CHUCK VERSUS THE CHUCKETEER
BY
BOB WRIGHT
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, I'm Chuck, and here's a few things you probably need to know...or, maybe you just forgot:
This story begins right at the intersection point of Seasons 4 and 5. As with the previous Chuck Versus the Month of Shocktober, there will be some deviations from established on-air canon in this story-and this story is thus set in the universe of the previous story with the changes made there-but again will largely loop back to canon in the end as best as possible.
Chuck and all related characters and indicia are registered trademarks of Warner Brothers Television, College Hill Pictures, and Wonderland Sound and Vision. And now, as always, sit back and enjoy the story.
"Private business? You mean, a private spy company, buddy?"
"That's what I'm talking about, Morgan," Chuck Bartowski declared grandly, walking briskly across the floor of the now-emptied Castle, "It's what all of us are good at, and with $877 million at our disposal now, why don't we make the best of it, doing good for the world. Without government operators controlling us, we can do the missions we want to do, whenever we want. Since I own the building now, this place is ours to do as we please with. So what do you all say?"
He glanced between his partners-Morgan Grimes, the now Sarah Walker-Bartowski (he'd decided by now it was a lovelier and more fitting name than whatever her actual name was, and would cease trying to find it out), and Colonel John Casey (technically Colonel Alex Coburn, although there too he planned to stick with what he knew best going forward). The three of them mulled it over carefully, but he could see in their eyes he had made an impact. "You know, Chuck, I like it," Sarah spoke first, nodding with a grin at her now husband, "And I like your idea to do actual good rather than official missions..."
"So the Ice Queen is dead for good now, Walker?" Casey asked knowingly.
"Uh, Casey, let's not word it that way," Chuck held up a hand, looking green. Any reminder of what Sarah had been put through recently would make him queasy going forward, even if it had turned out all right in the end.
"Sorry, Bartowski," Casey apologized with a humble expression-one he almost certainly would not have given Chuck when they'd first met. "Yeah, though, let's do this," the colonel nodded, "If Decker and the CIA want to fire us, let's show them they made the biggest mistake of their careers."
"That's the spirit, John," Morgan agreed, rummaging through a bag that had been left behind in Castle, apparently by the CIA members who'd cleared it out. "I'm in too, Chuck," he told his best friend, "What can I say, when you get into the spy world, it's hard to want to get out. Now the problem is, getting cases if we're going to be freelancers. There's probably lots of government agents who are..."
It was at this moment that Casey's cell phone started ringing. "Quiet everyone," the colonel waved a hand at Morgan and pulled it out. "Casey."
"Colonel Casey, good to see you," came the voice of General Diane Beckman's face on the screen. "Can I have a word with you and your team?"
"Certainly, General," Chuck bustled over for a closer look. The others followed, Morgan stuffing the large pair of glasses he'd pulled out of the bag into his rear pocket. "First of all, Mr. Bartowski, Agent Walker-or perhaps I should say, Agent Bartowski from now on-congratulations," Beckman beamed at Chuck and Sarah, "Though I have had doubts about both of you at times, I believe the two of you genuinely deserve this day. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness together."
"I do appreciate it, General, and I hope so," Chuck said, squeezing Sarah close.
"Which brings up another reason for this call, though," Beckman's expression fell significantly, "The Department of Defense officially completed their review of...my actions regarding the secret arms sale to Lieberstan that you're all by now well aware of. For the moment, they decided I shall remain in the service. I have, however, been demoted to colonel, have been stripped of my pension when I do retire, and have been reassigned to strictly a desk job for the foreseeable future. So whatever your team does from here on, I unfortunately can't help you with it. If I do anything beyond what the narrow capacities of my new position holds, I will be given a dishonorable discharge as punishment."
"Well, not to sound like I'm taunting, Gen-Colonel, but I hope you learned a valuable lesson from this," Chuck told her firmly, "Keeping us in the dark about what you'd done held back that mission and kept it from being completed quicker, and risked tens of millions of lives."
"I'm well aware of that now, Mr. Bartowski," Beckman hung her head in shame, "I realize that I put what I believed was the better national interest over what was truly right. Now, I do have a path forward; if I get through the next year without any further demerits, I may be restored to the rank of general, and my previous position in the intelligence field."
"Well, good luck, G-Colonel. But that's not as bad as it may seem, because we're starting our own business. Carmichael Industries," Chuck told her grandly, "We'll be protecting the world our way."
"Well, even though I can't officially help you with it, good luck, Mr. Bartowski. Which brings up another point," Beckman's expression brightened, "One that perhaps all of you are well suited to help with. I did receive word from a colleague who works on the West Coast about a series of attempted break-ins at a top secret site not far from the Burbank area. They were looking for government help with it, but no one was available at the moment..."
"What were they trying to steal?" Sarah inquired.
"A prototype manual military rocket pack, Agent Wal-Bartowski," Beckman pressed some buttons on her end that brought up an image of the pack in question, "Intended for military reconnaissance use, I've heard. If you're interested in this as your first mission, here's the address," she typed more buttons to bring up the information on the screen. Chuck quickly jotted it down. "OK, thanks," he told his former superior when her face reappeared, "We'll take a look at it-it sounds like something we might want to try."
