A/N One timing element in canon that's a little hard to reconcile is the juxtaposition of the meeting at the café with the playing of games in Castle. Budapest is six hours ahead of us on the East Coast, so a 1 PM meeting there equates to 4 AM in LA, a little early for a game 'night' unless it was running really late from the night before. I'm also not sure what Sarah thought Morgan was supposed to be able to do for the team in Budapest, while he was in LA playing games, but at least it kept him occupied.
"So how's she doing?"
"We could just ask her."
"Was anybody hurt?"
"I couldn't tell."
Washington DC, two years ago…
"Surprise," said Chuck, taking his hands from her eyes.
Sarah, ever suspicious of surprises in any form, examined her surroundings with a keen eye. Bare wood floors, clear to the walls, no furnishings for terrorists to hide behind. Candles on the floor, along the mantle. A light supper laid out on the floor, an indoor picnic with cushions. "This is our house?" she asked. She turned. A red front door. Outside, in the meager light of all the candles, she thought she saw a white picket fence. She, who hadn't had a home since she was nine, immediately felt at home here, where there was nothing except the two of them.
How did he know? He didn't know how much she hated surprises, so how could he have known about this?
"Can be," said Chuck. "My signing bonus will cover it, but it won't be our house unless you want it to be your house." Please let me be right, please let me be right. It was, in a way, his first mission as a spy. After all their work in high-end surroundings, Chuck knew what he didn't want, and after all those game nights in the apartment back in Burbank, he thought he knew what Sarah would like. The CIA-supplied list of available houses sort of trended away from homey and simple, which perhaps was a factor in the generosity of the bonus, but he wasn't the Intersect for nothing. Something about this house said 'Sarah' to him, maybe the door. She always looked so good in red, and he had a vision of her opening that door for him, or coming in that door as he made dinner. "Just say the word."
She turned back to her husband of less than a week, stepped into his embrace, and said the only thing he wanted or needed to hear. "Perfect."
Washington DC, two years later…
Sarah was getting antsy, waiting for Chuck to wake up. She herself had had only a small nap that morning, before her worries drove her away from the bed, and she knew that once she set her plans in motion she would crash big time. Which was fine, there would be time to crash, at that point.
She couldn't set those plans in motion without Chuck, though. They'd promised each other no secrets and no lies, a promise which, technically, she'd kept even up to that day, but it sure felt like a secret to her, if not a lie. Is it a secret if no one asked about it? He'd never asked before, but she'd gone to the trouble of asking him not to ask , to be sure he wouldn't.
Not that she couldn't tell him, especially not now. The only point the secrecy ever had was to prevent what had already happened, thanks to Vivian. If Ryker was going to come back into the picture, all secrets were null and void, and a little backup wouldn't hurt. But she was still going to kill that bastard herself. "This mission wasn't sanctioned by the CIA, was it?" And he'd smiled!
Until she put a bullet in his shoulder, that is. Technically she shouldn't have opened fire in a crowd at all, but he'd already been lining up to shoot her, so she'd aimed at his shoulder, where the bones would keep the bullet inside his body. She could possibly have killed him with a second bullet, once he had the sidewalk at his back, but someone who'd kill a child for money wouldn't go down easy. With this infant's life at stake she couldn't risk the consequences of an extended gun battle, or arrest, so she bugged out instead.
She checked the area around the motel carefully.
Did he have more men? Could he have more men? Probably not, this was his Big Score, and he wouldn't want to be sharing it with anyone, especially not that little girl. Who was all alone in the room. If she was still in the room at all.
Panic was no substitute for good tradecraft, but she made it back inside the room in record time. No one, except for a crying baby. She felt less threatened running from Ryker's gun. Um, let's see, diaper, check. Food, check. She'd just had a nap. What else was there? Oh God, what do I do now?
She needed help.
"I need help, and you guys are it," said Sarah, as Chuck and Casey sat before her at the table, sucking down yet more coffee.
"Okay, first thing, Bartowski," said Casey, with his usual gung-ho attitude. "Get a new coffee maker, 'cause the one you got is crap."
Sarah somehow failed to notice his blinding wit. "Deal with it, Casey," she said. "I've got a desperate situation, a fortune at stake, innocent lives at risk, and an unknown number of hostiles who will stop at nothing and kill anyone who gets in their way."
"I'm in," said Casey, with Chuck not far behind. If Carina had been there she probably would have said it too, so it was a good thing she wasn't there. The damage to her hip was worse than it had appeared, so much so that Devon was keeping her close by for medical reasons. Fortunately she had access to some excellent therapists, and he'd make sure she saw them, too. There was no way she'd be up for any missions soon, so why make her feel bad?
Except she would feel even worse if they didn't ask her. There had to be something she could do, even when she could barely sit. Sarah parked that one in the back of her mind. Maybe Chuck could think of something.
"So talk to us, Bartowski," said Casey, stepping into her wool-gathering pause with all the finesse of a combat Marine. "How desperate? What innocent lives, at what risk?"
