A/N Tightening the focus. Casey's off somewhere, doing something.

"You took my gun."

"I don't think she understands."

"Sorry to steal your thunder."

"The world might need you."

On the road that night…

"Feels kind of weird driving myself," said Chuck.

"Not as weird as having no backup," said Sarah. Funny, when it was just her and Casey at Jean-Claude's, she didn't feel so exposed. She'd worked solo for years before coming to Burbank, too. But Casey wasn't Chuck, and her first priority would always be to protect Chuck. "It's just us on this op, Chuck, so no taking unnecessary chances."

"Right. If I need you, I've done something wrong," said Chuck firmly. He smiled at her. "Except that I do need you, and there's nothing wrong about that."

She smiled back, a woman, not a spy, but the spy came back pretty quickly. "Oh, that reminds me, we need these." She pulled a box out of the glove compartment and opened it, revealing two wedding rings. She gave him a stern look. "These are for the op. The op only."

"Got it, got it," said Chuck as she removed his twist-tie and replaced it with the band. Like he would ever try to deny Ellie that photo album. "I'll book a wedding planner tomorrow."

"I'll book the planner, sweetie," said Sarah. Her twist-tie followed, and both went into the box and then the glove compartment, safe and sound. "It's one of the biggest rackets for con artists out there." Not one that she'd ever been involved with, thank God. And her dad, for having some scruples at least.

"Ellie would do it, if you asked."

"Ellie's role model is Honey Woodcombe," said Sarah. "You sure you want that?"

Chuck's hands began to sweat. "You…you pick the wedding planner, sweetie."

"I thought you'd see things my way. Turn here." 'Here' being the entrance to a long private driveway, with a mansion, cars, and lights all clustered at the far end. "Glasses." She handed him the special optics and he put them on without turning them on. He wasn't interested in the electrical systems of limousines.

Chuck glared at the valet from the window of Sarah's Porsche, and said, "Show me where." The valet did as directed and soon they were on the receiving line, being received. "Charles Carmichael, Carmichael Enterprises, and my wife Sarah."

Otto gave him a particularly German glare. "I have never heard of Carmichael Enterprises, and so I am sure your names are not on the guest list."

"I build my client list by word of mouth, Herr von Vogel," said Chuck, throwing in the honorific because guys like him usually thought they deserved it. "I don't advertise. In my line of work it doesn't pay."

Otto accepted this, making no move to have them expelled. "Und how did you find out about my little gathering?"

Chuck gave him a sly grin. "A fine cyber-security professional I'd be if I couldn't find out, eh, Herr von Vogel?"

Otto nodded. "Enjoy your time mit uns, Herr Carmichael. I hope we will have more time to speak together later." He waved them inside, and Chuck and Sarah lost no time moving in and scanning the environment. Chuck was much more interested in the electrical system inside the house, so he turned his optics on. The wiring in the walls glowed yellow against orange-tinted everything else. It all looked…ordinary.

"Must be a rented mansion," said Chuck, taking flutes of champagne for cover, and handing one to Sarah. "I don't see anything like the kind of electrical capacity he'd need if his servers were local."

"Which means?" asked Sarah, pretending to sip her drink. Her optics were recorders. She looked around at the guests, to get what intel she could.

"Remote servers mean either a download or hardcopy on hand," translated Chuck into spy-ese. "Computer engineers are big on redundancy, so I'd expect both. I can plant a virus on his local connection that will migrate to the remote, while you look around for the stuff he's got on hand."

"The other team in Europe probably took care of the remote server already," said Sarah, looking around for places where materials could be secured. Otto had guards but none of them seemed to be clustered anywhere in particular, not even the stairs. Just a gate at the top. Odd. "Upstairs?"

"Probably," said Chuck. "You want to see if this old house has servants' stairs Otto doesn't know about?"

"Absolutely," said Sarah. Normally she'd want to take her time, mingle a bit, get guest's faces recorded, that sort of thing, but Chuck wasn't supposed to flash. His glasses would prevent that for now, but no mingling. "You know where they are already, don't you?"

"Woman, you wound me," said Chuck in dismay. He led the way into the back of the house. "Of course I do."

Closing time at SAFE…

"Okay, people, how'd we do?" asked Verbanski, like she did after every operation, even if it was just a public relations gig.

"Pretty well overall," said her lieutenant. "All of our promotional information distributed, a few potential clients reached out to us. A few recruits."

Someone snorted. "What's so funny?" asked Gertrude.

"This one guy who applied," said the snorter. "He was seen picking on some young lady later on in the hall. Got his ass handed to him."

"By who?" Verbanski was sure any of her men would have come to the woman's assistance.

"By the lady, " said someone else. "I don't think she even noticed us." He got a strange expression on his face. "She must have known him, though. Said something about him not taking his vitamin C that morning."

Gertrude looked very, very interested. "This lady. Describe her."

Otto's party…

Like many old mansions, there was a small flight of stairs for the servants to use, so they could do what they needed to do around the house without intruding on the residents. Chuck and Sarah went past two kitchens and a pantry to the small winding stair and quickly reached the upper level. They couldn't block the door, since they might need a quick exit, so Chuck left his flute of champagne balanced on the knob as an alarm, and they headed out to look for Otto's equipment.

