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As of 30 Jan 12, I don't own Chuck et al. Even though the show has finished, and Schwedak don't need them anymore...
The last time I updated this, it was late summer in the northern hemisphere, so I've kept the 'hot nights' theme going, despite the fact there is now something called 'snow' scattered across chunks of the continental US.
What is 'snow?' and how do you use it?
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GOOLE (n.) – The puddle on the bar into which the barman puts your change.
Douglas Adams: "The Meaning Of Liff."
Music referred to:
"Yakuza Girls" by Cold Chisel – Check it out on iTunes. Caution – rude words.
"Painless" by Baby Animals.
"Shine On You Crazy Diamond" by Pink Floyd (specifically the 'Delicate Sound of Thunder' live album).
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"Chuck! Get your ass in here now!"
"Casey, it's a strip club... I just don't feel comfort...Urk!" Chuck uttered as Casey ushered him gently into the dark club.
"Get some beers, I'll clear a table."
It being three in the morning, there were tables available. Casey found one near the stage, and close to the three counter agents they were tailing.
After five minutes, Chuck felt his way cautiously in the darkness to join him and placed the beer bottles on the table. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noted the lack of coasters. Or doilies. Or female patrons.
"Twenty two dollars! Two beers! Twenty t-"
"Chuck? You're drawing attention," Casey growled.
"Hey... Chuck! Its Chuck!" came a voice both Casey and Chuck knew. The voice continued, "Lester, wake up, its Chuck!"
"Oh God," groaned both Casey and Chuck.
Chuck let his forehead rest gently on the table. After the four foot drop onto the table, his forehead hurt. But thinking of the painkiller he now needed gave Chuck an idea.
He sat back up. Great, now his head spun in conjunction with the throbbing from his head banging. "Casey, have you got a tranq gun?"
Casey looked at Chuck for a moment, then over at Jeff, who was waiving cheerily and calling, "Yoohoo!" at them, and Lester, who was still slightly passed out.
Casey nodded, "Good idea. You do it."
Since it was hot, summer had decided to have one last surge a month late, Chuck hadn't brought a jacket. Casey took the mag out of his air pistol, ejected and passed over three tranq darts to Chuck.
Chuck, looked at the little darts in his palm, swallowed and nodded. He took a three dollar swig of beer, and got up to head over to his fellow Nerd Herders.
As he got to them, he clapped both of them on the shoulders, sticking a dart into each of them as he greeted them with a 'I'd rather dangle my genitals over a running blender' grimace and warbling, "Hey guys!" His voice changing pitch five times during those two words. It was just like being a teenager all over again.
Lester jerked awake, looked at Chuck and slurred, "There's-no-way-that-was-leg-before-wic..." before resuming his previous position of face down on the table.
Jeff stared vacantly at the empty stage/runway for twelve seconds before saying, "Ow," in a puzzled tone and blinked a few times before looking at Chuck.
Jeff's second dart worked a further nine seconds later. Jeff managed to utter proudly, "My sister will... be... back... on... soo..." during those very long nine seconds, before he too went thud.
Chuck tottered back to Casey on legs that felt like cooked spaghetti and drank the remaining seven dollar ninety nine worth of his beer in three gulps.
Casey growled at him, "Nice going, moron. They check for idiots sitting there with an empty beer. Go buy another. Better make it three."
Seven minutes, and a further thirty two dollars ninety seven cents later, Chuck resumed his seat. At these prices, he needed a drink. But then, at these prices, he couldn't really afford to...
Casey powered up his Bluetooth earpiece, and using Chuck's hack, listened into the live mike on one of their target's phones.
It worked fine, except nothing was happening. Then a raucous drum intro let them know that the stage was about to be occupied. The song featured some gravelly voiced singer who was yelling about a 'bus load of yakuza girls.' Chuck's first beer had settled down nicely, and Chuck found himself nodding along to the beat of the song.
When Sarah strutted onto the stage, he stopped nodding. Not that Chuck noticed, but everyone else in the club also stopped drinking for the remaining two minutes, twenty seconds that the song lasted.
Two minutes, thirty five seconds later and Chuck was seriously contemplating installing a brass pole in his bedroom.
It wasn't because of the music, good as it was. There was a different reason the entire room sat there, stunned, mouths open, drinks untouched.
Sarah was wearing a small gold bikini. The kind that the bottoms tie up at the side... Chuck loved those...
Normally.
Now, a whole room full of guys were looking at flesh that Chuck had fairly good reason to presume exclusive viewing and drooling rights to. Flesh that didn't normally see the light of day, even if it was actually indoors. And three a.m.
How was she doing that? Some of it defied, or at least had special dispensation from, the laws of gravity. Chuck regretfully decided a brass pole in his bedroom would be a mistake. Ellie would ask questions... maybe in Sarah's hotel room...
Casey leaned over and closed Chuck's mouth with a clack, saying, "No, I am not loaning you the tranq gun."
The next song was slower than the first, but still a rock song, sung by a woman with a smoky voice. The men in the room stayed very still. Sarah was focussing on the three counter agents sitting around a very small table. They were focusing on her. They were focussing on her with a concentration level approaching monomania.
