The Odd Quadruple
Chapter Seven
-x-
"Are you sure this is the library?" Chuck wondered aloud, not too ashamed to goggle. He had to ask, because the Jetson-age hangar, thick with yellow backlit book shelves aligned in a demilune pattern along charcoal grey walls, did not resemble any library on Stanford's campus.
The kid looked up as he was hustled through the door. Directly over his head was a steel catwalk connecting two reading lofts surrounded by metal rails, accessed by an exposed staircase that seemed to be floating in the middle of the domed room. Most of the furniture appeared to be vintage and Danish, sleek, and the kind of stuff Ellie would ogle if she were here.
The stark space reminded Chuck exactly how the library on the Death Star had to have looked.
"Uh, hello," Chuck said to the clerk behind the desk, giving a polite nod and a smile. Somebody had to appear normal or courteous, and considering the business-like state of his spy handlers, it wouldn't be one of them.
"This way," Casey said, ignoring the clerk's greeting.
"Do you have to be so rude?" Chuck whispered when he was dragged out of earshot. Apparently yes, since Casey and Sarah continued to wordlessly schlepp him along ... somewhere. The kid took note of the few people browsing the shelves, but other than that, they were alone, which seemed to be the reason he had been hauled down here in the first place.
A bit too forcefully, he wanted to mumble, but decided to keep his mouth shut. Despite protesting, Chuck was positive that he had been half carried, one spy attached to each arm, as he was bustled from the Gotham Lounge, raising the attention of a few curious onlookers.
Not as if Sarah or Casey cared an iota. His handlers led him down a stairwell that said Employees Only – Chuck felt compelled to point that out – then down several zigzagging hallways that felt like a maze, and finally through the double doors to the library.
"Okay, guys," he said, shuffling his feet. "You're embarrassing me just a tiny bit here. Can we ease up on the protection detail for a minute? Unless you think a warlord is going to jump out between the periodicals?"
"Move," Casey replied, and while the kid continued to drag his feet, Casey and Sarah pushed and nudged and quietly manhandled him past the curved shelves to a private alcove in one deep corner of the cavernous space.
"Can we stop now?" Chuck saw that there was no one else within twenty yards, so he pulled his arms free with a jerk. "Wow," he said, holding up a hand. "You two could use a vacation. Ever think about a cruise?"
"Sit." Not waiting, Casey pushed the kid and sat him down in one move. It let him know that any attempt at frivolity would be squelched, and he damn well better not try it again.
Chuck swallowed and looked up at them. Though the leather lounge chair he had been pushed into was plush and soft, it did irk him that his handlers remained standing, looming over him as if he was a naughty child.
"Mom. Dad," Chuck said, reading their faces before they even started. "The boogie man didn't follow us, so I think you can dial it down, okay? Sheesh."
Casey squinted at him. "You flashed. Spill, Bartowski."
"What did you see?" Sarah asked in a slightly softer manner, crossing her arms over her shirt. "What made you flash?"
Looking up at their skeptical faces, the kid wanted to groan. He used to be good at his job – maybe not great, but he could flash and relay the Intel, which was why he was still in Burbank. But with the past two flashes, he seemed to be striking out at every pitch.
"Well," Chuck began slowly, closing his eyes briefly to rub his eyelids, "I think I need to take another look at -"
"Let me see the paper Blosjo gave you," Casey interrupted. He put his hands on the chair's arms and lowered his face, making Chuck shirk backwards at the blunt impatience across his features. "Front pocket. I saw where the sleaze put it." He snapped his fingers, as in move it, now.
"I'm getting it ... please don't look at me like that." It was a bit nerve-racking to have a pissed-off NSA assassin breathing down his neck, but telling him that would probably not be the wisest move. So Chuck put some slouch in his posture and stretched out one long leg, giving him access to his pocket. He dug around, and after a bit of searching, he pulled out the slip of paper. "There. That's what he ... gave me."
"Heh. Sure that's all he gave you?" Casey remarked, tugging it from his hand. He looked at the writing and flipped it over. "That's it?"
"Yep."
"Did the numbers cause a flash?" Casey read it again, frowned at the handwriting. "Was it the sequence? The pattern?"
"Maybe it's a number puzzle?" Sarah asked, looking over his shoulder. "Digits for a Kakuro grid? Is there a message embedded in it?"
"Um, no," Chuck said cautiously, watching as Casey rolled his eyes and handed the slip of paper to Sarah. "Well, nothing that glamorous, since technically, in order to be a Kakuro pattern, it would need -"
"Finish that," Casey broke in, "and I'll stuff you between Hitler and Stalin. As in their biographies."
Chuck looked at the nearest book shelf and cleared his throat. "I think it's just his, well, exactly what it looks like." Stopping there, he put a hand on his knee to stop the jiggling. "His ... phone number."
"His ... number?" Sarah's brows, which nearly had their own language all unto themselves, peaked in a perfect arch as she searched his face. "He gave you his phone number – and you didn't flash on this? Chuck, I saw you flash."
"Okay, before we go any further in this little interrogation, I have a question. Where's Morgan?" Chuck lifted his eyes to meet Casey's. "What did you tell him? When he saw you kidnap me ten minutes ago?"
Casey moved a shoulder. "I told him Larkin was having a panic attack about the fox trot contest, and needed his brainiac friend to take us through the paces again."
