Chuck Versus the Christmas Caper
By Steampunk . Chuckster
Summary: New Christmas traditions bring Chuck, Ellie, and Devon to the small beach resort of Capitola, California for a three week vacation. But his holiday plans for fun under the Northern California sun don't play out the way Chuck expects them to when other vacationers staying in the beachfront hotel start raising his suspicions. Can he maintain a new friendship with a fascinating and beautiful neighbor while getting to the bottom of this Christmas caper?
A/N: Oh boy what in the hell even is this? I don't know. Godspeed to the lot of us, honestly.
Disclaimer: I do not own Chuck and I'm not making any money by writing and posting this fic.
"Agent Walker, what are you doing?"
She put her credentials down on the desk. "I'm doing what I didn't have the ability to do when you first cornered me in San Diego almost a decade ago, when I was a still just a kid and didn't know any better."
"Agent W—Sarah. Come on. This was bad, I know that. And I'm sorry you went through this. Nobody should have to go through what you went through. Ryker is a traitor to his country. He's a murderer. And he was your handler, the one person in this job you're supposed to be able to trust. I know this is hard."
"It isn't just hard, Director." She clenched her jaw, looking off to the side. "We're all out there in the field, doing our jobs, doing whatever the mission requires of us. And we're all just one mistake, one misstep, one kill away from going down the same path Agent Kieran Ryker went down. Don't you get that?" she snapped. She felt the emotion lodged in her throat and she bit back the urge to cry. She was a freaking CIA agent and she could control her emotions better than this. She'd learned how to close herself off in this job; the least she could do was use it now as she walked away from the job.
There was an awkwardly long moment of silence. And he haltingly said, "You aren't like him."
"He was my handler. He taught me a lot of what I know. I am like him. I'm a lot like him."
"If you were like him, Sarah, he would've been able to turn you the way he wanted to. And that child would be gone by now."
She shook her head. She had blood on her hands, a lot of it. Enough of it. Ever since that Red Test chipped off a piece of her soul, lost to the sidewalks of Paris, the kills hadn't gotten any easier. She'd wallowed in each one even as she pretended she didn't. But pulling the trigger had gotten easier.
"Where's the child, Sarah?"
"I'm not telling you where she is. She's safe. From him. From you. From everyone. Even me." And that was the part that hurt the most.
"Just underscores my point that you aren't like him. You are a CIA agent, the best we've got."
"Because I'm good at following orders. The Ice Queen. Graham's Wildcard Enforcer." He was silent, casting his eyes to the side. "You don't think I hear the shit that gets lobbied around Langley's hallways? I'm a monster, and they all know it." She swallowed hard. "This agency made me a monster, or maybe I've always been one and you found out how to tap into it over the years."
"You aren't a monster. You're a federal agent."
"Kieran Ryker was this close to murdering a three month old baby!" she yelled. He didn't even blink, and she felt foolish. He had a way of making her feel foolish which was one of the reasons why she'd gotten so good at keeping her emotions trapped under a mask, protecting herself, covering her weak spots, her vulnerabilities. "And Br—Agent Larkin betraying the CIA, going off-grid, betraying his partner. Between that and having my handler try to murder me, a traitor to his country, trying to turn me, trying to get him to help kill that child… Not to mention the blood I have on my own hands? You know, I never stopped to check. How many of them were just in the CIA's way and needed to be taken care of, roadblocks instead of the crime bosses I was led to believe they were, inconvenient but not dangerous. Just in the way. Were any of the people I killed for the CIA innocent?" He didn't respond, looking…perturbed was the only way she could really describe how he looked.
This wasn't enough. He was looking for a way to make her stay, she knew, but she couldn't do this anymore. She was done. "See, that's the thing, Director Graham. I'll never know. That will sit with me forever. And I'm tired of being a puppet. I'm tired of being strung along, told what to do. I do it, I get a pat on the head, and then on I go to the next mission. A tool."
"The work you do makes this country a safer place. It makes the world a safer place. You're saving lives, Sarah. You're protecting people. Americans are safer, they're freer, because of what you do."
"That sounds like bullshit to me," she said dully. "Look, someone else can do this work, they can save the world, because I'm done with it. I'm done. I can't anymore."
He sighed and shook his head, seeming to be at a loss. "And what are you going to do instead? Hm? You think you'll be able to be happy, sitting at some desk somewhere in the middle of America, redirecting phone calls? Balancing checkbooks? Going grocery shopping?" He made a face. "Sarah, at the end of the day, you aren't just the CIA's best agent. Being an agent is in your blood. It's your soul. You are this job."
She knew that. And she felt the emptiness open up even wider inside of her. "Yeah, well… I guess I'll have to figure out how to be someone else then. 'Cause I can't be this job anymore." She glanced down at her hands, seeing bloodstains that weren't really there. "Maybe I'm not worth shit outside of being a CIA agent, but I didn't really feel like I was worth shit as an agent, either. So nothing new there." She bit her lip, her eyes quivering for just a moment, and then the blue in them went hard again, like ice. "But I can be off somewhere, not being worth shit, while also not being the reason more people end up dead."
"Without you in the CIA, people will die, Sarah. That's what I'm trying to tell you. You prevent deaths by being as good at your job as you are."
"It doesn't feel that way. It never has." She'd been disillusioned since that bullet first pierced the heart of the unnamed woman on the Parisian sidewalk that night. "I did this because I had to. I thought I had to." She shook her head, her face blank. "And then I did it because I got really good at it. I've done this for so long because I'm maybe the best at it. Maybe it's the only thing I'll ever be good at. But that's just not enough for me. Thank you for the opportunity, Director Graham."
"Why don't you just take some R&R and when you're back we'll talk about this again?"
