Wow, guys…you are amazing. 68 reviews for three chapters? Your support continues to blow me away. Thanks for all the positive feedback, and I hope this chapter will continue to make you smile. Sorry for the lateness - classes started up again, and you know how it goes when life gets in the way of our obsessions…oh. Wait. It's supposed to be the other way around, isn't it?
Special thanks to mxpw and Liam2 for getting on my case about getting this done, as well as always being there to chat with me about ideas and random stuff. You two are awesome as hell, and probably mostly responsible for this chapter being just as awesome. And also a bit crack-ish, but that's sort of a given.
Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck or Glee.
Chuck Versus the Closet Gleek
by crystalelements
Castle
11:06 p.m.
"Put the gun away, Casey!"
"Oh, come on!" The NSA agent shot her an exasperated look, finger still on the trigger. "At least let me put him out of our misery!"
Sarah's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You're not shooting him."
"What if he ends up wrecking the place? We've got valuable equipment in here!"
She ignored him and motioned for the gun. "Give it to me."
"It's not like it'll kill him - "
"Gimme the damn gun, Casey!"
"No!"
Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose, her breath coming out in a slow hiss. "Casey, I swear to God, if you keep pointing that tranq at him - "
"Why are you doing this to her, John?" Chuck sobbed, clinging onto Casey's leg from his sprawled position on the floor. "All she wants to do is go home and watch some Gleeeeee!"
Casey growled, trying to free his leg from Chuck's grasp. No such luck. He gave Sarah a pointed look.
"Still don't wanna shoot him?"
Sarah actually considered it, especially when Chuck began to belt out his own tearful (and horribly off-key) rendition of Jill Scott's Hate On Me. But no - NO, she repeated fiercely, gnashing her teeth together as he hit a particularly screechy note - she couldn't do that to Chuck after everything he'd been through already. Pushing him off the seat in the car had already taken it too far. She obviously hadn't meant to do it. But he'd ratted her out, and then he was singing that song, and the next thing she knew he'd disappeared from her lap and was rolling around on the floor...
She shook her head, expression hardening.
"Drop the gun, Casey. Just…just tell me where the kit is, please."
Casey scowled and pocketed the tranq before jerking his head towards the dimly lit hall. "Fourth room on the right. Medicine cabinet, top shelf." He sneered at Sarah's retreating form, folding his arms across his chest.
"Sure, act all nice and noble now, Gleek," he muttered under his breath, "but you sure were pissy when moron here hit the touchy lady feelings in the Vic."
Sarah's venomous response crackled in his ear: "Your mic is still on."
Casey hastily yanked out his earpiece. Chuck, meanwhile, continued to assault his leg, even as the NSA agent attempted to drag him towards the table -
"Haaaate on me hater! Nooooow or later! Cause I'm goooooonna do me, you'll be maaaaaad, Caseeeeeeey!"
"What do you mean, 'it won't work?'"
Casey offered the frazzled CIA agent a shrug. "What'd you expect? The PCP Bartowski got hit with was a gas, which is something we've never dealt with before - "
"Then what's going to happen to him?" Sarah stopped pacing and fixed her partner with accusing eyes. "Casey, you said we could treat him!"
Casey sighed at the frantic edge creeping back into her voice. Women and their damn rollercoaster emotions.
"Walker, calm down. Chuck's gonna be fine, alright? We'll be able to flush the PCP out of his system before it does any real damage. The symptoms are the real issue here." He motioned to the opened kit on the table in front of them. "The benzodiazepine we have now will help with the worst of it - as in, he won't die of seizures or violent attempts at suicide - " The blonde visibly paled at the thought - "but we'll still need a more powerful antipsychotic to keep the rest of his symptoms under control."
Worry instantly morphed into disbelief, then realization, and then exasperation. Sarah pressed her palms to her eyes with a moan.
"Wait. You're telling me that he's going to be stuck like that - " She pointed to the office chair across the table in which Chuck was spinning at an unnaturally rapid speed - "until we can make a better antipsychotic to treat him?"
