A/N: You all continue to be awesome readers and reviewers (especially the anonymous reviewers, since I can't thank you directly; I should have mentioned you folks in an earlier chapter)—thank you for that. Since the last chapter took a little longer than usual to crank out, I wanted to get this one out a little faster, and did so by not writing thank yous to anyone; guilt is a powerful motivator. Those thank yous will soon be on their way. (…after I'm done travelling for the weekend…again.)
Just as a general reminder, this story takes place through 2.07 ("Chuck vs. the Fat Lady," though I flat-out ignore any of the issues that were generated by that story arc), when Beckman was still somewhat oblivious to the whole Chuck/Sarah dynamic. Additionally, for those of you pushing for our two favorites to get together soon, allow me to assuage your fears: patience. There will be resolution soon, I promise—I'm not so cruel as to generate so much tension and not deal with it all at the end (I'd like to get to the resolution as much as you )—but first, there's a mission to take care of and a gala to attend…what could possibly go wrong?
Also as a reminder: I apologize profusely for typos—I've tried to catch them all, but some have slipped though, no doubt; I'll fix them as I find them (or you find them, whichever happens first). Several italicized words in a row denote a character's thoughts. Finally, I don't own Chuck. It's undeniably interesting to consider what life would be like if I did own, though.
-.-.-.-
Day 8: Friday
Chuck scrunched his face at output displayed on the computer monitor and tilted his head sideways. He had only an hour or two before he had to run home to shower and change for the gala, and he hadn't hacked Fort Knox's server yet…not for a lack of thinking about or trying to do so. He'd been at it since he woke up from his siesta in the home theater room the previous day, as evidenced by the impressive pyramid of Red Bull cans in the employee break room. The familiar tingle of being on the verge of finding the solution, however, waylaid some of his time-inspired fear.
Seeing Casey stare him down while circling the Herder counter for the third time that hour—the NSA agent had gotten wind of Sarah's plan, and was not pleased that he still had no security plans with the mission hours away—Chuck resisted the urge to loosen his tie and went for folding his hands together and cracking his fingers while glancing at the clock. This is going to be really close. Returning his focus to the monitor, he took a deep breath while thoughtfully squinting at the output again before tentatively typing a few commands. Surprised at what the code returned, he typed furiously for a few more minutes before finally getting what he needed—access to the server's files without alerting anyone he was there or taking anything.
"Ha, gotcha," he muttered, scrolling through the trove of folders to find the one for Reed Associates with one hand while starting to dial Sarah with the other. He had no sooner found the folder and saved it—surreptitiously, of course—when Emmett appeared before him at the desk with a devious look on his face. Is there any other kind of look with Emmett?
"Chuuuuuuuuuuuuck. If you're done making fish faces at that monitor, service call for you. Hop to it!"
Chuck looked down at his watch. Unless the service call was nearby (which he doubted), there was no way he was going to make it over to Sarah's on time. Wedging the still-ringing phone between his shoulder and ear, he started packing up.
"Can you send someone else? I was just about to leave."
"MISTER Bartowski. While you may be leaving our glorious Buy Moria soon for good…"
"If by 'soon' you mean 'in 60 seconds,' then yes, that's true," Chuck interrupted, patting his pockets for a pen to jot something down fast.
"…you haven't left our borders yet." Emmett relished in emphasizing the word "yet," straightening his vest and swiveling his head as he did so. "You will go to this service call."
Chuck's expression didn't change any as he scribbled a few notes for the remaining Nerd Herd employees. The purportedly unflappable and fearless Emmett, shocked that his commanding tone did not compel Chuck into action, scrambled for additional words.
"You will go, or…or…OR I will withhold your final paycheck!"
You're kidding me. That's the best threat he can think of? About to tell Emmett off for good, Casey caught Chuck's attention, and with a simple "hurry it up" hand gesture and glare at the back of Emmett's head, Chuck found himself agreeing to the service call to get rid of the troublesome assistant manager before Casey did.
"Fine, fine, I'll go. What's the address?"
Emmett handed him the paperwork with a flourish before turning on his heels and walking away in a victory strut. Great, so I haven't seen or been able to talk to Sarah in a day, and now we have absolutely no time to get on the same page for tonight. Sighing, Chuck summed up his thoughts aloud.
