Chuck v. The Burning Man
Aardvark7734 – You are the best beta reader ever!
A special thank you to Aardie, jagged1, Poa, and Timewalker05 for your nominations of me and this story in the Awesome Awards. There couldn't be a better beta, better reviewer, better friend, or better writer in the Chuck universe! Your support and belief of me in this little experiment of mine has been nothing short of amazing! I am honored and humbled at the same time.
On that note, all you readers out there be sure and vote in the Awesome Awards located in the Communities Forum. It's a great way to support truly awesome writers like Poa and Timewalker!
[The events in this chapter begin after Chuck v. The Lethal Weapon]
Because the Sarah Walker German Shepherds won the dogster personality tests, I wrote a bonus section on her just for you!
It was great fun reading the barks of BQD Dragoon, Miss Nellie Cat, and Poa (all shephards), Fire From Above and Wepdiggy (the collies), Jagged1 and jessclifton (da' Goldens), Blue Eyed Brigadier (our Labrador), and utuu (my fellow Bulldog)! Just remember it doesn't matter what kind of dog you are as long as you let your bark be heard in the review section! That being said, this bulldawg hopes you enjoy a howling bit of Hawt Sweet Emotions. . .
Chapter 14— Hawt Sweet Emotions--part 1 (Phonography Is Never Much Phun)
3/11/09
It was like any other Wednesday in the land of BuyMoria. A classic music video from 1991—Aerosmith's Sweet Emotion was playing on the wall of televisions in the background as the store prepared to open. The green shirts led by their bearded one were not engaged in their typical pre-opening rituals—re-shrink wrapping DVDs that had been procured from the night before, warming breakfast burritos in one of the display microwaves, screwing with Emmett's perfectly staggered break schedule, checking their Facebook accounts on the store's display computers. No, they weren't even putting in a quick back nine on the Wii. Instead, this morning they were all gathered in the home appliances section spying on the activity at the Nerd Herd technical support desk with unexpected interest.
"Gentlemen, watch and observe the creature we call 'desperate man' in his natural habitat." Morgan said to the group of BuyMorians around him as they all focused on the center of the store. "Notice the sweaty palms, flushed face, and frazzled hair as the manimal discovers . . ."
"Hey . . . What's goin' on?" asked a taller and much cooler nerd who often had sweaty palms, a flushed face, and frazzled hair . . . but just not at that moment. No, Chuck was not the subject of observation that morning—at least not from the green shirts.
Morgan grinned to his best buddy in the whole world and remarked, "Hey Chuck!" He then re-focused his efforts on the green-shirt groupies around him. "Notice what happens when this creature learns that his unlimited cell phone coverage did not include . . . 1-900 numbers." Pondering this bit of nature-guide information, Chuck shifted his gaze from Morgan to the support desk that everyone else was quietly observing.
The urban electronics safari watched from a safe distance allowing the various washers and dryers, refrigerators and ranges to serve as cover—a 'nerd blind' if you will. They were peering at the one-time assistant manager; normally the most starched and pressed Nerd Herder in the store, become unglued before their very eyes.
"No, no, no, no, NO! This can't be right?!" A $3700 cell phone bill? How could all of these calls have been 'mistakenly' charged to him? He scanned through the invoice and noticed hours upon hours of calls to one number—1-900-BUY-LOVE.
She was charging me for those calls? The whiny little Indian dude whimpered, "How could Bunny have done this to me?"
From a safe distance behind one of the Magic Chef ranges, one of the newer green shirts asked, "Bunny?"
Morgan turned to explain, "Bunny. Now there's a tale for the ages, anyone got any grape soda?" Another member of the pack opened one of the display Frigidaires and pulled out a cold one and handed it to their fearless safari guide.
Morgan popped the top and took a sip, "Ahhh… that's good. Now where was I? Oh, Bunny. Bunny Love. She wasn't your average cottontail. No, this former green shirt really hopped to Lester's rescue in the fall during his all-too-brief all-too-long stint as the Assistant Manager of this very establishment."
"Lester was the Ass Man?" a smaller fro-headed newbie asked.
"Oh yes, and what an Ass Man he was," the bearded veteran began, only to have Fernando whisper something into his ear. "Right, I'm getting to that . . .um. . . Fergie?" Morgan responded unsure of his silent co-worker's name. He turned back to his other disciples and continued, "See, Lester with all of his big world education, came up with a terrible, but as it turned out, terribly fun sales approach—he called it 'The Friendly Negotiation Sales Strategy'. It was terrible in that we were practically giving the merchandise away but it turned out to be terribly fun when we had to come up with a boat load of cash to close the gap in sales."
"How did you do it?"
"Well my buddy here, Chuck, reminded us about the keggers we used to throw. . ."
"AAH Morgan, I disavow all knowledge of that craziness . . ." Chuck piped in with crossed arms in the back of the pack.
"Alright, alright, well . . . Chuck was not here that night. He was out with his beautiful angel, the Miss Sarah Walker that night . . . ," all the male green shirts let out a collective sigh. Morgan continued, ". . . while we hosted BuyMoria's first and only all-night kegger."
"So what's this have to do with Bunny?" one of the overly eager teen greens asked.
"Patience my young padawan," Morgan turned to him and continued, "See, Miss Bunny Love managed the door all night and ensured that we hit the $3700 short fall from Lester's failed sales experiment."