"Not we," Casey corrected, stopping the chair mid-spin (and nearly flinging Chuck to the ground in the process). "Me. As much as I admire your altruism in refusing to tranq the nerd, Walker, I'm not putting up with his crazy. Besides," he added smugly, "the substances stocked in Castle are NSA-issue. Nothing like the stuff you CIA skirts are used to handling."
Sarah shot him an incredulous look. "You can't expect me to take care of Chuck by myself." Her eyes suddenly widened in alarm. "Hold him!"
Chuck, who had spotted a pipe above their heads, was now attempting to launch himself out of the chair to grab onto it. Casey quickly shoved him back into the chair and held him down. He glanced up at Sarah, whose expression spoke volumes.
"Point taken," he grunted, tightening his grip as Chuck began squirming. "How about this: I'll be right in the next room working on the antipsychotic. Bartowski should be calmer after the benzo, but if he starts giving you any problems, just holler and I'll deal with it." His eyes narrowed. "I don't care what you say, Walker - if he's too much to handle, he's getting tranqued. Deal?"
Sarah hesitated, looking between the two men as she weighed her options. Finally, she let out a weary sigh.
"Fine."
"Good." Casey suddenly broke out into a wry smile. "By the way, I forgot to mention that it takes around four to six hours for the symptoms to wear off."
The look Sarah gave him now was absolutely deadly, and he offered another shrug. "Hey, if we're lucky, I'll be done with the antipsychotic in about half the time. Good to be optimistic, right?" He motioned his head towards the kit. "Ready?"
Gritting her teeth, Sarah snatched up the syringe of benzodiazepine and injected the drug into Chuck's arm in one swift move. The nerd blinked a few times before visibly relaxing in Casey's grip.
The withering look Casey received from the blonde was enough to make a lesser man wet himself. Dropping his gaze, Casey gathered up the kit, fully intent on hauling his ass out of there as soon as possible. Her deadpan voice stopped him just before the hallway:
"You know, Casey, if you weren't such a great partner, I'd probably shoot you."
He bit back the grin.
"Likewise, Walker. Likewise."
11:28 p.m.
Five minutes since injection
Okay, Walker. You can do this.
Her deep exhale was rudely interrupted by a low-pitched giggle. Startled, Sarah's eyes flew open and settled on the nerd across from her. He'd finally stirred from his slumped position in the chair and was staring dazedly at her now, a familiar lopsided grin on his lips.
Sarah quirked a small, hopeful smile in return. Well, as long as he isn't completely ransacking the place -
"I miss your Weinie outfit."
She bit her lip, eyes squeezing shut.
Round two, here I come.
"Colonel Casey."
Casey looked up from the chemical kit in front of him and into the stern face of one General Beckman.
"General," he acknowledged, straightening in his chair.
"I assume everything is under control with the asset's current condition?"
Casey fought to keep a straight face. "For the most part. Agent Walker is monitoring his recovery in the main room."
Beckman pursed her lips for a moment before nodding. "Good. Thanks to the information Chuck flashed on, we were able to catch Badeau and his men in time and take them into custody." She flipped through the papers in her hands. "According to the documents we've just acquired, Badeau was planning on transporting the concentrated form of phencyclidine back to France, where he could open it up to the black market as a highly potent poison. Overexposure to the gas would almost certainly mean death."
Casey's face suddenly looked ashen. "General…is Chuck's situation more serious than we originally thought?"
Beckman shook her head. "No need to worry, Colonel. Based on Chuck's current condition, it seems he was able to close the valve to the tank without any serious amount of exposure. It'll be a while before we can obtain more information regarding the gas's chemical structure, but until then, continue working with whatever you've got now to treat him. And Colonel - "
Casey glanced questionably at the screen again. Beckman hesitated, the subtle concern etched into her features as she slowly folded her hands atop her desk.
"Make sure Agent Walker is fully…capable…of handling the asset, especially with the state he's in now." Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "You of all people know what kind of effects phencyclidine can have on a person."
Casey shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yes ma'am. Will do."
12:14 a.m.
51 minutes since injection
I can handle this. I know I can.
"Sarah."