"Sarah's not going to like this."
"What am I not going to like?"
He had forgotten that he had dialed her number before Emmett appeared. I wonder how much of that conversation she heard?
"Oh, h…hi. How are you?"
The smile across her face at his bumbling was audible in her voice.
"I'm fine. Other than the fact that I have no idea where you were last night, what am I not going to like?"
Wow, that sounded very girlfriend-ish, he thought. Is she in a public place, or is she really getting that good at this? The ding of an elevator in the background and the whooshing of elevator doors answered his question, followed by the ambient chatter of people. Ah, public place. He swapped the phone to his other ear as he repacked his briefcase for the service call. Maybe if I say it as fast as possible she won't hear it. And maybe if I toss good news on the end and stretch it out, then she really won't hear the first part.
"That I'm going to be late to the gala. But heeeeeeeeeeeey, know what you are going to like? That thing you asked for yesterday. I finished it. That's where I was last night, working on that…thing. It's all set."
His brilliant plan didn't work—she immediately honed in on the first part of the sentence, noting the second part and discarding it.
"Why are you going to be late?"
He really didn't want to tell her why over the phone. He'd much rather tell her in person when he could beg for mercy. Hmmm, maybe if I ask her questions to counter her initial question, the multiple questions will cancel out hers question and only mine will remain. That plan is FLAWLESS! Why didn't I think of it before?
"Where are you? You sound like you're on the floor of a stock market."
"At Fort Knox. Marilyn's giving me a quick tour of the office before everyone heads to the gala…"
"Why now?" he mused aloud. …I'm starting to sound like Ellie. Maybe the multiple-question-distraction plan was a bad idea. The plan might be flawed…
"Because if I'm representing the company tonight, I'd like to know it. I've been here skimming client dossiers all day," she answered without missing a beat, despite his interruption. She didn't mention that the office visit had been her contingency plan if Chuck hadn't hacked the server in time—she'd been 5 minutes away from lifting the hard copy of Reed Associates' security plans and smuggling the file to Casey. Thank God for Chuck and his great timing. She still had no idea how she was going to explain that one away. "Now, stop changing the subject. Why are you going to be late?"
Yep, the plan is definitely flawed. Chuck frantically tried to remember who Marilyn was so he'd have something else to bring up. One of the other VPs, that much I remember. The one who said the "Quinn, Quigley" line the other night, I think. What was she…Vice President of…Banana Republic Revolutions? Crap. He snatched the thumb drive with the security plans out of the computer and spun it around his fingers while he thought. …Vice President of Finance. Ha, that's it—she's the money tracker.
That's enough of this, Sarah thought as the seconds ticked by without a straight answer from Chuck. She hadn't seen him or talked to him since the home theater room yesterday, and she'd been banking all day on the time before the gala to discuss the actual gala, or Casey's mission, or just to…catch up. That last one has to be the lamest excuse you've ever come up with for wanting to see him, agent mode remarked. Returning to reality, she realized that he still hadn't answered. She suspected he was stalling before. Now she was positive.
"Chuck!"
The edge to her voice startled him, sending the flash drive skittering across the desk. How does she do that? How can she convey bodily harm in a single syllable? Is that a class in spy school? "Death threats in a syllable or less"? Retrieving the flash drive to fidget with again, he finally relented, hoping that Sarah's reaction would be more subdued than what he envisioned.
"Because Emmett insisted that I take this service call, and no, I don't know why. He was being rather…special."
"You agreed to that? Do you remember what's in a few hours!"
If he was standing next to her, he had no doubt that he'd be getting the dagger eyes. Or I'd be getting the genuine article, because that's definitely not subdued. Looks like I guessed her reaction correctly after all.
"I know what's in a few hours, but Emmett INSISTED! And Ca…uh, John seemed to be in a hurry to talk to me about something, so I said yes to Emmett to get rid of him."