"Director, I—"
"I'll keep your credentials. Take the rest of the year, and…God, Sarah, take care of yourself. After everything, you need a break. Away from all of this." She frowned deeply. He was telling her to take care of herself? Her turnaround between missions was practically nonexistent, off one plane and onto another, for the last eight plus years. He worked her to the bone, sending her off on secret undercover assignments, missions that weren't exactly approved by the top brass. "Bureaucrats", he'd called them if she dared to ask why he wasn't sharing that he was sending her on the mission.
"Yeah."
"Where you gonna go?"
No way in hell would she tell him that. Even if she knew.
She just shook her head minutely. "I'm out, Director Graham. This is it."
"Take the R&R."
"I'm leaving."
"I'll see you next year."
"You won't see me next year."
He seemed almost smug and that pissed her off even more as she shook her head, her eyes narrowed, and she left him behind to smugly sit back in his smug chair at his smug desk.
The bastard.
She didn't know where she was going, but the second she burst into her threadbare apartment in downtown D.C., she tossed everything she could into a couple of suitcases, clambered into a taxi, and headed for the airport.
}o{
Ellie Bartowski shoved the floppy turkey plush into the tote and slammed the lid onto it, pushing on each end until she heard the telltale pop of it clicking. And then she shifted to sit on the tote, smacking her hand against the side of it. "That's the last of it."
"Heeeeeey, we did it!"
But Chuck watched his sister even more closely as she blew her bangs out of her face and high-fived her boyfriend who held his hand up in front of her face. It was almost like the light that usually existed in her green eyes had dimmed significantly. And he didn't know why.
"Record time," Chuck said, keeping his gaze on her. "It usually takes us longer."
"That's called teamwork. Crazy how long it feels like it takes to put stuff up and then it comes down just like…" Devon snapped his fingers.
Ellie sent him a bit of a droll look. "Babe, you didn't help me put up Thanksgiving decorations. Don't act like you did."
Chuck murmured, "Oooooo…"
"I remember you sitting there on the couch like, 'Ohhhh babe I just got back from a twenty-four hour shiiiiiift and I'm beeeeeat. Can I just watch the gaaaame?' Just like that." Chuck couldn't help thinking she'd really hit the nail on the head with that impression.
"I did not whine like that."
"Uh huh." She smirked and pushed herself to her feet. Then she let out a frustrated sound and gestured to it all. "I'm just… God, we put this stuff away and we immediately switch out the Christmas totes when we store these ones and it's like…" She threw her hands up.
"Well, d-do you wanna wait a bit?" Devon asked. "We could wait 'til closer to Christmas."
Ellie shrugged.
Devon leaned down and kissed her cheek. "I'm gonna take these to the closet, 'kay? And then it's game time, huh? A little Charades didn't hurt anybody. Ha ha!"
He grabbed a few totes in a stack and strolled easily down the hallway towards the master bedroom, his muscles not seeming to strain even a bit.
Chuck watched with no small amount of envy. And then he switched his observant gaze back to his sister. "Okay, what's up?"
"What?" She gave him a confused look.
"You're all…" He searched for a word, waving his hand and gesturing at her.
"I'm all what?"
"I dunno. You seem gloomy. Yeah. Gloomy. Like there's a little storm cloud over your head. What's goin' on?"
She huffed and moved to lean on the arm of the couch next to where he sat properly on the cushion. "I can't really explain it. The thought of getting those Christmas totes out and throwing all this…decoration crap up all over the apartment, getting a tree, putting that up, arguing with Devon over whether it's straight or not, watching him screw up putting the angel on the top of the tree, knocking myself out to make all this freaking food for…I don't know. The holiday Christmas potluck at the hospital and then the five million breakfast dishes on Christmas morning. Always doing the same thing every year, like…almost like we're stuck in this Groundhog Day loop but instead of reliving the same day every single day, we're reliving Christmas Day every single…Christmas Day."
Chuck narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, and a long pause stretched between them. "…Right. Okay."
"Ugh. Never mind. You're so annoying."
"What?! I'm trying to understand, El."
"Understand what?" Devon waltzed back into the living room and stopped, putting his hands on his hips. "What'd I miss?"
"Captain Awesome, your girlfriend aka my sister aka Eleanor Faye Bartowski doesn't want to Groundhog Day our Christmas."
"Oh. Okay." He paused. And his pretty brow furrowed. "I don't get it."
"See?"
Ellie shoved at Chuck's head gently. "You explained it stupidly. Of course he didn't get it. Doofus."
"Okay explain it…not stupidly?" Devon tried, tilting his head.
"We do the same thing every Christmas. Wearing PJs, sitting on this couch, all day, just eating a ton of food, watching Twilight Zone marathons."
Chuck made a thoughtful sound. "Technically, before this place we sat on your apartment near UCLA's couch, and before that our childhood ho—Right, not the point. Sorry. Continue."
Ellie glared then shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose tiredly. "It's not that big of a deal. I guess I'm just sort of…daydreaming about having a Christmas celebration that isn't just one day where we do the same thing we do every year on that day and then we dive right back into the swing of things, back to work, back to messing around with people's brains, Devon fixing people's hearts, and you, Chuck…"
"Dissecting mechanical beings." He pulled his shoulders up to his ears. "Really similar to what you two do, only with metal bits instead of the fleshy gory bits and the blood. Don't know why my pay's so much lower than yours but that's a conversation for another day.""I know you're just making jokes, but stop," Ellie said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "I feel like we don't get that…that, um, escape? That one day happens, and it's the same thing every time, and then it's like it…never existed at all. And every Christmas is like that."
"Are you saying you wanna take more time off than just Christmas Day, babe?" Devon asked.