Yep. I totally can. Only a few more hours to go. I can handle it.
"Saraaaaaaah."
Sarah broke her silent mantra and sighed. Setting down the pen, she dropped her face into her hands and tried to ignore the fact that Chuck was literally breathing down her neck. Why she even bothered trying to finish up the report from tonight's mission was beyond her. Then again, Chuck's condition had improved threefold since the benzodiazepine treatment, to the point where he'd actually kept to himself for the last ten minutes. Granted, most of it had been spent holding his hand two inches from his face and staring at it in wonder…but still.
"Saaaaaaraaaaaaaaaah-ah-uh-ah-uh-ahhh."
Unfortunately, said improvement had ceased to exist approximately thirty seconds ago.
Sarah sighed again, mentally prepared herself for yet another round, and spun her chair to face him. "What's up, Chuck?"
Chuck, however, seemed caught off-guard by her reponse. He let out a startled yelp and stumbled backwards; Sarah quickly latched onto his arm to hold him steady, hiding her amused smile.
"You okay?"
Chuck gaped stupidly at her for a good ten seconds, and Sarah's smile was quickly replaced by a look of confusion. Suddenly his eyes bulged; he turned an interesting shade of red and averted his gaze, mumbling something unintelligible.
Sarah looked even more lost. "Um…Chuck?"
He violently yanked his arm away from her and backed away, hands covering his eyes as he went.
Now Sarah was concerned. She stood up and walked towards him, her steps cautious. "Chuck, watch out, you're going to hurt yourself!" He wasn't listening to her, and she sighed in exasperation. "Chuck, please, just…just calm down and tell me what's wrong. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise."
Chuck froze, hands still splayed across his face. Hesitating, he spread his fingers and cracked an eye open to look at her. Apparently it was a bad idea, because he turned an even deeper shade of red and made a strangled sound from his throat. Arms flailing wildly, he stumbled backwards and -
"Chuck!"
Casey gave a violent start at the loud crash, nearly splattering the contents of his vial across the table. Growling, he propelled himself and his chair to the door and stuck his head into the hallway to survey the damage.
The crash had apparently been Bartowski, who looked like he'd just done a Virtruvian Man faceplant onto the ground. Walker was on all fours beside him, a mix of worry, shock, and what-the-hell-just-happened?! plastered across her face as she made sure he was alright. Casey narrowed his eyes.
"Walker? What's going on?"
The blonde whipped her head around, eyes wide. "I honestly have no idea! He just went crazy all of a sudden and wouldn't look at me, and then he tripped, and now he's just…" she leaned in closer, trying to decipher the words that Chuck was apparently muttering under his breath. "I'm not sure, something about cold water and wild fanta - "
The implication behind his garbled words hit her at that exact moment, and Sarah turned a very, very dark shade of scarlet.
Chuck remained motionless on the floor. Sarah looked like she would die from sheer embarrassment. Casey simply stared, mentally rattling off PCP symptoms in his head: sedation, hyperactivity, impaired attention, delirium, hallucin -
The roar of laughter that ripped out of his throat was so powerful that the NSA agent nearly fell out of his chair. Sarah's hand actually inched towards the knives strapped to her thigh.
"Just finish the damn antipsychotic, Casey."
He nodded through his tears and disappeared back into the room. The resounding laugh, however, echoed throughout Castle long after.
1:05 a.m.
1 hour and 42 minutes after injection
"Chuck."
"Ngh."
"Chuck, you've been on the floor for almost an hour."
"Nnnnnngggnggh."
Sarah let out an exasperated puff of air and released her hold on Chuck's arm, which dropped like a deadbeat. Honestly, why'd she even bother trying?
"Chuck, I can pull out a camping bed for you or something; just please get off the floor, it's gross!"
"Not 's gross 's the motel," the muffled voice responded. "'Sides, I like the floor. It's cold. It helps."
Sarah missed that last part - she was, quite predictably, too busy flushing scarlet at the mention of "motel". Shoving thoughts of Barstow and…other things…aside, she crouched beside Chuck's spread-eagle form and tugged his arm again. "Okay then, Chuck, the floor it is. But can you at least lie on your back? You're kind of drooling all over the place."