She was barely past the part where Chuck had agreed to the service call when Casey's name was invoked. Her grip on the phone tightened. So help me God if Casey made him take this service call just to screw with me. That would be too far. Intent on discerning whether Casey could be so unprofessional to pull such an antic, she hadn't answered Chuck, and didn't realize it until Chuck spoke again.
"Please say something? Please?"
"Hold on."
Having gathered up her things throughout the conversation, Sarah thanked Marilyn for the tour and waited until the elevator doors were shut. Once they were, she unleashed. Per the usual, her stated reason, while accurate, masked the real one.
"I'm trying to figure out who to kill: Emmett for being insistent, Casey for making you take the call, Morgan for guilting you into working today when you weren't scheduled to, or you for agreeing with Emmett and Casey and Morgan."
Have I ever gone a week without being on Sarah's to-kill list? With renewed incentive to finish the service call ASAP, Chuck fished for the keys to the Herder, but quickly discovered they weren't in their normal spot. Figures. He shifted around the layers of disorganized papers and semi-organized stacks on the desk, hoping that the keys were somewhere near the top. Because of his digging around, he wasn't fully paying attention to what he was saying.
"See, I'm last on that list! Nice to know our lo..."
Her heart felt like it slowed to the point of stopping. Oh. my. God, he's actually going to say…it. THAT word. Shit. The sound of jingling keys cut Chuck off, as he looked up to find Casey slightly leaning over the counter.
"What list are you on the bottom of, her list of best boyfriends?" Casey delivered the line with a faux pleasant expression while dangling the Herder keys in front of Chuck's face again, as any coworker would when joking around. Chuck could easily tell where the smug grin and grunts would be inserted. He's enjoying this far too much, Chuck thought as he tilted the phone away from his mouth and forced a pleasant expression to his face.
"Hi, John. I was able to...recover those corrupted files you wanted. You know, your pictures from the Democrats' victory rally downtown?" Gotcha, Chuck thought as Casey's fingers started twitching more than they normally did when Chuck used his first name. A barely perceptible sneer materialized as well, though the agent's overall expression remained pleasant. Chuck waved the flash stick around before placing it on the counter, snagging the keys off Casey's finger in the same motion. "I think I fixed them all. Call if any of them are still broken, and I'll look at them again. That's assuming I haven't been broken by my irate fiancée, of course."
Chuck delivered the last line lightly and with a chuckle, but his eyes narrowed ever so slightly before opening again. In that time, the flash drive moved from the counter to the safety of Casey's pocket. Casey turned to walk away, but then seemed to remember that he needed to show good manners and an appropriate amount of coworker empathy in case someone was watching.
"Thanks for saving the…files. And sorry about your lady problems, Chuck. If I find a solving-lady-problems self-help book written in Geek-ese or Klingon," Casey's smile grew as he walked to the front of the store, "I'll send it your way."
Casey's "biting" one-liners become more veiled when he's forced to be polite…that's kind of creepy.
"Nerd-ese, actually, but thanks for the thought."
As soon as Casey's back was turned, Chuck scrambled to check his cell phone to see if the call was still connected. He didn't know whether to be relieved that Sarah was still there—she hadn't hung up on him, but she hadn't said anything the entire time, either. Scooping up the briefcase, Chuck flew toward the front doors, speaking rapidly with a hint of rambling.
"OK, I know that this is entirely my fault. All of it, it's all me, I know, and I'm incredibly sorry. But I promise, whatever this service call is, I'll fix it really fast and be done with the Buy More forever and then I'll be at the gala be there as soon as I can, where I'll then apologize even more profusely and grovel for however long you'd like. Can you fend off the pack of tuxedo-clad wolves until then?"
She let out a small snort at the thought of a tuxedo pack. Now there's an image. She let out a slow breath, all but ordering her heart to start beating again. John Casey, whether he knew it or not, had just saved them from…themselves. Even if he did it the Casey way, she thought. The elevator doors opened to reveal the parking garage, and Sarah headed toward the Porsche. She had really intended to be displeased with Chuck for a while. But when he apologizes like that…good God. Thinking about her answer for a little while longer, she finally spoke.
"Tuxedo pack. Really now?"
He breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped out into the parking lot. Any response without mention of killing is a good response.