"All right then, good luck. Even though I can't help you otherwise, I wish you much success."
"Before you go, Colonel," Casey spoke up, "If you can do it off the record, see if you can find out everything you can on one Clyde Decker. He's a grade A sleaze who's made things difficult for us lately."
"I'll see what I can do, Colonel Casey. Again, good luck," Beckman told him in parting before hanging up. "OK, we're in business just like that," Morgan declared with a fist pump, "And a rocket pack too," he grinned at Chuck, "Just like..."
"Let me guess, you and Chuck watched The Rocketeer a lot as kids," Sarah said knowingly.
"You're getting good with us," Chuck rubbed her shoulder, "Not as much as the Star Wars films, of course, but enough to know it mostly word for word. And Morgan and I did fantasize we were Cliff Secord, rocketing through the sky to fight bad guys."
"I'm not surprised," Casey muttered, rolling his eyes, "Well, if we're taking this mission, let's get started while we can. If people are trying to steal it, they won't rest until they get it."
"Right, Casey. Starting now, Carmichael Industries is officially open for business-no, no," Chuck gently took Sarah's hand when she started to walk towards the exit, "It's only right for a newlywed to carry his bride."
He scooped her up in his arms and carried her up the stairs. "Here's to the beginning of a wonderful life together," he told her grandly, rubbing her hair with his free hand.
"I hope so," she beamed back, "I need you in my life Chuck. And thank you, for going the extra mile for me, when..."
"Don't mention it," Chuck told her, "Here's just hoping that's the last we'll ever see of a Norseman. And that I can be an effective spy without an Intersect in my head," he frowned, "That it wasn't just having all the government's secrets stored in my brain that made me..."
"You're more than just an Intersect, Chuck, I know," she assured him, "I can't think of a better spy out there, with or without one..."
"OK, you two, now it's time for business," Casey interrupted them as they approached the secret door to the break room in the Buy More above, although he did give the newlyweds an approving smile of his own. The colonel pushed the door open a crack and checked to make sure the break room was deserted before opening it up. "Grimes, find someone to leave in charge while we do this," he told Morgan as the Buy More's manager followed the Bartowskis out the door behind him.
"Ah, good, so you finally trust me as a full member of the team, Casey. Thank you," Morgan grinned, "It's good to know..."
"But even think of getting into bed with Alex, Grimes, and you're still a dead man," Casey warned him with a harsh finger in Morgan's face.
"Relax, relax, Casey, I haven't even thought of getting that intimate yet," Morgan assured him.
"Good. Keep it that way," Casey growled, pushing open the door into the Buy More proper. He and the Bartowskis made their way towards the front door. "Hey, Fernando," Morgan called to another co-worker while running after him, "We've got a call. You look out for the store while we're gone..."
He groaned as another employee walked right into him from the side, not noticing the glasses falling out of his pocket and sliding towards the nearby Nerd Herd desk. "Careful, Skip," Morgan chided the newcomer.
"Sorry, Morgan," Skip apologized, scrambling to pick up the boxes of stereos he'd dropped from the collision.
"Don't mention it," Morgan patted him on the shoulder, then rushed after his colleagues. Behind him, Lester Patel stood up from his seat behind the Nerd Herd desk. "Uh, Morgan, wait, your glasses," he called out, rushing out from behind the desk and picking up the glasses from where they'd fallen. Morgan, however, did not hear him, and was out the door with his teammates moments later. Lester shrugged and walked back behind the Nerd Herd desk. "What've you got there?" Jeff Barnes, a urinal cake in hand for some reason, came walking over from the bathrooms.
"Morgan dropped these," Lester held them up, "Pretty impressive glasses."
"I'll say," impressed, Jeff laid the urinal cake down on the desk and snatched the glasses off Lester, "Looks like he snatched them off some rich guy or something. How do I look?"
He slipped the glasses on. A low-pitched whine started up. "Hey, let me try them too," Lester grabbed hold of the right frame and slipped it over one eye. Both men stared ahead with slack-jawed expressions, unnoticed by anyone else in the store-except, that is, a well-dressed man watching in the next aisle over. He bent down behind the shelf and pulled out a phone. "Decker, it's me," he said softly into it after dialing a number, "We've got a problem."
"What problem?" came Clyde Decker's growl on the other end.
"Bartowski didn't get the glasses. Those two idiots who work the desk with him did; they're both uploading your Intersect now," the man looked up again as the whining noise stopped and Jeff and Lester, neither changing their expressions, abruptly keeled over backwards to the floor, also unnoticed by anyone.
"The Asian guy and the doofus with the weird hair?"
"Yeah. What do we do now?"
There was a pause before Decker answered, "You know what, this probably works out just as well. Because they're so stupid, we can get them to work for us no problem."
"But what can we use them for, Decker?"
"I have an idea. One that'll work well into the master plan we've got going here," Decker told him, "Stay there for now. I'll be there when they come to. Let's see what they'll be capable of in our hands..."