"Yes. And… You know what? Frankly? I want to get the hell out of here, too. Out of this apartment, out of LA even. Spend a whole holiday vacation in some other place, someplace different, off the beaten path. No Casa de Bartowski Woodcomb. Somewhere we can celebrate the holiday with our own Bartowski Woodcomb flare but in a totally madcap setting." She looked excited. "What do you two boys think?"
When she looked up at Devon, he shook his head slowly. "I-I mean, we can maybe…do a weekend or something."
"No. Not a weekend. You guys, I'm so exhausted. I'm so exhausted that I'm-I'm on the verge of burnout. If I'm not already there." Chuck frowned deeply at that. She hadn't said she was suffering from burnout. Though she had been a little…quieter and gloomier, and not just today, now that he thought about it.
"El, I didn't…realize."
"Yeah, well. It took me a sec to get it. I feel like every moment of my life, I'm working. When I'm not at the hospital, I'm in the kitchen making food for us all, or I'm in my bed sleeping, or I'm at the grocery store, and I barely have time to just take some deep breaths and look at the world around me. Every single year, it's the same thing over and over and over and over. Food and Twilight Zone. PJs on the couch. And as nice as it is, it isn't restful. Because Christmas Day is sandwiched between freaking surgeries. So I end up having to go right back into the grueling schedule after only, like, twelve hours of sitting on my couch watching TV. It sucks. I don't want to do that. I don't want a weekend. I need space from my job, I need space from this apartment. I wanna go." She made a miserable sound. "Guys, I need you to know, I…I'm dreading getting out our Christmas decorations because I think this year, the burnout I've gotten myself into, I-I think it's…killing my Christmas spirit."
Both men gasped out loud and exchanged looks. That was serious. Ellie not having Christmas spirit? That was end of the world stuff.
"That's… Ellie, I can't imagine you without Christmas spirit. It's doing weird things to my insides right now," Devon mumbled, discomfort in his face.
"Which is why we need to get outta here," she explained.
"For Christmas, though? Ellie, I don't know that they'll let us do that. I mean, everybody wants time off for the holidays, and if all of us were gone, well…who'd take care of the patients?"
"Somebody else for once. We have all of this vacation piled up. We deserve to freaking take it finally. I'm talking leaving LA behind for…two weeks, three even. Just resetting."
Chuck sat up straighter as Devon's eyes popped. "Whoa, babe. Two weeks?"
"Three."
"Okay, even more not doable. They'll never let us take three weeks around Christmas. Seriously?"
"Do you have any patients with scheduled surgeries between mid-December and early January?"
"Well, no but—"
"Me neither. Great. Anybody schedules something from now until then, somebody else can do the procedure, because we'll be gone. In Kingston, Jamaica for all I care."
"Ehhhhh not sure three weeks in Kingston is all that affordable," Devon tried. "Especially around Christmas."
"Okay, I'm not saying we go to Jamaica literally, come on. I'm just saying, we aren't gonna be here." She spun to look at her boyfriend. "They owe us. We've saved their asses so often, filled in so often. They need us too."
"Exactly why they won't grant us vacation the last three weeks of the year, Ellie."
"Then we quit."
"Wow," Chuck muttered as Devon choked a little.
"We tell them if they don't grant us this vacation, we're leaving the hospital, and we'll find somewhere else to work. If I don't get this break, I'm gonna start slipping. All the bad shit that comes with burnout. I'm already fighting it. I feel it sometimes when I'm in the middle of surgery. This is getting dire, guys."
Devon rubbed his hand over his jaw, eyes still wide.
Chuck nodded. "You're right. She's right, Awesome. You guys gotta get outta here. I'll take care of the apartment while you're gone. We can FaceTime on Christmas!" He felt a little sad, he wasn't going to lie. Christmas without Ellie and Devon, and Morgan being in Mexico with his extended family? He'd be all alone. And that was kind of a bummer.
But Ellie was giving him a particular look.
"What?" he asked, looking back at her.
"You think we're taking a Christmas vacation and just leaving you here? No. You're coming too."
He snorted. But she was serious. He furrowed his brow and shifted to sit on the coffee table so that he could face her better and get her to really look at him. "Ellie, are you kidding? Ha! Big Mike letting me take a three week vacation during the busiest part of the year, the holiday season…? You realize the Buy More is a madhouse around Christmas, right? The meanest shittiest people kicking in our doors, demanding things before Christmas, even things we have to order from somewhere else in the country, and then when Christmas is over, they're swarming in to return shit they don't want and get their money back. There's no way I can be away from that place for three weeks, but especially not during Christmas."
"So that sounds fun to you, then? Working the day before Christmas and the day after Christmas? Dealing with those shitty people? You're gonna get burnout too, buddy boy," his sister said, pointing at him. "How much vacation do you have stockpiled?"
He winced. "Um. A lot."
"Right, because you've never taken a vacation. In, like, five years, Chuck."
Chuck thrusted his arms out in a shrug. "And where the hell am I supposed to go for a vacation on a Nerd Herd supervisor salary? St. Tropez? Maybe I'll stop by Monte Carlo first. Just on the way."
"Technically, you'd wanna hit St. Tropez first, bro. Then go to Monte Carlo. Just, you know, considering where they are on the map."
The Bartowskis both turned to give Devon Woodcomb nearly identical flat looks.
Sighing, Chuck turned back to his sister. "I repeat, where can I go that's affordable?"
"On a three week vacation with your two favorite people, that's where," Awesome chirped, pumping his fists.
"I thought you were on my team, Awesome."
He winced. "Bro, you know I eventually shift onto Team Ellie. Sometimes I take a little longer, sometimes it's super quick, but I get there eventually."
Chuck glared at him as Ellie looked smug. "Look, I just can't. Okay? I can't take three weeks."
"Chuck, they rely on you way too much. Big Mike treats you like you're the manager, but you still get the Nerd Herd supervisor pay and benefits. Don't you always talk about how that place would burn down if you weren't there?"
