A/N: We continue with our third arc, Revaluations


The Missionary


Eloise, the law is coming
We've got to blow this town
Before the sun goes down
I know this ain't the type of life
You find in young girl's dreams
But I need you here with me

Looking over both our shoulders
It has worn me thin
And nearly to my end
Listen dear you've got to hear me
Most sincerely say
That even I can change
Even I can change

Please, please
Patience, Eloise
Have you got no time
For a man like me?
I've got a heart of gold
But it's buried so deep
And it only shines in the right light

— Hours Eastly, Eloise


Chapter Thirteen: Mattress Cover


Casey parked the van across the street and looked at Chuck. Chuck was twisted in his seat, watching Sarah as she walked into Bedroom Dreaming, watching as Mattress Bob held the door, his face smugly expressing his desire — his expectation — to be handling the blond striding poetically toward him, every movement a rhyme.

Casey unhooked his seatbelt and turned, squeezing between the front seats and into the rear of the van. Chuck stayed in his seat, still twisted, still watching. Casey sat down on a stool, the stool attached to the floor, one of two positioned in front of a long steel shelf. On the shelf were two laptops, secured in place. Casey turned one on, then opened a drawer, extracting two small cases. He put one down on the shelf, then wolf-whistled, softly, at Bartowski. Chuck twisted around the opposite way to look at Casey, shocked by the whistle in the van that translated Mattress Bob's expression into sound.

Casey tossed the other case to Chuck. "Put these in. Comms. We'll be able to hear what Walker hears and says, and if we're lucky," Casey turned toward the laptop, "we'll be able to see some of what's going on too."

Chuck twisted around again but Casey could no longer see what Bartowski was seeing. "Get back here, kid."

Chuck sagged in the seat, then opened the case and put the comms in his ears. He then climbed into the rear with Casey, sitting down on the other stool.

Casey punched at the keyboard of the laptop. The parking lot and door of Bedroom Dreaming showed clearly. "Camera swivel-mounted on the top of the cab," Casey said in a terse explanation. Chuck leaned in toward the laptop screen, jostling Casey, but Sarah had gone inside the furniture store, and Mattress Bob was no longer in the doorway.

Casey assumed that Bob was now enjoying Sarah from behind, his view of her behind. Casey typed quickly, then hissed out loud. "Okay, let's see if this tech works like it's supposed to, see whether Bob-boy has ponied up for high-end or, more predictably, bargain-basement surveillance at his store. I'm betting on the latter since I don't think he's living high by selling shaky plywood futons at Bedroom Dreams."

A moment later, Casey stabbed Enter and he and Chuck could see the inside of the furniture store. For a moment, the scene was disconcerting — they were using the store cameras to see men with cameras. Casey snarked: "Right. We get to watch him make a commercial."

The mattress section of the store was the scene for the commercial. Lights were set up around a king-size bed, lighting it like a soft stage. Two cameras were pointed at the bed from different angles, a bald man standing by one and a woman in glasses by the other. Another woman, bright red hair piled high, standing by a folding chair, cloth and wood, was applying makeup apologetically to a willowy blond, seated in the chair. The blond was gesticulating, talking. But they could not hear her.

Casey held down another couple of buttons and looked at Chuck, but tapped his ear. "Volume's up now. Turn your laptop on so we don't both have to scrunch in to see this one. I had no idea you were so keen to play voyeur."

Chuck's jaw dropped but he moved away as if Casey had slapped him. He turned on the other laptop and settled in front of it.

Casey fine-tuned the video and the audio. He gestured at Chuck, finally getting his attention. "We can hear Sarah; she can't hear us unless you click on the mic icon. Don't disturb her — unless there's something she genuinely needs to know."

Chuck nodded but did not look at Casey.

On the screen, Sarah was walking toward the bed in the lights.

Mattress Bob was walking beside her, staring at Sarah as she stared at the scene.

"Son-of-a-bitch!"


Bob had been talking since Sarah came in.

She was not paying much attention. Her awareness of herself seemed to eclipse her awareness of what was around her, even of Bob, though his repeated 'sweetheart' managed to drum against her ears.

She realized he was saying something about a commercial and her. He had been near the door, taking a breather, he explained. They were experiencing trouble of some kind with the commercial they were filming.

Sarah surveyed the scene. The artificially lit bed struck her, reminding her of those road crews working on the highway at night beneath high-powered lights. Cameras were aimed at the bed like rifles. A man and a woman stood by each camera. A woman was trying to apply makeup to the thin blond in the chair, who was talking. Loudly.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" She yelled at Bob. "I take a break so this clown painter can redo my makeup and you go recruit a new bimbo."

Bob stepped past Sarah. "Mona, hush! I'm bleeding money here. This is like, take fourteen. Get your fine ass back on this bed and let's get the line filmed! It's one line!"