"So she saved BuyMoria?" the teen asked.
"In a manner of speaking, Bunny saved all of us from the certainty of being thrown overboard by the Big Man himself. And then she even gave Big Mike flowers!"
"What a smooth operator! She must have been HAWT!" said the green teen.
"Oh god No! Ask yourself, when have you EVER seen a hot piece in this store that wasn't here visiting my man Chuck . . .well, . . . other than the scary but delightful vixen that is Ms. Anna Wu?" Morgan quickly added the last bit partly out of fear that his sex-crazy Asian kitten might cut him off from their daily romp in the break-room and in part because he luuu…liked her very much. "No, Bunny Love was no playboy bunny. She did, however, have one of those deep throat-y voices that if you heard on the phone might lead you to believe she was well . . . a lot like this beauty." Morgan pointed to the wall of television screens still showing the classic Aerosmith video Sweet Emotion. "Only she really looked more like the beached whale at the end of the video than the swweeettt love bunny shown here."
"So did they hook up or something at the kegger?"
"Oh no, but when Bunny left she gave each of us her business card and told us to call her," Morgan said shaking his head.
Fernando pulled out his wallet, ripped open the Velcro, and pulled out a crisp pink business card. He handed it to one of the green-shirted newbies who read aloud, "Bunny Love, for a good time call me. 1-900-BUY-LOVE." A roar of laughter began from the center of the pack and emanated outward loud enough to distract the object of their observation. Lester looked up momentarily from his monster of a cell phone bill and noticed the crowd in the home appliances section.
"Shhh!" Morgan lowered his outstretched hands and waved them in a gesture to settle down the greenies in the urban bush . Then he continued with his indoor voice, "Perhaps Lester didn't realize that he was 'B-U-Ying' all of his time and now Bunny has hopped her way off with Lester's livelihood. Which reminds me . . . all you young bucks, always remember that 1-900 numbers are never 'just a good time'. Oh, and one more thing: Be careful, because every once in a while you might get Jeff's sister on the line." Morgan said, shaking all over as if he had the willies.
"Bartowski! Get those green shirts to work, we're opening in 5!" Big Mike bellowed from inside his office.
Chuck looked around at the group. They all knew the drill. Besides, Chuck was the coolest. All he had to do was make a move and the rest of the BuyMorians followed his lead.
Still by himself at the Nerd Herd Technical Support Desk, the distraught skinny Indian dude was trying to figure out where he went wrong. When Bunny left, she had just started her own business which was really taking off. Lester being the astute management professional that he was he had taken a keen interest in Bunny's new business and had decided to keep in touch with her after she left the Buy More.
Admittedly, Bunny wasn't much to look at but her sexy phone voice was really something. Lester remembered calling her for the first time during the hostage stand-off at the Buy More on Christmas Eve. That crazy guy had allowed each of them to call their loved ones. What was that guy's name again? Fred? Ted? Jed? Yeah, that was it--Jed.
Looking back, after 'Jed' let him make a call Lester remembered that there was no way he was going to phone his parents that day--they would've expected him to do something heroic in the situation. He wouldn't have called his cousin Kumar either; Kumar Patel was a lawyer and would've likely ended up charging him some ungodly amount just for taking his call. That's when Lester thought it would be clever to check in with a "Love-d" one. So he dialed Bunny Love's number. He remembered the first time he called her like it was yesterday. Hi there you've reached the LOVE chat line, looking to chat with someone special? Press 1.
He remembered pressing 1 and reaching her right away. Ever since then when the low hanging fruit at Benny's didn't pan out (which was pretty much every night), Lester gave Bunny a call. But their calls weren't phonography. Rather, they talked about everything from his parents' impossible standards, to what gigs Jeffster was trying to get and even his inadequacies being the one-time 'Ass Man' at the Buy More. Since the holidays, Lester had pretty much talked to Bunny each night about everything but what 'desperate men' usually called 1-900 numbers for.
But unlike the 'Friendly Negotiation Sales Strategy' that she had learned under his tutelage, Bunny Love wasn't giving away the merchandise even if Lester hadn't been looking to buy it. Lester looked over at the wall of televisions and realized that with Bunny Love, he was being charged for every penny of time that he spent with her discussing his Sweet Emotions even if these emotions weren't about her at all.
What am I gonna do now? He started to pull at his winged hair with his free hand as he crunched the numbers with the eraser of his pencil. At $11 an hour he only made $1936 gross a month. He subtracted that amount from the total bill ($3700-$1936) and came up with $1664. Thank goodness for that upper level business math course at his alma mater—El Segundo State. Dividing that amount by time and a half, he figured he'd have to work over 100 hours of overtime this month just to pay his cell phone bill. Was the store even open that much? Just as Lester was about to give up all hope, the true leader of the land of BuyMoria came over to the desk.
"Is everything alright Lester?" Chuck asked as he leaned back on the counter of the desk. When he did, a clear plastic box fell out of his pocket. Lester didn't notice though because he was too busy crunching the numbers.
"No, Charles. I've got to come up with a lot of money fast, any ideas?"
"How much money exactly? Cause . . . I don't think Emmett's the kind of Assistant Manager who would let you throw a kegger in the store." Chuck gave a concerned half grin.