In the occupied areas, Chuck waited while Sarah cleared every room. Most of them were guards' rooms, barracks-neat and full of weapons. The master suite was of course Otto's, with his computer readily available, because of course it was as secure as its owner could make it. Chuck sat down, his eyes beginning to water and his nose to sting, and got to work while Sarah started checking the suite for secure storage. He didn't expect it to be easy and it wasn't. Otto had set up his box with all sorts of biometrics, in addition to the usual electronic safeguards.

Fortunately he didn't have to log in, with the hardware right there in his Nerd Herder's hands. With a few tools and an array of precoded cards, Chuck swapped out the computer's connections with his own gimmicked versions. Encrypting the signal before it went out would do Otto no good when the signal already contained Chuck's bugs. Of course, Otto would know something was wrong when his computer started discovering all the new hardware, but by then it would be too late.

As he was screwing in the last panel he sneezed, realizing that his nose and eyes were itching. That was weird, he wasn't allergic to much. Just…what was that sound?

In the other room, Sarah had discovered a locked portable vault. She tried her electronic lockpick but the programming of the vault was too sophisticated. "Chuck," she called, softly. "I need your help with this password."

"Tiger," he said.

"It's numeric."

"No," said Chuck hastening into the room, but keeping an eye on the door to the one he'd just left. He fumbled for her hand, arm, shoulder, anything he could find. "Tiger."

A deep rumble preceded the big cat into the room, but not by much. The door out of this room was closed, the door to the closet was not. They went into the closet quickly, but not so quickly they would set off the creature's predatory instincts. It had to be used to being around people.

Sure enough, the cat pawed at the door they hid behind but didn't seem interested in breaking though the flimsy barrier. Its shadow went away, and they could hear the sound of the bed as something large jumped up into it. Sarah sighed. "Great."

At the Casa de Bartowski y Grimes…

Morgan patted his girlfriend's hand dry with a towel, before pulling over his box of medical supplies. It looked worse than it was, but it still looked pretty bad. "Who did this?" he asked.

"I did," said Alex. "Some people just don't take 'no' for an answer."

Otto's Party…

Otto von Vogel strolled through the mansion as if he owned the place, which he sort of did, for that week. He wasn't interested in the party except as a means of covering his transaction, but sometimes something happened that made the whole ordeal worthwhile. That man, Carmichael, claimed to have found out about this party on his own, and Otto wanted to know how he had managed to do that.

He'd yet to see that excessively tall figure anywhere in the allotted party spaces so far, and Otto was quick to imagine a different set of facts. His software was an opportunity for many and a threat to many more. He'd hoped a sudden change in location would lose some of those pursuers, or at least reveal them, and perhaps it had.

So he strolled. So he stopped. "Karl," he said to his security chief. "What is that door?"

"The kitchens, sir," said Karl, who knew the building inside and out. "We're not using them tonight. The door should be locked." It was.

Otto wondered if a cyber-security professional would have lock-picking skills. "I have never seen a kitchen," he said, the word doubly foreign to his tongue. "I will indulge myself tonight."

Karl shrugged and produced the keys, opening the door and preceding his employer through the opening, because that's what security personnel did. This hall was much plainer, meant to be used by servants, but not shabby or unkempt. Otto sniffed dismissively and went on. Up ahead he could hear voices. A vigorous discussion, becoming steadily more vigorous.

He opened the door and the noises became words. "–can't believe that you're taking her side on this," Carmichael was saying, very loudly, waving his arms around. Somehow the liquid in his glass didn't going flying everywhere. "Throwing good money after bad on some con woman. How hard can it be to plan a wedding, for God's sake?"

"Like you would know," yelled the blonde, Sarah. "I was the one who had to–"

"Heh-hem," grunted Otto loudly.

Chuck turned around quickly, spilling the champagne in his flute and looking embarrassed. "Oh, hi, Otto, I mean, Herr von Vogel. We–"

"You," snapped Sarah.

"We weren't too loud, were we?" He gestured at the empty space around them. "We were hoping to avoid a spectacle. Her sister is–"

"Don't you dare go around blaming Ellie!"

"Well, I'm not the one who wants a beach wedding, now am I?"

"Silence," said Otto, slapping a table. "I will have order." He glared at them both until they'd settled down. "Thank you for keeping this…unseemly conduct away from my other guests, Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael, but I believe it is time for you both to go, ja?"

Chuck nodded. "Ja-a-a-choo!" he exploded. He looked around, blinking furiously. "Is there a cat around here?"

Something out in the hall rumbled, and Otto turned away quickly. "Karl, remove them," he said, and hurried out the door. Karl, naturally, did as he was told, detailing some of his men to escort Chuck and Sarah to their car and see them off the grounds.

"Well that was a first," said Chuck.

"I wish," said Sarah unhappily.

"I was talking about the tiger," said Chuck. "What were you talking about?"

"Failure and half-finished missions." She got out her phone. "I'm calling Beckman. We need some serious animal control."

"As opposed to half-assed animal control?"

That brought Sarah out of her funk real quick. "Hey, nobody puts my man down, not even my man," she said, squeezing his leg. "You were brilliant, getting us out of that closet."

"Fine, it was brilliant," said Chuck in long-suffering tones. Then he smiled. "I don't think Otto's going to be too happy when he sees what we did to his shirt, though."

A/N2 Okay, the cat's out of the bag. And out of the bedroom.