A/N: We were going to let everyone just read and discover things when we originally wanted you to like you do with any story, but we've gotten too many people flipping out about the fact that we're in season 3 and that Shaw has reappeared. The pandemic situation in the world has been rough on both of us mentally/emotionally, and on top of all of that, we both decided we're too exhausted for it to be worth keeping quiet about this particular part of the plot. We'd rather just not have to deal with it. So we're going to tell you all that there is no Sarah and Shaw in our "Rewrite". Should've kind of been obvious, if we're honest, but we'll go ahead and just say it outright. So everyone breathe. Thanks for reading. And strap in. Uncharted territory abounds...literally.
Disclaimer: We don't own Chuck, and we don't own the characters. We aren't making any money.
Shenanigans were going on in the back of the Buy More with Emmett, shenanigans Chuck and Casey did not want to be a part of. Especially after their coworkers' reactions to Casey showing up in a wheelchair, his leg still bandaged from his gunshot wound. He and Casey had already gone through the story with one another beforehand so that they were on the same page.
Casey had been swarmed with questions. And when he finally got a word in edgewise, he'd told them that he stopped a carjacking and got shot by the "perp". Morgan had immediately piped up with: "You should see the other guy, dudes!"
Which had of course led to Jeff drawling, "Oh shit, did you murder him? I bet he's dead in a dumpster somewhere. They find his body? Are you going to prison? I can hook you up in there."
He'd been given a few looks, but mostly ignored, before Lester had jumped in with, "Listen, buddy. Your secret is safe with us, okay? My Jewish uncle's rabbi went to prison for something similar and he told my uncle beefy guys like you don't last as long as you'd think. Guys, we can't let 'im go to prison."
But by then, Casey had already wheeled himself out of the circle altogether, and Chuck had watched him hone in on a man eyeing the humidifiers in the corner.
A few hours later, he found Casey again and called his name, making the big man pay attention to him as he moved around in his wheelchair. "Hey, have we got any more info on you-know-who down in you-know-what?"
"Who, Shaw?" Casey asked quietly. Chuck gave him a "duh" look. "Listen, I'm busy here, Chuck. Why don't you talk to him yourself? He's living there."
"He's living in... What? ...What?" Casey just raised his eyebrows like, "what can you do." "Casey, what's going on here anyway? Is he really in charge of our team?"
Casey grumbled a little and scowled. "Shaw's a special agent for the CIA. He can do pretty much whatever he wants." It had sounded very bitter, which was on brand for Casey talking about the CIA.
"Wait. Wait wait...Can he reassign anyone?" Chuck asked, the octave of his voice going up even as he tried to whisper.
"No, but...it gets worse," Casey continued. Chuck felt nerves start to tingle in his extremities. "We have two NSA agents on this project." Chuck smiled. "Well, one and a half."
"A half! I'll take it!" Chuck said cheerfully.
Casey scowled and continued. "Whenever a special agent takes over an operation, they conduct a review. Sarah's in there with him right now."
"Oh. What do you think they're talking about? How is this going to affect our team?"
"Shaw may permanently assign himself to our team, considering we've got two NSA agents to one CIA agent. Shaw would make it two and two," Casey explained.
"That's not even necessary. Sarah's basically equal to two CIA agents."
"Yeeaaaahhh, not really how the brass sees it there, pal," Casey said sarcastically. "You're the Intersect, though, so I'm sure you're a big part of what's happening with Shaw…"
"Wait. The review's about me?" Chuck asked, beginning to worry a lot more. "Shouldn't Shaw be asking me about me?"
"Where's the fun in that? Anyway, you don't look anything like her," Casey smirked.
"Casey, you— Never mind," Chuck said, frustration taking him.
"What's wrong, Bartowski? Afraid another good looking CIA agent is gonna swoop in and make a play for your girl? Afraid they'll become the spy couple on the team?"
"Didn't we already go through this with you, Casey? With the needling and the constant teasing about me and Sarah?" Chuck groused.
Casey looked properly chastised as he grunted and nodded. "Sorry. Look, it's the CIA, Bartowski. Shaw's CIA to his core. That much is obvious. He's going to do his job first and foremost, whatever they tell him to do. And I don't know if you've noticed or not, but she hasn't gone anywhere yet."
Chuck thought about how she hadn't gone anywhere...but that he hadn't gotten anywhere with her, either. And he felt a little glum.
Casey's phone went off suddenly. He picked it up and began to punch in some numbers. "Is that—Is that Shaw? Listen, I'm an integral member of this team, okay? My voice is necessary in this situation."
"Oh, your prepubescent little girl screams are gonna be duly noted," Casey retorted, and then paused. "That's actually more of a shot at little girls and I'm regretting it." Chuck frowned, never really sure where Casey was going with his insults. Casey grinned at him. "Actually, right now he wants to see you. G'luck."
Chuck pressed his lips together, narrowed his eyes, and left Casey behind to head down to Castle.
}o{
"This meeting is to determine if Chuck Bartowski is capable of being a real spy," Shaw began, looking at the other three.
"Why is that even a question?" Sarah asked, speaking up before anyone else could. "What do you think all of the training is for? The missions we've gone on. I mean, his training has been irregular, sure, and he was a civilian less than a year ago."
