A/N: We reach Thanksgiving in this chapter.

HER GIFT

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Observing the Holiday

Chuck's phone rang as he climbed on his motorcycle Wednesday morning. He had been preoccupied with what he saw on his computer, his glimpses of what Sarah had been watching, and then his glimpse of Sarah.

It had ruined his sleep.

Sarah had been utterly silent when he drove her home Tuesday, looking worse than he had ever seen her. She had not looked good that morning, after the night of drink and argument with Carina, but her day had worsened her looks. Her cheeks seemed sunken; her eyes were redder-rimmed than in the morning.

Chuck did not push, despite the tumult of concerns and questions inside him.

He drove her home and abided by her silence.

"Hello?" Chuck said as he answered.

"Chuck, this is Hilda, Ms. Walker's housekeeper. She asked me to call you and tell you that she would not be going to work today. She's not feeling well."

"Oh! Does Mrs. Bennet know?"

"Yes, I talked to her just a moment ago, so that she could cancel meetings and rearrange Ms. Walker's schedule. Only a half-day was planned today, as you know, so there's not too much to rearrange. I assume I caught you before you left?"

"You did, barely. But I appreciate you saving me the extra trip. — Is she okay?"

Hilda was quiet for a moment. "Yes, Chuck, but I've never seen her so…low. I don't think it's physical. I don't know."

Chuck could come up with no excuse for visiting, so he finished the call. "Well, if she needs anything from me, anything at all, have her call me, or you call me."

"Thanks, Chuck. I will tell her. Bye."

"Bye-bye."

Chuck started the motorcycle and rode to work. It felt wrong to go to Walker Insurance without driving Sarah Walker there too.

The morning passed slowly.

The Conklin Tower, without Sarah in her office atop it, seemed like a blinded lighthouse.

As he sat at his office desk, Chuck e-paged through the biography of Sarah's father on his tablet.

He had gone back to the beginning, scanning the text, trying to think, to look for dots to connect. It had occurred to him as he motorcycled to work that one question about Larkin's espionage that had not been answered was: Why?

Why?

Graham at Nationwide could eliminate a competitor, but Chuck agreed with what had been said in Sarah's office yesterday: Graham would not put Nationwide in serious jeopardy to eliminate a smaller competitor, however up-and-coming. Graham had enough power at Nationwide to do much as he chose — Chuck had read several internet articles about Graham when he arrived that morning, reading them before starting the Jack Walker biography again. Graham and Nationwide stood to make a lot of money eventually if they could steal away the WI corporate clients, but even that did not seem to settle the Why-question. Even with his power, Graham had a board and investors he was answerable to, ultimately. Nationwide would, without someone funding the attack, lose money, and lose it for a while, and Graham, however much power he might yield, would be answerable for that loss. And the loss would be substantial and it would continue for a time, the length of the new contracts.

No, if Graham and Nationwide were doing this, it was at someone else's instigation, and on someone else's dime, so to speak. And it was likely the instigator and the funder were the same person or organization. But who would be motivated enough to lose a fortune to cripple or ruin WI?

Why?

Chuck was about to begin scanning the biography again when John Casey filled his office door.

"Hey, Chuck. I hear the boss took a sick day?" Casey sounded doubtful.

"It's true. Hilda, her housekeeper, called me this morning, just after calling Mrs. Bennet."

"She didn't look good yesterday, and that was before the meeting with Amber, with Gregory."

"She fired him, right?"

"Yes, although I wasn't privy to the meeting. Gregory came out of it looking less beaten than I would've liked. But he's gone. Ms. Walker told me yesterday that they worked out a Confidentiality Agreement. I don't quite understand that — but she didn't explain it to me. I sent Amber a note telling her that she needed to keep all this to herself. You too, Chuck."

"Okay." Chuck wondered about the CA, how Gregory got it, but he wanted to ask Casey other questions. "Have you started 'squeezing' Larkin?"

Casey smiled grimly and stepped into the office, closing the door. "I've put plans in motion. An old buddy of mine from my military days is, well, a gray-area odd-jobs jack-of-all-trades guy, kind of a fixer, you might say. He never really adjusted to civilian life and so he lives on the margins. I'm going to hire him to tail Larkin. I should have done it long ago, but I hoped we'd get more out of our reconstruction of Larkin's document pilfering."