Chuck shrugged. "Exactly why I can't go. I'll come back to no job at all because the Buy More will be a pile of ashes."
Devon squeezed her shoulder. "You opened that door for 'im on your own, babe."
"I know." She pouted. "Chuck, you give so much of yourself to them and get nothing in return. You need this and you deserve this. Can you just imagine? Three weeks on some…beach somewhere. You don't even have to think about the Buy More. No Jeff and Lester. No saving people from breaking their necks when they try to use the cage in the back for practicing WWF moves on each other."
"It's WWE now, babe. They didn't want the World Wildlife Fund to sue 'em."
Ellie gave Devon a look. "Boy, you're just a treasure trove of useless input tonight, aren't ya?" Devon winced apologetically. She rolled her eyes back to her brother. "Beach on Christmas. Sounds amazing, right?"
"Sounds like something that's never gonna happen, sis. Big Mike will murder me before he lets me have a Christmas break for three weeks."
"They need to figure out how to survive without you, because sooner or later, you're going to move on from that place to bigger and better things and they'll be screwed."
"At this rate?" He scoffed, shaking his head. That got a glare and he shrunk a little.
"What if I pay Mike Tucker a little visit? I'll bring him a big giant box of donuts and I'll buy a whole new sound system for our apartment. How about that?"
"Ellie! Really? A new sound system? Finally!" Awesome punched his fists over his head.
"Ellie, are you proposing bribery?" Chuck widened his eyes.
"No, I'm—Fuck it. Yes, I am. I will bribe Big Mike to give you three weeks of vacation."
Chuck blinked once. And then he allowed himself to think about what she'd just put into his head a few minutes earlier. Just for a moment. Having his toes in the sand. Sure it'd be on the colder side maybe, but a beach was a beach was a beach. Three weeks of it.
"Okay." He shrugged.
Ellie and Devon exchanged surprised looks. And his sister turned back to him. "O-Oh. Okay, you'll do it?"
"Yeah. I'll give you the list of Mike's favorite donuts. And make sure you get the sound system on the pricier side. He's been trying to push that one a lot because we over-ordered on it."
"Done," she said resolutely. And she stuck out her hand. Chuck grinned and took it, shaking.
"Yesssss!" Devon rushed over to slap his hand around theirs and just stood there awkwardly, stooped between them. He cleared his throat. "Three person handshake is…kinda weird, isn't it? Noted."
}o{
She stopped at the window for a moment, suitcases and bags slung over her shoulders, her rolling case at her feet, and she looked out past the grey tarmac, past the fences and trees, over the South Bay scenery.
"First time in San Jose?"
She turned to find a man standing nearby with some sort of priest cassock on, the little square of white showing at the front of the collar. The Bible she expected to see in his hands, since it kinda went with the whole outfit, wasn't there, and instead he was checking something on his cell phone. He hit a button on it and slipped it into his messenger bag.
"Oh. Um. Yeah, never been. You?"
She didn't know why she asked a question, why she was continuing this conversation. He probably had a cross in his pocket and if he got too close to her it would catch fire or something. The vial of holy water he kept somewhere on his person would boil up and burn him.
"Oh, I live here. Santa Clara, technically." He lifted his arm and pointed out over the landscape. "You can see Swig on the campus where I teach. That large dormitory building with the blinking red lights on top."
"Oh. It's a college?"
"Mhm. I'm sure you'll be shocked to hear I'm a Jesuit."
"I-I didn't notice." She felt stupid, but at least his laughter was kind.
"I normally look…normal," he said, scratching the back of his head. "But faculty is coming back from Thanksgiving break and I'm saying mass in…" He glanced at his phone again. "Oof. A little over an hour. You think this thing's fun to fly in? It is not."
"Oh." She smirked. "I'm sorry."
"Well, it happens. It's what I get for scheduling a research trip during Thanksgiving break." He snorted. "Old fool. You staying here for work?"
She shook her head, and she felt the wallet in her bag burning the way she expected his cross might if he got too close. Because it had one driver's license in it that still had her CIA name on it. Sarah Walker, blond hair, blue eyes, five foot ten. It was a D.C. license, but she'd be able to rent a car here with it. She'd done it before. "No, this is…an escape."
"Well, good for you." He smiled kindly. "We've got San Francisco just forty minutes or so to the north, though I'm more partial to the East Bay myself. Lots of hiking trails. And if you drive a half hour to the south, you'll find the prettiest place of all. At least in my view."
"Oh yeah? Where's this?"
"Santa Cruz. Trees right up against the sand, practically. Big, old, majestic trees. Hmm. Most beautiful place in the world. Take that with a grain of salt. I'm a California boy, born and raised." He checked his phone again. "Off the beaten path. Between us, sometimes I go down there for the weekend to grade papers because I get tired of my Jesuit brothers buzzing around my ear twenty four/seven."
She laughed sincerely. And his words got stuck in her head without her really knowing it was happening.
"Enjoy your escape…"
"Sarah." It just came out. Without her meaning for it to.
He smiled, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. "Jim." Then he placed his palms together and made an austere face, bowing his head. "Father Martínez."
She smirked, and he wiggled his phone, a signal to her that he would be late if he didn't get a move on, before he picked up his duffel bag and strolled away, whistling some tune she didn't recognize.
Furrowing her brow, she turned and looked out at Swig tower, muttering through a small smile, "What in the hell was that?"
Just as she'd planned, securing a rental car had been easy enough once she got down to the curb outside of the airport's main building. And within a half hour she was sitting in it, getting a wave from the attendant. She put on a fake smile and waved back, before she pulled away.