"Well, these mission reports tell a different story," Shaw replied, shuffling through papers. "Sometimes he looks like an efficient, skilled spy... and other times it's like a Jerry Lewis movie. So I need to know, honestly, is Chuck a liability?"
"Look, Shaw," Chuck said, speaking up for himself. "I'm sure that things have been said...or written," he said gesturing his files, "about either myself or my abilities as a spy that have made you think certain things about my capabilities, and while I concede that there are more traditional or professional spies out there—"
"Chuck, this is my meeting," Shaw said, cutting him off.
"Right. Sorry," Chuck said, clearing his throat. "Please continue."
"I think we can all agree that this team has been very dysfunctional over the last year," Shaw began. Chuck hung his head a little. "And I think I know what the problem is. The problem is them," gesturing towards Casey and Sarah.
Chuck gave him his best "what the fuck" look.
"What?" Sarah snapped. "What does that mean?"
"It means he's a moron," Casey replied, testily.
"Chuck, they coddle you," Shaw continued, totally unfazed by his fellow spies' responses. Chuck listened closely but caught Sarah's body language out of the corner of his eye. "You could be a great spy, but they won't let you evolve. They won't let you learn."
What was he talking about? Casey and Sarah were teaching him how to be a spy. They were conducting his training. How did that amount to them not letting him learn? "How are they stopping me from evolving, when they're the ones training me to even be a spy in the first place?" He turned to Sarah. "What is this?"
She looked furious, just barely holding it in. And Casey was looking at Shaw with downright disgust on his face.
"Chuck, you don't understand," Shaw began and he turned to look back at him. "I'm offering you a solo mission, your first solo mission."
"I'm already on my first solo mission," Chuck replied, shaking his head in confusion.
Casey choked on the apple he was peeling and looked away. Chuck caught it clearly, a sneaking suspicion going through his mind. Sarah looked at Chuck in utter confusion.
"You mean Miss Routh?" Shaw asked, a tinge of mocking in his tone. Chuck wasn't sure what was going on so he just nodded.
"What?" Sarah asked. "Who is Miss Routh? There was a mission I wasn't brought in on?" She gave him a clear look that read "Again?"
And still, Casey was pursing his lips and pointedly avoiding meeting anyone's eye.
"No, it's okay," Chuck assured her. "It was a one-spy job. Just an intel grab of sorts. I have infiltrated this group—"
"A knitting circle," Shaw corrected in annoyance, his face blank.
"Yeah, yeah. Okay. It's a knitting circle, yes. But I'm gaining intel on a possible mark," Chuck continued.
"Her unemployed son, Brandon. He played some minor superhero or something on TV," Shaw injected. "He tried to play a bad guy once but it didn't go over real well with a few of the fans."
"Anyway, he's disillusioned by everything now and it's possible he might be part of Fulcrum," Chuck said. He paused and looked over at Shaw.
"Go ahead and tell her the rest, then," the CIA agent snarked, gesturing to Sarah, obviously frustrated.
"So once a week, I show up and listen to the stories Miss Routh tells about Brandon and I learn to knit."
Sarah gaped. "I have...so many questions."
"They really aren't necessary..." Casey cut in.
"I've been wanting to talk to you about it, Sarah, you know for some advice, but Casey wouldn't let me, and anyway, it started while you were gone, on your own solo mission" Chuck explained.
Sarah turned to give Casey a murderous look. "Casey…?" she drawled slowly, warning in her tone.
Chuck looked over at Casey, back to Sarah, and then back to Casey again. The lightbulb went on over his head and he slumped down in his chair, burying his face in his hands. "Oh come on, REALLY?"
"Damn it, Casey! Again?" Sarah snapped.
Chuck looked up at them again, embarrassed and annoyed and tired, all at once.
"See?" Shaw held up his files and shook them. "Jerry Lewis," he said as if he was right all along. Chuck really disliked him at that moment.
"Fine, Casey's a dick," Chuck said. Casey shrugged, assenting the point. "But he wouldn't put me in danger."
"They are coddling you," Shaw insisted.
"They are not coddling me. I'm not even fully trained yet and I've been entrusted with big things, Agent Shaw, okay? Big mission-y things."
Sarah shut her eyes and sighed and he thought maybe that hadn't helped much. "What's the solo mission?" she asked then, seeming just as tired as he was.
"A relaxing getaway from Kingston to Rio de Janeiro on a cruise ship," Shaw answered. They all kept staring at him. "It also just so happens to be a nineteen-forties themed cruise ship."
Chuck groaned.
"And he's going alone?" Sarah asked, crossing her arms in disbelief.
"Many single people do go on those cruises alone. To meet new people," Shaw countered.
Sarah glanced over at Chuck, a blank look on her face. He shook her head, raising his eyebrows.
"What person under the age of sixty goes on a cruise alone to meet someone? That's not something I would do, anyone my age."
"That's why it's called a cover," Shaw reminded him, seeming to be getting frustrated.
"He really doesn't understand, does he?" Chuck asked Sarah. She sighed, shaking her head. "Listen, Shaw, I know, you came in here to take charge of the team, but Sarah has been in charge of watching me for a year now, and she's done a fantastic job of protecting me since day one. She understands me and gets how I operate. Casey, too. It's why we work as a team. If either of them—no, if Sarah especially says it's a bad idea for me to do this mission solo, then it's a bad idea."