"I could help," Chuck said eagerly. "Tell me to do some hacking. I have the rest of today since we only work a half-day. Let me see if I can find something. I can reconstruct what Larkin's been doing for the last few days. Between his phone, his debit card and his credit cards, his bank account, I can probably account for almost every minute of any day you want."

"Legally?"

"No. Frankly, no." Chuck had promised Ellie he would not do this ever again, but Chuck would do whatever was necessary to protect Sarah, to protect WI. The image of Sarah weeping haunted him.

"But I can do it without getting caught, and I will of course only be after information on Larkin, nothing else. I won't be stealing anything, endangering anyone, not even Larkin. I won't do anything illegal once I'm in — but just going where I will go is illegal. If I get caught, I'll take full responsibility."

"No, if you get caught, it'll be both of us. But — do you agree about this? — if we get caught, blame never reaches Ms. Walker? She told me to squeeze him but she did not authorize this, specifically. I did. Agreed?"

Chuck nodded without hesitation. "Agreed. I appreciate you putting your butt in the sling too, Casey."

"Make good on your promise, Bartowski. Do it without getting caught. — Can you work from here?"

"I could, probably, but I would rather not. I'll do it from home. My home computer is one that I've…tinkered with. Let's just say it's supercharged — for gaming, not hacking, but six of one, half a dozen of the other…"

Casey shook his head. "Don't try to explain it to me. Just do it."

Casey turned to go, then turned back to Chuck. "Your sister will dump me if I get you in trouble, Chuck" He stalled for a second; his voice thickened. "And I really don't want her to dump me. Don't get caught."

Chuck finished scanning the biography without an epiphany, any answer to his Why-question, but he knew that often the answer only came to him after he turned his attention away from the question, so he put his tablet away and decided to take a break.

He had too much on his mind. Larkin, Graham, Nationwide, Jack Walker, Gregory, Amber.

And Sarah. Always Sarah, first and foremost; she was on his mind and his heart. The thought of her alone at her apartment nagged at him. That room with the screens, Sarah in front of them, kept coming back to him. He had a feeling that he knew how Gregory managed a Confidentiality Agreement.

Chuck went to the cafeteria. The IT crowd was sitting as a group, minus Gregory and Amber, and Beth, at one of the large tables. Foss saw Chuck and waved him over. "Hey, Chuck."

Chuck bought a latte and walked to their table. Foss, Rondo, and Marian were seated together.

As Chuck sat down, Foss gestured to the empty seats at the table. "Beth took the week off to go visit her folks in DC. Amber has the day off; or, that's what she told me in an email yesterday. And Gregory is no more. He's just gone. Desk cleaned out, no trace left behind. — Do you know anything about Amber or Gregory, Chuck? They were both assigned to some top-secret job that the rest of us knew nothing about. But you move in the celestial realms, the upper floors; do you know something?"

Chuck sat down beside Marian, listening. He took a swig of his latte before he answered. "Nothing worth telling. I am in the celestial realms, but I'm not really of them. None of you are leaving town for the holiday?"

Foss shook his head. "My family is here, Marian's too." Marian nodded.

"My family is in Bangalore. Way too far to travel," Rondo offered. "Marian invited me to have dinner with her family."

Marian nodded again. "My folks are here but they moved from Louisiana. Rondo's gonna get some spice, but not the spice he's used to."

Rondo smiled at her. "My first Cajun Thanksgiving — hot sauce, not cranberry sauce."

Everyone chuckled and Marian gave Rondo a look that caused Rondo to tug on his shirt collar.

Foss gave Chuck a long, appraising look. "Thought you might be gone today too, Chuck, since Amber has the day off…"

"Amber and I aren't together, Foss."

Foss frowned. "Have you made that clear to her? Gregory thought that Amber thought that — "

"No," Chuck said softly but unmistakably. "We haven't had a chance to talk." Chuck realized everyone else was listening. "I'm not dating anyone right now. Actually, I haven't really dated anyone in a long, long time." He paused, thinking of Sarah, Atlanta. "I suspect it will be a long time before I do. I'll tell Amber."