She quickly connected her phone to the screen wirelessly even as she maneuvered her way out of the labyrinthian airport, the criss-crossing driveways and interesting signage. And she put in "SANTA CRUZ", taking a deep breath as it calculated, and making a U-Turn to head for the 880 freeway.
Big, old, majestic trees. A beach. But it was the part about it being off the beaten path that really stuck in her ribs. That nice priest guy said he went there to hide from his peers, and probably his students too, and that was what she needed more than anything. A place to hide.
Why did she come back to California to escape the CIA, to escape her life and her decisions? Graham was calling it R&R but she was a grown twenty-six year old woman who had learned way too much, way too early, and she'd learned it all the hard way. She knew what she was doing here. She was getting the hell out. To do what? She didn't know. But for now, she needed to take this time to be away from everything.
And that meant no Christmas-centric towns. No holiday trip destination.
So why was she here? In California?
She knew it was because her mom was here. Not here here. Over four hundred miles away here. But that was an hour's flight away, if that. Eight hours if she drove. She could get there by driving overnight if she had to.
Ryker was locked up for good. In some bunker somewhere, facing consequences for his actions. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Two quick betrayals so close together… she didn't know what to do about it, except that she really wanted to scream.
And she realized suddenly that she wasn't in an airplane with a pilot, she wasn't in a CIA service car being driven around, she wasn't in her Langley office. She was driving in a rental car down the I-880, completely and totally alone. For the first time since all of this had happened.
So she did scream. She screamed so hard and long that her ears started ringing. And she screamed even longer and harder than that right after.
She let out a sob, keeping her gaze focused on the freeway in front of her, even through the tears flooding her eyes. She would never see her mom again. Or that baby. And she had to trust they'd be okay together, that they'd support one another, help one another.
But she was also awash with a deep ache. A deep, lonely ache. She wished she was there now. But it wouldn't be safe. If she went back, she'd lead someone from the CIA there, someone who would take that baby and do…who knew what with her…
Put her in some horrible foster situation?
No. Hell no.
She needed to find a place off the beaten path where she could settle her mind, give herself some space from everything that had happened in the last month, losing her partner and her handler both, being betrayed by both, one after the other, abandoned. One of them even tried to kill her.
She was at the end of her rope. If she hopped right back into another mission, another situation where she just did what she was told without asking questions, knowing how much Director Graham and the CIA as a whole hated agents who asked questions, it could be the one that ended up killing her. A last mission.
And she'd always been a survivor, even when her life was at its lowest points. Like now for instance. She wanted to fucking survive, as shitty as everything felt, and if she stayed with the CIA, she knew she'd be lucky to make it past thirty. She'd been lucky to make it past twenty-five even.
She'd survive in Santa Cruz for a few weeks. She'd survive splaying out on one of their beaches. She'd survive hiking along their woods trails. And when she took as long as she damn well pleased, she'd go back to Langley to finish packing up, and she'd be done, gone from the agency, from federal service. Done being his Wildcard Enforcer, the Ice Queen… a CIA puppet.
What then?
She didn't know.
She would find out.
The ex-agent pulled into the small parking lot of a café, watching as a teen with half his head shaved and nose piercings backed out of the side door of the building with a large bag of trash and hauled it up into the dumpster, wiping his hands off on his apron and swinging back inside. She let herself wonder if she could be a barista.
Just one entitled person had to give her attitude about not adding a pump of whatever flavoring to their coffee and she'd have one of her throwing knives at their throat. Maybe she shouldn't be a barista. Maybe a job without so much customer service and human contact would be best. Away from coffee, which people seemed to have intense reactions over.
Taking a deep breath, she walked inside, covering a yawn with her hand and taking in the light wood decor, the pristine white counters, the khaki colored bags of coffee lining the shelves behind the bustling baristas.
And because that seemed to always be the case at cafés there was a family with the mom giving the barista crap for not getting her child's white chocolate cocoa right. "I asked for this to have whipped cream and there isn't any."
"It's there, it just melted while it was sitting waiting for you to pick it up after we called your name."
"I'm not stupid, I know what whipped cream looks like. This white chocolate cocoa has no whipped cream."
"It does. It's there. It's just that the drink is white. Like the whipped cream. I have no problem just adding some more whipped cream onto the top if that's what you'd like."
"Yeah, add it. Because you didn't the first time."
"I d—You know what? Sure. I'm sorry. My fault." He turned and put more on top, handing it back to her with a flourish.
"Good," she snapped, handing it to her child so roughly, it nearly spilled on the poor girl's fingers.
"Have a good day!" the barista chirped.
Sarah sent the mom a dirty look as she waited in line. Stupid jerk just ensured these people were getting a massive tip once she got to the front of the line and ordered.
When she did get to the front of the line, she ordered a medium coffee, with just a dash of half 'n half. And she shoved a tip in the tip jar, smiling as the young adult who took her order thanked her.
As she waited, she heard a young couple near her arguing.
"Babe, it's not that big of a deal."
"Don't use that Not That Big Of A Deal crap on me, Reanne. How am I supposed to take it when I find out you went with your family on this fun trip to Capitola and your ex-boyfriend Ron just happened to be there? And did you tell me? No. Your brother let it slip when I came over this morning to pick you up."
Reanne made an annoyed sound. "He just did that to rile you up. I barely talked to Ron. Look, we do Capitola every year for Thanksgiving, Luke. Every. Year." She made a frustrated growling sound. "This is the first time he showed up."
"Sounds like you had a blast, though."
"Yeah, 'cause it's Capitola. It's the best! We always stay in that Venetian hotel on the beach and nobody freaking bothers me there. I get to do whatever I want there."
"Nobody bothers you. Like me you mean?"
Sarah already had her phone out, looking up Capitola.
"Oh God, you're such a sensitive baby."