The mask was up, and he had no idea what Sarah was thinking. But he meant what he said. Sarah had been a spy for years, she lived this life, she must've been on hundreds of missions by the time all of this even happened to him. He wasn't going to let Shaw come in here and undercut Sarah's authority on his development and training to be a spy.
"Let me just go ahead and add that the NSA will not allow our agent to go on this mission without one of his trainers," Casey said. "The NSA strongly recommends that Agent Walker accompany Agent Carmichael—who has the Intersect in his head, no less—not just to keep him safe, but to ensure that his training continues. I'd go, but I got shot." He shrugged.
"That's not your call," Shaw tried. "He might be NSA, but this is my team now."
Casey crossed his arms. "Go give General Beckman a call, and then she'll ask for my opinion. Watch." Shaw looked irritated. "Time's ticking Shaw, Agent Carmichael has a knitting circle to make."
Chuck sent him a glare, curling his lip. He couldn't believe he'd actually fallen for that shit. And… wait. "Hold on, what am I going to tell Miss Routh and the rest of the girls? I'm going to be missing a few meetings if I'm gonna be on a cruise!"
"Tell them you're taking a trip with your girlfriend," Sarah replied, shrugging.
"I...um...told them that I broke up with my girlfriend," Chuck replied with a wince. Sarah gave him a look. "I had to do something to get in, give 'em a sob story, make 'em feel bad for me. Appeal to that motherly insti—You know what? I hate all of you." Sarah was trying really hard to suppress genuine amusement as Casey snickered.
Chuck snapped his fingers then, an idea occurring to him. "Oh, I know. I'll tell them I had bought us the tickets before we broke up and I couldn't get a refund."
"That would work. Dysfunctional and awkward, but it works," Sarah muttered, pursing her lips. Then a bit of amusement came to her face. "So, um, what are you knitting during these circles?"
Chuck burst to his feet in excitement and grabbed the square piece of knitting he'd finished so far.
"I'm making Ellie and Awesome a throw blanket for their wedding," Chuck said, showing them.
Shaw threw his hands up and walked out of the room.
Sarah chuckled, got up, and headed for the door. But then she stopped in the doorframe. "We have a mission to prep for. You coming?" Chuck got up and hurried after her, leaving Casey sitting there, smirking to himself.
"Those two, locked in a room for who knows how long, alone..." He lit a cigar, leaned back, and sighed. "Either they'll kill each other, or straighten their shit out." He took a puff and snickered.
}o{
Chuck stared up at the juggernaut cruise ship in complete and utter awe. It looked like a god amongst mortals it was so massive, moored up against the Kingston docks. He and Sarah had taken a red eye flight down to Jamaica last night, and he was still feeling a bit loopy, dragging, as he'd had a much rougher time sleeping on the plane than Sarah had.
Maybe it was just her extensive spy training that made it so easy for her to fall asleep on planes. She'd flown all over the world, he imagined, and in worse conditions than a slightly cramped airline seat amongst other equally uncomfortable passengers. But he'd been unable to fall asleep. Maybe he was stressed about the mission, or maybe...maybe he was filled with adrenaline and excitement, with a dash of nerves.
This would be his first solo mission with Agent Sarah Walker...as an agent himself. Or, he supposed, an agent in training. He would be learning on the job, while also demonstrating just how much he'd already learned.
And sure, that wasn't the point of this—the point was to find the key that would open the case they'd recovered from Stromberg's estate a few weeks ago—but the opportunity was still there and he wanted to make the most of it. He could do this. He could be a spy. And not just any spy, but his own version of a spy, a Chuck Bartowski version of a spy. Whatever that meant. He didn't know, but maybe he'd figure it out on this cruise.
Sarah was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as the phrase went, once they'd stepped off of the plane into the delicious cool Caribbean breeze of Kingston where Charles and Sarah Villanueva would embark on their ten day journey to Rio de Janeiro by luxury cruise. And he knew she was so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed because the moment the plane hit ten-thousand feet, Sarah had fallen into a deep sleep. She'd slumped to the side part of the way through as he'd been attempting to read himself to sleep, her head resting on his shoulder, and he'd left her there, deciding that if he couldn't sleep, he could at least enjoy an unconscious moment of closeness—said moment lasting a good four to five hours.
So sure, he wasn't refreshed or well-rested, but he didn't exactly feel bad as he squinted up at the bow of the gigantic cruise ship.
"Charles. Darling."
He blinked, not realizing Sarah was speaking to him at first, and shook himself, spinning on his heel to face her. She gave him a look as if to say Pay attention, then handed him his passport and ticket. "Sorry, er, darling. My, er, my darling...wife."
She gave him a flat look, then turned back to the customs agent with a polite smile. "Thank you, sir."
"Have a safe trip," the customs agent said, tipping his head at them.
Chuck slipped his passport into his inner coat pocket and cleared his throat. "Sorry, it's just...I didn't sleep well on that flight."