The table went silent. "You guys have a great Thanksgiving," Chuck said, standing up with his latte. "I'll see you next week."

Chuck had his bag on his shoulder and was about to leave his office. He turned back to his desk to grab his tablet; he had forgotten to put it in his bag.

He slipped it into an interior pocket and turned to find Carina in the doorway. "Hey, Chuck. I didn't expect to see you today. I had teleconferences all day. — So, Sarah did not come to work today?" Carina asked the question rhetorically.

"Right. I got a call from Hilda this morning. Does this mean she won't come tomorrow?"

Carina had her coat around her shoulders but had not put her arms in the sleeves. That made her shrug even more dramatic. "Don't know, Chuck. We're in uncharted waters here. In all the time I've been at Walker Insurance, Sarah Walker has not missed a single day of work or a single half-day of work." Carina walked to the window. "I've been scrying the treetops for pork, scanning the sky for killer asteroids, searching the streets for the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Sarah Walker not working on a scheduled workday is a mighty harbinger of the Apocalypse."

"That rare?"

Carina laughed softly, turned away from the window. "That rare. — Can I still come to Thanksgiving, even if Sarah doesn't? The woman who has John Casey humming to himself in the Conklin Tower hallways is a woman I must meet."

"Of course. My sister expects you. She's looking forward to meeting you too. So is my niece, Clara."

"Good, although I've little experience with little ones. Don't worry, I will bring Sarah if human endeavor can do it."

"If it matters, tell her how much I want her to come."

Carina shook her head and gave him a narrow look.

"It matters, Chuck."

She looked like she was going to continue, but she stopped, looking at her watch. "I'm late for drinks, early date; I have to go." She hurried to his office door but looked back over her shoulder as she went out.

"Sarah's wonderful, Chuck. She is. She just doesn't believe it. — See you for turkey!"

And then Carina was gone

Chuck put his plate down as he stared at his computer screen.

Dr. Liang had brought him dinner, and if Dr. Liang had not, Chuck would not have eaten.

He was deep, deep in virtuality, deep in cyberspace, absolutely focused.

Clickety-clack, Enter.

It had been years since he had done any hacking but as he expected, it was like riding a bike. He was back in form quickly, at and then past speed, and then all the years at Stanford kicked in, and it was as if his hacking mind had developed a turbo. He had a gift and it had grown even unused.

Enter, clickety-clack, clickety-clack.

He had started with Larkin's bank account, turbo-ed his way inside, and found it stuffed full after several recent, heavy deposits. Corporate espionage paid well, very well. But the deposits were all in cash. No trail for Chuck to follow.

Clickety-clack. Chuck brewed a pot of coffee, started chugging cups.

Larkin's credit cards were next, and they showed that Larkin spent commensurate with his deposits, much of the money apparently spent buying clothes and expensive meals for two. At the rate he spent his money, Bryce would need more income soon.

Chuck's fingers were numb, his hands cramping. Clickety-clack, Enter, Clickety-clack. More coffee.

But it was not until Chuck got inside Bryce's phone that he found what he wanted. No phone numbers — if Bryce had called or texted Graham, he had done it on a secure app — but Bryce left his location services on. Bryce had gone several times to a small Nationwide office on the edge of LA, parking at a distance in a parking garage and walking to the office.

Clickety-clack-clack-clack.

Chuck was willing to bet that was where Larkin met with Graham. Chuck studied Larkin's movements after that and noticed one unusual trip. Just the day before, Bryce had driven to a very expensive restaurant on the coast. The expensiveness of the restaurant was not unusual, but its distance from town was, as well as the time at which Bryce went: breakfast. In general, Bryce's phone showed that he rarely left his apartment before noon.

Chuck managed one last hack, into the video security and financial records of the restaurant.

The camera showed Byrce at a table with Langston Graham and a woman, older but very attractive, humorless. The bill for the table was paid on with a credit card belonging to Betty Funk.

Chuck blinked. He'd stared at the screen so long it was swimming before him. He stood, shook himself, his wrists and hands, then sat back down, clickety-clack.

