A/N1 Response to this has been favorable enough for me to decide to slow it down. It still won't be very long, but it won't be quite as short as I originally planned. And I am having fun with it, I admit.
Don't Own Chuck.
Chutes and Ladders
CHAPTER FOUR
Don't Break the Ice!
Monday, March 27
Sarah had been up since dawn, unable to sleep.
She had been fighting the urge to call Chuck since Saturday. Even her dating-not-dating plan had done nothing to reduce the urge. It had gotten her to wait until Monday morning and she was eager. She wanted to hear his voice, to make contact. She wanted to hear the warmth in his voice and to allow him to hear the warmth in her voice. She barely knew him -but she missed him.
She needed to get a shower, get dressed and get to work, but she had enough time to call if she kept the conversation short. She called him, expecting him to be in the office.
Ellie had told her that when Chuck had a case, he was typically an early riser. Ellie admired her brother's willingness to work, despite the fact, admitted by Ellie, that he never seemed to make any money. Sarah laughed to herself. These Bartowskis, honest to a fault. Dad would break out in hives. How can Chuck be a PI and be a Bartowski, be that honest, open? Sarah was both charmed by Ellie's honesty about her brother (in the midst of trying to set up a blind date) and flattered by Ellie's certainty that Chuck's lack of money would not be a problem for Sarah.
Money was not Sarah's problem. It had never been her focus (not like it was her dad's). Chuck's lack of it didn't matter to her at all. Truth be told, she had plenty of money. That was a complicated story.
Just before she walked out of the con life, she and her father had been working a big score, a serious con for serious money. But it disagreed with Sarah, that con, the whole life, more every day. She pulled out just before her dad could close the deal. He was furious with her eleventh-hour change of heart.
But then things went sideways with a vengeance.
She and her dad ended up with a briefcase full of money that did not quite belong to anyone, not legally anyway. They took possession of it. Her dad was ecstatic; he had big plans for the money. More cons, a bigger team, flashy equipment.
Sarah had other, smaller plans. She demanded half and she walked away. She had put the money in various banks, had a friend of her dad's help her create the right sort of accounts. She kept enough out to pay for school, buy her apartment. And buy - used - the Porsche she had always dreamed of. Long story - but then all of it was, all of it with her dad.
The Porsche was her one extravagance, the one thing she didn't need but wanted. Otherwise, and since then, she lived on her salary, within her means. The money in the banks kept increasing because of interest, but Sarah had not been able to get herself to spend it.
She dialed her poor private detective, her heart beating fast in her chest as his phone began to ring.
ooOoo
Chuck's phone rang. He had just put it on the desk with his cup of coffee, and was taking off his sports coat. It was Sarah Walker. First thing Monday morning. Beautiful, sigh, but evidently a taskmaster. No chance to even sip his coffee and prepare to have to talk to her as his employer.
He had been trying to figure out how to think about her as nothing but his employer all weekend. He hadn't had any luck. His palms were immediately sweaty and he was gasping slightly. He felt himself blush and he was alone in the office. Sigh.
"Bartowski Investigations: You Question, We Answer. How can I help you?" Oh, my God, tell me I did not just answer the phone like that?
On second thought, Chuck thought maybe that was good, set the right tone, even if he had done it on automatic pilot. He always answered business calls like that. Now that he thought about it, he wondered if maybe he was not making any money because was using Morgan's suggestion for a slogan. The same man who Putts the Fun in the Hole. Gah.
He heard Sarah giggle down the line. I could listen to that forever. Oodles of her giggles. Oodles of her. Oodles. Stop it, Chuck. His private blush deepened.
"Chuck, is this you? You sound funny; is something wrong with your phone, are you sick?" She sounded concerned but still sort of giggly.
"No, nothing wrong, not sick. That was my...uh...Philip Marlowe voice. Ellie says I sound more like a member of the Geek Squad than a private detective, so I thought…"
"...That you would answer the phone sounding a little like Bogart?"
"Uh...yeah." He felt a fool.
But Sarah giggled again, right out. "Tell you what, if you answer like that next time I call, I will talk to you in my best Lauren Bacall voice. Vivian Rutledge, right?"
Chuck couldn't answer. The thought of Sarah talking to him in that voice made him sit down and cross his legs. Even though he was alone. A blush was bad enough but a…
"Chuck, are you there?" She had done it, breathy and raspy, fleshy rose petals and thorns, all Bacall. Chuck crossed his legs the other direction and his eyes crossed, or it felt like it. Everything went out of focus for a moment. How'd she do that? The voice was perfect.