Sarah sidled up close to his side as they moved towards the mass of people trying to get onto the ship. "I know you didn't, but we need to stay alert. This isn't a vacation. We're on a mission. Look for anyone who might be watching us too closely. That's the first thing. Anyone you see more than once. This is a big ship with a lot of people on it. If you're seeing the same shady-looking person over and over, we're most likely being followed. Got it?"
He nodded. "Got it. I'm on it."
She slung an arm through his even as he pushed their large suitcases along ahead of them on a cart. A man in a crisp navy blue suit and bellboy hat stepped up to them. "Good morning. Welcome aboard the Arosa Empire. I can take your luggage straight to your cabin for you while you wait to check in and climb aboard."
"Arosa Empire?" Chuck muttered under his breath to Sarah, but he got a sharp jab of her elbow into his ribcage, wincing and giving her an offended look. It was just weird to him that a ship taking off from Jamaica in the twenty-first century would proudly carry the word EMPIRE in its name like that wasn't historically a bad thing. He shook it off as Sarah handled delivering most of their luggage onto the bellboy's cart.
"Mr. and Mrs. Villanueva…" He checked the small notebook he pulled out of his pocket. "Cabin 477. Your bags will await you in your suite." He took the tip Sarah slipped him and bowed with a thank you, then pushed their luggage off towards another ramp where other bellhops were carefully taking luggage onto the ship.
"Were we...supposed to be all themed out getting onto the ship?" he asked then as the mass of people pushed them closer towards the front of the scrum. Women were in their dresses with the frilled sleeves and the high heels, the pillbox hats pinned to their updos, some with fancy veils over their eyes. And the men wore suits, some of them with silly-levels of exaggerated shoulders that made them look like they'd been involved in the zoot suit riots. And those typical nineteen-forties hats with the brim. The pointed toed shoes.
"Some of these people are really into it, apparently," she said under her breath, still scanning the crowd with her alert blue eyes. "It isn't required. But if we attend any events or plan on eating at any of the restaurants…"
"Full zoot suit riot?" he filled in.
She snorted. "I don't believe the CIA put zoot suits in your luggage but I suppose we'll have to wait and see, hm?"
He hoped not for much longer. He really needed whatever kind of bathroom they'd have in their cabin the CIA had booked them. He'd been holding it since they'd climbed into the taxi from the airport and it was making it hard for him to concentrate on doing his job and keeping his guard up.
Once they ascended the steps onto the main welcoming deck, they pushed past the people waiting at the railing, waving down at the folks left on the docks below. It was straight out of a post-war movie or something, men with their hair all slicked back and the wide ties and high pants.
It felt so bizarre that a mission had taken them here, onto a nineteen-forties themed cruise, to find the key that might open Stromberg's case. Who had brought the key here? Who might've hidden it, and where? How in the hell were they even going to find it on this massive cruise ship?
They had ten days to find out the answer to all of those questions. And he would have ten days to prove himself to Agent Walker as someone who would be a good partner—at least as far as the spy life was concerned. The rest of it? Well...he'd have to place that on the back burner for the time being.
}o{
Sarah took a deep breath as they stepped into their cabin suite for the first time, Chuck holding the door for her so that she could enter first. There was a nice sitting area with a table for breakfast if they chose to order room service, and a nice window, outside of which was the promenade deck. Off to the side was the bedroom and bath, and as she and Chuck were masquerading as Charles and Sarah Villanueva, a newlywed couple on their honeymoon, she didn't imagine she'd find a pair of twin beds through the sliding double doors.
"Please let there be a toilet," Chuck nearly whimpered as he hurried inside then and barely looked at anything before sliding the doors to the bedroom open and rushing into the bathroom. She heard the door thump shut and she smirked, shaking her head.
She had to keep her head.
This wasn't a regular mission. On the surface level, sure, it was just like the other missions she'd been on with a partner, and with Bryce in particular. Pose as a couple on vacation, do the usual spy work under the radar, get what or whom they came for, and bounce out of there. But this wasn't some other partner she was on this mission with. This wasn't Bryce. She was on her first solo mission with Chuck—Agent Carmichael—and she knew that it was a massive test. Her superiors would be watching, just waiting for this partnership to go down in flames. Beckman in particular would be keeping her wily eye on this, and Shaw would be eager to have his original plan about Chuck needing to undertake this mission alone be validated by their failure.
There was also the fact that she hadn't been in love with any of her partners until now. And that thought left her feeling raw and vulnerable in a way nothing else ever had in her entire life. She grabbed one of her suitcases from the pile in the main living area and carried it into the bedroom just as Chuck walked out of the bathroom. She turned her back to him and unzipped her suitcase, diving right into unpacking a little to disguise the unease she knew he'd pick up on immediately.
"So not only is there a toilet, there's a shower and bath combo and a sink with running water, as well as a first aid kit. Hopefully we won't need that, but we're spies and sometimes the spy life is...dangerous."
She ignored the slight teasing lilt of his voice as he stepped up to the bed.
"Oh."
"What?" she asked, pulling a long, elegant gown out from her suitcase and moving over to the closet to hang it up. She didn't usually unpack on missions, but seeing as there was really nowhere else for her to go while she was trapped on a cruise ship, and the fact that this mint green vintage gown with the slightly poofed sleeves and cinched belted waist seemed extremely prone to wrinkles and creases, she figured she might as well protect it.