"Really—a pack: use your amazing yogurt worker skills to watch out for it." He paused while he checked for traffic. "Does that response mean that you're not going to kill me or half my coworkers? The Buy More being understaffed would greatly inconvenience many Burbankians."
Now she was biting back a small smile. Ridiculous, if this had been a real mission and he'd been late, he'd be dead meat, and you're smiling. Smiling! The draconian thought, complements of agent mode, eradicated the smile, but it didn't generate the sense of outrage she was aiming for. It was nearer to "slightly irritated, but already in the process of forgiving."
"Just…hurry it up, please, and I'll consider removing you from my hit list."
"Yes, ma'am. Hurrying it up."
Another small victory in our very long war, he thought as he disconnected the call and jogged toward the Herder, making a checklist of all the places he had to stop before he left Burbank. Chuck was completely oblivious to how close he had come to slipping, but the individual sporting a ballcap while casually browsing the recent R&B releases in the Buy More wasn't quite as oblivious.
-.-.-.-
Wearing a black evening gown, Sarah walked into the large ballroom precisely on time, sans date. Already it was well populated; tables covered most of the floor and a raised stage was off to the right. Calmly scanning the crowd for familiar faces and taking note of them, Sarah noticed the hustle and bustle occurring on stage, where the other vice presidents were gathered. The three of them were standing in a half circle around the presenter's podium, quietly speaking to each other. Nodding politely to a few passersby, she took a few steps in that direction before Abigail fell into step next to her.
"Sarah! Great to see you!" She looked over to Sarah's other side and behind them. "Where's Chuck?"
If she hadn't spent the car ride desensitizing their phone conversation and focusing on her mini-mission for evening—making an appearance at the gala and meeting the new clients to solidify her cover—Abigail's question would have gotten a rise out of her. Instead, Sarah gave a small smile as they weaved their way toward the stage.
"He got held up at work. He'll be here in a bit."
"I hope so. Word has gotten around that we've hired you. Everyone's very excited to meet you and hear you speak."
How the hell does me being hired and people wanting to meet me connect with Chuck being here? Taking a few more steps, she quizzically turned toward Abigail as the rest of the sentence registered. Did she say "speak"?
"I'm sorry, speak?"
"We traditionally give a small presentation here—how the charity's doing, how the firm's doing, that sort of thing. Because people are so excited to meet you, I thought you could give it. The speech is all written, you've just got to read it."
She did say "speak." Unbelievable. She couldn't have thought to mention this to me at the office earlier today, maybe when we had lunch? Taking it in stride, Sarah nodded and responded like she would have if someone had told her that they were rolling out on a mission within the next half hour.
"A speech? Not a problem. How long is it?"
"Only 15 minutes or so, nothing ridiculous. There are slides that go with it, too, but someone will be taking care of them for you…"
Abigail's voice trailed off as she noticed, for the first time, the gaggle of VPs standing around the podium and the conspicuous absence of any image on the screen hanging from the stage's rafters. Mounting the stairs with Sarah, Abigail shifted into professional mode and addressed them all.
"What's going on?"
Marilyn was the first to answer.
"The projector's not working."
The president waited for more elaboration from her VPs and got none. Sarah was trying her best not to laugh—with the addition of her and Abigail, five ex-spies were now standing around staring at a simple computer, clueless as to what was wrong. Maybe Abigail was on to something with her random line of questioning—too bad Chuck's not here now. The computer'd be fixed in no time.
"…and did we try to fix it?" Abigail pressed.
"We checked the connection and the computer," one of the other VPs answered. "They seem to be working. We called a tech guy a little bit ago to figure out the problem. He's just finishing up."
On cue, the tech guy popped out of the access hatch for the area under the stage and hoisted himself up, brushing off clumps of dust off as he did spoke.
"Wow, they were definitely not thinking of tall people when they put that access hatch in. But, ladies, that should do it. The cable was split, so I rewired it."
Why am I not surprised?, Sarah thought as a broad smile crossed her face. Chuck clamored to his feet and walked the short distance to the presenter's podium, still picking off pieces of dust from his Herder uniform. Kneeling to reach the back of the computer, nestled in the middle of the platform in a ridiculously inconvenient location, he noticed Sarah's arrival and unleashed a huge grin in her direction before leaning into the podium to connect the new cable. She leaned on its side as he worked.