Lester handed Chuck his scribbled math notes and Chuck figured the numbers in his head. "Well it's not $1664, actually it's $1764."
"What?!" Lester screamed, taking his freak-out to a whole new level.
"Look Lester, we'll have to talk about this later. The store's opening. But don't worry, I'll take the first customer," Chuck responded as an elderly octogenarian dressed in a pink blouse and grey tweed skirt with brilliant white hair measuring all of 4'10" directed her attention to Chuck. Even for her advanced age and diminutive stature it was apparent that this woman had been a knock-out in her day, however long ago that was.
"How can I help you ma'am?" Chuck asked, shooing Lester to the side.
"Yes, could you assist me with . . . ahh . . . some conversion questions I have about High Definition sets? I'm looking at buying a television for the kitchen of the Happy Heights Senior Center," the elderly woman remembered.
The customer's final comments drifted off and away into Chuck's subconscious as a familiar tingling came from the back of his neck, followed by a bit of nausea in his stomach. His eyes glazed over and rolled into the back of his head as the voice recognition information in his brain confirmed and flashed forward an image of a Cherry Jello Mold. This photograph in his mind broke into red tinted images of 1940s era British and German passports along with OSS credentials interlaced with photograph after photograph of a much younger striking beauty. The photos were varied and included a shot of the woman dancing on the Kriegsmarine's Bismarck while in port and even one cooking with another woman for German SS officers while dressed in a peasant outfit in what must have been Vichy France. Numerous images of dead German officers followed along with a commendation from President Truman for services made in support of the U.S. war effort rushed back into the fold all to end with the same shot of the Cherry Jello Mold.
"Jello?" Chuck blurted out when he suddenly snapped back to reality.
"Jello?" the elderly woman asked.
"Oh, yeah. Jello, love the stuff. It's like mmm good when you have a sore throat or when you just want a red tongue. You know Bill Cosby loved the stuff, oh, and they're great as shooters . . . but you aren't here to shoot anyone, uh, I mean shoot any Jello are you?" Chuck mumbled on nervously with a fake grin.
"Are you okay young man?" The lady squinted through her reading glasses.
"Oh, right. You wanted a television so that you can watch cooking shows while you are cooking. . . maybe that's why I thought of Jello because you used to have to cook it and let it cool but now it's all ready in a flash—so to speak . . ." Chuck realized that he was mumbling again but not before he could stop himself, ". . . you know my sister Ellie loves to watch Top Chef, but I'm more partial to Julia Childs classics."
"You don't say? Julia was a dear friend of mine during the war, although that voice of hers could grate on your last nerve when we were in the middle of an assignment. . ."
"Assignment?" Chuck asked with interest.
"Cooking assignment," she corrected herself, not unlike another person who every once in a while tended to reveal seemingly unimportant life details in like fashion. "But you know, that was a long time ago before my kids and grandkids. . . ." The woman's eyes snapped back up to meet Chuck's and seemed to regain focus. "So, tell me about the televisions and don't stand too close to them this time, it looked as though you flaked out or something just a moment ago."
Chuck proceeded to inform the elderly lady about the finer points of the HDTV conversion (immediately forgetting that this subject had been the topic of pretty much every station over the broadcast waves for the last six months). All the while, he couldn't help but wonder about this former agent's life. From all outward reflection she appeared to be a kind, distinguished, elderly lady who had obviously retired long ago from life as a spy. From the information contained in his flash, it was apparent that she had lived a covert life when duty had called all for the sake of her country. He noticed her wedding ring and smiled. She was married and even had a family. A family, Chuck marveled. Perhaps retirement as a spy didn't always mean a bullet between the eyes or a shot of ricin in the neck.
Perhaps, spies could retire to live normal lives.
Chuck couldn't help but shift his thoughts away from this long retired spy to another spy – one he hoped would retire from saving the world someday and live a normal life with him. If only he could get this blasted Intersect out of his head—then maybe he could live the normal life he deserved with her.
Three hours or so earlier across town inside room 832 of the Maison23 Hotel
He deserved a normal life. In truth, Sarah was coming to think that she did as well--not that she ever let such selfish thoughts leave the comforts of the four walls of her hotel room. She was still coming to terms with even having these thoughts. But this morning in particular, she couldn't help but enjoy the calm oasis that was just hers without all the cameras, without the microphones recording every word, without the constant chatter of intelligence-gathering supercomputers, without even the constant bell ringing in her ear when some new customer came into the CIA-operated yogurt establishment. Here, there was nothing to distract her from the calm, sweet emotions she let course through her mind – and warmed her in other places she didn't dare verbalize.
An early morning ray peeked through the sheer curtains in her room and stabbed at her eyes – she turned her head with a grunt, scoffing at nature's weak attempt to roust her. Nothing in the world was going to motivate her to get out of bed this morning. As much as she needed to get up and get ready for the day, the comforter's warm cocoon was far too soothing, too reassuring. She feared that the moment she committed to the day, her fragile emotions would escape with the fleeting darkness – their pleasant effect but a memory in the growing light. So she threw the covers back over her head and let the warmth envelop and surround her—all the while helping her hold on to her thoughts of him as long as possible.