The blond stood up. She was tall and thin — but her breasts were unexpectedly heavy, large, and solid, supported by an overtaxed black halter top so thin that she looked like someone had wrapped her chest in a single strip of electrical tape. Below the halter and her navel piercing, a dangling diamond, she had on a black mini skirt, more mini than skirt, black fishnet hose, and black heels that gave the impression she was stabbing the floor, not just standing.

The dangling diamond moved as she stomped her feet, but nothing else of hers did.


Casey grunted beside Chuck, but Chuck did not know if the grunt expressed appreciation or deprecation. Chuck glanced at Casey, but his eyes were affixed to his laptop screen.


Chuck looked back to his laptop.

Bob was walking toward Mona, making placating gestures. "I haven't recruited a new bimbo, baby, just another one. You were talking to me about that last night, right? — Three…" His tone became an oil slick as he finished, or rather — didn't finish.

Mona's face shifted, and she gazed at Sarah with changed attention. Her tongue flicked out of her all-day-permanent-red mouth, a lipsticked viper hunting.

"Oh," she finally said, her head tilting first one way then the other, "oh."

Mona climbed atop the mattress, smiling at Sarah as she did, then looking at Bob.

Chuck watched it all, his stomach clenching.

Bob glanced over his shoulder at Sarah, giving her an oil slick smile. Chuck saw her smile back — and saw the effort in the smile.


"God almighty," Casey whispered, "and I thought I was a pig. That Bob's a one-man sty."


Sarah hoped her forced smile satisfied Bob. He luckily seemed more focused on Mona than on her, although he had glanced at her. His "Three…"-comment and Mona's responsive tongue-flick made Sarah queasy.


Casey faced Chuck. "I assume the Intersect hasn't…responded…to anyone else in the store, anyone we've seen? Kid?"

Chuck finally turned back to Casey. "No, no one else." Chuck looked back at his screen.


"Alright," Bob said, "let's try this again. Mona, honey, you ready?"

Mona nodded eagerly. She reclined on the stack of white pillows at the head of the bed, arraying herself carefully so that everything bulged but nothing quite escaped.

The camerawoman produced a Captain's hat from a box beneath her camera and tossed it to Bob. "Here it is. Again."

Bob caught it and positioned himself near the end of the bed.

The cameraman and camerawoman readied themselves.

The woman who had been doing the makeup turned and shouted. "Quiet!"

The whole store obeyed the command.

Sarah observed in disgusted fascination as Mona slowly slid one leg up, bending her knee but keeping her thighs together.

When Mona stopped bending, Bob took a bosun's whistle from his shirt pocket and blew it, then tossed the hat. Sarah felt the store inhale and hold its breath. Mona caught the hat in one hand and sat it on her chest, raising one eyebrow.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain," she cooed, saluting with her other hand.

"Cut!" The makeup woman shouted. "That'll do; it's a wrap."

That was it. An anti-climax.


Chuck spoke out loud, more to himself than Casey. "That whistle, the sound? Didn't we hear that every time before Captain Kirk addressed the Enterprise's crew?"

Casey turned to him. "Jesus, kid."


Chuck watched as Bob blew a sloppy kiss to Mona as she crawled off the bed. The camerawoman had pulled a shorty robe from the box and was holding it open for Mona to put on.

Bob walked to Sarah. "So, as I was saying, and as I told Mona there, I could use another spokeswoman, and, well, I can't imagine anyone with better qualifications than you."

Sarah had seduced dreadful men in her time as an agent — cruel men, violent men, men who she knew had dark intentions for her.

Mattress Bob somehow seemed the most dreadful of the lot. Part of that was Bob himself, the arrogant, immediate, unapologetic objectification of Sarah. But part of it was the situation, the cameras in front of her and the cameras she knew surrounded her, the fact that Chuck was listening and, probably, watching. Chuck's reaction to her romper would not leave her mind. The thought that he was comparing himself to Mattress Bob, the thought that Sarah thought of them alike, as marks, was unbearable.

But she had to go through with it. This was her job. This was the mission.

Bob snaked out an arm and put it around Sarah's waist, pulling her toward him. She resisted, but only enough to slow his pulling, not to keep it from happening.

Bob winked at her. "What do you think of Mona?"

Sarah made herself look at the other woman. "Not much of an actress."

"No," Bob agreed, "but she's…enthusiastic. Are you enthusiastic? Enthusiasm goes a long, long way."

Sarah reached out to put her hand on Bob's shoulder, but she used it to push herself away from him, using the touch to hide the distance.

As she did it, she tilted her head in an imitation of Mona's earlier action. "Oh, I'm an enthusiast. So, I'm told anyway, — by those who get to know me."

Bob's eyes crossed a little.

