Chuck v. The Burning Man
Special thanks to Aardvark7734 – the best beta reader and top-secret reconnaissance gatherer in the Chuck universe!
[Special Note: Chuck v. The Alma Mater established through a flash on Chuck's college transcripts that all of his pre-Stanford residences were in the Hartford, CT area. Unfortunately, after this was published the show went against its own established canon in Chuck v. Best Friend and placed our beloved hero in the making in Tarzana, CA in 1992. This inconsistency won't affect the rest of this story. But as a purist, I would be remiss if I didn't mention it.]
Chapter 7 – A Chilly Time For The Bartowskis – part 1
January 2, 2009 – Echo Park, CA
. . . . . . . . . . Yes, it's true, I'm happy to be stuck with you
. . . . . . . . . . Yes, it's true, I'm happy to be stuck with you
. . . . . . . . . . Because I can see that you're happy to be stuck with me
Chuck smiled at the ceiling as Huey Lewis & the News' Stuck with You played. He reached over and turned off the alarm. He was wide awake and had been most of the night. Sleep had welcomely eluded him. For once, there had been no nightmares, no endless replays of Sarah shooting Lt. Mauser in his mind. Instead, he'd spent the entire night thinking about the night before, with Sarah.
Sarah. Her face filled his mind. It was her job to protect him at all costs, even to protect him from herself. But after last night, he knew that she would fail in that last responsibility. He knew that he would be seriously hurt if she turned away, if she backed away from him now. She'd given him, at last, a message … the message he'd been waiting to hear.
He sighed, his smile growing ever wider as he conjured up the image in his head. Above him, he imagined a larger than life computer screen on his ceiling which said,
. . . . . . . . . . I love you in secret. . . . . . . . . .
He sat up, his goofy grin unwavering. How could he feel so refreshed? He'd barely slept a wink. She loved him in secret. He threw back the covers, stood up, and walked over to his computer. Moving the mouse got the screen to pop back on, the website still scrolled to gardenias, Sarah's favorite flowers—and their real meaning.
. . . . . . . . . . I love you in secret. . . . . . . . . .
Chuck sat down at the desk, reclined in his chair, and thought back to the night of their first real date at the Last Dragon Chinese Restaurant. The words on the screen blurred as he lost himself in the remembrance …
. . . . . . . . . . "What are you saying Chuck?" she longingly asked showing her vulnerability.
. . . . . . . . . . "What I've always wanted to say Sarah," he confirmed.
They were so close that night, so close to saying what they felt. Past the dancing around their roles and what was or wasn't professional. Past the lines they had drawn on their hearts beyond which they couldn't go. He sighed. How could they get back to that time? How could they get back to that smoldering moment at the restaurant where even momentary anxiety would not stop them from admitting how they felt?
A lot had changed in six months. Together they had saved the world from a violent missile attack, a nasty bio-virus, and even stopped the leakage of super-bomber plans. In the process he had caught glimpses into her past and even met her father.
But the cost of his protection had put her life in danger countless times, though she had never admitted as much to him. He shuddered as he coldly remembered the deep bruises she had unwittingly bared to him at Christmas. They were a testament to how far she was willing to go to eliminate anything and anyone who jeopardized his security.
This commitment included, the memory playing for the thousandth time in his mind, the execution of unarmed men. They still had not talked about it and although he had had a peaceful night for once (he smiled back at the computer screen), the mind-freezing nightmares continued to invade his brain on countless evenings when he was alone.
He sighed, again. Thinking back to her picking at her noodles that night in the restaurant, he remembered that noodles symbolized longevity—it was a bit of trivia he picked up from his long-absent dad. On his parents' anniversary, they used to order Chinese and spend the night at a B&B outside of Hartford where he grew up. Chuck wondered if Sarah and he could even have such traditions in their future. Could they ever openly admit to wanting a future together?
Chuck thought back to Sarah opening her fortune cookie at the restaurant.
. . . . . . . . . . "So does it say where you're going next, your new mission?"
. . . . . . . . . . "Actually it does."