"Geez, thanks, Casey," an icy voice said from behind. Though none of them had heard even a footstep on the carpet, Bryce appeared from around one of the bookcases. "If I'm having a panic attack, it's only because I'm trying to remember how to anticipate your mistakes - so that your bear paws don't crush my toes."
"What're you doing here?" Casey asked abruptly, rounding on him. "Where's the other pretty boy on board? Blosjo? God, don't tell me that you –"
"I lost him in the dance club, okay?" Bryce at least sounded as perturbed as Casey looked.
The admission made Chuck blink up in surprise, watching Bryce step in closer. It boggled that the always perfect Bryce Larkin had screwed the pooch on this one. And knowing his ex-friend, Chuck was certain admitting it had to kill him.
"Really," Casey said in an implacable voice. He then made a show of folding his bulky arms over his even bulkier chest and sauntered over to Bryce. "That's the best you could do, CIA? One little blond hair product mogul, and you couldn't keep tabs on him for more than ten minutes?"
"You forgot black market arms dealer."
"Casey. Bryce." Sarah gave her partners a disgruntled look, stepping between them. "Do you think we can put your little lover's quarrel on the backburner, and focus on Chuck's flash for a moment?"
Put like that, there was little they could say, so they ended it with a few dirty looks and turned their attention back on the kid.
Satisfied with their compliance, Sarah nodded at Chuck. "Is that all he gave you?"
"You were watching, Walker," Casey chimed in. "I'd say Blosjo gave him plenty."
"And come to think of it," Chuck grumbled, "that's when I could've used a little protection."
"Next time we'll put you in full body armor, so when you come out of the crowd, you're still a virgin," Casey quipped, holding up the paper between two fingers. "So this didn't cause the flash?"
Chuck shrugged, feeling his stomach jolt with nervousness. It might've had a little something to do with the icy stare that told him it better be good, because a decent flash was the only thing standing between John Casey and two-stepping it with Bryce Larkin under a retro disco ball tonight.
"Uh, not exactly."
Casey bent lower to get in his face. "What does not exactly mean, Bartowski?"
"Casey, if you stop breathing fire through your nose at him, maybe Chuck can answer."
"Thank you, Sarah." Chuck looked up at one handler, then to the other before sprawling out his long legs and getting into the perfect slouch again. The truth was, his ploy was to buy some time, because he knew with Casey in warrior mode, nothing would appease him. "It wasn't the number," he admitted, and uncurled his fingers around a scrap of paper. "But it was this."
"What's this?" Not waiting, Casey snatched it out of his hand. When he tried to unravel it, however, he paused to give Chuck a lifted eyebrow. "It's wet."
"Sorry. My hands were ... they get slightly sweaty when I'm nervous." Chuck rubbed a palm down his shirt. "Maybe if you just give it a little flap a few times?"
Casey shook his head and flattened the scrap the best he could. While he smoothed it, Sarah and Bryce sidled up to him to look over his arms at the paper. "Looks harmless," Bryce said.
"It never is." Casey turned his blue-eyed stare on Chuck. "Care to share with the class, Bartowski? What am I looking at?"
"Well, strictly speaking?" Chuck fiddled with the hem of his shirt while he thought about it. "A man on a surfboard in the middle of riding a pretty fierce wave. Oh, and you can see it's superimposed over an empty blue room – that's odd, hum? – and a window with a storm – guph!"
Chuck ended it there. He decided it would be a wise idea, since Casey's hand had shot out to clamp down on his jaw.
Casey used the grip to tilt his head up. "What else."
"Ow?"
"I know what it is," Casey said in the rumble that usually led to more pain. "I want to know what it means."
"Let him go," he heard Sarah say. Chuck had to assume she delivered it with a stern expression, because he couldn't really look at her with his face in a vise. "Why don't you let Chuck tell us what he knows?"
The NSA agent must've been wildly tempted to just do it his way, by force, based upon how long it took for him to unclench each finger from Chuck's cheeks. "Speak."
Chuck tested his jaw. Happily, it still worked. "I do other tricks, too," he muttered.
It took a second to figure out how that sounded. When Chuck put it together, he looked at his feet to hide the pink tinge he felt.
"You're not going to like it," Chuck confessed, though he didn't dare look at Casey. "It was more than the one yesterday – the monkey? Or the sneeze-flash?" At Casey's impatient growl, he talked faster. "It felt like a real flash this time, but it didn't give me a name or data or anything. Not ... much, anyway."
"What does that mean, not much?" Casey growled.
"Just a picture of ... a building."
"A ... building?" His handlers had spoken together, both giving him questioning looks.
"Where did the piece of paper come from in the first place?" Bryce asked. "That wasn't the one Blosjo gave you."
"Wow. Thanks for that, Bryce." Chuck thought about the best way to put this as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess ... while all of us, including Morgan, were watching Blosjo check my pants size, someone else left it at the table. When I sat down, it was tucked in a napkin." He stopped to heave a breath. "After that, it was all over but the flash."
"Nice work, CIA," Casey said to Bryce.
Sarah looked up at Casey. "So while all of us were focused on the nuclear technology dealer who happens to have the hots for Chuck," she said, "someone who once thought Bryce was the Human Intersect - just left the real Intersect a picture. To make him flash?"