"I thought you liked sensitive…"
Population sat at around ten thousand or so. It was small, safe, and expensive, good surfing beaches, booming during the summer months but people on travel sites said it calmed down in the winter months.
Most importantly, as she pulled her laptop out of her messenger bag, ran her bug checking program to make sure she'd be browsing without CIA tech heads watching her every move for Graham, and pulled up the CIA database search, Capitola brought up exactly one hit. In the late nineteen-sixties, a Central American far-right would-be dictator had vacationed in the "exciting beach town" with his mistress and their child. He was assassinated about a week after he left.
It was virtually untouched by the CIA, by any federal agency. It was perfect.
"What do you mean it's not the same thing?" a man at the counter barked.
Sarah grabbed her coffee from the counter, then went back to her perch, sipping her coffee as she watched the barista take a deep, calming breath. Poor thing.
"Sir, espresso is very different from cold brew."
"Well I meant espresso when I said cold brew!"
"Those are two very things. We welcome our customers to ask questions about the different kinds of coffee and how they're prepared before they order so that—"
"So what? You aren't going to get me an espresso?"
"You can pay for an espresso."
"I don't want to. I wanted an espresso. I didn't want this cold brew shit." He slammed the cold brew down on the counter so that the lid popped off and coffee plopped over the rim to flood onto the wood beneath it. And then he stomped out.
The barista at the cash register sighed again, not even blinking when the door slammed behind the asshole, and she turned over her shoulder. "Greg, can you toss me a damp rag please?" It came flying at her and she snatched it out of the air. "Thank you."
The ex-CIA agent winced a little and climbed to her feet, shoving her laptop back into her bag, and then she inwardly tipped her hat at the still arguing couple by the window for the inadvertent direction they'd given her.
She already had the number up on her phone and was dialing even as she shouldered her bag and walked over to the counter.
Shoving a twenty dollar bill into the tip jar, she met the barista's wide eyed look with a small but reassuring smile. "Just remember," she said quietly. "Guys like that are always compensating for something."
The barista grinned hard.
Turning on her heel, she made her way out of the café, smirking at the coffee crew over her shoulder as she grabbed the door handle and pushed. The teen she'd seen taking out the trash when she first pulled into the lot exclaimed teasingly, "And God bless us, everyone!"
Shaking her head, she made her way to her rental car.
Someone finally answered the phone as she swung in behind the steering wheel.
"Yes, hi. I'd like to see if I can make a reservation? Do you have any rooms open? Something close to the beach maybe?"
}o{
Chuck stared glumly at the backs of the seats in which his sister and her boyfriend sat.
He couldn't believe they were both doing this to him.
Just who did they think they were?
Crossing his arms, he turned to look out of his window, doing his best not to enjoy the sprawling Pacific Ocean view below the cascading cliff they drove on. The stupid 1 freeway with its scenic views and prettiness. Damn it anyway.
Ellie in particular had called his bluff and now he was here in this car, headed up the California coast to a small little town in the middle of the state's eight hundred and forty miles of coastline.
Devon's real estate mogul mother Honey Woodcomb had helped them plan their three week holiday trip, once she got over the fact that she wouldn't see her "widdle Devon Wevon boy" anytime around Christmas Day or New Year's Day. And she'd found a good price for a little hotel right on the beach in what was apparently a super old coastal resort town near Santa Cruz.
Chuck had insisted on paying for a third of it, and they'd insisted on cutting his share down from that even further. He'd insisted 'til he was blue in the face, until Devon showed him the actual price tag.
And he nearly fainted.
He'd refused to go with them, unnerved by the idea of them paying for this massive holiday for him, knowing he wouldn't be able to pay them back for, like, a decade.
His refusal had ended with him packing, getting in the backseat of their SUV, and pouting like a child as they got on the road.
Four hours into their five and a half hour drive, he was only just starting to get less annoyed. It wasn't just his pride, working at the Buy More, making a crap salary, and after he'd been on his way to a double major and BS from Stanford only to have it crashing down over him, walking away with nothing. Pride was maybe part of it.
But mostly, Chuck was upset that his sister and her boyfriend were essentially his caretakers in so many ways. Footing most of the bill for his holiday escape from his draining job?
Ellie and Captain Awesome hadn't voiced any big future plans yet, at least not to him. But he knew they were building a life together. Marriage, a family… They were serious enough and Devon had become a fixture in their strange little family now. It was coming eventually, when they decided to take those steps.
They were also saving money for a house someday.
And here was Ellie's little brother, still living with them, paying only a third of the rent for their apartment, even though he knew he took up half the space with his nerd crap, and now being like their little dependent trailing behind them on their holiday vacation.
He knew they didn't see it that way, not even Devon, who treated him like a legitimate brother. And he appreciated them so much. But eventually, he needed to find his own way, and get out of Ellie's way. He knew that. But it was hard to put it into practice.
And this holiday wouldn't be any different. Damn it.
"Hey, Storm Cloud." He looked up to see that Ellie was glancing at him in the rearview mirror. He fixed his face to roll his eyes at her and smirk. "What's up? Out your window is some of the most beautiful scenery California has to offer."
She reached over to turn down the Neil Young their blond copilot had so helpfully turned on for this leg of the journey.
Just like that, as he looked at his sister, and shifted his gaze over to his friend and sort of brother, and back again to his sister, he realized this was what being ungrateful looked like.
The rest of the crap he'd worry about later. He'd take care of most of their meals, as payment for them taking up the brunt of the fees for the suite Honey booked, and he would insist on buying the gas once they stopped and had to fill up. He could offset the damage at least a little. And sure, it'd put a hole in his pocket.
But when was he ever again going to have the chance to spend this much restful quality time with two of the most important people in his life? Three weeks of vacation, a different kind of Christmas, one that meant Ellie had less of the work piled onto her shoulders.