Chuck sighed - well, he tried to, but in his faceplant position it came out more like a "Ppffffbtbt" (Seriously, Sarah wondered, how can he even breathe?) - and reluctantly rolled over. His eyes sought out hers, a strange smile creeping onto his face, and suddenly Sarah had the urge to flip him right back onto his stomach.
"You're so boo…beau…" His nose crinkled thoughtfully. "Beau-bootyful."
Sarah slowly arched an eyebrow, unsure of which direction she should take that statement. "Um…I'm sorry?"
"Hehe…bootylicious." Even in his drugged haze, Chuck understood what the look on her face meant and quickly added, "I-I mean booty - beauto - beautilicious…?" He trailed off, settling for confusion.
Sarah rolled her eyes and stood up. She was promptly jerked right back to the ground with a yelp, Chuck's hand tight on her wrist.
"Wait!" He said in a hushed voice, eyes wide. "I hafta tell you somethin'."
Sarah exhaled through her nose, remembering all too well what had happened the last time he'd said that. Well, at least bootylicious makes sense now. She grinded her teeth indignantly. My butt is not big, dammit!
She frowned, suddenly self-conscious.
…Is it? Crap, maybe I need to train some more. Asses don't tone themselves, after all.
"…didn't mean to. 'M sorry, Sarah."
Sarah blinked. Oh, right. He was talking to me. "Sorry, what?"
Chuck furrowed his brow. "I said…I didn't mean t' give away your secret. About Gleeeeeeee." He drew out the title in a quiet, singsong voice.
Sarah almost smiled, but then she remembered exactly how he'd figured out the guilty pleasure in the first place. Scowling, she shoved his shoulder none-too playfully. "Yeah, you jerk. I can't believe you looked at my laptop!"
Chuck pouted, rubbing the assaulted shoulder. "S'not my fault. You left it on your bed. Your bed smells nice." He sighed dreamily, a faraway look in his eyes. "Heeee. That was fun. I like wrestling. Always knew you'd be on top."
Yeah, Sarah was definitely feeling uncomfortable now. She instinctively shifted an inch away from him. "Uh, Chuck…"
Chuck blinked, refocusing on her face and grinning. "S'me." His smile faded a moment later as the rest of his brain caught up with him. Sadly, he dropped his gaze.
"Didn't mean to pry, Sarah. I just wanted to know more about you."
She didn't expect his confession to hurt so much; she'd heard him say it countless times before this, after all. But once again her heart constricted painfully in her chest, and Sarah forced herself to look away.
Suddenly the whole thing seemed ridiculous - it was a television show, for God's sake! Why was she acting like such a girl over it? And moreover, why the hell did she take it out on Chuck in the first place? He'd been drugged, he'd nearly been killed - which, by the way, was kind of her fault for not keeping an eye on him when it really mattered -
Yeah, Sarah Walker really felt like crap now.
"It's alright, Chuck," she said softly, resting a hand on his chest. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. This is all my fault. I shouldn't have overreacted, it really wasn't a big deal, and y - "
"It IS a big deal," Chuck interrupted abruptly, shaking his head. "I can't believe you watchit! That show is ridic'lous! S'not even realistical!"
Sarah's tenderness fizzled. "Hey, that's not…"
"Ellie made me watchit once," Chuck continued, oblivious to Sarah's reaction. "Dunno why she likes it. Wasn't that great. She has all th' songs, too…listens to 'um all the time. All they do is sing! S'just some cheap rip-off of High School Musical…"
Sarah's hand snapped away from Chuck's chest as if she'd be shocked, a scandalized gasp escaping her lips.
Oh, HELL no. You did NOT just go there.
Okay, so maybe it was completely irrational of her - Chuck was still drugged, and he'd still nearly been killed, and it was still all her fault - but come on, that was totally uncalled for!
Before she could open her mouth to give him a piece of her Gleekified mind, though, Chuck turned his guilty gaze on her. Any retort she'd had in mind died on her lips, because, really, who could resist those beautiful orbs of chocolate?