Uh-oh.
Right there. That was the part he knew they weren't going to like.
"I don't think we know for certain that someone is looking for the Intersect," Chuck said swiftly. "Maybe they just have a flair ... for photography?" God, that sounded lame enough for the kid to want to bury his head in his hands.
Based upon the looks his handlers shot down at him, apparently they agreed.
"I say we stuff the nerd in an underground bunker," Casey announced flatly, not even looking at him. "At least until we can determine the extent of the security breach and -"
"Whoa. Whoa." Chuck shot up from the chair and put up both hands in a stop sign gesture. "There will be no stuffing of the nerd into Beckman's Christmas stocking, okay? We don't even know what the flash meant – it could've been an accident. Didn't we cover this ground at the spa yesterday? 'The nerd stays put and catches the bad guy'. Ring any bells?"
"An accident. Puh." Casey gave a head shake at the lack of logic. "This is you, Bartowski."
"The spa?" Bryce turned to Sarah. "You had a meeting without me yesterday?"
"Later, Bryce," Sarah said in a way that distinctly said drop it. "Chuck, Casey has a point. Now we don't even know if it's Blosjo, or someone else. I feel like we're flying blind here."
"Et tu, Sarah?" Chuck turned to her since he would get no support from the NSA on this one. "It was a picture of someone riding a surfboard. Big deal, right?" He picked it up and studied it. "Granted, the window seems out of place."
"Needed some girly drapes for you?" Casey asked, and then he added in a curt tone, "You already said it caused a flash. It's not just a picture."
Chuck had nothing to say about that, so instead he glowered and pressed his lips together.
"Chuck, why don't you sit down - and tell us what you remember about the flash." Sarah rested a hand on the back of the chair and nodded at the seat. "Maybe there's a clue there."
The kid hunched his shoulders, quelling the surge of annoyance at being pushed around. They really had a way of making him feel like the misbehaving student in class. But after a few seconds, he obeyed, dropping into the seat while both handlers came around to face him. "Like I said, it was just a building."
"Draw it," Casey ordered.
Chuck turned his hands palm up to signal with what? All three spies huffed. Sarah pulled a pen out of a place the kid thought was usually reserved for blades. Meanwhile, Casey turned to a book shelf, pulled out a book, and ripped out the last page. "Here," the larger man said. "Draw."
Chuck gaped at the page and then at Casey. "Did you – you just vandalized a book that doesn't even belong to you!"
"Know what else I'm going to vandalize in about five seconds?"
He had a feeling it was more than a trick question. Casey had an aversion to riddles, it seemed.
"All righty. And here I am ... drawing the building ... drawing the building." With his head down, he used the book Casey had just desecrated as a hard surface to trace what he remembered. "It was ugly. Grey, dingy. I do know that. Maybe from the 80s – when windows were considered an architectural frivolity?"
"Less talking, more drawing, Bartowski."
Chuck slanted a look at Casey and kept drawing.
When Bryce moved in to see what was taking shape under Chuck's pen, Casey deliberately stayed where he was planted, forcing Bryce to crane his neck. "I am part of the team for this mission, aren't I?" Bryce asked stiffly.
"For the next thirty-six hours and twenty-seven minutes," Casey said, spelling it out. "Unless there's a ... tragic accident."
Bryce's lips tightened.
Immediately, Sarah played moderator by signaling he could come and stand by her to look over Chuck's shoulder. "Let's focus, boys."
"Now that I think about it," Chuck said, appraising his drawing with a squint, "it looks Russian. Like from the movie, From Russia With Love? Oh, except not the video game version, I mean the actual -"
"What the hell is he talking about?" Casey turned to Bryce. "You understand Geek-ese, don't you?"
"Just as fluent as you are in giant assho – oof."
The well-placed elbow to the ribs from Sarah saved the plush carpet under Bryce's feet. And Bryce, for that matter. Besides, blood stains would probably clash with the Danish modern vibe the Miracle's decorators were going for, Chuck decided.
While Bryce massaged his ribcage, Sarah leaned down to get a better look. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to the perimeter lines.
"A fence. If I remember the flash, there were different levels, though. The back was only one story tall, and there was a parking lot ... a loading dock here, I think?" Chuck held the drawing. "Not too shabby, I guess." He tilted his head at it. "The drawing I mean, not the building. That place was, frankly, a dump. So what do you think? Oh."
This was not a good sign. Chuck was positive that when he glanced up at them, each had landed on a theory. And whatever theory was currently playing out between their ears, it made three pairs of blue eyes go cool.
"Um, guys?" Chuck's gaze went from one concerned face to the next. "I can tell you're thinking something, and though I'm fairly decent at twenty questions, now is not the time. What is it?"
Well, it figured there was no response from any of them, even Sarah. Instead, they shared a knowing look among themselves until Bryce scrubbed a hand over his face. "Huh," Bryce said. "That blows."
Casey turned to Bryce and raised a brow.
Bryce shrugged. "Okay, yes, Casey. I think so, too."
"Great," Casey muttered.
"I'm not as familiar with it as you two are," Sarah said. "I've only seen pictures. But I think you're right."
He hated it when spies talked in code around him. The translation usually was your turn to babysit the nerd, but this time he only wished that's what it meant.