Casey grumbled to himself. While Walker was flaunting what the moron was drooling over up there, the mission was going nowhere.
Two more guys joined the table of baddies. The music segued into a slower, older song. Casey recognised this one, a live version of one of Pink Floyd's songs. Now Casey was nodding in time to the music too. He liked Floyd. Their 'The Wall' album came out when he was in his last year of high school. Ever since then, he'd listened to Floyd when he could.
Walker slowed to match the music, basically doing a 'white guy two step' in time to the beat, except what Walker was doing was far more, Casey hesitated to use the word sensuous, but... She was writhing her body in time to a Stratocaster that still gave Casey goose bumps. The room slowly came out of its stupor, and murmured conversation resumed.
Casey hit 'record' on his phone. Even with a slower song playing, the noise was too loud to be perfectly sure as it happened live, but later on, they'd be able to filter out the music – Casey had that recording – and they should get a clear voice reading. Walker was focussing on her marks, but every once in a while she'd check out the room. He noted she made sure to find Bartowski every time. So long as neither of them did anything to flip a mission, he'd turn a blind eye. And since they'd started doing it, the disgusting stomach turning longing looks had stopped. He supposed they were good for each other. Just so long as they didn't name a rugrat after him...
Pink Floyd eventually ended, and Sarah left the stage with one hundred and thirty seven dollars, not including the thirty Euros, tucked into various portions of her bikini. She felt an overwhelming urge to shower and hurt people, not necessarily in that order. The 'shower' phase of her urge would need specialised assistance in washing the eye slime off. The 'hurt people' portion of the festivities would have to wait.
Casey's ears pricked up. The deal was happening now. Oh shit! They were using the wrong laptop! The two new arrivals had provided their own means.
With Chuck's hack, the plan was they'd get the transaction and be able to track both the target's and the Fulcrum cell's financials.
Only the Fulcrum sellers weren't playing fair. They were using their own computer. Damn, damn, blast and damn. He glanced over, Chuck had realised the problem too. Crap! And Walker would be at least five minutes leaving backstage. Five minutes they didn't have.
Chuck was on his phone, frantically trying to increase his hack on the buyer's cells to reach out and touch the new laptop, but he didn't like his odds. He really needed his work tools for this.
Casey realised it was a bust, and grabbing Chuck, he headed across the street for the parking garage, before the deal broke up. Chuck valiantly tried to keep working the problem on his phone.
Casey quickly took in the parking level. The Chevy their targets were driving was there. A quick check on his tracking app, and yes, the tracker was still functional. Ignoring 'Loretta,' the once white Mitsubishi van that had what looked like a Polecat peering out from the drivers seat, there were three other cars that had pulled in since team Bartowski had arrived.
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Chuck saw they were getting away. Honestly, the plan was very safe. Casey had emphasised, if he saw them getting away, pretend to be a civilian (not that much of a stretch) and pass near them to get the plate number. All he had to do was get the license plate. And there was even a crossing conveniently near for him to do just that. So he stepped out onto the painted crossing, and pretended to have not seen the car ten feet from him. That should give him time to memorise the plate number.
Buh bow. They decided to not stop. Which was a problem for pedestrians currently eight feet from the front bumper.
Make that four feet.
Uh, make that...
Oh shit!
Chuck put his hands out onto the hood as he hopped backwards, thinking they were going to stop.
Any second now, they would stop. Annny second now...
Casey had once called it situational awareness, although at the time he'd been talking about being at the controls of a Super Hornet over somewhere that didn't particularly like having Super Hornets (or much of anything wearing insignia related to the United States of America military) flying overhead.
Chuck's situation awareness presented him with the problem that he was now in a 'cattle race,' a concrete ramp with no safe zone on either side. He did the only thing he could. He jumped on the hood, grabbing the lip of the hood near the wiper housing.
He honestly expected them to stop and let him off. Which was a problem now. They didn't.
And if anything, they were gaining speed. There was now way Chuck could let go and fall off to one side now, on the passenger side was a constant concrete wall. If he hit that, he risked bouncing off it and back into the wheels of his current (and uncomfortable) ride. On the driver's side, were support columns for the parking structure. No. Just no.
At least they weren't shooting at him.
And then Chuck reserved the right to kick himself later, provided he lived, because the passenger seat guy got fed up with trying to wave Chuck away, and decided to do something about it involving a largish looking hand gun (he thought of asking Sarah later, and then realised she probably wouldn't be in the mood to discuss weapon types as seen by 'a weapon clueless asset while clinging for dear life onto the hood of a car.'
And then with a buhdoomp! they were on the street.
Which didn't stop passenger from trying to shoot Chuck. A quick glance told him that there was no oncoming traffic, Chuck let go and rolled off the hood on the sidewalk side.
While the car was doing what felt like about fifteen miles an hour. Once he was free, the car sped up, and shot through the lights, turning left to a chorus of honking horns.
Chuck discovered to his amazement, he'd survived fairly well. Without quite knowing how, he was in a crouched position, watching the car drive away. So he must have spun as he bounced. Then he realised his right elbow hurt. As he got up, inspecting his elbow, his right knee let him know it wasn't happy either.