"I thought you said you were going to be late?"
His voice was muffled and had a slight echo.
"I thought so, too. Guess not. I can see why Emmett was so insistent on me taking this call, though."
As she scanned the room, she could see why, too. Jeff or Lester in this sort of environment had all the makings of a small nightmare, not only because of the venue and dress code, but also because of the professions of so many of the attendees. Odds of maiming or being otherwise disabled were high. Looks like I can't kill Emmett now, either. Like Casey, he ended up doing us a favor...damn it. Chuck's muffled voice bounced around the inside of the podium again as he rummaged around blindly for the new wire he'd fed through the stage floor.
"Does this mean that you're no longer mad at me, since I technically beat you here?"
Pretending to contemplate the question, she couldn't stop the grin from breaking out as she rolled her eyes. Internally, there was a bit more calculation. For the sake of making the evening simpler, it's easier not to be mad at him. He's on time, he's here, and he's being adorable…surprise. The last thought wasn't at all relevant, but she allowed it—it swayed the answer in his favor.
"Let's just say that you're lucky I'm not marrying you for your staunch punctuality, or else you might still be in trouble."
She punctuated her answer with two soft knocks to the side of the podium. The unanticipated banter made him smack his head off the top of the computer enclosure as he quickly tried to sit up, forgetting where he was. Did I miss something, or was there not anger and threats of death or near-death acts a few hours ago? When he finally managed to extract himself without further injury, she was looking down at him with raised eyebrows and a not-entirely-convincing innocent look. She's in a suspiciously good mood, he thought, but I'm not about to argue...going with it. He wiggled his eyebrows once at her before diving back into the podium.
"I know it's not my punctuality—it's my good looks and boyish charm. You can admit it, we're among friends."
He could clearly hear her laugh as he successfully found the troublesome wire and connected it to the back of the computer. Carefully backing out of the podium this time, he punched a few commands on the keyboard. Instantly, the projector came to life and displayed the simple, sophisticated logo of Fort Knox Security. While the others breathed a collective sigh of relief, Chuck glanced over his shoulder make sure the projector was indeed working. As his eyes focused on the logo, he suddenly flashed without warning: a colony of penguins, Fort Knox's logo, a detailed list of all of Fort Knox's clients and jobs, a list of all the noted arrivals of other countries' agents into the US, a series of mini-flashes as the Intersect made connections between Fort Knox's jobs and the arrivals, a colony of penguins. Just as the flash finished, Chuck sneezed. I couldn't have asked for that sneeze to be better timed if I tried. He punctuated the sneeze with a few forced coughs before speaking.
"I must have inhaled my weight in dust. I'm going to go get some fresh air and change—the Nerd Herd uniform, while dignified in its own way, is not quite dignified enough for this setting or my stunning date. I'll see you ladies in a few."
Everyone else had missed the flash, both because of a combination of being overjoyed at having a functional projector and Chuck's sneezing. Because he had turned toward her to check the screen, Sarah, however, did not. Oh God, now what?, she thought. At least he gave us a reason to excuse ourselves…
"You need help with your bowtie?"
He stopped gathering the paperwork and tools into his briefcase long enough to shoot her a killer smile.
"You know I do."
Standing and offering Sarah his arm, they headed back out into the lobby. Chuck grabbed his tuxedo bag from coat check—Who would have thought that swinging by home to pick it up would have been such a great idea—and started looking for a place to change, not noticing that Sarah was subtly steering them toward an empty conference room.
Tossing the bag on the table as the door clicked behind him, Chuck shed his tie and button down as he paced the length of the room, slowly tilting his head from side to side while thinking about the volume of information that the flash had contained. Turning back toward the door, he was startled to find Sarah perched on the edge of the table. Oh, right. Where did you think she was going to wait—outside? That would look all sorts of suspicious. Don't freak out. Clearing his throat several times, he decided to untie his sneakers instead and thought about the mega-flash's intel one last time before he dropped his bombshell.
"Fort Knox is providing security for the coalition that wrote the virus whenever they're in LA."