. . . . . . . . . . "Really?"
. . . . . . . . . . "No, not really," she quirked.
He'd have given anything to know what that little slip of paper said. Chuck sat down at the foot of his bed and smiled a mischievous grin. "Well, whatever it did say, it sure would be nice to add 'in bed' at the end of it."
Puzzled for a second he thought back to another man's fortune – from long ago, from the last day he saw his dad. He went over to his desk and ripped open his Velcro wallet. He reached back into the half pocket that was typically useless for anything except for maybe a stick of gum and delicately pulled out the slip of paper.
It had been a long time since he last looked at it. He only allowed himself to think of the events that preceded the decade-old fortune on that certain day each year—it was a coping tool that a therapist had taught him. But his recent promise to Ellie brought it all flooding back into his brain. He looked down at the slip of paper. It read:
. . . . . . . . . . Right now there's an energy pushing you in a new direction. . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . Lucky Numbers: 10 – 31 – 14 – 7 – 12 – 16. . . . . . . . . .
"Well dad, it sure would have been nice to know what direction that 'energy' took you."
July 28, 1996 – Just outside of Hartford, CT
"I'm going to make pancakes," dad yelled out.
Both the elder and younger Bartowski teens knew what this phrase meant and it had nothing to do with breakfast that morning. It was their parents' anniversary. Although their mom was gone, dad celebrated that day in a similar fashion each year just as he had before she'd left them. That phrase was 'Bartowski' code for 'I'm going out for Chinese and to reminisce at Chester Bulkley House Bed & Breakfast about the love of my life.'
There wasn't a day that went by that Steve Bartowski didn't miss her. But this day was particularly hard. It was their anniversary. He gave a weak smile when the wide pine-board floor creaked as he entered the room at the B&B. He sat his bag down by the fireplace and looked up at the antique map of the lower 48 states that hung over the mantle. A bowl of pears served as a centerpiece on the table by the window. The nightstand next to the bed had a lamp and predictably--a Gideon bible. It was a rustic place that they had found when they first met. Other than the advent of a pay-per-view box above the television, the room hadn't changed much since he had last been there with her.
He sat down at the table and pulled a special memento from his pocket. It was a charm bracelet, made of sterling silver which gleamed as if it was brand new. As he looked down at the bracelet in his hands, he could still envision the way it looked on her wrist. It had been a gift to her on the day their daughter was born. He remembered the moment, when she first saw it - the expression on her face of surprise, then delight. The sound of her voice cooing over it as he slipped it delicately onto her wrist.
He sat there silently for a few moments, luxuriating in the memories of his wife and daughter. Then he gathered himself up, took a deep breath and began to talk to her the way he often did on that day. It didn't matter that she was no longer with him. She was still very much in his splintered heart.
"You'd be so proud of Eleanor," he started, his voice cracking, "she just graduated in the top 5 of her class and this fall she's headed to UCLA of all places."
He stopped. The thought of his daughter leaving was no less painful than the absence of his wife. He looked down at the guardian angel charm on the bracelet.
"She looks so much like you. She's growing into a fine woman, so smart, beautiful and… that strong will of hers really comes in handy when she has to look out for her brother."
He looked back down at the bracelet and focused on the heart charm with sad haggard eyes.
"Chuck's a real chip off the 'Bartowski' block. He's got a bigger heart than he knows what to do with."
"He's still in the band, he plays the flute. Yeah, I know, that 'doesn't play well with the ladies', he tells me, but I just didn't want him to get too 'girl crazy' with that big heart of his. He's just too high strung for that."
Even in his sadness, a grin appeared on his face thinking about his son.
"He's a helluva smart boy, you should'a seen him at the Science Olympiad the other day. He won the 'Junkyard Challenge' without even needing a roll of duct tape."
"My boy!" Steve laughed and smiled as he finger-counted, animatedly, his son's steps to victory.