"Time out." Chuck stood and jabbed one set of fingers into the palm of the other hand. "Time out. Obviously, all of you know something that I don't. Do you mind telling me – what is it?"
Casey glanced over at his asset. "That's what it looked like, right before Bryce gave you the gift that keeps on giving. Oh, and I don't mean the STD after your little bout of curiosity back in school."
Bryce started to open his mouth with a retort, but Chuck raised his hand to stop him. "He gets like that when he's angry," Chuck said, "which strangely enough equates to the hours he is awake – but just answer the question, Bryce."
Bryce kept his eyes on his. "It's the Intersect."
"Was the Intersect," Casey corrected.
"What – but I'm ..." Chuck gave a confused look to Sarah, but the cloudiness in her eyes told him she was already considering the implications and had jumped three steps ahead of them.
It should worry him that she was frowning deeply.
"Not this one," Bryce explained, and he lifted a hand to tap Chuck's temple. "Right before it landed here ... the Intersect was in this building."
"This is the building that you blew up?" Chuck held up the drawing and glanced back at Casey. "And that's where you shot Bryce?"
"The first time, yeah," Casey answered with blandness in which someone would discuss the weather. "Until the idiot here screwed up everything, I had overall responsibility for the security of that computer. And I still do." He crossed his arms over his chest and acknowledged Sarah. "We do. Which is why we're getting the hell out of here."
"Getting out?"
"The mission's become too risky," Casey said. "Now we have proof someone knows you're the Intersect – and we don't even know if it's Blosjo or some other whacko who's not on our radar. Hell, this silent partner could be anyone, anywhere, or someone not even working with him."
The rope around his middle seemed to tighten, a sharply accurate signal that nothing good was about to happen. "Can I say something here," Chuck put in quickly, raising his hand. "Being that I am the Intersect, and should have a say in -"
"No," Casey and Sarah interrupted in unison. Neither agent bothered to spare him a glance. Each seemed to be formulating a plan, or who knew, maybe the same plan, and whatever it was, the kid got the distinct sensation of the walls inching in.
Sarah's brows scrunched together. "Even if we –"
"No, no, no." At that point, Chuck braced himself before he pointed at Sarah and Casey. "It would only be fair, since I think that within the next – oh, let's say sixty seconds – you're going to be making decisions that will affect me."
Casey snorted at him and then turned to Sarah. "When the doofus didn't flash yesterday," he said, "someone saw him take the picture to Chuck. Out on the pool deck."
It took Chuck a few seconds to realize that the doofus in this scenario was Bryce, and not him. Not that it made the situation much better, but it felt good to hand off that mantle for once.
"Just proves that they got too close this time," Casey went on. "And proved how easy it is to navigate around the CIA."
"Hey, this is not my fault," Bryce argued. "He didn't flash until we were in private yesterday. Right, Sarah?"
"You." Casey brought up a thick finger and stabbed it in his direction. "Stay out of this."
"Bryce has a minor point there, Casey," Sarah conceded, "but I'm sure it aroused suspicion."
"Damn right it did," Casey said, sending a murderous glare Bryce's way. "Enough suspicion for whoever is looking for the Intersect to run a little test on Chuck. Might as well have been a Goddamn flare, Larkin." He waved a hand in the air over Chuck's head. "Here's the Intersect. Come and get him!"
Knowing he was stepping out onto thin ice, Chuck raised his hand to speak. "I still say I should have a vote here, Intersect guy and all?"
"Too bad for you, this is a dictatorship." With a disapproving grunt, Casey tossed the paper at Bryce and took Chuck by the arm. "Let's go. Move it."
"What? Why?" Chuck pulled back. "I already explained last night why we can't do that! Morgan for one."
"Casey's right," Sarah told him. "We knew this was a risk, but now it's too dangerous. We'll ... come up with something, okay?"
Even Sarah, forever the steady one, had a hard time keeping her voice light and assured by the time she furrowed her forehead at him. He could almost hear the game ending buzzer in his head.
Still, if ever there was a time to dig the heels in before being carted off somewhere, now was it – and boy, he had to get rid of this defeatist attitude at some point.
"Okay, that's it," Chuck said, then straightened up and squared his shoulders. "You're going to listen to me." As Casey raised a brow at the disobedient tone, the kid had to dig deep for bravery – since there was a chance it was his last act on board the ship. "Everything I told you last night? It still holds. I'm not letting this scare us away. So, it got a little murkier. I get it. Are you going to run? Casey? Because I'm not letting a criminal mastermind sell nuclear technology to a nutcase!"
"Keep your damn voice down," Casey said.
"And I'm not going to be able to explain this to my best friend, which means – I don't even want to think of those implications right now, okay?" Chuck snatched the paper from Bryce and stuck it in his pocket, because he really didn't want that taunting him. "Guys, I want to remind you, I have the three best spies we have watching over me. And despite the fact I have a hunch I won't even be able to go the rest room without supervision, we need to stay here, stop Blosjo – and whoever else he's working with."
"Where's this bravery coming from, Bartowski?" Casey wanted to know. "Usually weapons dealers have you running like a little girl."
Not letting Casey get to him, Chuck returned the insult with a level look. "Because I know what the alternatives are," he said, doing everything he could to keep resolute. "For Blosjo ... if he's able to sell the technology? And if I can be selfish for a minute, we all know what Beckman will do if we don't find the person ... who knows my secret, all right? We have until the ship docks to do that."