She loved the CIA-issue fifteen-hundred thread count sheets and yes, the tough-as-nails agent knew that she was getting soft. But it wasn't the luxury sheets that convinced her to linger, luxuriating in the feel of the soft cotton next to her skin. No, something else was responsible for these unexpected sensations.
It was Chuck, of course. Last night he had completely blindsided her. Then, before she had time to realize what he had said, he was gone. And thank god for that she reminded herself. Sarah simply had no idea how she would have reacted if he had remained with her. If he had pressed her for a response. There was simply no telling what the blasted surveillance would have recorded. Would she have relied on her training to shoot him down again? Or would she have thrown everything away – all that she had worked for – just to let him know how she felt? The fact that she even considered the second question felt treasonous. Then again, there was no denying the strength of the emotions that, even now, surged within her, imploring her to be honest with him. It would feel so good to be honest with him.
Sarah let out a long sigh as she quickly pulled the sheets back to cool her jets before she lost all control. She sat up and ran her fingers slowly through her hair, pulling her bed-head tresses back from her face while noticing herself in the mirror. As she wiped the last bit of sleep from her eyes she realized that the real source of her deliberations was literally staring her straight in the face. The conflicted thoughts she was having were exactly why agents were taught not to have feelings; they were liabilities that couldn't be controlled. Admittedly, her emotions were something she had struggled with in the past but she had finally gained a command of them – almost to the point of not feeling anything at all. At least, until recently. And now here she sat cross-legged in her bed, elbows planted firmly on her inner thighs, hands covering her mouth. As she stared forward at herself, she thought again about what he said to her the night before . . .
I'm crazy about you, and I've always been . . .
I'm going to live the life I want with the girl I love . . .
She replayed his confession in her mind as her chest felt heavy from the true weight of his words. Then, slowly, a smile crept across her face, sneaking its way beyond the hands that covered it. It was a rare smile – one that had last escaped her the morning she cooked breakfast for him in the 'burbs. A smile that gave away something real. The smile of a girl who knew what it was like to feel . . . something. What that feeling actually was she was hesitant to pursue, but it was a feeling she recognized all the same. A warm sweet emotion she had almost forgotten existed within her.
The shadows from the furniture continued to lessen while the growing light from outside illuminated the deep recesses in her long dormant soul. She let out a heavy deep breath and gathered the covers up and around her holding the warmth close to the core of her body. He had told her that he was going to be with the girl that he loves. He loves?
It wasn't that she was insecure about her ability to seduce a guy like Chuck. She'd coaxed many men into believing they were falling in love with her. But this was different – she hadn't been trying to seduce Chuck. He'd fallen for the girl he'd seen day in and day out, in all kinds of situations, some flattering, many not. The girl she'd been unable to keep completely hidden from him. And this girl had more of herself on display than she felt comfortable with. The realization was sobering. He sees me.
'But how could he love me?' she sighed. She couldn't shake the feeling of inadequacy - that she wasn't worthy of him and his professed love of her.
The thing that baffled her most was that his admission came after she gave him what he said he wanted—to breakup again. She had sensed that a breakup was coming. She had practically caused it when she told him they couldn't go back to the 'burbs--that it was only a cover. But what could she do? She was in the Orange Orange—the most heavily bugged place in all of Burbank next to Chuck's apartment and the Buy More. But the latest break-up was even worse because Casey was listening in the adjacent storage room, no doubt hanging on to every word that was said. Still, Sarah had chosen her words carefully in the hope that no one would catch on to what she was saying—except for Chuck. She remembered telling him. . .
…we are taking things slowly and that while we enjoy each other's company we don't really feel the need to label it… and who knows what the future holds for us.
But his response — that's just another lie isn't it? We'll never really be together — told her that he had completely missed what she was really saying. It was ironic because she wasn't lying at all. She had told him the truth. They were taking things slow, she did enjoy his company, she didn't feel the need to label their relationship, and she didn't know what the future held for them.
With those thoughts, Sarah caught herself looking at the photograph on her nightstand of them arm-in-arm outside of Roan Montgomery's place. She reached over and grabbed the picture frame tracing the outline of his face on the photograph while considering his ill-conceived conclusion. And then she broke her silent contemplation and muttered, "You know, for a guy who talks about your feelings so much… sometimes you really could stand to listen. . . more." Sarah Walker was never a person of many words especially when no one was around to hear them, but these words were significant. She didn't mean them as a slight to him, he was such an amazing guy but sometimes he just pushed for something she couldn't give him. Like that day in the Orange Orange, she couldn't have said ''no' it isn't a lie'—all the eyes in the yogurt sky and specifically the 'major' ears in the adjacent storage area would perk up at that revelation. She couldn't have said ''yes' it is a lie' because the fact was she just didn't want to lie to him. And she certainly couldn't answer whether they would ever really be together. She threw the picture frame over to the other side of her bed. Sometimes he was so exhausting and . . . clueless.
Still, she couldn't help but stare silently at the photograph. She had given him what he said he had wanted. And now he was claiming that he loved her? Something just didn't make sense. What had changed? Sarah turned her eyes away from the photograph and toward the window. As she gazed into the eastern rising sun in the distance, she knew the answer.
Cole. Sarah recognized that it was hard not to be enamored on some level by Cole Barker. He had all the answers, he was so sure of himself, he was confident, he was a friend, he was a hero—all of the qualities she saw glimpses of in someone else who actually had . . . well . . . her heart—even if she still wasn't ready to admit it yet.