"First, he used his jumper cables, a generator, and two half-dollars to make an arc welder to pry open the rusted shut hood. Second, he used a bicycle tire's inner tube to serve as a timing belt. Then he pulled the ball-point pen from behind his ear and used it to repair the fuel line. Next, he used his left-over can of grape soda from lunch to wash off the corrosion on the battery."
He smirked, remembering the putrid smell of the warm, bubbling, purple lava dripping off the battery.
"After that, he fixed a hole in the radiator with a stick of gum from his wallet and used the foil to secure the connection between the battery and the jumper cables to charge the battery. When all was said and done, he had that old jalopy ready to go. And for a final step, he hot-wired the whole contraption with a paper clip that was attached to the contest rules." He finished, ticking off the final step with his pinkie.
"It was a thing of beauty. I wish you could'a been there. Those seven years of MacGyver finally paid off." He smiled at the television thinking back to a better time when he and his son spent Mondays watching television together – and the rest of the week in the garage trying to make some of the 'MacGyver-isms' a reality.
Steve's smile slowly faded as he looked back down at the bracelet. He set it down slowly on the table.
"They've both become fine kids in spite of me."
He continued to think about his wife and the dilemma that he now faced.
"Well, I got our favorite—Peking Duck with noodles. He looked over at the television. You mind if we watch a movie while we eat our Chinese?" Hearing no complaints, he walked over to the television and absent-mindedly flipped through the PPV offerings-- settling on Mission Impossible. It was really on for noise. As he ate the duck alone he thought about the fidelity that the meal symbolized. Even after all the time that had passed, he was utterly devoted to her so much so that he often neglected his children.
And now it was time for a very hard decision--a decision that he knew he may regret for a long, long time.
January 2, 2009, 0700 – Burbank, CA
Casey knew that he had an important decision to make. Would he come clean to Walker? He arrived at the castle base early. He wanted to get a jump on planning their next reconnaissance mission. As he started to gather building layouts of the Happy Heights Senior Center and other details, he reminded himself that he also needed to get his head straight before his partner arrived. Partner. He groaned. He was completely disgusted with his predicament. But he caught himself before he went too far down that road.
"'Lady' feelings." he gruffed.
It wasn't the first time that he had been ordered to do something by a superior that went against his own moral compass. He tried to remember that it was the choice he had made when he decided to protect something greater than himself. Still, he couldn't help but think that General Beckman's attempt to cut the CIA out of this operation was anything but for the greater good.
Perhaps it was his military background that was working against him this time. Major Casey knew of at least two of 'The 7 Army Core Values' which he had not followed-- Loyalty and Respect. It wasn't that he was unprepared to dutifully follow through with his orders – it was just that those same orders didn't seem to make sense sometimes. They were supposed to be working together as a unit and here he was trying to undermine that unity. Again, he stopped himself. He knew that this kind of mutinous thinking would have gotten him thrown into an Army stockade decades ago. If he verbalized his thoughts now, the NSA would likely banish him to a desk job in some Podunk town, or strip him of his pension and maybe even boot him out of the agency entirely. Casey couldn't decide which was worse.
There was no point thinking about that now. Agent Walker already knew. The question of the moment was: What on-going impact would General Beckman's orders have on the future of their team?
As he rolled out some of the building schematics, a familiar uniformed individual appeared on the screen. Speak of the devil, Casey thought. He saw her out of the corner of his eye and instinctively turned to face the superior officer just as he had been programmed to do long ago. But he didn't immediately snap to attention this time. "Morning General."
"Major Casey, when is Agent Walker scheduled to arrive?" Even from 3000 miles away, the General could sense that the Major was not his usual self.
"0800 General, but she will probably arrive early given the circumstances."
"What circumstances?"
"General, she knows about my orders. I don't know how she figured it out but I am certain of it."
"Major, you mean to tell me that you couldn't keep a simple mission like this from Agent Walker?
"General, I haven't talked to Agent Walker with the exception of the few words which were said during our briefing with you last night. But, there can be no mistake--she knows."
Beckman frowned.
"Well, that's going to make things considerably more difficult," she curtly responded.
Major Casey took in a deep breath. "Permission to speak freely General."