"Chuck, we would try to convince Beckman -"
"Sarah." Chuck faced her, swallowed. "I can't take that chance. You have no idea how much it would kill Ellie to have ... her brother – her only family member – just suddenly disappear."
Hot pinpricks of nerves traveled over his neck as he tried to push the thought to the side. It sickened him to think about it. That couldn't happen.
Sarah and Casey regarded him for a good long time before they exchanged a glance. If Chuck wasn't ready to crap his khakis, he'd be impressed at how good they were getting at communicating without talking.
"I'll run it up the flagpole with Beckman," Casey finally said.
"Thank you," Chuck said, using the chair to hide the fact his knees had turned to water.
Casey nodded. "The rest of you, get back to the troll." He turned to Chuck. "Think you can do that without getting kidnapped or groped, or do we need to install an alarm in your britches?"
-x-
An hour later, while he and Morgan polished off rib eye steaks and a bottle of Cabernet – they were staying in the Grande Vista Suite, after all, Chuck figured, so they had to sell it – Chuck felt his phone vibrate.
'Beckman says we stay put. Target rich environment on board too risky to take a pass'
Chuck breathed out a sigh of relief.
"What is it, man?" Morgan asked.
"Oh, nothing. Just Ellie." His mind scrambled for an explanation. "She approves of the sweater I bought for Awesome for Christmas. No returns necessary."
"You never showed it to me."
Note to self. Go buy a damn sweater at the gift shop.
"I packed it away – hey, how are the love birds doing?" Chuck tipped his head to the side in the direction of their table, over his right shoulder. "Any signs of stage fright?"
"Not unless you count the way Casey practiced dipping Bryce when they were in the shallow pool. Wow." Morgan turned his attention to Chuck. "Are you sure they don't have issues?"
"Just nerves." Chuck smiled weakly, but when Morgan reached for his glass, the kid quickly shot off a text.
He's still suspicious.
The next one went to Bryce.
Do something!
Then to both of them,
The next call is to Sarah.
A half minute later, Morgan looked past Chuck's shoulder. Whatever he saw, it made his eyes widen. "Ahem. They just got their dinners ... and I see Casey has been cured of his intense fear of PDA."
"He ... has?" Don't turn around don't turn around.
Morgan picked up his wine glass and gave it a little swirl. "Yep. He didn't even flinch, which is good for him, considering what just happened."
"I ... did something happened?"
"Dude!" Morgan leaned forward and whispered with glee, "Bryce just kissed Casey on the cheek. Maybe they are turning things around!"
"Oh." So, God help him, if Sarah wasn't at the bar and didn't get a picture of that. "How did Casey take it?"
Shoot him on the spot and call for clean-up at table 67?
"I don't know," Morgan said. "He looked like he was in a hurry to get to the bathroom."
-x-
Chuck waited for Casey to stalk out of the Gotham Lounge. It would be just a matter of seconds before he shot Morgan.
Looking over his shoulder, he sped up his pace, amazed that Morgan had out distanced him. "Buddy, you might want to go a little easy on the excessive jubilation," Chuck said, catching up to his friend.
"Excessive? Did you see the two of them?" Now there was unwarranted hand waving. "They were Astaire and Rodgers! Baryshnikov and – and the girl with the pointy shoes! Travolta and Newton-John! "
"Morgan, buddy, you're going to want to keep your voice down, or Casey –"
"And Casey! John Casey, the biggest, baddest, hairiest, hard ass I know!" Morgan motioned excitedly with the gold-wreathed loving cup trophy. "Who knew –"
"We should get going –"
"- that he could dance like he has feathers for feet! Did you see him, the way he held Bryce over his head and spun him like a freaking pinwheel!" Morgan shook his head in disbelief. "It was awesome, man!"
"Oh, God."
"It was as if those steel-like legs had the precision of a piston!"
More like a pistol. "Okay, technically, it was only third place," Chuck had to remind him. He turned around to dart a look down the hallway. "Have you seen Bryce and Casey?"
"Nah." Morgan gave him a pshaw hand motion. "Those two love birds? They probably went straight to their room by now." He waggled the trophy. "Those kids were so excited, they forgot this! How do you think it would look in the Buy More break room?"
Chuck nodded at the brunette barmaid passing by, who seemed to be grinning at the suggestion. Fortunately, Morgan was too euphoric with the trophy and the pending late night buffet to notice any strikingly similarities with Chuck's leggy ex-fake girlfriend.
"Come on, Chuck! Let's surprise them by dropping it off at their room!"
As Morgan scampered down the hall, the nerd let his shoulders sag in relief. One mission, at least, had been accomplished tonight. Morgan was finally sold on the idea of the happy couple, despite the fact they were destined to become a very unhappy couple as soon as the ship docked.
Not to mention, he had enough digital black mail to last a lifetime. Chips to cash in for years to come - except for one pesky detail. Casey would cut him up, sauté what little meat he had on his body, and feed him to the stray cats in Ellie's neighborhood.
-x-
Over the past hour, the sound of the elevator had kept him awake with its periodic chime, letting the late night partiers off on their floor. If it wasn't that, it was the constant movement and sound of water, or even the winds that had picked up, gently rattling the two deck chairs on their balcony.