Sarah's only response to the news was a single raised eyebrow, aimed directly at him instead of the wall she'd been studying. Seriously, WHAT has Beckman gotten me into now?
"You're kidding."
"Hey," he said, tapping his head, "the Int…you-know-what does not kid. I kid, it does not."
He focused on the minutiae of the flash again as he fiddled with his dress socks and spoke again before Sarah could.
"You know, I don't think the company knows who they're protecting, though. Every one of those security jobs was signed off on by the same guy: J. Retborn…?"
Retborn. Where have I heard that name before? It was recently, that much I know. Drumming her fingers lightly against the edge of the table, Sarah methodically went through everything she'd read over the past week, and the name clicked.
"Justin Retborn was the old VP of Operations and Planning…"
Hearing the man's full name triggered a flash. Of the normal variety, thank God. Noticing Chuck's expression, she waited for him to recover as he stood up, shrugged on his dress shirt, and began buttoning while reciting what the Intersect had just revealed.
"Justin Retborn, ex-NSA, joined Fulcrum in 2003. Left the NSA for private employment in LA in 2005, still an active Fulcrum agent. Responsible for security in the greater LA area for Fulcrum operations using a civilian security firm to reduce suspicion."
The NSA? Casey's going to flip, Sarah thought with a smirk before her spy radar detected…something. It had to do with the warehouse raid the other night. Unconsciously, she stood up to start pacing the width of the room as she let her mind run uninhibited. The warehouse where all the servers were located would qualify as one of the missions Chuck described—a Fulcrum mission in the LA area. That means that we provided security for it...wait. Referring to Fort Knox as "we" had produced another thought. How did my job even open up? These things don't spontaneously happen. She thought back to the warehouse raid, snapped her fingers and spun to face Chuck again, who had taken the opportunity to jump into his tuxedo pants and dress shoes while her back was turned.
"Did your flash have anything about his aliases?"
Thinking for a moment, Chuck wrestled with his just-donned suspenders and cummerbund while he answered.
"He's only got one recorded alias in his dossier: James Baeren."
Sitting down in one the conference chairs, she suddenly realized that she'd heard the name before. She was able to place it immediately. Bingo.
"James Baeren was one of the people killed in the warehouse raid. I just read the casualty report yesterday. That's how this job opened up."
Stepping in front of her chair, Chuck flipped his collar up to loop the actual bowtie around his neck before he worked on fastening his cufflinks.
"… that explains how you got his job, sure, but does that matter?"
Her intuitive response was "information always matters," but she paused to think before she answered. OK, fine, let's think: does it matter? What does that tell us?, she thought as she stood to tie his bowtie. She let her mind wander again before her eyes grew wide and snapped to Chuck's face. All the puzzle pieces had just fallen into place with chilling clarity. Oh. shit. We might be in big trouble. Chuck, ever the perceptive one, noticed her reaction. She could feel his eyes on her before he finally captured her hands with his before she choked him—in her moment of chilling clarity, she had ended up tying his tie far too tight.
"Hey, you OK? There are easier ways to kill a man, you know."
The smile on his face dissolved as Sarah just stared back at him, not attempting to move away from him. Never before had he seen her look so serious and intense. And that's saying something.
"Chuck," she calmly began, hoping that he had repeated something incorrectly. "You said Fort Knox provided security for all Fulcrum operations in the LA area so Fulcrum didn't raise suspicions, right? And that Abigail probably has no idea about any of this?"
Where was she going with this? Still, given deadly serious look on her face, he dutifully recalled the information from the flashes again to make sure he had spoken correctly, and checked once more just to be sure.
"Yes to both. Why?"
SHIT!, her mind screamed. Why in God's name did we ever agree to come to this thing? Not privy to her thoughts, Chuck figured it wasn't the answer Sarah was hoping for, indicated by the near death-grip on his hands. When she remained silent, racing through all the implications of what she'd just figured out, he moved enough to make eye contact—What the hell is going on?, he wondered as he finally caught her eye. Neither of them made a move to look away, and her voice was surprisingly level as she calmly dropped her bombshell.