The General was taken aback for a moment. She had not seen Major Casey take a stance like this, ever. She nodded her head.
"General, in my estimation, I have been successful in securing the Intersect's allegiance. But, Bartowski also has a strong bond with Agent Walker." The Major was careful not to allude to his own tie with the Agent. He knew that the General would be even less interested in his personal feelings than he was himself.
"While Agent Walker was gone on the Barnes interrogation, Bartowski had no flashes of any kind. He was on edge all week ma'am, with the exception of the time he talked with Agent Walker on the phone when she seemed to calm him."
He continued, "Bartowski's family and friends have a growing emotional attachment to Agent Walker. If we are going to continue to have the Intersect out in the field at this point, I believe that we need Agent Walker to secure his cover."
"You should also know General, that over the past few months in particular, I believe that we have worked much better together as a unit." He was careful not to use the word 'team'.
There, it was done. He couldn't take it back now, even if he wanted to. He was unsure as to how his 'free speech' would be received but he had felt compelled to say something. As he stood there waiting at attention, he wondered what Walker would have thought if she had overheard this conversation. Before he could stop it, a small grunt escaped his throat and he quickly turned it into a muffled cough. He hoped the General hadn't caught it.
It was now the General's turn to respond.
"I see, Major Casey. And I will take your concerns under advisement. At this time, we will table any efforts to reassign Agent Walker and she will remain a part of this detail."
"Know though, I have grave concerns about the safety of the Intersect especially after Fulcrum has once again infiltrated the BuyMore. I am seriously thinking about placing Mr. Bartowski in a secure facility the next time the two of you can't manage his protection."
Those last words shot through the screen in front of Major Casey and rang in his ears. He clearly understood her meaning.
"We'll do this again at 0800 when Agent Walker arrives," the General continued.
"One more thing Major, you brought up several interesting points . . . don't get in the habit of it."
The screen went blank. Major Casey gave a satisfied half smirk and let out a breath through his nostrils. The second time he had confronted a superior was just as satisfying as the first. Maybe this time would yield different results.
July 28, 1996 – Just outside of Hartford, CT
While he finished up his Chinese food in the B&B, Steve thought back to a conversation that he had had earlier that morning with his daughter.
Ellie Bartowski was reading the morning edition of The Hartford Courant. "Isn't this awful dad? Who would bomb the Olympics?" He looked up and saw the headline she pointed to:
. . . . . . . . . . Olympic Tragedy, But Games Go On. . . . . . . . . . .
"Yeah Eleanor, there are always people out there that just seek to tear down everything that is good."
"But dad, that's why it's up to us to not let that happen," she responded well-beyond her 18 years.
He smiled. "You are so much like your mother; I'm going to miss you when you're gone."
"Oh dad, I'm just going to college," she said as she put down the paper and smiled at him. She was so full of promise like any high achiever of that age.
"Yeah . . . I know," he said weakly.
Ellie knew that today was the day and that her dad needed a little extra care—it was her parents' anniversary. She scooted her chair back, and moved over to give her father a reassuring hug. He smiled up at her and hugged her back but when he did something else caught the corner of his eye.
As he glanced at the bottom right corner of the newspaper on the table, he felt sick. They were going public and he wouldn't be able to do anything to stop them now. As the acid began to eat away at the lining of his stomach he looked again at the newspaper headline which read:
. . . . . . . . . . Roark Industries Announces Ground-Breaking Image Technology. . . . . . . . .
He didn't need to read the article. He was responsible for it. Of course, when he developed the technology, he thought that it was going to be used as simply a vast improvement in electronic data storage – a way to encode any type of document as an incredibly compact image, eliminating the need for OCR scanning or massive magnetic storage facilities.
The article on the table was completely silent as to the real purpose for the 'Omaha Project' as his boss Ted called it. When Steve initially accepted the assignment with Roark Industries, Ted Roark wasn't exactly forthcoming in his plans for developing this image technology. It was only later that Steve discovered that he had become knee-deep in Roark's covert operations and that there was no escape for him or his family. Big Brother Ted was always watching.