And apparently, he had taken the sage MI6 agent's advice to heart -- you want something bad enough don't ever take 'no' for an answer. While Cole Barker may have been talking to him about his quest to get the Intersect out of his head, what the smooth-talking lothario didn't realize was the real reason Chuck was on this quest. Even Sarah had previously had her doubts – that was until last night. But now she knew that when Chuck talked about getting the Intersect out of his head, he coupled it with the desire for something else—to live the life he wanted with the girl he loves. Could it be that the real reason he wanted the Intersect out of his head was that he wanted a real relationship with her? She shuddered and pulled the covers back around her.
What would happen if he did get it out of his head? Her mission to protect him would be over. Could she just walk away when she received her orders for her next assignment? The very thing that was keeping her here was the one thing that was keeping them apart. And once that thing was gone, her work would be done and she would have to move on. Did he really understand this?
She groaned and fell back to the pillows grabbing the covers on her way back down. But then, all of her serious silent contemplation gave way upon the realization that she had just assumed 'the Chuck' (as she had come to call it). She chuckled as she laid there on her back with her blankets covered all the way to her chin — snug as a bug in a rug. Really, could he have covered up any more under the covers when she stayed over at his place? It wasn't like she hadn't seen him—all of him. She smirked a little too much at the remembrance of the 'real' Chuck flash. In the midst of this guilty pleasure something else occurred to her causing her grin to fall. Perhaps, his frustration was exactly the reason he covered up like he did when she stayed over.
It had been easy to tell how hard all of this had been on him. She doubted that he had slept a wink during any of the nights of the latest 24 hour protective detail. But what could she say or do? Chuck wasn't the only one who was being watched 24-7, she was there too. Agent Walker was abundantly aware of the consequences for any breach in protocol. And her duty to protect him had to reign supreme over any desires that she might have to find out more about what was actually hiding underneath those covers of his.
As a mischievous smirk crossed her face, she caught herself. Where did that thought come from? It was a thought that she was having with increasing frequency. She pulled the covers over her head in a bit of self-reflective embarrassment. Sarah let out a deep breath causing the sheet above her to rise slightly only to fall back on her face lightly before she pulled it back away from her eyes. She knew that these urges were definitely getting out of control and if she didn't watch it she was going to slip up in a major way.
She was already forgetting simple things such as her pajamas when she had to sleep over at his place. What was that all about? She had remembered her toothbrush, her make-up, her work clothes, even her orange head band for crying out loud. Was even her subconscious working against her now?
She had played it off easily enough until he absent-mindedly gave her that t-shirt – the black one with the union jack flag on it. Karma must have a strange sense of humor. Chuck wore it when he came knocking on her door and Bryce was there. Chuck would've worn it the day Casey stole his clothes causing him to lose all the remaining dignity he had. And then Chuck gave her that same 'union jack' t-shirt to wear after she had made out with the uber-gallant British agent Cole Barker. If it hadn't been coincidence, she would've sworn that Chuck had been giving her her very own Scarlet Letter to wear to bed that night.
And then the next morning she had turned into a ball of nervous chatter. There was nothing that she could say or do which could've made their situation easier. In fact, the more they talked about whatever that thing was which was between them, the harder it became. Another naughty smirk crept on her face as she caught herself a bit too much with the innuendo of her last thought. As she laid there she knew it would have been utterly sinful to continue those thoughts and no, she wasn't that bad off, well not yet at least.
As she rolled out of bed, Sarah thought to herself, Cabo was Bryce's spot. Cole's was apparently Fiji. But where would Chuck take her? With her luck they'd probably end up at some seedy motel in Barstow. But in truth--that would have been fine with her. At least then she wouldn't have to worry about the oh-so-watchful and yes, voyeuristic eyes of John Casey. But then again, Casey wasn't anything like those creepy amateur surveillers Chuck worked with—Jeff and Lester.
Meanwhile Back In The Land Of BuyMoria
Lester continued to survey the damage before him. Chuck was right, he needed $1764. How could he earn an additional $1764 in a month's time?
"Why is this happening?" he lamented throwing his pencil down. Eleven bucks an hour barely covered the rent in his cousin's basement. Through his hopelessness, Lester realized that he would be 'turning tricks' again by the end of the week if he didn't figure something out. But he hated magic and besides the proposition to doing shows for kiddie birthday parties and bar mitzvahs was no way to earn cash fast. He needed an alternative solution. As much as he secretly admired Chuck, the guy had been no help. Lester needed a creative solution, one that was likely illegal, perhaps immoral, but definitely perverted in some shape, fashion, or form. He needed ideas from . . . Jeff.
Jeff would know what to do. He looked down at the clock on the desk in front of him--9:15 a.m. Although it wasn't during Jeff's customary break time, Lester knew that there was probably only one place that his friend would be. Since the end of Lester's unfortunate Assistant Manager-ship, Jeff had continued to receive special consideration that allowed for the unlimited bathroom time for both resting and relaxation. It wasn't that Emmett or Big Mike held this arrangement in high regard. Rather, it was more out of a sense of emotional self-preservation. Neither one of them dared to enter the second stall of the employee restroom out of fear that they might witness Jeff doing something with the lotion that he was always carrying in there with him. It truly was a small price to ensure that their worst nightmares never were confirmed as reality. Lester also knew better than to interrupt his bestie—there just were a few lines that even he was not prepared to cross.