He'd lost some skin, but he was alive. At least until Sarah found him. This was going to be fun. He knew she'd kill him for 'risking the Intersect.'
As Chuck was getting up, he discovered his ribs hurt, and as he was feeling his lower ribcage, he discovered his fingertips on his middle fingers had gone numb from about the middle of the last part of the finger to the tip. That was probably from the death-grip he reasoned. Casey's Vic came to a screeching halt beside him, and Sarah – now changed back into her black shorts and Orange Orange hoodie – was at his side while the big Ford was still bouncing on its shocks.
"Sweetie, darling, swee – Ow!" Chuck greeted his blonde CIA handler has she wrapped her self around him. And then she hit him.
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They were back inside Castle. It was too risky to go home now. It was after five in the morning and Ellie and Devon could wake up. Sarah sent a message on Chuck's phone to Ellie telling her that she'd taken Chuck back to her hotel, because it had been too hot and they wanted to sleep in her air conditioned room.
After that, she viciously (and silently, unlike Chuck) painted something red and stingy onto Chuck grazes.
He'd tried to explain, but she wasn't listening. Her silent treatment was very loud.
Casey just ignored them both. Until he came into the little medical bay that Chuck claimed needed something called a 'hollow doctor.'
"Bartowski!"
"Present! Ow!" Chuck replied to Casey and the stingy red goop in that order.
"Can you explain to me why I have a new active tracking dot?"
"Um, well, I had the dot in my hand when I took up hood surfing..."
Casey stared at the tired and scared nerd for a moment, "So you stuck it under the lip of the hood." Chuck nodded," That's pretty good... Chuck."
Chuck tried to not let his eyebrows show surprise at Casey's use of his first name. Sarah failed too.
"Presence of mind in the face of danger," admitted Casey to no-one in particular, "Oh I accessed video from the parking garage and also an ATM across the street. Walker? You might want to have a look at it."
Bizarrely, Chuck thought for a moment that Casey had winked at him. Casey? Winking? Oh, he had to see this.
Everybody tromped back into main ops. Casey had the video ready on two screens. The video from the ATM was first. The angle showed the exit from the garage on the right and the street up to, but not including the lights.
When Casey clicked on play, Chuck's feet hovered just above the pavement as the front of the car came into view. The feet picked themselves up, and from the gutter onwards Chuck rode with his knees bent up. The car swung onto the street, and swerved twice before Chuck landed on the pavement. The muzzle flash of the passenger's gun showed twice during the swervage which probably saved Chuck's life. There was no sound in the video, so they missed hearing Chuck's girlish screams. Sarah said nothing during the video, and didn't look at either of them.
"This," said Casey moving to the other screen, "is from the parking garage. Watch." It showed the drive ramp and the crossing. The Chevy drove through first. And then Chuck's feet came into view. Chuck realised his own memory was different. As he recalled it, he had time. The video showed he would have needed to react within half a second. The Fulcrum team gave him no time, and drove deliberately at him. Sarah hissed, and her hand grabbed his good arm when the bumper drove into his legs. The video Chuck was left sprawled on the hood as the car drove out of shot. It all happened a lot quicker than Chuck thought it had. Aside from her grabbing his arm, Sarah hadn't reacted to the video.
Casey rewound it, and played Chuck greatest hit again. "Walker, cut him some slack. He had no time to react. His placement and timing was spot on, we just didn't count on them deliberately aiming for him. Chuck, nice move to add the tracker. That was pretty good work," he finished quietly as he walked off, leaving the pair of them watch a screen of a now empty driveway.
From the next room, they clearly heard Casey say, "World's ugliest hood ornament."
They stood there in silence for a moment, her hand still holding his arm. Eventually she turned him to face her. By the light of the monitors, he could see she still had glitter on her face, and it continued on down to below the zip of the hoodie. The glitter below her eyes was tracked with tears. He moved towards her and wham, she held him tight, trembling.
"Don't you ever scare me like that again, Chuck Bartowski."
"Well, I didn-"
"I could have lost you," she whispered as she continued to cling to him.
He cupped the back of her head and whispered back to her, "Sorry." Her hair was all across his face, her scent in his nostrils and the woman he loved in his arms. Chuck was in a happy place. Even if his ribs hurt, and he had no feeling in two of his fingertips.
Maybe now wasn't the time to ask about having a pole installed in her hotel room.
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A little background on this chapter.
I work in the car park ('parking garage' to you Yanks) of a small shopping centre in Sydney's China Town. Dull job, so I have time to read and (sometimes) write a little fan fiction...
At 10:37 on the morning of Saturday the 14th of January 2012, a young dickhead driving his mother's Mazda decided to exit without paying. He waited for another car to leave, and tailgated behind them before the gate could come down. I saw this on the video, and stepped out of my office to have a little chat with him.
What happened next is described above, but without the guns (and Sarah Walker coming to cuddle me afterwards). The young dickhead plead guilty to Reckless Driving Occasioning Actual Bodily Harm (my skinned knee and elbow), and will loose his licence for probably two years.
My wife's reaction was subtly different from the way I described Sarah's. My wife was a lot more verbal. For a lot longer...