Sarah froze. Wait, what? Orbs of chocolate? Where the hell did THAT come from?
Wow, her mind was really messed up tonight. Somewhere in the next room, she swore she heard her partner grunt his assent.
"I'm sorry, Sarah," Chuck mumbled, completely unaware of the blonde's current distractions. Startled, she quickly snapped her attention back to him. "I tol' Casey you're a Closet Gleek. That was s'pposed to be your secret, an' I wasn't s'pposed to tell, much less find out. So…" He sucked in a deep breath and sat up, fixing Sarah with a determined gaze.
"So t' make up for it, I'll tell you secrets about me."
For the second time that night, the color completely drained from Sarah's face.
Oh, this isn't going to end well.
1:19 am
1 hour and 56 minutes after injection
Last step, Casey thought triumphantly, squeezing a few drops of diazepam into the vial and corking the top. He shook it lightly, mixing the contents to create a faded orange tint. Let it settle for a bit and we're all set.
A strange, erratic thumping suddenly broke through his concentration, and Casey cast a curious glance behind him. It felt like…footsteps. A lot of them. Almost like Walker and Bartowski were playing tag outside. His eyes narrowed.
What the hell are they doing now?
Sure enough, the footsteps became louder, and moments later Sarah burst into the room and slammed the door shut behind her, eyes wild.
Casey quirked an eyebrow at the strange sight. "I'm not done yet, Walker." His eyes flickered to the door. "Don't you have an asset to take care of or something?"
Sarah collapsed against the door, a hand covering her eyes. "There are just…certain things you need to keep to yourself," she moaned. She threw her arms down and fixed him with a desperate look. "Casey, I can't shut him up, he keeps on talking and I don't want to hear it - "
Right on cue, another pair of footsteps approached the closed room. Both Sarah and Casey jumped at the sound of a body slamming up against the door. Sarah gave an audible whimper; she pressed her hands against her ears, bracing herself for the worst.
"An' when I was thirteen," the unmistakable voice bellowed through the door, easily negating any chances of being unheard, "I was watchin' Princess Leia's slave scene in Return of the Jedi and doin' my little boy business, and Ellie walked in on me and screamed…so, y'know, when you wore that outfit that one Halloween - "
Sarah's eyes nearly bulged out of her sockets. A weird cross between a shriek and a growl escaped from her throat, and she whipped around and yanked the door open. Chuck went crashing to the ground, effectively cutting off the rest of his confession with a startled yelp. Casey just stared on in shock.
An awkward silence filled the room for several torturous moments. Then Chuck's words finally settled in, and Casey's stomach gave a violent churn.
"Oh, you did NOT just put that image into my head, Bartowski!" He snarled, his face contorted in disgust. "I don't need to know about any of your freaky teenage nerdgasms, not now and not ever!" He turned and pointed an accusing finger at Sarah, who looked as though she wanted to drown herself. "And you - you just had to wear that costume and make moron here all excited, didn't you? You both have scarred me for life!"
Sarah had absolutely no words. Her expression flickered rapidly between emotions - horror, embarrassment, shock, fury, and something else that Casey didn't even want to attempt deciphering - before settling on an eerily indifferent stare that was, quite frankly, creeping him the hell out.
"I said I could handle this," she said calmly, "and that's exactly what I'm doing. But so help me God, Casey, if you don't finish that antipsychotic soon…"
Without finishing the threat, she pulled Chuck to his feet and silently led him out of the room. Casey actually felt a tremor of fear shoot down his spine. Slowly, he turned back to his work desk, expelling the breath of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His chest swelled with pride.
Well shit, Walker. I think I almost wet myself.
The moment the two made it out of the hallway, Sarah let go of Chuck's hand like it was on fire and strode over to the table. She leaned heavily against it and let out a huff of air.
I don't know how much longer I can handle this.