But then he saw something else sitting next to the clock—a plastic case with an earpiece in it. Jeff must have gotten a new piece of hardware for his surveillance operation. Jeff had obviously left him a way to contact him. Lester put the earwig in his ear and spoke out, "Jeff?"
Suddenly he received a response from somewhere . . . "Briefing in 5."
"Huh?" Lester gave with a guttural response. "Oh, that's right, it's Wednesday! How could I forget?" 'Commando Wednesdays' had long been a tradition in the Burbank BuyMoria ghetto. "Alright Jefferson, Debriefing in 5." Lester nodded, spun around, and high-tailed it straight to Jeff's office.
Meanwhile, the all-spying voyeur of an Assistant Manager stood a few feet away and considered Lester's comments. The self-important man reached into his pocket to pull out his Dictaphone. He clicked the record button and made one statement, "Who has a briefing in 5?"
40 feet below or so a few moments earlier
"Briefing in 5," Casey repeated from inside the Castle trying to reach Chuck through his earwig. When the Major didn't get any response, he grabbed the remote access controller. He pulled up the real time surveillance footage from inside the Buy More and found Chuck being unavoidably detained by an elderly female customer. The Major put down the controller and watched the nerd as Chuck explained in yawn-inducing detail the conversion process to HDTV. The Major turned off the sound and sat in silence. "Sure would be nice to have a mute button on the next upgrade to the Intersect," he quipped. He knew all too well that Bartowski's constant need to express his feelings would likely be the team's undoing. But for some reason, the geek just didn't seem to understand. Chuck's problem was that he was just too high-strung.
In the Major's experience, for guys like that under his previous command, dealing with this 'problem' was usually an easy fix. He'd just get one of his sergeants to put a bag over their heads, throw them in back of a Jeep, shove a thick roll of 'George Washingtons' in their pockets, and then 'escort' them to either: The Cheetah, The Pink Pony Three, or The Mustang Ranch -- any number of those aptly named establishments designed to let the caged animal inside run free – well it wasn't free – but apparently, it wasn't anywhere near the cost of Patel's phone sex bill either. This strategy had worked on countless occasions to satiate once jittery troops before heading off into battle.
But a trip to the local 'Booby Trap' was out of the question. Walker would never approve and besides the nerd was too far gone for that. Chuck really cared for Walker. The past three weeks hadn't been easy on the guy. Casey thought about all that the earnest geek had gone through. Cole Barker saved Agent Walker's life not once, but twice. Barker was even tortured twice and he didn't talk. Forget Chuck – the Major recognized a little take-down envy of his own.
"Who actually lowers their take-down count anyway?" the Major gruffed to himself. Agent Barker had originally reported that he killed 9 guys when he escaped Fulcrum. But it turned out to be more like 12. What kind of weird rule of 3 was that? Casey remembered telling Chuck that he'd 'done 9 before'. But when he told Chuck that it was 'doable', he was really talking about 3 guys at once. After all, that's how the rule of 3 really worked.
And then there was that damn accent. "How in the hell did Walker resist that guy?" So much for her falling for the guys she worked with, he thought. Barker was definitely impressive; Casey grunted and rolled his eyes remembering the Brit's towel drop move. But Casey knew that guy had nothing on the nerd cheeks that was currently stuck talking to the geezer upstairs.
He didn't really know how it had happened, but the Major caught himself on more than one occasion during the Barker missions consoling the nerd. As much as he enjoyed ribbing the asset about his 'lady feelings' for the other member of their team, it was starting to feel cruel--like kicking a man who was already down. After things got all hot and heavy on Walker's mission to infiltrate Barker's pants, he had sincerely tried to get Chuck not to listen anymore. He really felt bad for him.
Still, asset management wasn't Casey's thing. The Major desired structure, order, and control—pretty much everything his military life once delivered. Unfortunately, Bartowski was the poster child for chaos. Working with him was often unstructured and usually disorderly. Worse, it was getting harder and harder to control the guy. Chuck treated orders as mere suggestions. With that thought, Casey half-growled at the screen until he noticed the nerd turn and appear to look straight at him. Maybe Chuck hadn't forgotten his earwig after all.
As much as the Major often hated this assignment, he had come to respect the nerd on some level (even if he'd never tell him that). The leadership Bartowski showed day-in-day out with the yahoos at that god-forsaken electronics store and the dedication he exhibited toward his sister and extended family were commendable. For a guy that had no covert training he had really stepped up to the plate recently during their missions taking down men one orange at a time at the Scrabble Tournament in Glendale, shielding Walker from the Dark Intersect while they were in the 'burbs, and even catching Busgang leg cast and all. Casey looked up at Chuck on the screen in front if him and chuckled. Nah, it had to be the nerd's innate ability to know which hors d'oeuvres to stay away from at Consulate dinners. That skill is what had finally won the Major over—one that the career military man had yet to master.
As Casey looked down at his watch, he heard the screen bleep and switch to reveal his superior. "Good morning Major."
"General," the Major responded standing to attention.