"Uh...Nothing, I guess I didn't think about…" He cleared his throat and she glanced over her shoulder. He was staring at the bed.
"You're a special agent now, Chuck. Undercover as Charles Villanueva, copyright lawyer and newly wed to Sarah Villanueva, real estate agent. This is the job. We don't get to request two beds in our cabin, unfortunately. Might be bad for the cover." She couldn't help the clipped tone to her voice, but she wanted to hit him for specifically recognizing and pointing out that they'd be sharing a bed during this ten day escapade. He couldn't just notice it and awkwardly not say anything like she was doing? God.
"Right. Of course. You're right. I'm...We're professionals. We're agents. We're on a mission. This is a mission. I'm gonna go get, uh, my suits...and hang 'em up. Don't want creases. Bogart would never wear a creased suit."
She heard him clear his throat and he hurried out of the bedroom. Letting out a long breath, she rolled her eyes a little. This was already getting frustrating and the ship hadn't even left the Kingston harbor yet. How was she going to keep Chuck on task through all of this? With everything between them and the tense history, the long talks she'd had with Ellie, knowing little had changed in their feelings for one another in spite of the messy situation and Chuck's massive lie about his decision to join the NSA, and...and the fact that she knew she'd been a huge part of that decision, how was she going to keep this mission from veering off the rails? Would Chuck try to corner her again like he had at Stromberg's?
Could she even handle sharing a cabin—and a bed—with this man for ten days while they worked? Chuck wasn't a fully trained NSA agent or spy just yet, and he was prone to distractions. And she'd never even been in this sort of situation before, so who even knew what she could and couldn't handle?
Suddenly a suitcase was dropped on the bed across from hers. She looked up to see him unzipping it and peering inside. And then he glanced up at her. "So...what's our plan of attack? What's our first step?"
She boggled at him for just a split second. There he went keeping her on her toes again. He was getting right down to business, the mission apparently at the forefront of his thoughts. He shut her brain up just like that.
"Well, we know the key is going to be on this ship thanks to Ring communications Shaw's analysts intercepted. They're just as much in the dark as we are when it comes to who will be transporting the key, and where this person is hiding it. All they know is a Mr. Frederick Hasselback is awaiting its arrival in Rio."
"So they're in the same predicament we are," he said.
Sarah nodded. "Yes. And we have to assume there are Ring agents on this cruise. Guests, staff, even the crew… They're all capable of being Ring agents so we can't let our guard down even for a second."
"Right," he said with a quiet nod. She watched him cast his gaze off to the side under a furrowed, thoughtful brow. "Do we have anything to go off of? Any clues as to whom this Key Carrier might be? Ooo!" He snapped his fingers. "We can call 'em KC. Like KC and the...Sunshine...Band. Ahem." His voice trailed off as she gave him a long, blank look. "Just a thought."
"First thing's first. We need to change so we blend in with the other guests. And then we need to get the layout of this thing."
"That sounds to me like we're going exploring. Are we going exploring?"
She couldn't resist the slight smile at his excitement. "We're spying, Chuck. It's what spies do."
}o{
Buttoning the last button on her cream-colored blouse, she tied the ends of the collar into a fashionable loose knot and turned to survey herself in the mirror. At least the CIA had provided her with a few pairs of comfortable high-waisted trousers, the legs loose and flowy, rather than just a parade of dresses and gowns.
Reaching up, she slipped one more pin into the bun that rested at the nape of her neck. She thought about spraying her hair to keep the loose strands and tendrils in place, but they were already heading to sea now and no matter what she did, she knew her hair would end up windswept. So what was the point?
She hurried out of the bathroom, her heels clicking against the floor, and she was forced to stop suddenly, nearly crashing into Chuck. She stopped herself with a hand on his chest, bouncing back a step.
"S-Sorry. I was going to ask if I could use that mirror because the lighting's—Oh." He stared at her for a moment, then ran his gaze down her long legs and back up again. "You look like—What I mean is you, uh, fit the part. I like the pants. They're you."
Sarah was too busy eyeballing Chuck's outfit to really listen. It fit him like a glove and he seemed to be squirming in it a bit. He hadn't even gotten the jacket on yet. The pants and vest matched, two different shades of grey pinstripes adorning both articles of clothing and the wide tie was the same shade of grey but with polka dots instead of stripes. She wondered if he'd accidentally picked the wrong tie, but...it looked good, really good, so she decided not to question it.
He was frowning down at the comb in his hand, the hair product in the other.
"What's wrong?" she asked, deciding not to respond to his compliment, lest she slip and tell him what she thought of him in those trousers.
"The hair. I can't get it to stay. Even with the product they put in my suitcase. Apparently the folks who prepped our bags have never met my hair." He eyed the jar strangely, reading the label. "If this crap makes me go bald early or something, I'm suing the government for damages."
She snorted and shook her head. "I'll do it. Just come over here and sit."
Snagging the comb and product from his hands, she led him back over to the vanity and bid him sit with an impatient gesture. He did so, a curious look on his face. Sarah ignored it and leaned down over him to scoop at the mousse and set both hands to his hair. She smoothed it in, combing her fingers through his curls, then took the comb and parted his hair about an inch left of center, combing each side away from the part.