"Yeah, yeah, Vivian, I'm here." He cleared his throat and tried to talk in his normal voice, but it came out high, Venetian choirboy high. Sarah giggled merrily.
Chuck felt crazed, off balance, achy with sudden need. He had to find some control. Adjusting his voice again, he managed finally to sound like himself. "So, I assume you are calling about Sasha, the job?"
There was a long silence on the other end.
ooOoo
Dammit. I am supposed to be the client. Not his girlfriend, not flirting like a woman... possessed. Calm down, Sarah. Be...professional. You were a conwoman. You can do this. Dad taught you to control yourself, everything. Control.
She had an idea. Yes, that's a good idea.
"Right. Right. Yes, Sasha. I thought it might be a good idea if you met her."
"Met her? Ok, how?"
"We're having an activity day in my class. I can put you on the visitor's list as a personal friend. You'll have to go to the office and show your ID. They'll give you a stick-on badge. They can tell you where the classroom is. Can you do that? I know it's short notice."
"Sure. I was planning computer background work today. I can do that anytime. When should I come by?"
"About 10:15. They have lunch at 10:45. That'll give you some time to meet her and we can talk...consult...during my lunch hour, when my TA takes them to the cafeteria. Will that do?"
"Yeah, sure. Should I bring something for me to eat?"
"That's a good idea if you can eat on kindergarten kids' and their teacher's weird schedule."
Chuck laughed briefly. "I can eat anytime. Can I bring you something?"
Sarah was silent for a moment. I should say no. I made my lunch last night.
"Sure, that'd be...nice. See you then. Burbank Early Education Center, if Ellie hasn't told you. Do you think you can find it?"
"Yeah," Chuck laughed again, "there're instructions on p. 47 of How to Be a Detective in Ten Easy Lessons explaining how to find buildings using addresses."
Sarah was quiet for a moment. She wondered if maybe he was resentful about the other night. But then she realized: "Oh, oh...lines from The Big Sleep. The correspondence school book."
They laughed together then. Chuck said goodbye. She said the same, then ended the call. She needed to hurry if she was going to get to school on time. In the shower, she washed her face, of course, but couldn't remove the smile.
ooOoo
Chuck had half-managed to recover from the call, from the Bacall voice. His pants were looser. He picked up his coffee and was mid-swig when his office door opened and John Casey entered. 'Entered' was hardly the right verb. But there wasn't a good one available, no word for describing a moving volcano of contained molten rage.
Casey was a good man but he was no bargain as a friend. Things had gotten worse in the last year, when he had discovered Alex, and so discovered he was a father. The two of them did not get along. Chuck never talked about one to the other unless asked to or taken there in the conversation. He thought things had stabilized, but then Alex met Morgan. Casey was not a Morgan Grimes fan. In fact, he cheered against the little bearded man. Casey was quite sure that he could grab a guy out of any random line-up at the station and find someone better for his little girl. Chuck was caught in the middle of a geometrically problematic three-way tug of war.
Casey filled the office. He forced himself into Chuck's one client chair. The chair squeaked in aching protest, obviously in real pain. Chuck had a running bet with himself about how many times Casey could wedge himself into the chair before the chair collapsed. Next time would tell if he won or lost the bet with himself, since for now, the chair seemed to be hanging together.
"So, you have seen the troll?"
"Would that be Morgan Grimes, my best friend, of whom you speak?" Chuck asked, using both the name and the silly construction to annoy Casey. He liked to poke the grizzly. Like a grizzly, Casey rumbled in response, the sound coming not from his throat or even his chest, but from all of him. Chuck involuntarily gulped and decided the poking was over for the morning.
"Yeah, Grimes." The name was a curse coming off Casey's curled lip. "The troll."
"I saw him Saturday, as it happens." Chuck gulped again. He hadn't intended to keep using the mock-formal phrases. Luckily, Casey merely blinked in annoyance, then gave Chuck a hard-eyed stare.
"See anyone else?"
Chuck knew they were working their way to Alex. "Well, as usual, there was a taco truck parked outside, run by a very bright and quick-tongued young woman…"
Casey leaned forward, a redwood threatening to fall. "Did you say 'quick-tongued', Bartowski?"
"I meant...well-spoken. Just well-spoken."
Casey leaned back and the chair whimpered piteously. "That's what I thought. Her hair?"
"Still red."
"Dammit."
Alex had recently colored her hair. This probably would not have caused Casey any more annoyance than anything else she did, but Casey knew the story because Chuck told it one day without thinking.