"I'll get right to it; I understand that you have confirmed Maury Cheeks has paid his entry fee for the National Scrabble Tournament."
"That's correct, General. But we have been unable to ascertain Mr. Cheeks' current whereabouts," the Major responded.
"Well, as you know, securing this man at the upcoming tournament may be the government's only shot at stopping our Predators from being taken over," Beckman responded sternly.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Since we have reason to believe that he will be in attendance, I want your team to proceed as planned. Once you capture Mr. Cheeks, interrogate him regarding his involvement with the dissemination of the Predator codes. Once you find out all you can, bring him in," the General instructed.
"And if he doesn't show?" the Major asked.
"Then you will commence with your contingency plan. You will have Chuck get a job at Roark Industries in an effort to find and then keep an eye on Mr. Cheeks," the General responded and continued, "Speaking of which, where is the rest of your team?"
"Well General, Chuck was unavoidably detained by a customer upstairs in the Buy More and Agent Walker is . . ."
The General interrupted, "Major, I don't care about Agent Walker as long as the asset is secure."
"I understand," Casey responded.
"Since we are no longer concerned with the threat of Cole Barker talking, I believe that the 24 hour surveillance detail can be placed on hold for now. Besides, we don't want this situation to become complicated do we Major?" Beckman asked with a cocked eyebrow.
"No, ma'am." the Major answered but not before the General signed off.
Casey let out a deep breath. He understood exactly what the General meant. 'Complicated' was code for 'feelings' in their line of work. Little did the General know -- the situation between Bartowski and his lady handler was well beyond 'complicated'. In fact, Casey thought to himself that it was good thing that General Beckman hadn't reviewed his unedited report or the surveillance footage from last night by the fountain. The poor nerd had basically come out and told Walker that he loved her.
Instead of thinking about Chuck, the Major considered his partner's feelings this time. What an impossible situation this was for Walker. Casey knew that she had feelings for the nerd. She had practically admitted it to Casey months ago. Still, he wondered where she had gotten the strength, the resolve, . . . the willpower to just sit there and not respond to Chuck last night. She was good. On some level, Casey wanted to empathize with his partner, but he knew that it was a luxury that neither he nor their team could afford. Their mission and cover, as exhausting as they were for each of them in different ways, were much more important than any personal indulgences.
At least he was relieved that he wouldn't have to tell the General that Chuck had already decided he wasn't going to move in with Walker. If the General's orders had stood and Walker had been unable to convince Chuck to follow those orders, she would be shipped out. And the truth was, Casey really didn't want to have to break-in a new partner just when they were finally starting to gel as a team.
Casey briefly turned to some paperwork on the table before he heard the back opening of the castle followed by the familiar quick shuffle and squeak of a pair of Converse Chuck Taylor All-Stars.
"Way to show up in time for the briefing, moron," Casey remarked not looking up from the paperwork that he wasn't really paying attention to. He added that last jab just to make sure that Chuck didn't think he was 'going soft' on him.
"Huh?" Chuck asked.
"You didn't have your earwig on did you?" Casey looked up with a half-cocked head.
Chuck patted down his pants pocket and realized that the plastic box with the listening device was not on him. Maybe it fell out when he was at the Nerd Herd desk. He wasn't going to alarm Casey now; he had a flash to report.
"Oh, no . . . sorry. Look, I just flashed on an old lady upstairs," Chuck stated with emphasis.
"Oh yeah?" Casey turned his head to face Chuck with new-found interest.
"Yeah, apparently she was in the Office of Strategic Services, you know, the predecessor to the CIA. . . during World War II but apparently, she's been retired since then." Chuck continued muttering, "You know . . . . I had no idea that spies actually retired."
"What'd you think that they euthanized us when we got too old to fire a weapon?" the Major asked.
"I don't know, I hadn't given it much thought . . ." Chuck said his voice trailing off.
"Well, what was she doing, numb nuts?" As usual the Major wished that the nerd would just stick to the facts and not his feelings.
"She came into the store to get a TV to watch while cooking and mentioned something about Julia Child," the nerd responded.
"Oh yeah? . . . You know, she taught 'Infiltration through Entertaining' at Langley for years," Casey said with a dead-pan delivery that was almost too sincere to be believed.
"Julia Child was a spy? How'd you know that?" Chuck couldn't believe it.
"Common knowledge Bartowski, it was all over CNN last fall," the Major responded.
"Wait, you watch CNN? I thought guys like you shunned the old 'Communist News Network'? I figured with your . . . bent . . . you'd be all over O'Riley or Sean Hannity or one of those other talking heads," Chuck rambled on.
"Chuck, I might be a card-carrying member of the NRA but I'm not a completely unreasonable guy. I can tolerate Ann Coulter because she's . . ." Casey let a half-smirk escape before he caught himself.
Chuck winced with a half-curled lip and cut the Major off, "Anyway, I don't think this lady is a threat but still it was a weird flash because I usually don't get images like that. It had a red tint so I think it might have been from the Dark Intersect but I'm not sure. All the information was from a long time ago so maybe it doesn't mean anything."
"Well, what was her name? I'll send it on and report it up the chain."
"I don't know that I got it," Chuck answered weakly.
