A/N: The normal disclaimers (and general awesomeness of all you readers and reviewers) still hold(s).
-.-.-.-
Day 8: Friday
While Sarah watched a dust-covered Chuck haul himself up onto the stage at the gala, Casey was across town sitting stoically near Reed's office building, running through the mission one last time. Whoever had designed the security for Reed's office had been proficient at the task, but wasn't great at it. Probably some CIA skirt, he thought with a smug grunt. Casey had found a number of exploitable holes during his first glance at the plans: the security system hinged on making access to the office nearly impossible with near impenetrable external security. With its emphasis on external security, security within the office was not as rigorous as it should have been. Some offices lacked motion detectors, and more importantly, the designer had failed to notice that the ventilation system for the entire building was shared. Reed Associates may have been impossible to break into, but the other offices were not.
Casey's plan was to gain entry into one of those offices, maneuver his way to the office of Reed Associates, pop out of the vent located in Quentin's personal office, gather the intel, and then go right back out the same way. Piece of cake. It almost was too simple—something that a junior agent could have done easily. Still, Casey would rather be climbing through ventilation shafts not made with someone his size in mind than schmoozing with spoiled rich businessmen at some party. At least one member of Team Chuck has a real mission involving spywork tonight, Casey thought with satisfaction as he turned his cell phone off and pocketed it before climbing out of the SUV.
Chuck's frantic call came in ten minutes after Casey had turned off his phone.
-.-.-.-
How the hell did we end up with a real mission involving spywork tonight?, Sarah thought as she forced out a polite laugh for a joke someone at the dinner table had made. This was supposed to be a boring, but simple and safe, social function… The hour of pre-dinner mingling was uneventful. Sarah hadn't let go of Chuck's arm the entire time, preventing him from wandering anywhere. While reducing Chuck's ability to get into trouble may have had something to do with their good fortune so far, Sarah knew why the night had really been uneventful: there hadn't been enough time anything to happen. Only three groups of people were able to talk to them before dinner was served, and they all seemed to be normal, non-Fulcrum clients. After dinner's going to be the problem. She stabbed at something on her plate with her fork to reinforce the thought.
She had a few ideas how Fulcrum was going to come at her, but wasn't sure which one they'd pick. They can't kill me here outright—too many people, both to witness and notice that I disappeared. They might try to kidnap me, but that can't happen until later—again, too many people. Maybe they'll just want to talk and make an offer…
In thinking about Fulcrum's most likely ploy, she didn't notice that Chuck had leaned over to whisper something. Only years of training prevented her from starting when he spoke.
"Your forced laugh needs a little work. A few extra hours of listening to Morgan's jokes should help."
She shot Chuck a look. Morgan was one person she did not want to think about right now.
"Morgan's going to be lucky if he's alive this time next week, with the way he's going."
Huh, wow, OK, my new mission: continue to avoid Fulcrum, save Morgan. He continued their side conversation as the chatter in the ballroom diminished as Abigail took the stage.
"Oh come on, don't be like that—death is bad. Besides, you happen to be talking to the man's best friend. The innocuous things I could tell you about him would provide you with more than enough leverage to fix the problem without knives or killing."
She had to bite her cheek to keep laughing aloud as she tried to give Chuck a reproachful look, failing miserably as he gave her a barely muted smile. Sipping her water while thinking over what he had said, she just rolled her eyes and shook her head this time before the word "leverage" roared across her spy radar.
…Fulcrum won't make me an offer without having some sort of leverage that would force me to accept. Her head whipped toward Chuck, who was fidgeting around in his chair, trying to get comfortable for the speech. In watching him squirm, oblivious to her intense look, she now knew how Fulcrum was going to come at her. Leverage. Chuck. SHIT. I should have made him leave!
Abigail saying her name drew Sarah back to the present: she was being introduced, and had to head toward the stage. Shit…again. There wasn't enough time to explain to Chuck what she'd just realized. Just please let him stay put while I'm up there. She leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek, and surprised him by fiercely whispering into his ear before she stood up.
"Stay. at. the. table."
Better than "stay in the car"—we're mixing it up a bit, he thought. As she walked toward the stage, Chuck felt his pocket vibrating, and hurried to grab his phone and silence it. Oh my God, what is WITH this thing lately? About to ignore the call, he happened to look down and saw who was calling: Casey. He debated for a second about not answering it—Casey being done with his mission means that Sarah might send me home, and I'm NOT leaving her here. He then thought of all the different ways Casey could kill him. That forced his hand.
Quickly looking up at the stage, he figured he had a few seconds to answer—Sarah was on the stage, but hadn't made it to the podium yet, and the audience was still clapping. Talk fast talk fast talk fast. Punching the "Answer" button, he spun in his chair so that his back was to the stage, and hunching over the phone, he did just that, managing to simultaneously launch a quip in Casey's direction.