Honestly, she wasn't sure which was worse: Chuck with drug-induced ADHD, or Chuck with nonexistent verbal control. Either way, both seemed to produce the same result - never in her years as a government agent had she ever succumbed to torture, but now Sarah could feel her patience and sanity starting to crack. Screw the damn antipsychotic - if this kept up any longer, she was seriously going to take his so-called tampon cannon blaster and shove it up his -
NO, Sarah thought fiercely, shaking away the violent thought before it went any further. Don't even GO there, Walker. Remember whose fault this is? You didn't look out for him like you were supposed to, so you have to deal with the consequences. Just be glad he isn't dead!
She was, of course. Definitely more so than a lethal CIA agent like herself should be, but then again, she was long past the internal denial by now. Still, that didn't erase the fact that this Chuck was turning out to be her most difficult - and possibly most dangerous - adversary yet.
His footsteps sounded behind her, and Sarah instinctively tensed. Without waiting for the inevitable secrets to come gushing out again, she whirled around and clamped a hand over Chuck's mouth. Stunned, he blinked at her through wide eyes.
"Don't," she croaked. "Please, Chuck, no more secrets. I don't want to hear them."
He stood there silently for a long moment, eyes glued to hers. Then his expression turned into something that Sarah recognized almost immediately, and her heart skipped in her chest.
Oh, no.
Gaze unwavering, he mumbled into her hand.
"Can I tell you somethin' that's not a secret?"
It was the absolutely worst thing to do and she knew it. So of course Sarah went against her better judgment anyway and pulled her hand away from Chuck's mouth. In its place was a ghost of a smile that sent butterflies exploding into her stomach. He hesitated, then:
"I really want to kiss you right now."
And just like that, the temperature between them skyrocketed; the air seemed to crackle with intensity, and Sarah knew that if she didn't step away from him in that exact moment, she was going to be in a world of trouble.
But you know you want to -
"Y-you can't," she stammered frantically, and it took all her willpower to push him away. "Chuck, it's the drugs talking, it's totally wrong, we can't do this - "
The intense, determined look he was giving her was definitely not helping matters. Sarah gritted her teeth, exasperated.
Why the hell does he choose now to look sober, dammit?!
And then, to her utter horror, Chuck did the last thing she ever expected him to do:
He ripped off his shirt.
Sarah literally squeaked in shock. "W-what are you doing?!"
Tossing the shirt aside, he took a step towards her, brow furrowed. "S' so hot in here…aren't you hot?"
Oh, Sarah was not going to answer that question. Instead she stumbled away from him as quickly as possible, her voice shrill and unnaturally high.
"Chuck, don't, s-stop it, you can't - " She let out another squeak as her back hit the stair railing. Chuck advanced like a dazed predator, fingers fumbling with the waistband of his pants and a gaze full of resolve and sheer determination and -
Oh my god, I can't handle this!!!
She heard the soft whistle and the thuk of contact before she saw it. Chuck's eyes widened imperceptibly for a split second before going blissfully unfocused; he took one last staggering step before lurching towards Sarah, who quickly reached out and caught him before he hit the ground.
"C'n I sniff yo' hair 'gain, pleez…?" He managed woozily; with one last whiff, he flashed her a loopy grin before his head fell into the crook of her neck.
Sarah leaned hard against the railing, legs shaking uncontrollably and breaths coming out in short gasps. She looked from the dart protruding from Chuck's shoulder to the hallway where Casey stood, a satisfied smirk on his face.
"Got to use it after all," he said brightly, pocketing the tranq. In the other hand he held up the syringe filled with orange liquid. Sarah nearly sobbed with relief...until she caught the look Casey was giving her. The amusement on his face was unmistakable.
"Had a fun time with you boy toy, Sunshine?"
Despite the deadweight body in her arms, Sarah still managed to flip him the bird.
Fact: "Individuals intoxicated with PCP frequently feel a need to undress, whether due to their elevated temperature or for some delusion-related impulse." :D
Well, this was one behemoth of a chapter...at least compared to my other ones. I know I said this would be the last chapter, but it got a bit too long and way too crazy…so the next one will be the last, an epilogue of sorts. Hope that's alright. (Not that you have a choice...unless you want it to end here, that is. Haha.)
And now it's 4:00 in the morning, and I've got four classes back-to-back tomorrow. Ah, college…