After keeping her secret so long, Sarah's thoughts twitched sideways reflexively. "Here's what I can tell you." She turned the computer to face them. The screen held a picture of a man, with no accompanying information. The document next to it was covered in black ink. "This man is named Kieran Ryker. Former CIA, very dangerous."
"More dangerous than us?" asked Casey.
"In Budapest he sent eleven men to kill a wealthy couple so he could take their fortune."
"Eleven thugs against two socialites?" asked Chuck. "Doesn't sound too bad so far."
"Then he had one…guy go in and clean up the eleven."
"Now that guy sounds like a bad-ass, I'd watch out for him," said Casey. "But this Ryker? Unless he was the guy, I'm still thinking candy-ass lightweight."
"Then he intended to kill the guy and keep the fortune for himself."
Chuck raised his hand.
"Yes?" asked Sarah.
"I'll take 'unsuccessful bad-guy plots' for five hundred, Alex."
Sarah smiled at her husband's blinding wit, while Casey grumped into his coffee mug. "Unless it's the guy you're afraid of, and this Ryker clown is just a shill."
"Casey, I am the guy," said Sarah. Was the guy. A monster, just like Ryker. Never again.
"I knew that," said Casey. "Just checking. So what are you afraid of, then, 'cause I'm not seeing 'desperate' so far."
"Well, here's where it gets complicated," said Sarah. She flipped one hand palm up. "The wealthy couple…" She gestured with the other hand. "…had an infant daughter."
As usual, Chuck took that thought and ran over the goal line with it before anyone else even knew it was in play. He didn't even have to flash. "Why would Vivian Volkoff hunt down a missing heiress for someone like him? I doubt it was for the money."
Sarah forced the frog in her throat to shift, so she could get the words out. "It wasn't."
"So what did you do with the kid?" asked Casey, playing catch up and not liking it, as usual. Sarah had to have taken the baby, and Vivian would have hunted it, her, down for free, simply because it would hurt Mrs. Agent Charles.
"That's need-to-know," said Sarah. "And Ryker needs to know." She looked at Chuck. "I don't suppose she said anything helpful in those emails you read?"
He hadn't flashed on anything."Nothing actionable, but then she wouldn't, would she? I mean, sure, she'd do it just to hurt you, but why not get a little quid for all that quo?"
"That's good, that's good," said Sarah, high on adrenaline and too-little sleep."Can you send an email using her account?" Chuck gave her a wounded look. "Set up a meet for tomorrow, Kavezo Mjelka, 1 PM Zulu. He knows me so you'll have to go, as Vivian's representative. Casey can be your muscle."
"Why can't I be the muscle for once?" whined Chuck.
"Just playing to your strengths, sweetie," said Sarah with a smile, but no kiss, because that meant she'd have to get up out of the chair. "You come off all cool, suave and confident without even trying, while Casey's got that whole tear-your-arms-off-and-beat-you-to-death thing down pat."
Casey shrugged. "It's a gift. But isn't this kind of fast?" Even with a chartered jet they'd be cutting it pretty tight.
"We have to get to him before he hears about Vivian," said Sarah.
"And if we do?" asked Chuck.
"Then I find out what he knows, what she told him. Once I know that little girl is still safe, I can kill him."
"And what am I supposed to do while you three are off gallivanting across Europe, sit in Mr. Doctor's guest room drinking goddamn smoothies?" said Carina into her phone. She tried to sit up, finding it hard to be angry while flat on her back. "Ow."
"Need I say more?" asked Chuck. "But to answer your question, Carina, I have a mission that only you can perform."
Carina sagged against her pillows. "I'm barely-capable-of-walking wounded, Chuck. The commode breaks are killing me, and that's right next to the bed."
"So that's a no on the smoothies, then," said Chuck. "The point is, Ellie won't try to do anything when you tell her where we're going and why."
Do what? I can take–ow!–no I can't. "You're helping a child, why would she do anything except say 'go, you' and nominate Sarah for sainthood?"
"She had the night from hell last night, tomorrow night is game night, and I won't be there."
Oh, crap. The night that put the 'no' in 'Snoresville'. "Oh, that's not fair. Game night, and I can't run away?"
"Come on, it'll be fun…"
"You keep using that word. I don't think it means what you think it means."
"Inconceivable," said Chuck.
"Look, I'll cover for you on the whole mission thing but game night is out," said Carina. "I'm just gonna call Martin. Let him and Alex take one for the team while I get Davis to pick me up and we have our own game night." Her man and her room, now that was fun. She swiveled her hips in anticipation. "Ow." Or not.
"Okay," said Chuck, sounding slightly miffed, "But no Budapest-ian souvenir for you."
"You mean, like one of those cute little rustic mountain village Sno-Globes?"
"Oh, you like those?"
"No."
Budapest, 1 PM local time, at an outdoor café…
The man standing by the table exuded an aura of menace, an attack dog waiting for a target. The man sitting at the table, with the wall at his back, gave off an aura of calm and control, keeping his dog on a leash. "I see no one resembling the target," he said softly, none of the passers-by close enough to overhear.
The attack dog, facing the other way, grunted softly, as if in response to whatever his master may have said. Nothing coming from that direction either.