"You have a really old flash about an unnamed 80 year old fossil that was looking for a TV to watch some cooking show and you don't know anything else about her? Wow! I'm glad to see that Intersect is delivering the latest in intelligence. I'll be sure to let the General know that our country's tax dollars are being put to good use watching your ass while you flash on every grandma and grandpa that comes to buy a toaster or Cuisinart. Just don't expect anything until she gives us the go ahead to get the OSS files out of storage and maybe while she's at it we'll get her to break out the Ark of the Covenant, the Zapruder film, why not a Terminator hand in a jar, or some other bit of completely useless information all for the purpose of WASTING MY TIME."
Chuck looked back at the Major and shut his mouth obviously deflated. Now was not the time to bring up Morgan's unique theory that the Governator was actually sent back in time to save all the Sarahs currently within the borders of the Golden State. No, that one would have to wait for now. In an attempt to save face, Chuck looked at his watch, "Speaking of time, Emmett's gonna start looking for us if we don't get back up to the salt mines."
Back to BuyMoria
As the two male members of Team Bartowski made their way back to the land of their electronic indentured servitude, they were stopped at the Nerd Herd technical support desk by none other than the sniveling slave driver Emmett Milbarge.
"Who had a briefing in 5?" Emmett asked.
"Huh?" Chuck and Casey turned and responded in unison.
"That Indian ass-kisser said, 'we have a briefing in 5' and then high tailed it out of here. I know of no such meeting, but I should. I am after all the Assistant Manager of this Buy More, am I not?" Milbarge asked rhetorically.
Chuck looked back at Casey and Casey grunted.
"So apparently there's some meeting going on at this backwater branch that I don't know about?" the Ass Man questioned this time waiting for a response.
"Look, I don't know Emmett. Uh . . . maybe you should check the restroom," Chuck responded with raised brows and a slight head tilt.
"Mr. Bartowski, as much as I love gathering intelligence, there are a few barriers that even I won't cross. Heading into the employee bathroom during breaks when the scrawny brown brown-noser has gone in there to meet that balding mutant after he's purchased a new vial of Vaseline is one of them." Emmett then turned to Casey and pointed into the tough guy's chest. "But you two will go in there and find out what all this 'debriefing' is about. Then you will report back to me pronto, understood?"
Chuck turned just in time to notice the white-knuckled fist of his handler was getting ready to man-handle the self-important ass of a man. Chuck stepped in front of Casey and responded directly to Emmett, "Right."
Before they set off on their new marching orders, Casey turned to the Nerd Herd desk and noticed the familiar clear plastic case that once held Chuck's earwig was sitting open and empty on the desk. He grabbed the case and shoved it into Chuck's chest saying, "Couldn't you have just kept it in your pants like everything else that you're not using these days?"
Chuck sneered and mockingly mouthed back the Major's quip as they made their way back to the employee restroom.
"Come on. Let's go check on dumb and dumber before they do any real damage," the Major croaked.
When they arrived at the restroom, Casey opened the door without a sound. As the male duo crept into the employee bathroom they could hear the un-dynamic duo of creeps luckily this time in non-adjacent stalls. Casey motioned for Chuck to follow him into the unoccupied stall between the two ones currently occupied by the two imbeciles.
"So, you didn't call me in here Jeffrey?" the unwitting pervert asked a bit perplexed.
"No, but you're always welcome to join me Lester, I find my time here so relaxing. Would you like some lotion?" the real pervert responded sliding the Vaseline under the stall toward Lester. Only the cream stopped short of its intended destination when it hit the Major's boots in the middle stall.
Casey gave Chuck a wide-eyed disgusted look while Chuck mouthed back, 'I'm gonna be sick!' No job was worth this brand of dirty work.
Lester lowered his head to grab the lotion but froze when he noticed two pairs of shoes had joined them in the restroom -- one set were the unmistakable Converse Chucks and the other set appeared to be the pervert who was obsessed with the one who wore the Converse shoes that bore his name. Lester slowly rose back up in disgust. How could they do that in an employee restroom? Perverts! Did Sarah know? But more importantly, 'How would he get out of here now?' Lester wondered.
"You alright, Lester?" Jeff responded two stalls over.
"Noooo. . . Nooo . . . NOOO!" responded the shorter Indian in the far stall. "Look, all I heard you say was debriefing in 5! Commando Wednesdays is one thing but whatever it is that is going on here now, . . . well. . . I don't want to know," Lester responded as he ran out of the stall straight to the sink spraying water all over him before jetting out all in a matter of 2.2 seconds.
"Lester?" Jeff said quickly following his buddy out of the restroom.
As the door slammed shut, the male members of Team Bartowski exited the stall that they had both just shared with thoroughly confused looks on both of their faces.
"Well, he definitely has my earwig. Could he have heard anything about what you talked with Beckman this morning?"
"Don't worry . . . I'll take care of it." Casey remarked with a grin and sure nod.
[How far will Team Bartowski go to find out what Lester knows? This question and more in the next installment of Chuck v. The Burning Man.]
[For a bit of interactive fun: Name the episode that had Bunny in it! The first reviewer to guess correctly will win a special prize!]
[For an extra special prize, be the first reviewer to correctly list the three towns where the four 'establishments' that Casey used to take his 'jittery' troops are located!]
[Also as per our agreement, free 'double scoops' of upcoming Burning Man goodness to all those who review!]