Who was he kidding?
Were they serious about taking him away somewhere? Secret? Away from Ellie and Morgan?
What if they didn't catch the person looking for the Intersect before docking? If that happened, there was a chance Chuck had already spent his last Christmas with his sister. In his normal life, with his normal job, and friends he could count on. It was confusing, but to be fair, he did consider Sarah and Casey in that category by now. Would they betray him? Or their country?
This thought process wasn't exactly a natural sleeping pill.
Spending another minute staring at the ceiling, Chuck glanced over at his friend who was sound asleep, and rolled over on his side. Two fifty-eight, the clock read.
He tucked his hand under the pillow and stretched his legs. In some corner of his mind, he had to have faith in Sarah and Casey, right? That they wouldn't let the government just swoop in and take him without giving Beckman and Graham pushback on the idea. Neither of them could stop their bosses if it did come down to it, but they could be very persuasive, he knew that much.
Chuck, by now, had to bank on one thing to keep him out of lock-up. He had to trust his handlers, that they would protect him, but more than that. He had a little bit of hope that they actually liked him.
When his cell phone vibrated, he dug the heel of his hand into his eyes and looked over to the night table. Who would be texting him at 3 a.m.? The only person who ever did that was currently lying next to him. Careful not to awaken his friend, Chuck reached over and grabbed his phone. He had to blink a few times to focus.
Casey?
More blinking.
One more thing I didn't mention came out of Beckman's briefing. Affects you directly.
If there were any other words that Chuck never wanted to see strung together, at the moment he couldn't think of them. Feeling a rash of heat climb up his midsection, he thumbed,
Why are you awake?
Chuck could almost hear the growl of displeasure when the next text hit.
Do you really think I can sleep with that sound? Like a damn jet taking off.
With his lip curling into a half smile, Chuck replied,
If you roll him on his side, or pinch his nostrils, he'll stop.
The answer came in a jiffy.
I don't touch other person's nostrils unless I'm checking to make sure they're not breathing anymore. So are you done evading the topic?
Just the thought of it was going to keep him up for another hour, the kid guessed.
Do I have a choice? Because I'd rather just plead TMI and never know what leaks through Beckman's mind.
There was a longer than usual pause before the reply came back as simply,
?
Chuck rolled his eyes.
Never mind, he swiped. Not that I want to know, but what affects me? Besides the usual bombs, knives, and threats of death, I mean.
Beckman decided that the opportunity with Blosjo was too good to pass up.
Of course she would. This was the one time Chuck was thankful she was on the good guy's side, because they needed a little bloodsucking red-headed demon from hell when it came to apprehending the bad guys.
Chuck sighed.
You already told me this. Can I try to get some sleep now?
Last thing. The 'opportunity' Beckman referred to was Blosjo's interest in a certain tall, dark, and nerdy guy. She wants you to call him.
Chuck's jaw hinged open, because certainly Beckman didn't suggest he flirt with a technological weapons dealer.
The words on the screen didn't change.
Are you kidding me! I can't call a man who day dreams about seeing the Eastern seaboard eliminated! No Under no circumstances is this going to happen.
Maybe it was an auditory deception, but he swore he heard a deep chuckle reverberate from Deck 4.
Your turn to get on your dancing shoes, kid. You have a hot date tomorrow night.
Chuck scowled at his phone, wishing Casey was there to see the combination of defiance and hell no painted on his face. Then came a jolt of apprehension, because Casey and Sarah would make him do it for the good of mankind, and because it was an order.
Finally, he just had to get it out there.
You are petty and horrible, and I hate you right now for that smile I know is on your face.
Nighty night, princess. Get your beauty rest. Making goo-goo eyes at a nuclear black arms dealer is gonna take your A game.
-x-
"Casey," Chuck hissed, rapping his knuckles on his cabin door. "Open up!" It was before eight a.m., and he was trying to be polite. On the other hand, Casey had to open the door this damn minute or –
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" While Chuck's head snapped up, Casey snatched his arm and yanked before the kid could think to back up a step. "Get in here."
"I need to talk to you."
"Does stay in your room until Bryce or I swing by for the breakfast buffet mean something different in nerd?" Casey peered down the hallway one way and then the other before shutting the door behind him. "Or did you hear me, and just make the decision to be insubordinate anyway."
"Well ..." When he put it like that, there really was no good answer. "This couldn't wait."
"Morning, Chuck," Bryce said, sleep thick in his voice. Even with the early wake-up call, complete with the scruffy look and pillow hair, he still looked almost perfect. It gave Chuck a snapshot vision of the same phenomena occurring back in college. Back then, they were in the same bed, and he had no recollection of actually being bothered by Bryce's ability to look good regardless of the time of day.
But that was another heaping of self-doubt, and the kid didn't need more – he had plenty, thank you - so he didn't make eye contact when he spoke. "Hey ... Bryce."
"Ah, hell." Casey stood and stretched his back, and that was when Chuck finally took a look at him and noticed the pajama bottoms. "Now that we have the morning pleasantries out of the way, is there a reason you barked at the door?"
"Are those ... tiny snowflakes?"
"They're from his mother," Bryce disclosed. "Don't bring it up or he'll threaten to remove your legs."