Chuck was able to hunt for Betty Funk without legal trespass. Google did the work. She was one of the wealthiest women in America, but not one who ever sought the limelight, any kind of publicity.

She lived a largely hidden life. Never married, childless. She owned many diverse companies and had oars in many different waters. Chuck could not find out details about her. She had done a careful job of protecting herself, her life. He could locate only a few photographs, a current address.

The most puzzling thing was that Chuck could find no information about her early life, her childhood. She seemed to have come into existence as a young woman. Nothing Chuck did seemed to lead to her before college. And then he noticed that the company she had owned longest was uncharacteristically small, rural. It was also located in the same small town as the insurance firm Jack Walker had inherited and built into WI.

Chuck's gut told him this was no coincidence.

Focus! Focus! He was out of coffee.

Another hour of hacking work and he knew Funk was the daughter of the man who had left Jack the firm, and that she had changed her name after the legal battle over the will had ended with Jack victorious. She had inherited enough money from her father to fight the legal battle and to buy the other small company, a farm implement company. After the loss and the name change, she had parlayed the small company into two, and the two into four, and so on — that was the beginning of her massive wealth.

But evidently, she never forgot Jack Walker or forgave him, never lost her conviction that he had gotten the insurance firm through trickery. The answer to the Why-question.

Walker Insurance was the dark Rosebud to Betty Funk's Charles Foster Kane.

God, I am tired. Citizen Kane references?

Chuck rubbed his exhausted eyes; they felt like they were rotating slowly, painfully in their sockets.

By teaming up with Langston Graham and Nationwide, she could afford to pay the bill for the ruination of Walker Insurance.

It was the wee hours of Thanksgiving morning when Chuck printed out the relevant papers about Betty Funk and put them into his bag. He would talk to Sarah and Casey at Ellie's. He desperately needed sleep.

Clickety…

He crawled into his bed and went to sleep, and dreamt dreams of Sarah Walker and closed-circuits.

…Clack…clack…clack.

When Chuck woke up on Thanksgiving, his phone was ringing.

"Hello," he croaked, his mouth dry and gluey, his eyes matted with sleep.

"Chuck, where are you?" It was Ellie. "I need some last-minute items from the store, and you were going to entertain Clara while I cooked!"

"Sorry, El, I…was up really late and I overslept." He rubbed at his sandy eyes, blinking, sitting up. "I'll be over as soon as I've showered. I'll take Clara with me to the store if I can borrow your car."

"I won't let her in or on that museum piece you ride."

"Okay, be there in thirty minutes."

Ellie's voice lost its exasperation. "Thanks, Chuck, but do hurry. I'm already behind."

Chuck pushed the grocery cart down the aisle. Clara was sitting in the cart's child seat, beaming up at Chuck, swinging her small, Chuck Taylored feet.

"Unca Chuck, do not forget the marshymellows!" She wagged her finger and scrunched her nose, sounding exactly like her mother.

"I won't, Clara," Chuck said with a tired smile.

The mention of marshmallows made him wonder about Carina, and about Sarah, whether she would show up for dinner or not. He wanted her too, for lots of reasons, not just so he could tell her about Betty Funk.

Clara was gazing around the store at the other frazzled, last-minute shoppers.

Chuck wanted to talk to Sarah about that control room in the penthouse office, about why she had been watching him, Amber, everyone. He wanted to know why she was crying, what their Saturday in Atlanta had meant or not meant.

He wanted to comfort her, but he also wanted answers.

He wanted to know what Roan had been talking about in Atlanta. Chuck was tired of being confused, behindhand. He was beginning to feel as he had felt at Stanford — what was Amber's phrase? — like a chess piece on a Tridimensional Star Trek chessboard. A blindfolded piece.

He wanted to talk about it all with Sarah in person. Not on the phone.

His phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket expecting it to be Ellie, adding to his list, but it was not.

It was Amber. Chuck's stomach tightened.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Chuck, how are you?"

"Tired, but looking forward to dinner tonight. You?"

"I'm good. Better. I'm working past Gregory's firing, getting over it. Say, do you have plans later? There's a late showing of Eraserhead tonight at one of the revival theaters, and I thought we might go. Fun and funny after-dinner choice. If you could stomach David Lynch after a full holiday meal."