The inner-dread within Steve started to manifest itself on his face. Of course, his daughter had no idea and she just attributed his frown to "dad being dad" on his anniversary.
Chuck stumbled into the kitchen and sat down at the table. He was not a morning person.
"Glad you could join us," Ellie said as she walked by her brother and muffled up his hair.
"Hey! Don't do that, you're gonna mess up . . ." Chuck started to protest but was cut off by his kidding sister.
"You're just going to band practice," she giggled, cutting him off.
"Yeah, well try not to remind me. You know I'm the only guy in the whole band that plays the flute," Chuck said rather pathetically.
Steve looked up at his bantering teens and said matter-of-factly, "Well, your mother loved it."
"Well, she's not here now is she?" Chuck said with a slight disdain.
"Chuck!" Ellie rifled back with a wide-eyed look. Not today.
With his sister's tone and expression, Chuck realized that he had gone too far. He looked down at the paper in front of him and saw the news about his dad's company.
"Hey, what's this dad? It's about Roark?" Chuck pointed to the newspaper and read aloud.
"Roark Industries announces the development of its new image encoding technology. Founder and C.E.O. Ted Roark stated, 'There's an old saying that pictures say a thousand words. We, at Roark Industries, have made that statement a reality! Our new technology will help businesses eliminate paper files altogether. We anticipate massive cost savings to corporations and even the government. We have been working on this process for years and now it's become a reality!'"
"That's fantastic dad! You did this!"
His son's youthful praise was the furthest thing from his mind. Steve felt as though he was going to faint.
Steve used to analogize his work to 'bullets.' Bullets by themselves were relatively harmless. It was only when they were put in a gun and the trigger was pulled that they became dangerous. So what if he only developed the 'bullets'? The problem was that Roark's hired 'gun'—Cliff Siljak—had now put those 'bullets' to deadly use.
Cliff had been given free reign to put the images that Steve helped develop into some poor unsuspecting soul's brain. Cliff had worked for years on the Omaha Project as the CIA's top brain researcher. When Ted Roark brought Cliff into the fold Steve knew that he was in over his head. Cliff was nothing short of a Josef Mengele. His experiments were more torture than science. Just the day before, Steve had watched one of those experiments turn a young volunteer's mind into mincemeat. And then when he protested, Ted threatened him and his family. Ted's exact words were "If you expose what we are doing here, I'll use your son as our next test subject."
"Ted Roark's a genius! It's so great that you work for him," Chuck said naively.
"Look son, don't believe everything you read or see . . ." Steve responded and looked up at the light fixture in the ceiling. Big brother Ted was surely watching.
". . . and one day you'll thank me for it," Steve finished.
Chuck crinkled his eyebrows and looked back at him strangely.
Steve looked back at his son sadly. He felt as though it was going to be the last time he'd ever see his face. He'd never get to see him grow up to be a man. He'd never get to see him fall madly in love. He'd never get to see him fulfill all of his life's destinies. But Steve knew that this way, at least, his son would get to grow old.
"So have fun at band practice, I'm gonna . . ." he paused and almost broke down, ". . . I'm gonna go get pancakes."
As Steve made his way out the door, he noticed a recent picture of his kids from Ellie's high school graduation sitting on the end table by the door. He picked up the frame and studied it; it was the one thing that left the house with him that day.
From somewhere in the deep recesses of space, Ted Roark was indeed following Steve Bartowski's every move.
January 2, 2009, 0730 – Burbank, CA
From the castle's surveillance cameras he watched her every move. He watched her as she swiftly unlocked the door to the Orange Orange, glided through it, re-locked the door and moved to the back freezer area. He shut off the system quickly as her eye scan registered and gave her access to the lower recesses of the base.