The makeup woman called Bob over. He smiled at Sarah. "Wait here. I'll introduce you to Sheila in a second"


Casey huffed softly.

"Walker's a pro, keeping Bob at arm's length while acting like she's on board." Casey stopped and chuckled at his wording, then went on, pointing a finger at the screen. "Watch how she does it: how she gives signals of one kind, letting Bob feel like he's dictating the pace but always keeping the interaction at her speed, managing the space between them."

Chuck shook his head. "I don't get this, Casey, what she's doing. How far does this go? You said, back that first night, that she…spreads her legs for Old Glory. Is that true?"

Casey gave Chuck a shake of the head. "Have you asked her?"

"Why would you say it if it's not?"

Casey shrugged.

Chuck glanced at his laptop. Bob was still talking to the makeup lady, Sheila, and occasionally gesturing at Sarah.

Casey seemed thoughtful. "What did she do to you, that first night?" Casey asked. Chuck was tired of trading questions, so Chuck tried to answer, to think back to their date.

He'd tried to avoid thinking about it since he had dreamt about it after it happened. But it came back to him in dreams, not every night, but often (more often than he wanted to admit), always as vivid, technicolor, always as in the same affecting detail.

And it always ended with Sarah's hand on the buttons of her blue blouse, and with Chuck awakening, then rolling over uncomfortably onto his stomach.

He did not know whether the dream obsession was his or the Intersect's or both. "She seduced me — but not like that." This time, Chuck pointed at his screen, even though Bob and Sarah were not close to each other at the moment. "I can tell she's acting; I've been around her enough to know. Those smiles, the gestures, the words, everything's calculated, chosen, deliberate. Forced. Nothing's…spontaneous. But that night, with me…it was…it all seemed spontaneous. I mean, up until the gun-to-my-forehead part."

Casey stared at Chuck for a minute, seeming poised between responses (Chuck did not understand the hesitation) — then he lifted an eyebrow.

"Maybe she had to sell it with you, 'cause you're way smarter than Bob. Maybe the differences aren't in her, but in the two marks?"

Chuck thought back to El Compadre, Sarah's leg against his, the way she had overwhelmed him.

He thought about that kiss beneath the moon.

Had all that been manipulation, just better done, the acting better, because I'm smarter, a harder sell than Mattress Bob?

But if Casey thinks Walker's being a pro now, what would he have made of her at El Compadre?

Chuck did not know what to make of it all.

Bob finished talking to Sheila, then led her over to Sarah.


Sarah watched Bob and Sheila step toward her.

Sarah had been thinking about her life — a cause of death on missions, and not something she ever did during one — and about how little romance there had been in it. She revisited the memory of kissing Chuck outside El Compadre, under that magical moon, under a skyful of jewels. The thought that her life could have been like that, composed of moments gravid with meaning and eternity, instead of being this: standing exposed in an aqua blue romper amid cheap furniture, waiting for a cartoon man to grope her...

And all the while her man-under-the-moon, Chuck, watching, seeing.

"This is Sheila. Sheila, this is…?"

Bob waited and Sarah snapped back to attention, past to present, back into the mission, realizing that their earlier talk had not included her name. Damn, I never get distracted.

"Sarah. I'm Sarah. A friend of mine saw that you were doing the commercial here and she called me. I'm an actress. I moved here a while ago but I haven't had much luck. I'm just hoping for some exposure, any exposure. So, I hurried over and stopped by on a chance…"

Bob chuckled, his chuckle a warm, runny ooze of anticipation. "Well, Sheila likes the look of you, and I do too. Sheila doesn't just do commercials. We're sure we can use you, maybe as soon as tomorrow."

Sheila nodded and glanced toward Mona, who was heading toward the rear of the store. Sarah saw the glance, saw that Sheila saw her see it.

"Mona looks the part" Sheila offered coldly, "but she's like casting a blow-up doll in a speaking part."

Sarah did not want to talk about Mona. "Tomorrow? When? I'm free all day."

Bob gave Sheila a quick, sideways glance. "Sarah and I will talk more about all this tonight, over dinner?" Bob focused on Sarah.

"Dinner?" Sarah asked. She made herself lean toward Bob, made herself smile. "That sounds nice. Where?"

"I'd love to take you out, but I have a meeting at my house tonight. It won't take long, but I can't miss it. My personal chef is first-rate. How about we grab a bite there? We can talk about commercials, and Sheila's other film ventures, if you want. Maybe Mona could join us later?"

"That'd be nice," Sarah said, sounding enthusiastic even as bile rose in her throat.


Chuck looked up from the screen. He rattled off Mattress Bob's home address, the Intersect supplying it to him.

"Swanky neighborhood," Casey said, as he used the address to retrieve a photograph of the house. "Not paying for that with futons."