"Sorry," he said then, pushing himself to sit up straighter. "Just got a little caught up in my thoughts. I'm actually really stoked about this trip." He grinned, thinking about the lack of calls he'd be getting from Big Mike for the next three weeks.
No "Bartowski, get your butt down here immediately. You need to put a stop to this wrestling shit in the cage. They won't listen to me." No "Fix the morale. I'm tired of the bad energy." And last but not least, no "I've got meetings with the district manager the rest of today if you could just stay a few extra hours to close up shop that'd be great thanks Bartowski." That last one was Chuck's favorite, because Big Mike's phone sat on his desk with the dating app pulled up and "SEE YOU SOON" on the screen in giant black letters, a message from whatever woman it was he was seeing at that moment.
Like Chuck was some kind of idiot. If he was just honest, it'd settle better with him. But no. Meetings all afternoon with the district manager. Uh huh.
But he was about to have three weeks of freedom from that.
"Good," Ellie said. "I'm already feeling some Christmas spirit coming back into this car. It's flooding back. In fact…"
Oh no.
Oh God no. He checked his watch. An hour and a half of this drive was left, give or take a few minutes. He couldn't do this.
"Ellie… El, please…"
"Devon…" she ordered in her most official neurosurgeon voice. "Open the CD case. Grab that Christmas with Mannheim Steamroller CD."
"Noooooo! ELLIE, NO!" He grabbed his head in both hands. "Not the Mannheim Steamroller Christmas CD from dad's stash! Please!"
"Insert the CD into the CD player, Devon."
"Yes, Doctor!" Devon exclaimed, slipping it into CD player and taking one of the other discs out, putting it away in the alphabetized CD booklet.
"Why do you torture me like this, Ellie? Is this still because of the time my friends and I put the lizard in your backpack when I was eight? I was EIGHT, Ellie! It's just what eight year olds do!" he tried, making Devon crack up.
His sister's fierce green gaze met his in the mirror again. "Maybe you little shits should've thought about the consequences when you did that."
"It was just a lizard!"
Oh God, the synthesizer Christmas was already starting. No. Dear God no.
"Just a lizard, he says. Oh ho. Just a lizard. That thing was practically a Komodo dragon. And he pooped on my Algebra homework!"
Devon was in stitches, leaning forward and clutching his side.
"Do you know how hard it is to explain that to a teacher as strict as Mrs. Barnett? That woman had razor sharp, long nails like the witches in that Roald Dahl book, and devil teeth! I had to tell her that was lizard poop and I'm so sorry my brother is a little jerk!"
"That was almost twenty years ago. Please don't do this! I will throw myself off this cliff into the Pacific."
"Devon? Lock the doors!"
The laughter rang through the SUV as they climbed their way up the California coast, mixed with music of Mannheim Steamroller, the boys doing cheesy interpretive dances to the God awful sounds coming out of the speakers the rest of the drive.
}o{
"It's sixty-seven degrees, babe."
"I. Am. Going. To. Sit. On. That. Sand. By. The. Water. If. It's. Seven. Degrees."
Devon and Chuck exchanged a look.
"Uh…Okay, I guess suits on, everybody," Devon said, clearing his throat.
Chuck made quick work of it, called out to the rest of the suite that he'd meet them out there, and he snagged an extra beach towel from the closet where they'd begun putting everything they'd unpacked from the car.
Wearing flip-flops, navy blue swim trunks, and an old Student Technology Leadership Program shirt from when he was in high school, he strolled out of their suite. Rather, it was almost like a beautiful and cozy Mediterranean stucco grouping of square buildings that looked smaller on the outside than they felt on the inside. Honey had placed them in a suite that was one row back from the rainbow colored rooms pressed right up against the beach wall, behind which was the actual Capitola beach. And that was fine, because their balcony had a little more privacy, and it took less than a minute to get to the sand. Chuck also had his own bedroom with a whole door separating him from the rest of the suite, and his bathroom. Win win win.
He tried not to dwell too hard on how little of this he'd be paying for, and how much it was still gonna cost his skinny wallet.
But he was on vacation, damn it.
There was a beach ripe for the taking. And even if the temperature wasn't great, the sun was out and they'd have it for a few hours yet before it slipped behind the cobalt horizon.
He kicked off his flip-flops and stooped to pick them up in his free hand, trudging into the sand. And he smiled and hummed at how good it felt, nice and cool and soft around his toes. Even living in LA, he didn't get to the beach as often as he wanted to, as often as he should.
This was the perfect reset button. Maybe when he got back to Echo Park in three weeks, he'd have a new outlook on life, a new drive in his soul, and he'd hunt for another job he might snag even without that Stanford degree.
He swallowed hard and forced himself to keep walking, focusing on the beautiful rolling waves ahead, the sounds of the sea, the calling of the birds, and shoving that stupid Stanford crap out of his mind. It couldn't be undone. He needed to move on.
And hooooo boy it was kind of cold out here, wasn't it? Maybe he should've grabbed a hoodie. He glanced over his shoulder, pausing, wondering if he should go back and get it. Or maybe he could just text one of them to bring it out for him. Did he even unpack a hoodie yet?
He barely unpacked anything at all because Ellie declared it was Beach Time, and they'd deal with the rest of it when they were done.
"Uh… You're…kind of blocking my sun."
Chuck jumped at the sound of a nearby voice and he spun to look down. A woman was lying there on a towel, squinting up at him and slipping on aviators over her eyes as she pushed herself onto her elbows.
Did all of the people up here look like models? Jesus, the people who checked them in at the hotel and the valets too had been all statuesque and gorgeous. And from a guy who'd grown up in LA, the entertainment capital of the world, that was saying something.
"Sir?"
