ?"

"No! You keep your distance," Jeff said as he backed up and pointed his finger at both of them in succession.

"Agent J and Agent K . . . Agent Mulder and Agent Scully . . ." he continued.

The two men looked at each other confused.

"Agent Smith. . ." Jeff said as he looked at the smaller G-man.

". . . and upgrade Agent Smith," as he looked at the larger man.

"We're getting nowhere," said the 'upgrade' agent as he looked back into the mirror and signaled (with a swift hand motion across his throat) that it was time for a break.

"Let's get him dinner," responded the other man as they left the room.

The larger agent returned with a warmed TV dinner that consisted of ham with red-eye gravy, peas and carrots, mashed potatoes, and a cherry cobbler. They left Jeff alone to eat in peace. While they told one another they were giving their subject a break, the truth was they were both freeing themselves from their captive. This had to be one of the strangest interrogations any of them had ever seen.

On the other side of the mirror in the adjacent room Agent Walker was still being held captive by her thoughts as she looked at the blinds covering the calm seas outside. It was when they served Jeff dinner that the analyst on the other side of the room called her back to reality.

"Ma'am, you've got to see this."

She turned around and looked through the two way mirror to observe a strange site—Jeff was making a Devil's Tower out of his Mashed Potatoes.

"Looks like we've got a classic case of Close Encounters of the Nerd Kind," responded the bookish analyst.

She smiled. "He thinks he was abducted by aliens?"

"Well now that's just plain crazy. Why would he be acting this way because he thought some illegal immigrants took him," said the smaller interrogator.

Sarah giggled, "Agent Smith, where have you been?"

"Hey, that's what he called us. What does that mean anyway?" the larger interrogator questioned.

"The Matrix, Independence Day, Men In Black," Agent Walker rattled off all of the movies she had seen at the Bartowski apartment over the past year.

The brainy analyst next to Agent Walker laughed.

"Obviously, you don't know a thing about . . ." Agent Walker began but was cut-off.

". . . geeks?" the larger man interrupted.

"Nerds actually, but well, I think geek may apply to this one as well," she said while watching him pick his ear with his fork.

"Look, we've been going at this all wrong. I think we need a carrot," she said.

"A carrot? But he already has carrots," responded the smaller man.

"And you wonder why you never made it out in the field?" she joked as she looked at her watch.

"It's time for you to call in and give your initial assessment ma'am," said the analyst.

Relieved she looked at the rest of her team and responded, "I don't think we're going to need any of the heavy stuff. We should be able to complete the interrogation this evening. Just get the kit with his belongings and wait until I get back. Oh, and be sure not to let that thing out, you wouldn't believe the damage that it caused back state-side."

Her team didn't know if she was talking about the spaz inside the interrogation room or the spazzed out critter that had accompanied him on the trip.


Down in the castle, Major Casey and the NSA cleaners were finally finishing up their work straightening the mess that Jeff Barnes had inflicted to the compound only a couple nights before. The physical clean-up and re-establishment of the surveillance feeds had been an easy to fix. Since Casey was still on worker's compensation leave, he had been required to complete his protection detail of the world's most valuable asset from 30 feet below. If anything raised a suspension, he was prepared to take Bartowski into custody no excuses. After all, he wasn't going to let the nerd talk him out of another toe.

Major Casey wasn't the only government operative that had been crippled that week. The castle's DU-97 had been out of commission since Jeff struck. Casey thanked the NSA cleaners as they completed their work and got the system back on-line. As they left, the Major thought it was good to have the base back in tip-top shape and just in time for his status update with General Beckman and Agent Walker.

He was interested to find out what progress had been made with the interrogation of the burned-out drunk. After having to deal with all of the mess in the castle, his angry-center wanted to lay hands on the creep himself.

Of course, he knew that the General had different plans for having the CIA head up the interrogation. Beckman had made it his mission to ensure that Bartowski's allegiances were firmly in the NSA camp. For his part, this task was going to be one of the hardest short-term assignments he had. Casey recognized that his past conduct wouldn't make it easy. Still, the nerd had a forgiving, if not naïve, spirit. Hopefully, Chuck would forget that he had recently hand-cuffed him to the counter at the Orange Orange. Luckily, his BuyMore worker's comp leave would end the next day and so he would be able to get in some face time with the Intersect and work on establishing the firm allegiances that the General sought. Even though he despised this assignment, admittedly he did hate feeling like the third-wheel on Team Bartowski's bicycle.

"Major Casey, are you secure?" General Beckman popped up on the screen in front of him.

"Yes, General," he responded.

"I also have Agent Walker on the line," the General explained nonchalantly so that the Major knew not to discuss the 'allegiance' operation.

"Agent Walker, where are we with the Barnes interrogation?" the General asked.

"We've made good progress, ma'am. It appears that Mr. Barnes has no idea what he saw in the castle. The subject believes that he was abducted by aliens. There is no evidence that he suspects any connection between the castle base and the BuyMore. To be sure, we were about to introduce some items which are familiar to him and observe his reaction. If he has no recollection of anything which would compromise the Intersect or our operation, I would recommend that we release Mr. Barnes while keeping a watch on him in conjunction with our normal protection detail of Chuck Bartowski."

"Very good Agent Walker. Be thorough in your interrogation."

"Yes, ma'am. I believe that we will be finished with our work this evening and ready to ship out in the morning so that I can resume my regular duties back state-side," the Agent responded.

"No. Agent Walker we want you to be sure that there are no threats with the Barnes situation. Please keep him there for the next few days to observe in detail his mannerisms and responses to stimuli. We don't want to rush to a conclusion. Besides, we have the situation in hand, don't we Major Casey?"

"Yes General. We have the castle base back on-line. The Intersect has not had any flashes and remains secure."

"How has Mr. Bartowski been since the hostage situation?" the General asked.

"Fine ma'am. I haven't detected any residual affects," Casey responded.

Down off the coast of Nicaragua, the Agent thought about the Major's statement. For her part, she knew that there definitely was something going on with Chuck. But Casey hadn't seen it? She continued to watch the screen as Casey completed his report.

"Chuck and I will be together all day tomorrow," Casey continued.

With this revelation, Agent Walker's sober expression gave way to a smile. She had to catch herself from letting out a chuckle when she thought of Casey having to spend an entire day with Chuck. Apparently, Major Casey caught Agent Walker's expression.

"Well, I thought about renting a movie, ordering pizza, and then cuddling with Bartowski on the couch but management demands at the BuyMore require otherwise. We will be attending a remedial CPR course due to our missing the safety test while we were involved with the Jill Roberts situation," Casey responded snidely.

"Major Casey you have your government's full support. Whatever you need to secure the Intersect, make it so. That is all," General Beckman commanded.

As the connection was severed, Agent Walker's somber expression returned. She stood before the monitor in silent contemplation. She had reported success, the interrogation revealed nothing unusual, she would be able to complete the assignment, and then return within the next day. But it was puzzling that the General didn't want her to back right away. And then Beckman gave Casey free reign to do what he wanted with Chuck. Something didn't seem right. She couldn't help but think she was being played and Chuck along with her.


[A/N: Will Jeff ever see Roscoe? Will Casey be successful in obtaining Chuck's allegiances? Will Chuck and Sarah ever be reunited? All these questions and more will be answered in the next two installments of Chuck v. The Burning Man.]

STAY TUNED FOR: Chapter 5 – Still Missing the Warmth & Chapter 6 – New Year's Heat!