Agent Walker had planned to get to the castle base before Major Casey arrived to carefully plan out her method of interrogation. As the door opened and she made her way down the stairs she steeled her resolve. One way or the other, she was going to get to the bottom of what was going on. She had a pretty good idea that it had to do with the CIA getting completely cut out of the Intersect mission. Of all the ironies! The CIA worked on this project for years and when it finally worked, the NSA wanted to come in and take over the entire operation. The truth was that she really didn't care about any of that. All she really cared about - deep down - was Chuck. And if the only way she could ensure his safety was through her continued role as a protector of the Intersect, she was going to do whatever it took to make it happen.
She walked over to the monitor screens and detected warmth from them. They had already been in use that morning. Before she could investigate further she heard a familiar voice.
"Morning Agent Walker, you're early," Major Casey announced.
"Nice to see you too, Casey," she answered dismissively. She looked back at the monitors. The heat from the screens told her that the Major had already had at least one briefing that morning.
The Major picked up on her glance. She was good.
She turned away from the displays and planted her hands on the table in front of her staring straight at the man standing on the other end of the table. "Look Casey, I've got one question for you. Whose idea was it to have that briefing last night?"
Of all the ways that he thought she would begin this conversation, that question was not one of them. But then again, that really was the question, wasn't it? Was the NSA trying to break them apart? Not the Intersect and the CIA. Not even the Intersect and Agent Walker. He knew what she meant even better than she did. She was really asking, 'at what length were they going to go to keep Chuck and Sarah apart?'
He pressed his lips firmly together and considered his response. He made his decision, he would 'own up' to her.
"Agent Walker, I was following orders. I gave my report earlier that night. During my report, I disclosed that you had returned. I was told to ensure that you did not leave with the Intersect. . . . Plus. . . ," he paused and continued more slowly, ". . . I personally wasn't sure if the two of you were in your right heads that night." He looked at her slightly tilting his head downward and raised his brows. He remembered that kiss.
She did too. She looked back at him and tried a little too hard to dismiss his expression and the last sentence, "I don't know what you're talking about."
He tilted his head slightly to the side. "Are we going to do this again? Look, Juliet, your little forbidden Romeo has had no flashes of any kind since Christmas Eve. He's been on edge all week, except for the time he talked with you on the phone, and even worse – he's been listening to freakin' Coldplay. Coldplay, Walker. My ears just can't take it anymore."
Before she could stop herself, Sarah let a chuckle escape. As she tried to maintain her composure, the Major continued.
"You should have seen him with that CPR doll before you called—it was just plain sad. I did everything I could within myself to hold back the quips—but I mean he was just 'puckered' out."
"Wait, you told Beckman about that?" she asked.
The Major looked at her wide-eyed, "Well, obviously not that part."
She smiled nondescriptly.
"I did report that Bartowski's family and friends have a strong emotional attachment to you. That he performs better when you're around. That it was my belief that we work better as a unit."
"You told her all of that?" she asked, her inner-resolve was softening.
He nodded once and maintained eye contact with his partner.
Sarah knew what it meant for Casey to have told her what he just did. Major Casey was a career soldier, yet he had basically just divulged to her the plan that had been laid out to replace her. He had more than confirmed that General Beckman and the NSA were at the forefront of the scheme. And she knew that Casey had gone along with it because he had orders. That's what soldiers did, they followed orders.
He looked determined not to break eye contact first. She held his stare, drawing from her training to keep her face expressionless, her eyes impassive.
Still, she thought, he had obviously stuck his neck out for her. He didn't need to tell the General that Chuck's family and friends were close to her, that Chuck worked better with her in the picture, or that they all worked well together as a team. It wasn't a trivial olive branch to be sure. She pondered the right move here. After several seconds of deliberation, she made the decision: If there were any allegiances that had been formed there that day, they were between Chuck and Sarah and Casey. She quirked an eyebrow at him.
"So you missed me?" she joked. The tension in the room fell immediately.
"Walker, I miss you like I miss working a day at that ridiculous electronics store."