A few months ago, in an event that threatened the very fabric of space-time itself (at least that was how Chuck saw it), Morgan had somehow gotten a date with the willowy beauty, Carina Miller. Carina was a lingerie model, and she worked part-time at Sexy Underpants, Etc. Morgan had asked her out and kept asking her out and she had finally agreed. They had gone out the one time and never again. Morgan confessed afterward that his fantasy of seeing her sexy underpants, etc., had not been realized. A few weeks later, Morgan met Alex. The first time they talked, who would show up to play putt-putt but Carina and her date, a man who obviously made a living posing shirtless for romance novel covers.
Alex had seen Morgan look at Carina, and she decided that he had a type: leggy redheads. Short of an as-yet-unavailable surgery, she could do nothing about the leggy part, but she promptly colored her hair. Morgan so far had not had the nerve really to have many conversations with Alex at all, much less one in which he explained that he was not particularly drawn to redheads.
Casey hated that Alex had done such a thing for a man who was, figuratively and literally, beneath her. Alex was not as tall as Carina, of course, but no one was as short as Morgan - at least that is how it seemed to Chuck, although he had actually never seen them standing quite side-by-side. Either she was in the truck or Morgan was on his stool.
"C'mon, Casey, have a little faith in the Morg. He's a good guy, really. Do you think I would have him as my friend if he wasn't?"
Casey looked at Chuck like he was a rotting fish. He even wrinkled his nose in distaste. "You dated that legal skank, Roberts."
Chuck had no retort for that. Indeed, he had dated Jill. "Speaking of, Casey," Chuck plunged in, eager to change the angle on the subject even if he could not change the subject, "can you tell me anything more about why you think Jill is involved in something at FARMA? I've been following her as you asked, but I have nothing to report except that she and Larkin seem to like The Three Rooks restaurant. They eat there a lot."
Casey sat, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "I have my reasons, Bartowski. I will share them soon. Just keep watching her on Saturdays."
"Well, the problem is that I have a case."
Casey's eyes bulged. "Say it ain't so. Stretch Columbo has an actual, breathing case?" Then Casey's eyes narrowed. "But you're working it gratis aren't you?"
Chuck's shoulders slumped before he could stop it. Casey grunted twice. "You are pathetic, Bartowski. One day, you are going to find someone to be serious about, other than legal skank, and you are going to lose her 'cause your pockets are full of gratis."
Chuck looked down at his high-topped sneakers. Casey was right. But he couldn't charge Sarah. He still did not understand how she could have offered to pay him. Kindergarten teaching was not exactly lucrative. And that Porsche?
Casey was regarding him speculatively, but he said nothing. "You been keeping your gun clean?"
Chuck gathered his lips on one side of his face. "Is that a personal question or are you really asking about my sidearm?"
"Your sidearm, numbnuts. Why would I ask about the other? Besides, I know the answer. You ain't since legal skank, and I doubt you did then much at the end. With legal skank."
"Look, Casey, I get that you don't like her. I can't say I like her much right now, either. But stop calling her that, please."
Casey bared his teeth and Chuck had no idea what that meant. Casey asked again: "So, have you been keeping your gun clean?"
Chuck sighed. "Yes."
"How long has it been since you fired it?"
"I don't know. A while." Chuck squirmed a little. He saw Casey frown. "What? It's like riding a bike."
"No, numbnuts, it's like shooting a gun. Riding a bike is something completely different. Why don't you give this up? You are not cut out for this, Bartowski."
Chuck got this lecture about once a month. It was true that he was not, so far, a great detective. He was hardly a marginal detective. But he had helped some people and he was eating. He had a place to stay (yes, technically, he was renting a room in Ellie's apartment), and he was getting along. Maybe one day he'd start that AI company he dreamed of. Maybe. But for now, this was his job. He liked it about three-quarters of the time.
Casey got up. "We'll talk again soon, Bartowski. Tell Grimes I will kill him if he touches my little girl. Not just kill him. Kill him dead."
Casey left with that threat thickening the air. Chuck shook his head. He sipped his coffee. Cold. He thought of Sarah breathing Lauren Bacall into the phone. He thought about going to the range. It had been a long time - both ways. But he had other things to do. He put his phone in his pocket and took the cold coffee with him. Better than nothing. He had a couple of things to see about. Then he was going to meet Sasha and have lunch with his client.
A/N2 Tune in next time: Chuck meets Sasha and eats lunch with Sarah, the case begins to deepen, Casey tells Chuck more about his suspicions, Alex physically attacks Morgan. Chapter 5, "Sandbox".