His hair didn't cooperate as well as she wanted it to, but it also wasn't the worst thing. There were messy waves flowing back and to the side from the part that made him look a little like a stereotypical curly-haired, rebellious sportsman from those old movies she used to catch on her TV when she was holed away in a hotel room with downtime during a mission. Like a dark-haired Errol Flynn or something.
Sarah bit her lip and nodded. "Uh...best I can do." Clearing her throat, she went straight into the bathroom to wash her hands, silently willing herself to focus on what was important. This mission needed to be successful or this partnership was over before it even really began. Agent Daniel Shaw would take her place on this team, and she didn't trust him further than she could punt him.
They found themselves out on the promenade once Chuck donned his jacket that matched the rest of his suit.
As they walked arm in arm, he squirmed a bit.
"What?" she asked, eyeing him funny.
"Hm? Oh. Uh, this suit, it's just super snug. I think they got my size wrong."
"I think that's how the suits fit back then."
He made a quiet whining sound. "I look super cool, but I feel like the discomfort is unnecessary."
"Welcome to literally every article of clothing women have to wear on a constant basis," she muttered with a smirk.
"Touché," he said after a short pause. "Is this my punishment for all the times you've had to wear an uncomfortable dress and five inch stilettos on a mission?"
"Maybe, but it isn't my doing. I think fate must've decided to step in."
That made him chuckle, and she found herself smiling at the sound of it.
Once they got to the end of the promenade deck, he gestured through a door that took them into one of the guest hallways, and after a few turns, they made their way into the large lobby where they'd checked in at the concierge desk. Beyond the lobby was the massive dining area with a stage at the front. The cruise boasted a fourteen-piece big band and a "canary" (she'd rolled her eyes to herself at that), but they weren't on the stage now. Some folks sat at the tables eating club sandwiches, soup, salads, and others were already enjoying martinis and other cocktails.
"This is really fancy. You know, I've never been on a cruise," Chuck said as Sarah took her phone out of her clutch and snapped a few pictures. "I've always been the kind of guy who wants to just get on an airplane and get to my destination as fast as possible, then enjoy the destination and get back home."
Sarah pointed to a corridor that led out of the dining room. "Let's go that way," she said, and they walked through the rows of tables, stepping into the corridor. It was darker here. With no windows, the corridor required lamps lining the walls on either side of them as they strolled through. There were doors that led to storage rooms, a few staff cabins, and a staircase that led further down where she imagined there were more staff cabins. As much as this company boasted itself as being historically accurate in its portrayal of cruise liner travel in the nineteen-forties, she highly doubted they stuck "third class" passengers in tiny cramped, dilapidated cabins. Which was good. Some things had gotten better in sixty years.
"Think we're allowed down there?"
"There's no sign that says we aren't, and even if there was, we're spies," she said under her breath. "This is what we do."
He cleared his throat and gestured for her to take the stairs first. "Good point," he said in a flat voice.
They made their way down the staircase and Chuck snuck a quick glance down the hallway, first left, then right. "Coast is clear," he whispered.
"Hey." He glanced back at her, eyebrows raised in question. He really did look like an old-timey gangster with that hair and wearing that suit. All wiry and rebellious. "We're a newlywed couple taking a tour of the ship we're gonna be on for the next ten days, Chuck. Maybe tiptoeing around like cartoon characters isn't the right approach here."
He straightened up and cleared his throat. "Another good point."
Smirking a little, she threaded her arm through his and they kept walking, exchanging smiles with a staff member dressed as a maid as she passed by. Apparently she didn't give a crap they were down here, so Sarah took it as a good sign.
She took more pictures, simultaneously trying to memorize the twists and turns of the place so that she could get at least a mental map of the way the Arosa Empire was laid out. Just in case. The more she knew this ship, the easier it would be for them to determine how and where to find that damn key.
Her phone buzzed as she made to slip it back in her bag and she glanced at it. "Shaw," she muttered to Chuck, and they ducked out of the hallway into a cramped nook as a bellhop pushed a cart past them.
Sarah answered her phone, glancing at the retreating form of the bellhop, and quietly muttered, "Walker, secure" into the phone.
"Good. I was afraid the service would be bad."
"It'll be worse once we get further out to sea, but we have access to wireless Internet on the ship." It wasn't exactly very nineteen-forties of them but realistically, they had to have figured folks couldn't completely cut themselves off from the real world especially in the privacy of their cabins. Emails had to be checked, family members and pets had to be checked up on.
"Listen. We've got new intel. Whoever took the key onto the ship, they're wealthy. Very wealthy. And we have good reason to believe they aren't aligned with the Ring, either. They were tasked by Stromberg to deliver the key to Rio…"
"So this person is basically a mule, then. A delivery person."
"Exactly. So we aren't sure what sort of person we're dealing with. We also know that this person means to stay in Rio indefinitely, Agent Walker. Which means—"
"They'll have more than just luggage for ten days. You think they're keeping everything else in the hold?"
"That's our guess, yes. Plenty of people are keeping things in the ship's hold, however. So it still isn't going to be easy to find out which of the belongings are those of this person carrying the key. And even still, who knows where they're keeping said key?"