January 2, 2009, 0930 – Burbank, CA
Some thirty feet above the reacquainted federal agents another reunion was about to take place at 'the ridiculous electronics store.' A long absent nerd herder fumbled through the doors of Buy More. In the distance wafting from the audio installation bay Peaches & Herb's song Reunited was playing. All of the green shirts looked up—their mentor, the one they all wanted to be like--no scratch that (they all wanted to be like Chuck)--the one that they all were like, had returned. They all made their way to meet their formerly missing comrade-in-arms.
From behind the nerd herd desk Lester was turned away from the spectacle. He was on the phone trying to get another appointment with his chiropractor even though he had already been released to work full duty and in spite of the fact that she had taken out a restraining order on him. Lester sensed the commotion and turned. He dropped his phone when he saw who it was: His long lost pal! The Lloyd to his Harry! The Venkman to his Spengler! The Flounder to his Pinto! The Napoleon to his Pedro!
They locked eyes. A big grin came over Jeff's face while a shy smile escaped from the smaller half-Indian half-Jewish guy from behind the nerd herd desk. As Jeff watched, Lester, lit by ethereal luminescence, spun around and over the nerd herd desk. With a hop, skip, and jump which could have been compared in some circles to the 'Julie Andrews Sound of Music move,' Lester arrived face-to-face with his best buddy. In truth, Lester had just walked over, but to Jeff (who was still hallucinating from the drug cocktail that the CIA interrogators had given him), it was pure magic.
"Where you been?" Lester asked.
"Fighting the SCUM of the universe," Jeff smiled.
"Ahhhh, a little Dungeons & Dragons, a D&D tourney, my friend?" Lester asked.
Jeff smiled. He didn't see the need to correct his friend. He was just too happy to see the pal that added the 'ster' to 'Jeff-ster'. Besides, the world was safe, for now, and he was a hero. He saved his mom, Lester, BuyMoria, and even Roscoe from the aliens. All was right with Jeff's world, as much as it ever was anyway.
"Benny's tonight?" Lester asked as he raised his palm for a high-five.
"On!" Jeff responded with an awkward fist instead of meeting the five.
There was nothing like having his wingman back for a deep fried sampler and the low-hanging fruit that tended to frequent the Bennigans on two-for-one night. It was good to be back.
In his office, Big Mike was busy completing a voluntary resignation form. He looked down at the file in front of him and said, "After 20 years, Mr. Barnes, it's a shame to see you go."
The sound of voices out on the sales floor broke his short elegy. He looked up from his desk to see what all the commotion was about and spied a familiar face. Well, well… the prodigal drunk had returned. He smiled down at the paperwork—he hated paperwork. He stood up and ripped the form in two.
From inside his office Big Mike shouted, "Jeff!"
Everyone in the store turned. Big Mike walked out of his office and over to the crowd.
"My boy Jeff," he remarked, with a wide, self-satisfied smile.
"Hey Big Mike, you got any doughnuts?" Jeff smiled.
"Get over here, I got a chocolate sprinkled one just for you," Big Mike said as he opened his own personal 'manager's' box of doughnuts for Jeff. The assembled crowd gasped with astonishment.
"So many tasty options . . ." Jeff recited by rote, looking into the box of pastries while slightly freaked out by Big Mike's uncharacteristic generosity.
"Just pick one . . . and where you been!?" the store manager demanded.
Jeff grabbed a pastry and was about to tell Big Mike about his adventure saving the world but predictably he was cut off by his impatient boss.
"Truth is . . . I don't care, you just saved me a boat-load of paperwork," the big man bellowed.
The manager looked at the staff surrounding them, "Now get back to work people!"
[What does Steve do to protect his kids? What's with this Roark guy anyway? How does Chuck end up in California? All of this and more in the next installment of Chuck v. The Burning Man.]
STAY TUNED FOR: Chapter 8 –A Chilly Time For The Bartowskis – part 2
[A/N: If what you read strikes you in some way, I'd love to hear about it! I'm notorious for putting your suggestions in the story. If you post a review, I promise to send you a scoop as I work on the next chapter! And for all of you who got the 'Job' scoop--don't worry it's coming, even sooner than you think.]
[A/N: Poa—I hope you enjoyed the MacGyver-ism, it was just for you!].