"And are you wearing ..." Warily, Chuck eyed Bryce's sleep t-shirt. "Is that ... Rudolph?"
Bryce looked down as if he had forgotten about the shirt, and covered it by putting his arms in front of him. "Casey made me buy it."
"Festive." Chuck titled his head at them. "Wow. I didn't know I was missing so much fun down here in The Hold."
"The Hold?" Casey asked, picking up his duffle and tossing it on the bed. "Do I want to know?"
"Sorry," Chuck said, looking around the cabin. "That's ... kind of what Morgan and I have been calling any deck beneath ours."
"Is the moron still sleeping?"
"I guess." Chuck bit his lip, feeling the beginning of his stomach flutters kick in. "Morgan hasn't had any trouble sleeping. But then again, he's not being forced to flirt with one of the FBI's most wanted nut jobs tonight."
"You'll be fine," Casey told him. "Just try to comb your hair and stand up straight. Make him think you're not a lesbian, eh?"
"A les - Fine?" Chuck gasped, eyes widening. "Did you see his hands! I felt like I had stumbled into the sick bay and got a free physical! He almost asked me to cough!"
Casey rolled his eyes and went back to digging out his clothes for the day. "Obviously, our little comrade has a craving for some nerd meat. You just get in there, smile ... be friendly - use some of that nerd charm - and find out anything you can. Piece of cake."
"Piece of ...?" It took a moment for Chuck to find his voice. Why on earth did the government think so? Was there any trace of history in his background that told them he knew the first thing about toying with a mad man?
Wait. He had nerd charm? And Casey thought so?
"Turn around," Casey said. "I'm taking you back up to your room before the troll wakes up."
"Are you insane?" Chuck finally managed, still slack jawed at the prospect of fake flirting with a real criminal. "No, I'm asking seriously, is the government insane! I can't do this!"
"Why the hell not?"
"For one, I'm not trained in seduction. Hell, until a month ago, I hadn't been out on a date in five years. Five." Chuck spread his fingers and waved a hand, on the notion they needed help with counting that high. "I've never asked anyone for a phone number. I've only had one girlfriend ... and one ... well, you know." Now he waved vaguely at Bryce, not daring to look at him, while his cheeks went crimson. "Er, roommate."
"Roommate. Heh." Casey, ready to take advantage of the opening, turned to smirk at Bryce. "Did Bartowski ever get the license plate of the hit and run?"
"It's a little early for your humor, Casey," Bryce said. "Why don't you try it out on us ... well, let's say, never."
"Just tire tracks, eh?" Casey elbowed him out of the way. "Need a shirt. Then I'm getting you back to your room before –"
"I can't do it," Chuck announced, folding his arms over his chest with a good deal of obstinance. "I have to back out of the mission tonight. That's what I came down here to say."
"No," Casey said easily, unzipping his bag.
"No?" The kid pushed a hand through his hair, frustration swelling while he watched Casey yank out a shirt. In the back of his mind, Chuck wondered if there were any black polo shirts left in the greater Burbank area, or were they all in that duffle. "You didn't even hear me out! What about this: what if this is a set-up? Did it occur to the higher-ups that maybe this guy is interested in the Intersect? And not me?"
"Yep." The NSA agent pulled his sleep shirt over his head, unaware of the way his tightly defined and thick arms swelled, muscles rippling as his shoulders bunched up. One look and Chuck was immediately reminded why he should really never piss off John Casey.
"And?" the kid said, now looking up at the ceiling.
"Still going, Bartowski."
"I thought ... wait, what about Lou?" It was grasping at a straw, but he had to try. "The broken phone girl?"
"What about her?" Casey zipped his duffle.
"Who's Lou?" Bryce asked.
"A brunette piece of tail that came sniffing around the Buy More," Casey said over his shoulder to Bryce before turning to Chuck. "What about her?"
"First," Chuck said, "I find your terminology towards women rather offensive."
"God," Casey grumbled, and he shrugged on his black polo, pulling it over his chest. "Did I offend you, Bartowski?"
"Hah." Chuck narrowed his eyes at him until he realized it made him look like he was checking him out. "Let me give the government a little reminder of the Intersect's Dating Policy." His hands flew up to make air quotes. "'Potential partners must endure a rigorous vetting process to determine motivation'? Wherein leading to immediate rejection, based upon -"
"This isn't a potential partner," Casey broke in. "Unless you decided you liked his handiwork after all?"
Chuck lifted his chin, and even while the thought of defying Casey made him want to flee, he said, "No ... and no to dating him."
"Did you say no?"
Chuck felt another 'uh-oh' coming, but he wet his throat and maintained eye contact.
"Huh." Casey put on a sarcastic smile at the challenge, and tucked his thumbs in his pocket. At once, he moved in, and the deliberate stalking, even in such a small space, was enough to make Chuck round the bed. "Listen up, Intersect," he growled. "You are going to meet Blosjo at the bar tonight. You are going to sell the idea that you're interested in him."
"But I –"
"And if it's going to take some sweet nerd meat to get him talking, then that's what we're giving him," Casey barreled on, his face mere inches away. "Are you getting this down, Bartowski, or do I have to write your lines on your palm like an eighth grader so that you say it the way he wants to hear it?"