Sarah nodded, biting her lip. "All right. We're on it. Let us know when you get anything else that might help us pin down this person."
She hung up and stuck her phone back in her bag.
"Come on," she breathed. "We have to find out how to get into the hold."
"The hold? Why?" He followed her anyway, but then he caught her hand in his and pointed. "That's a dead-end. I think the hold can't be accessed from this part of the ship. We'll have to find another way."
Sighing, she nodded. "You're right. Come on." And she led him back down the hallway and up towards the main room. They tried another way and found they were out of luck there, too. And it was as they were trying to make their way out of that passageway that a staff member finally stopped them.
"Are you looking for the dining area?" he asked. "Dinner won't be served for another hour and a half. We ask that guests don their formal wear for the dining area during dinner hours."
Chuck cleared his throat. "Oh. Yes. Thank you. We're a bit lost. Trying to get back to our cabin so that we can rest before dinner. You know how it is," he said, grinning a bit too wide, she thought to herself.
He led them away from the prohibited area and back up to the main deck at the bow. "There you are, folks. Feel free to ask any staff or crew if you have any questions at all." With a deep bow, he left them standing there out at the front of the ship, the wind whipping at their hair and clothes.
"This is going to be harder than I thought," Sarah mused aloud. "They obviously do have places where they don't want guests venturing."
Chuck shoved his hands in his pockets and squinted out at the water surrounding them. "So we will have to be sneaky after all."
"Seems that way, yeah."
His grin, with the way his tamed but still mussed curls fluttered around on his head, and wearing that suit, made her chest feel tight, and she looked away from it. "Well, this is looking like a full-blown mission, isn't it?"
Yes. It was. And a full-blown situation, too. That had nothing to do with the mission.
}o{
"The table in the corner."
Sarah felt a chill come over her as she looked back down at her lemon zest grilled chicken.
"What?" Chuck asked, mid-chew.
"We're being watched by the man at the table in the corner," she clarified quietly, calmly cutting a piece of chicken, piercing it with her folk, and plucking it off the end of her said fork with her teeth.
Chuck glanced around subtly and then looked back down at his own beef bourguignon. "Not to be an ass, but there are no corners in a round room."
She sent him a slight glare, sipping her wine. "That was a little bit assish, Chuck, not gonna lie."
"Wha—I'm not—It's true!" he argued.
"Sh. Up by the stage, there's a staircase leading to the upper floor...next to that, there's a table. There's a man at that table wearing a tuxedo." Chuck looked down at his own tuxedo and she huffed impatiently. "Yes, I know. A lot of people are wearing tuxedos. He has blond hair, thinning at the top, glasses. He's tall and skinny…"
Chuck turned around and looked directly at the table in question. She was about to grab him by the vest he was wearing and force him to face her again, the unsubtle idiot, but then he lifted his hand and gestured towards the nearby waiter. The waiter hastened over with a, "Yessir?"
"Do you, uh, do you have any...Tabasco?" Chuck asked, wrinkling his nose and pointed at his beef bourguignon. The waiter looked a little taken aback by the request and shook his head a little. "No? Well, no worries. Thank you anyway. I'll make do. This is delicious."
"Er...yessir. Thank you." The waiter bowed a little again and rushed off to help another table.
Chuck turned back to her immediately. "Okay, yeah, that guy's absolutely watching us."
Sarah slipped a smile onto her face that any newlywed woman might have for her husband and leaned in, keeping the surprise from her features. "That was slick, Chuck, I have to admit."
"Yeah, well...I'm not a total loss at this." She felt a pang at the way he'd said it. There was some bite there. And she felt like she maybe deserved it. "So what are we doing about Slenderman over there?"
"We have to assume he's a Ring agent."
"How does he know we're CIA and NSA, though?"
"Maybe he doesn't," she reasoned with a shrug. "Maybe he's going into this just as blind as we are, having to keep his guard up and be suspicious of everyone. They have to know we'll have agents looking for that key. They know we have the briefcase now."
"So? You have the ranking, here. I'm still in training. What's our next move?"
"We finish our dinner."
He was silent for a few moments. "That's...That's it?"
"Mhm. If we get up with half our dinner eaten and rush out of here, we confirm his suspicions. That'll put targets on us. Where there's one Ring agent, there are sure to be others slithering around somewhere close. He'll share that information with the rest of them and we'll be right smack dab in the middle of a lion's den about as helpless as a couple of gimpy gazelles."
"I'm nervous out of my mind right now, but you need to know that was a very well done metaphor."
"Thank you," she muttered distractedly. "Just don't lose your cool, okay, Chuck? My guess is once we finish eating, we leave the dining area, he'll follow us. Just follow my lead once we get out of here, okay? And until then, keep your eye on everyone behind me, I'll watch behind you...and for God's sake, act like a happily married man, won't you?"
Sarah slipped her hand over the table to wrap around his and she held it, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand adoringly. She hit him with one of her slow, warm smiles and he squeezed her hand, smiling back. "That's better," she murmured. "We can't lose sight of our mission here. Find and secure the key to the briefcase, and...maintain this cover. It keeps us safe."