"It's just one o'clock now," said Sarah over their comms.
A waiter appeared, carrying a small cup of strong coffee on a tray, with a glass of water, and placed them on the table in front of Chuck, before continuing down the street. Chuck lifted up the cup.
"Don't drink it," said Casey.
"Give me some credit, Casey," said Chuck, putting the cup to one side. "Jeez, you act like I haven't learned anything in the last three-plus years." He lifted up the napkin, reading the message. "Where's Vamhaz Korut?" He felt discreetly for his Hungarian phrasebook, which should have had a map in the back.
"It's a street, south end of town," said Sarah, familiar with that area. She knew where Ryker had to be, but still they had to go through the motions.
"Sounds kind of open-ended, as directions go," said Chuck.
"Probably get more instructions once we get there," said Casey, looking for the next bus.
"Keep me in the loop," said Sarah. "I'm going to follow that waiter."
The two men in suits got on the bus as Sarah reached the street. Sarah saw Chuck looking out the window as the bus started and knew he saw her, but he wasn't about to break cover, nor was she, for anything as blatant as a kiss on the wind. As the bus turned the corner, the waiter Sarah was looking for stepped out of a doorway down the street, saw her looking at him, and took off.
Woodcombe residence, early in the morning…
Carina Miller was up an about, bright and early, to take her morning dose of the antibiotic Devon made sure she took. He kept it in the kitchen, the sadist, so that she'd have to get out of bed and walk a bit to take it. Somewhere overnight her body had learned to deal with the damage, since it didn't hurt nearly as much to hobble about as it used to. She was nerving herself up for a trip to the bathroom when the doorbell rang.
Carina opened with all due caution. "Martin?" she asked with some surprise. "Alex. What are you doing here?" she asked as they came in.
"Devon called last night," said Morgan, taking off his coat. "When you reminded him about game night and Chuck not being here, he called to reschedule, but I told him we could do a game day instead."
"I thought you slept during the day."
"Not anymore," he said proudly, taking his and Alex' coats to the closet.
"They promoted him," said Alex. "The secure booth, the catering service, and of course his unique appetizers, made the restaurant so successful they promoted the manager, and of course there was only one logical choice to take his place…"
Morgan picked it up from there. "So I had to give up the breakfast gig at the B&B, but now I can afford the full rent, so…"
"Well…um, congratulations…"
"Thanks. I know we're early but Devon said Ellie was feeling down and you were planning to clear out today, so I thought we'd come over and use my highly-trained breakfast making skills on your behalfs. Behalves?"
How…considerate. There went that escape plan. "Um…" Maybe she could call Davis from the bathroom.
"No need to thank me, or even to stand, really," said Morgan. "Why don't you settle yourself in the dining room, I'm sure Alex would love to keep you company, and let the Master of the Kitchen work his magic."
"Um…" Sarah? Anyone? Help…
Sarah drew ever closer to the fleeing waiter, using the path that her target had to make for himself. The closer she got the easier it became, the easier it became the closer she got. Soon she'd closed the gap enough that a simple tackle brought him down in a pile of trash to break their fall. Sarah dragged him further back into the alley, away from prying eyes. She pushed him up against a wall but he slid to the ground, and stayed there.
"Where's Ryker?" she shouted in English, but the man only seemed to be confused by the sounds coming out of her mouth. She repeated the question in Hungarian.
"I do not know any Ryker," he answered, with panicked speed. "A man came into the shop and bought the presszókávé. He paid me twenty thousand forint to take it to the man sitting at table outside, with a note. I couldn't read the note, I swear! It was in English, except for–"
Somewhere in one of the apartments up above, a baby started crying, its wails echoing in the alley, and she lost the thread of his explanation
Crying! Crying! What do I do? What do I do?
"Why did you run?" she shouted harshly, to drown out the sudden surge of anger. Anger at Ryker, at her own helplessness, but interrogating possible suspects was something she knew how to do very well. Again he looked confused, and she realized she'd shouted at him in English again, so she repeated the question.
"My girlfriend and I, we had a fight," he said miserably. "I thought you were her sister, she has this same coat…"
The baby suddenly stopped crying. Sarah stepped back, unconsciously relieved, giving the poor man some space. "Get up," she said, remembering to say it in the right language this time.
A woman started singing up above, her words echoing in the alley as the child's cries had done. Sarah didn't know the words but she knew the tone.
A lullaby, her mother singing a lullaby over the phone, calming herself and the baby at the same time. Such a simple thing, forgotten over the years of her father's complicated double and triple lives. Lost among her many aliases, none of which had ever had a lullaby sung to them by their mother.
The waiter noticed her flicker of inattention and struck, his fist impacting her jaw and knocking the back of Sarah's head against the wall. He dragged her into a corner and searched her, finding her tranq gun and putting it to good use. Then he got out a phone and selected a contact. When the connection picked up he said, "Mr. Ryker?"
A/N2 I always thought Sarah being distracted by that fake baby in the mansion was a silly idea, since she'd used the same ploy herself. Turns out a real baby works just as well.