He shook himself. "Shit. Yeah. So sorry. Sorry." And he trotted out of her sun, holding up his hand in apology, his flip-flops still dangling from his fingers. "I'm sorry."
"S'okay," she said, shrugging one shoulder and pursing her lips, and then she draped herself back onto her towel, getting comfortable again and taking the sunglasses off to shut her eyes again.
Clearing his throat, he made an oops face and wandered over to a spot closer to the water, spreading his towel on the sand and plopping down onto it. He wasn't blocking anyone's sun here.
And he glanced up to see his sister and her boyfriend trudging down towards him finally. He lifted a hand in a wave, chuckling when Ellie lifted her hands over her head, yelled "Beeeaaach!", and ran the rest of the way.
}o{
She covered a yawn with the back of her hand, stepping into the lobby and glancing around. She didn't see a gift shop or anything, but the concierge was right there. Granted, he was helping people check into their rooms.
She'd arrived late the night before, grateful they'd been able to find accommodations for her at such short notice, considering they'd booked just about everything else. But then when they'd found an opening, they'd called her and she'd buzzed to the hotel as fast as she could.
She had to wait in her car for a bit for the place to be cleaned quickly, and then they'd given her the key and sent her on her way. After everything she'd gone through, the long flight across the country, the stress of not quite knowing what her future looked like, to the point where she didn't even know what tomorrow (literally) was going to look like, she didn't even look at the place as she went straight to her room, blinders on, and she figured she would fall into bed and pass out for a whole day.
Instead, she'd tossed and turned. As comfortable as the bed was, as nice as the sounds of the ocean were outside of her window, she hadn't gotten to sleep until after three in the morning.
She was beat. But instead of wasting away in bed, she'd eaten breakfast in the dining room, doing her usual quiet people watching, and then she'd put a swimsuit on with a wrap over it to keep herself a little warmer considering it was only in the high sixties. Because she wasn't starting this new path as a depressed lump who just stayed in bed all day, terrified of her future.
As terrified of her future as she was.
No, she was enjoying this place as much as she could. And that meant sitting at the beach and soaking in whatever sun there was. The morning mist had left now that it was nearing lunch time and the sun was beaming down, making the cool day feel not quite as cool, and damn it, she would be outside in it.
If she could find a beach towel somewhere, that was. She hadn't exactly left D.C. with a beach destination in mind. She'd just wanted to go somewhere.
Chicago had been the first choice. But then she'd stepped off of her plane and stood in O'Hare, looking around the place, the decorations everywhere, the reminder that it was yet another Christmas in which she would have to literally hide her head to keep it above water… and she knew she had to go to California.
Not Southern California. That was too close for comfort. But if she stuck to the bay up north, it was close enough to haul her ass down there and protect her mom and the baby if she needed to, and it was also far enough that it wouldn't lead anyone to them.
"I get my own bathroom, huh?" the tall dark-haired man in front of her cooed at the concierge. "Score."
"Yeah, score for me, too. I don't really feel like sharing a bathroom with you while on vacation. I do it enough when we're at home," the brunette woman droned.
The blond modelesque man on her other side laughed and pointed at the other man, then quickly dropped his finger and cleared his throat, the grin dying on his face.
They were handed their envelope with their keys and they thanked the concierge and moved on, chattering as they went.
She smiled at the concierge and he smiled back. She noticed the way he tugged at his suit jacket as she approached, his spine straightening. "Hi there. How are you, miss?"
"Good, thank you."
"Amenities all right so far?" he asked, tugging the jacket again and pulling his shoulders back. "Anything I can have sent over?"
"Everything's been great. I was just hoping you could tell me where I can get a beach towel."
"Ah. Good idea, catching the sun while it's here. Beach towels. You have two options. If you'd like, you can head down that way towards the pool area and grab a towel from Leslie. She'll just check your room key and hand it off. You can return it when you're done. Or if you'd like to purchase one, sort of a souvenir if you will," he said with a wink," down this hallway here behind me, we have our gift shop where you can purchase a beach towel. If you go down that hallway, please feel free to stop and admire our wall of Capitola history. Oldest coastal resort town in the state."
"Wow." She nodded. "Okay. Thank you."
"Of course. You're welcome. Anytime. If-If there's anything else I can get you, please let me know. I'm Jamison." He tapped his name tag. She smiled at him and began to walk away. "Or-Or gimme a ring. Whatever's…easiest for you."
Intrigued by the idea of a history wall, she headed for the hallway that led to the gift shop, spending a few minutes reading about Capitola's history and peering at the photographs of the beach and resort town that dated all the way back into the mid-eighteen hundreds. And because she was already there, she stepped into the gift shop to quickly buy a beach towel with the map of California on it.
She pushed through the side door and crossed the walkway to the short cement wall, gracefully climbing over it, kicking off her wedges to pick them up, and wandering onto the warming sand to find a good spot for soaking up these beautiful rays.
It was cold at first when she shrugged out of the wrap, but then she splayed herself out on her towel and felt the warmth of the sun beaming down against her skin and she decided it wasn't that cold after all.
She had to work to keep worries about her mom and the baby out of her mind, worries that Ryker might escape, or have some informant out there, some helper who would try to find and kill that baby, and her mom as well if she got in the way. She had to keep worries about what kind of a life she was even capable of if she wasn't in the CIA, doing mission after mission after mission after mission. It was all she knew how to do. It was all she knew, period.
So she focused on the soft lilting sound of the waves rolling up onto the shore and trickling back down again, rolling, receding, rolling, receding. And she focused on her breathing, as well.
She'd worked herself into a place of deep meditation when the warmth against her skin was gone, just like that. And at the same time there was a shadow cast over her closed eyelids. What…?
Who the crap was blocking her sun?
Seriously?
A/N: Yes. Seriously.
Please review? Por favor?
-SC