Chuck took a quick look at the house, a palatial exhibition of bad taste. "God, money can't buy sense."

Casey chuckled. "You said it, kid."


Sheila extended her hand to Sarah. "We'll talk soon. Give Bob your number and I'll call you tomorrow. My name's Sheila Armitage."


Chuck's mind flooded.

Neither Sheila's face nor her first name had not brought on visions, but her whole name did.

Armitage was a director, and a makeup artist — she did commercials, but her primary work was X-rated films. The Intersect did not supply clips, but it did supply titles and a final police report. Armitage had been suspected of involvement in snuff films, but there had been no proof sufficient for an arrest.

Chuck told Casey quickly. Casey shook his head. "Fuck. Murder porn. Figures Mattress Bob would have ties to some such shit. Hit your mic and tell Sarah, — but do it calmly. Remember, she's listening to you and everything else."

Chuck did as he was told, making himself tell Sarah calmly about Armitage. Sarah was now walking through the store with Bob, back toward the front door.

Behind them, the cameraman and woman were packing up, breaking down the lights.


"You can leave your car here, ride with me," Bob said, offering his Caddy with a flourish as he and Sarah arrived outside. "I can drive you back later — if you want."

Sarah nodded, trying to quiet the chaos inside her that Chuck's words in her ear caused. "Sure, that's a nice car. Big!"

Bob nodded back at her in fake humility. "It gets me from A to B." His glance slithered up the length of Sarah's legs as he opened the door for her and she sat down in the passenger seat.


Casey shut his laptop and squeezed quickly back to the driver's seat.

"Keep listening, kid. Tell me if anything happens I need to know; I'll be concentrating on driving.

"We'll tail them, even though we know where they're going, stay close enough to hear. We need to get close enough to his place to hear what's going on. And I'll bet the security there won't let us piggyback on it so easily as the security here."


Bob's car smelled of fake pines. A cheap, mirror-mounted cardboard tree explained the smell.

Sarah sat as far away from Bob as she could without drawing attention to her position. Bob put his keys in the ignition and then reached across. Sarah thought he was going to put his hand on her leg, but he didn't. He opened the glove compartment and took out a prescription bottle. He shook it at her and it rattled. "Little something — to take the edge off?"

Sarah smiled as she shook her head. "No, not now. I'm hungry and what you said about your chef…It sounded good, and stuff like that," she nodded toward the bottle trying to make herself sound experienced, "sometimes upsets my stomach, especially when it's empty. Later?"

He put the bottle back in the glove compartment. "Sure, and I have a wider selection at home. We'll call it dessert. Or first dessert." He gave Sarah his salacious chuckle.


"I want to beat that guy with my bare knuckles," Chuck growled, not completely aware he said it aloud.

Casey heard Chuck and glanced in the rearview mirror, lifting one eyebrow thoughtfully. He refocused on Bob's car.

Outside, LA darkened.


"So," Sarah said, "other than mattresses, and furniture, what do you do?"

Bob smiled. "Oh, furniture's the main thing, but I have diversified. Not a good idea to be dependent on one thing. I dabble." Bob made a gesture that was supposed to be a dabbling gesture.

"Does Sheila do all your commercials?"

"All my Mattress Kitten ones. Mona's been my primary kitten for a while — but I can see that changing." He gave Sarah a quick but significant glance. "What we shot today is only a tag for the end of our new sixty-second commercial. Most of it is shots of our beds and mattresses, and price reduction talk, but that bit with Mona and the whistle and the hat will play at the end. A little sexy humor. Make sure Bedroom Dreaming stays in viewers' minds."

Sarah nodded as if she agreed, using the motion to cover how much he repelled her.

"The meeting at your house tonight, is that business, diversification?" Sarah was careful to sound like she was only making conversation, not pursuing any inquiry.

Bob nodded. "Yeah, diversification. Make hay while the sun shines — or doesn't."

Sarah settled into her seat and tried to get herself to focus. Even now, in Bob's car, her mind was divided, part of it in the Caddy, part in the van, wondering what Chuck made of all of this. Of her.

Why does it matter so much to me? Bryce was my backup for any number of seduction missions and I performed them flawlessly, without qualm or distraction.

Chuck doesn't care what I do. Sarah felt inhuman, full of wires instead of nerves. She had to fight down an impulse to look over her shoulder.

"So," Bob said after a moment of silence, his tone matching her making-conversation tone, and glancing out the windshield and up at the sky, "not much moon tonight. —Say, you have a boyfriend, anyone special I should know about?"


The comms crackled because of the distance between the van and the Caddy, but Chuck heard the question.

He gripped the metal shelf, waiting for the answer along with Bob.


Casey heard the question too and looked into the rearview in time to see Chuck stiffen.


A/N: Join us next time for Chapter 14, Going To The Mattresses.