"Safe enough that the guy in the non-corner pegged us as spies?" Chuck asked.
She resisted the urge to send him a flat look. She was a newlywed and in love as far as everyone else in this room was concerned. She leaned in a bit closer and let her features soften. "I get that sarcasm is your defense mechanism but this fake marriage will be getting off to a rocky start if you say even one more snide thing to me. Got it?"
Chuck swallowed thickly and smiled back at her, pursing his lips in an air kiss. "Got it."
"Good," she said with an arched brow.
The rest of the meal went without a hitch, they billed it to their cabin, and they made their way out of the dining room. But as they walked, Sarah felt Chuck give her arm a little tug, and just like that, they'd stepped onto the dance floor and slipped in between a few couples. She was in Chuck's arms, looking up at him with wide eyes. "What—What are you…?"
"Another Ring agent. I flashed on this one."
"Where?"
"On the dance floor, dancing with either yet another Ring agent, or some unsuspecting poor soul. The woman in the yellow dress at my twelve o'clock. Hold on…" He took her hand and stepped back a bit, raising their arms above their heads and allowing for her to spin out. She spotted the woman in the yellow dress, glad she seemed to be looking away for now, and she spun right back into Chuck's chest, letting him gather her up in his arms again. "See her?"
"Mhm," she breathed, eyelids fluttering a bit as she looked up into his face that was so close to hers. The cover, she repeated to herself over and over. The cover, the cover, the cover… "What did you see in your flash? Who is she?"
"Spent three years working for MI6 as a chemist, but she was caught and found guilty of smuggling chemicals out of their labs. Bad stuff. Really bad stuff. She somehow broke out of wherever they were keeping her and hasn't been seen since."
"The Ring got her out," Sarah said, squeezing his hand tighter and slipping the fingers of her other hand over the nape of his neck distractedly. "We need to find a way out of this place and we need to get back to our room without them finding out where said room is."
"Do you think all of them know who we are?" he asked, his voice quivering.
"No. They can't. Did she make eye contact with you?" Chuck shook his head, their noses brushing just slightly. Sarah ignored the shiver that went through her and hoped he hadn't felt it, as close as he was pressed against her. "Good. She hasn't pegged us, then. She's just here."
"Slenderman's pegged us, though."
"We'll take care of Slenderman," she said quickly. "Just don't freak out."
He nodded and she could hear him gulp, even over the soft samba the band was playing, the singer crooning the words to some old song she didn't recognize. But then he held her even closer and he shifted so that his face was pressed against her hair behind her ear. His body was tense under her touch and she wanted to reassure him somehow. But then he spoke up, quietly, his lips near her ear. "I'm just really glad I'm not doing this alone. I'm glad I listened to you. That Shaw guy is insane."
"You could do this alone, Chuck," she said immediately. "Even without being fully trained, you have the skillsets. You have the smarts. You think quick on your feet. You could do this."
"Maybe," he muttered. "Maybe not. Either way, I'm glad I don't have to this time." There was a long pause. And then, "I need you."
Sarah didn't know how to respond to that. So she just kept swaying with him, and she let her eyes slip closed for just a few moments. Her hand rubbed the nape of his neck comfortingly and he sighed against her hair.
The song ended a few moments later and they stepped back from one another to clap for the band along with the other couples. Sarah felt the air between them. It had changed. There was something crackling there, electricity...but also an incredibly deep warmth.
Clearing her throat, she turned back to him and met his grin with one of her own, letting him take her hand and lean in to press a kiss to the spot where her jaw ended, just under her ear. He had to kiss her there instead of on her cheek, didn't he? She swallowed hard and walked with him hand in hand towards the staircase that led up to the floor above theirs.
She wasn't taking the normal route back to their room. She could feel her spy sense tingling and knew they were being followed distantly. Probably by the guy Chuck called Slenderman, but if he was a Ring agent, he'd probably pulled the yellow dress chemist into his confidence about them too.
Or she'd notice that her Ring companion was determinedly headed somewhere and she'd put two and two together.
Either way, Sarah waited for another couple to pass before she slipped her fingers into the neckline of her gown, pulling one of her knives out and clutching it subtly in her fist.
"I don't have a weapon, Sarah," Chuck hissed. He was freaking out a little. She could feel the freak out energy emanating off of him.
She squeezed his hand reassuringly.
"I'm your weapon."
She couldn't be sure but she thought she felt him shiver, and she wasn't entirely sure it was in a bad way. She pushed that thought away quickly and pulled him to duck down the hallway that led towards the quarterdeck. "Do everything I tell you to do," she said quietly. "Okay?"
"Absolutely."
A waiter was pushing a cart towards them with a friendly smile on his face. Sarah saw there was a silver dome over the tray on top, keeping the food underneath warm, and she pulled Chuck to a stop for a moment, holding onto his arm to brace herself as she stooped a bit, pretending to fix her heel. The waiter was forced to halt the cart to keep from hitting her and he did so politely, but it also gave her a chance to look at the reflection on the dome.
There he was, the tall thin man in the tuxedo, blurry as the reflection was, striding around the corner, following them.
Here we go, she thought to herself.
Here we go.
A/N: Here we go... Thanks for reading. Please review.
-SC and DC