"You see, that's the problem, because I'm ... not ..." Chuck felt the blood rush out of his face as Casey stared him down, and backing up, the nerd didn't stop until he bumped into Bryce. "I really ... can't."
"Can't what?" Casey demanded.
"Can't ... flirt," Chuck stammered, feeling the stubbornness from a minute ago wane under the stone-cold glare. "We have to call it off."
Casey pushed his jaw out and eyed him. "How the hell you are not still a virgin is beyond anyone's comprehension."
"He's not," Bryce cut in, though who the heck had asked his opinion?
Chuck shot a sour look over his shoulder. "Thanks for the clarification, buddy."
"Besides, you dated that ass hat behind you for two years," Casey said, and to say that he was enjoying his discomfort was a vast understatement. "You must know how to flirt to get someone with hair like that to notice you."
Somewhere in there, Chuck was certain there was an insult to his own unruly curls, but he let it slide. "It wasn't ... that way."
"He's right." Bryce, to his credit, jumped in to save him. "Chuck doesn't know the first thing about flirting."
"Yeah?" Casey's wide smirk broadened. "Then what worked on you, Larkin? I thought you would've made him jump through a few hoops."
The insult wasn't quite as veiled that time. But really, could he argue? The man behind him was freaking Bryce Larkin; he had charm, the honed body of a gymnast, and looks that caused both men and women to bump into walls.
It was quite obvious that being Chuck Bartowski meant that, on paper at least, he shouldn't have had a shot at someone like him.
"This was a bad idea," Chuck said. He looked away shyly and tried to get past Casey - which was the same as scaling a brick wall, except the wall didn't bounce him backwards when he tried to escape. "Can I go?"
"No hoops," Bryce admitted, pulling the Reindeer shirt over his head. Chuck wanted to clean out his ears, because he swore Bryce sounded dismayed right then. "The truth is, though it's none of your business, I was the one who went after him."
It was one thing, out of many, about Bryce Larkin that Chuck would never understand. Why him. But the revelation only fanned Chuck's blush. "If you don't mind, I'm taking this exit." He pivoted around to walk over the bed. "Oh, and don't worry, my shoes are clean, I prom -"
"Nuh-uh." Without missing a beat, Casey simply took his arm and pulled him back. "I want to hear this."
Chuck looked down at his sleeve, and deciding he wanted to keep that arm intact, he didn't try to twist loose. "Well, I've heard it already, so are we done here? I have to get back upstairs."
"Don't know why I should be surprised," Casey sneered to Bryce, not even glancing at the kid. He didn't let go however, which made Chuck's stomach begin its own rendition of the fox trot. "So you admit the nerd got under your skin?"
Bryce was doing his best not to say something right back at him. What, Chuck had no idea. But if the way Casey's neck turned red was any barometer, the NSA agent had an inkling - and didn't care for the insinuation.
"No, what I'm saying," Bryce responded, "is that Chuck's contribution to the flirting between us was only the way he smiled. And ... maybe that fidgeting thing he does." His eyes cut over to Chuck, and with sweat pooling under his shirt, the kid really was beginning to feel like the package of Grade A ground nerd meat that they both seemed to think he was. "That was all it took."
Casey raised a brow at Bryce, and then to Chuck.
"Um, I should really go now," Chuck said, trying to determine the nearest escape route that didn't involve diving between Casey's legs. "I thought that maybe I could get a little Team Bartowski support on this one, but you know what? Morgan has some moves himself for a little guy, and if I need a quick tutorial on how to flirt, well, I guess that's where I should've started."
"The moron?" The shock alone was enough for Casey to loosen his grip for a moment.
"See you at breakfast," Chuck said in a hurry, using the opportunity to jerk his arm free and scramble over the bed. Tensing, he prepared to bound off the end and get to the door. "We'll save a table close to the buffet - whoa."
As Chuck's feet landed on the carpet, he slammed into Casey's chest and bounced off of Bryce's hip. A shoulder to shoulder spy wall rose from the floor with the speed and might of Thor's hammer.
"Sit down," Casey muttered, merely giving the kid one small push on his chest.
Chuck staggered backwards, his butt landing on the mattress with a hard thump and making the bed jolt against the wall. "Fine," he said, frowning up at them, "I guess I'll just sit here."
As one, Bryce and Casey, standing side by side in front of the door, studied him with various degrees of exasperation.
Uh-oh. Why did he suddenly feel like a lab rat?
"Oh, hell," Casey said, looking down his nose at the nerd. "Not going to be easy."
"I – I said I would agree to this little charade tonight," Chuck pointed out, careful to keep the scowl off his face. "Granted, under protest, but still. So can you two move?"
"What Casey means," Bryce said, and he put on a cocky grin that Chuck found incredibly confusing. "The twenty minute tutorial on inducement of enemy personnel will have to suffice."
"Inducement of what now?" Chuck tried to shoot to his feet, but his handler took care of that with another poke in the chest.
"Suck it up, Bartowski," Casey answered gruffly. "Class is now in session."
-x-End Chapter Seven The Odd Quadruple-x-
So I had to torture Casey further by having to watch Bryce give lessons to Chuck. Why, no, I have no boundaries, why do you ask?
I'm excited about the next few chapters – hang in there! I love to hear from you, and adore feedback of any kind.
You guys rock, simply put.
Til next time,
-skye
23