Clara was listening.

"Thanks, Amber, but no, I don't think so. Not tonight." His tone escaped his control. It sounded final.

Amber heard it. "Oh. So, not tonight, and not ever? A hard no?"

Chuck exhaled, took control of himself. "Amber, at almost any other time in my life, my whole life, it would be an enthusiastic yes. I like you. I like that you know Eraserhead well enough to know that it's a weird and interesting and potentially disturbing Thanksgiving movie. I like that you are so into Jane Austen, and Emma's, and that you make Star Trek references, but, um, this just isn't the right time. — I wanted to tell you this in person, but…"

She was quiet for a moment. "It's okay, Chuck. A part of me knew or suspected. As you said, timing. Ours has been off since the very first day we met." She sounded defeated, wistful. "There's someone else, huh?"

"Yes, sort of. I have feelings for someone else, yes."

"Lucky girl. Well, if it doesn't work out, call me, maybe we can try again, see if the timing's right a second time around, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Amber. See you at work. Happy Thanksgiving!" Chuck said the last without thinking, then regretted it. "Sorry."

Amber laughed softly, kindly letting him off the hook. "No, it's fine. Happy Thanksgiving to you too, Chuck."

Amber ended the call.

Clara was staring up into Chuck's face. "Does your tummy hurt, Unca Chuck?"

"Why do you ask, Clara?"

"Cause your face looks like mine feels when my tummy hurts."

Alex did not like calling Derrick on a holiday, but he had never returned her call. She got his voice-mail again.

"Hey, Derrick, Alex again. Calling to ask about my dad."

She hung up. Morgan was sitting beside her, putting on his shoes. The kitchen table of her apartment was loaded with the food they were taking to Ellie Woodcomb's.

"No answer."

"No. I know he's working on other cases, and mine isn't a top priority, but I wish he'd get back to me."

Casey checked himself in the mirror. He would do.

He had a bouquet for Ellie and a couple of bottles of good wine.

Excitement. He could not remember the last time he had been excited about a holiday. But he was for this one, and Christmas. The thought of spending both with Ellie and Clara made his heart swell.

But the thought of a dinner that included Sarah Walker and Carina Miller, plus other people he did not know, tinged his excitement with nervousness. Social gatherings had never been his strength.

He took a deep breath, picked up the flowers and the wine, and left his apartment.

Ellie checked on the boiling potatoes on the stove, the turkey in the oven.

She had borrowed a few extra chairs from Mrs. Behr, who was going to her son's house for dinner.

Everything was ready. Ellie was ready.

She hoped.

Her first holiday with John.

Her brother's boss — the woman she was sure Chuck had fallen in love with.

This Carina woman Ellie had heard so much about from Chuck, most of it warning.

Morgan and Alex. Ellie had not seen Alex since she and Morgan started dating.

All that, and dinner too.

Carina knew she was in trouble when Hilda opened the door. Hilda's normal smile was missing; in its place was a straight, narrow line.

"She's not coming?"

"She says she isn't. She's in her bedroom, in the dark."

Carina was not surprised. She had tried to call Sarah twice and got no answer.

Hilda stepped aside and Carina entered the apartment and walked to Sarah's bedroom.

The curtains were drawn. The only light in the room was the afternoon glow around the edges of the curtain. Sarah was seated on her bed, her knees drawn up, her arms clasped around them.

Clothes, presumably the ones Sarah had planned to wear to Thanksgiving, were spread out on the foot of the bed. Sarah was still in her robe.

She did not look at Carina but she spoke. "Sorry I didn't call you back, and that you wasted a trip, but I'm not going."

A/N: What's Sarah been thinking? Will she go to dinner after all? Tune in next time.

Despite steady effort on my part, we aren't going to finish by Christmas, obviously. We have another chapter or two in this arc, depending on how I divvy up material, and then four chapters in our final arc, the Christmas arc.

Hope everyone has a good holiday if you are celebrating. If folks are not naughty, are nice (and leave comments), I'll do my best to post the Thanksgiving chapter as a Christmas day present. — Love to hear from you, especially if you are, so far, reading without commenting.