"We are currently at a gala thrown by Fort Knox Security for its clients. Clients that do not show up will look suspicious to Abigail, who at least has a cursory idea of how many jobs we run monthly. If the president of the firm gets suspicious, then clients will have problems hiring our security. To avoid suspicion, then, that means that all of clients will be here…including Fulcrum."
She involuntarily looked away at that point, not needing to spell out the rest—Chuck knew, as well as she did, what Fulcrum was after: him. Chuck being captured was her worst fear, and if she had to guess from Chuck's reaction, it was one of his as well: the blood was draining from his face. A small stumble backwards was quickly righted by Sarah tugging him back, and her voice continued to be steady as she delivered the second bit of news. He's really not going to like this.
"That also means that, because everyone has heard that I've been hired (Thanks, Abigail, she sarcastically noted), Fulcrum knows that one of their own didn't get the job. They've now lost easy access to discrete, cheap security, because I will obviously ask more questions than Retborn did. Because of the virus and its related operations, I'm guessing that easy and discrete security is very important to Fulcrum right now. They'd like to get one of their own back in this position soon. I'm betting that they're going to try…something."
She left it there. He doesn't need to know what, praying that he wouldn't ask specifics, but he was more proficient at filling in the spy blanks than she thought. DID SHE JUST HINT AT WHAT I THINK SHE JUST HINTED AT!
"WHAT?"
She squeezed his hands tightly, preempting him from saying anything else or panicking fully.
"Call Casey. Now. And then we're getting you out of here."
Too stunned to argue, Chuck punched Casey's speed dial as Sarah freed up one of her hands to grab his garment bag before heading toward the door. The call went directly to Casey's voicemail. …shit; the situation seemed serious enough to warrant thought-cursing.
"He's already turned his phone off. He must be inside Reed's office already…though that little trip doesn't seem quite as important as it was before."
Sarah silently agreed. Just as they reached the door and Sarah began to open it, Chuck's brain finally kicked into gear and went through Sarah's conclusions. Wait, did she just say that I'm leaving and she's not? Vehemently shaking his head, he reached an arm above her head to lean on the door to keep it shut.
"Hold on, now: if anyone should be getting out of here, it's YOU, not me! I'm not leaving you with these guys!"
Sarah turned around enough to shoot him a blistering look of the CIA-agent variety.
"This isn't negotiable. You're out of here."
The look he gave her back was just as fierce.
"It's going to have to be negotiable. No one in there knows I'm the Inte…you-know-what. You returning alone will look REALLY suspicious, and will do nothing to decrease the chance that Fulcrum will try 'something.' Besides, who's going to be the one watching me with you here maintaining your cover and Casey on a mission, especially if clients get suspicious? The safest place for me to be is with you!"
Shit, I should have known this was too easy when he was just going to listen and leave, she thought. Doing the travel math, there was no way she could get him to Castle and make it back in time without being missed. And, if I make him leave without locking him up somewhere, he'll just sneak back in because he's…Chuck. It didn't help that Chuck's argument, at its basic level, made perfect sense. She resisted the strong urge to punch the door. DAMN IT! Knowing what the answer had to be, she took a deep breath before letting go of the doorknob to roughly grab the lapel of his jacket. Positive that she had his undivided attention, she tugged it several times for emphasis.
"If you leave my side, Chuck, you have no idea how pissed I'll be. Got it?"
…she said that in her "death threats in a syllable or less" voice. Chuck managed to swallow as he nodded nervously. Oh God, what did I get myself into?
"I got it."
"You need to promise me. Say it."
"I promise—I will not leave your side, OK?"
She stared at him for a moment longer to make sure her point was well understood before opening the door, the normalcy of the hustle and bustle in the lobby surprising them both. By the time they stepped back into the ballroom, both had managed to crack some semblance of a smile. Taking stock of all the people in the ballroom for the first time, Chuck leaned over to Sarah.
"Ready to fend off the pack of tuxedo-clad wolves?"
Her smile became a little more genuine as she shook her head in amazement. Only Chuck could crack a joke right now. As the first group of people noticed their entrance and walked their way, Sarah checked her hold on his arm before heading toward the first of many meet and greets.