"Look, I'm really sorry if some of the pictures are still corrupted, buddy, but I really can't do anyth…"
Chuck abruptly stopped when he heard the alarm klaxons in the background. Coughing once, Casey spoke with a very audible, ominous growl.
"This is somehow your fault, idiot. Do something."
Oh this is not good.
Just then, Sarah started speaking, calmly and crisply. Crap, no time left! He spun back toward the stage in time to make eye contact with her. Even from across the room, she saw his panicked look. Eyes darting from her to his phone and back again, he disconnected the call, but not before slinking out of his chair and heading for the lobby.
Oh God, she's going to kill me.
She noticed his exit as she expertly glanced over the crowd, engagingly speaking all the while. No one could see her hands ball into fists, knuckles turning a frightening shade of white, as they rested on the podium.
I'm going to kill him.
-.-.-.-
Did that moron just hang up on me? Casey was furious as he rammed his phone back into his pocket, involuntarily coughing as he drew his weapon and eyed the door. He had gained access to one of the neighboring offices just fine, and had been in the process of crawling through the vents above Reed Associates when there was a foreboding metallic groan. Seconds later, the vent shaft (and him, by association) plunged toward the ground, landing in a heap on the floor as various alarms blared. The gash across Casey's back was all he had to show for his little vertical journey. The room that the vent (and Casey) had unceremoniously fallen into had, of course, been one of the few with motion detectors.
Per the office's security plan—Casey remembered it all too well—the room where the detector was tripped went into total lockdown: the door and vents were sealed off. An incapacitating agent was being released into the room, and while Casey had more time than he would have otherwise, complements of the gaping hole in the ceiling, he didn't have that much time. He could already feel the effects of the gas. If I survive this…, Casey began to think with a sneer while taking an unsteady step toward the door. By the time he took another step, he wasn't able to finish the thought. His gun was, surprisingly, very heavy all the sudden.
Just when taking a nap seemed like the best idea in the world, Casey heard the room's remaining ventilation fans turn back on and the hissing of the gas stop. Seconds later, the door's electronic lock clicked and the door itself suddenly swung open. The gust of fresh air that swooped into the room cleared the cobwebs enough for Casey to get off two shots at the lone, surprised guard standing outside the door. A torrent of expletive-laden Russian crackled over the guard's radio. At least two different voices replied.
Something was very wrong, and Casey noted each irregularity. The office was supposed to be empty. Useless rent-a-cops don't speak Russian. Those fans weren't supposed to turn on. This door wasn't supposed to swing open. Cautiously stepping out into the hallway, Casey took a few deep breaths to remove the residual cobwebs before recalling the office's layout and tentatively heading toward Quentin's office, gun at the ready.
-.-.-.-
Sarah had just finished the section of the speech detailing the charity's many accomplishments over the past year, and was transitioning into the real topic of the speech: the firm's position and accomplishments. While moving her eyes around the crowd again, she checked on Chuck. He had at least stayed where she could see him, leaning up against the wall just inside the ballroom near the lobby doors. That marginally reduces the chance that I'll kill him. As soon as he'd leaned on the wall, he hadn't moved any: he held his phone sideways in front of him while intensely typing away at it.
WHAT the hell is so important?
-.-.-.-
Peering around the final corner, Casey spotted Quentin's office. He hadn't encountered any more guards, save the two currently standing outside the office. Further down the long hallway, past Quentin's office, Casey heard the boisterous laughter of at least four more guards. This could get interesting. He was still sizing up the guards, debating between creating a distraction and launching a blatant attack, when Quentin's office door audibly clicked before swinging open. The surprised guards leapt away from the door, drawing their weapons and pointing them toward the inside of the office, looking for whoever opened the door.
That's lucky. With their backs toward him, Casey swung into the hallway and downed them both with a shot a piece. Ducking back behind the corner for cover, Casey could hear the guards down the hallway fall silent upon hearing the shots. The heavy footfall of many soldiers soon followed. Perhaps I should have snuck up behind them and knocked them out... Sliding a fresh clip into place with a resounding snap-click, Casey finished his thought with a smirk. …nah.
Preparing to swing into the hallway again, he glanced around the corner to see seven guards charging at him. Cursing himself for underestimating the number of guards down the hallway, they noticed his head peering around the corner and unleashed a barrage of bullets in his direction. Shooting back, but dropping only one of them, Casey began to move behind the corner, but did a double-take when massive blast doors appeared from their recessed hiding place in the walls and started closing in front of the charging guards and behind them. Casey stood in shock as both sets of doors thumped shut, effectively neutralizing the guards—they had nowhere to go. The lights between the blast doors then clicked off, plunging the now-stunned guards into darkness.
It wasn't until Casey saw the lights turn on and off in Quentin's office, twice in rapid succession as if to signal that the office was clear, that he understood that his good fortune was anything but. Casey tilted his head up to look at the security camera, which was slowly swiveling and focusing to point directly at him.
Bartowski's hacking the system. Everything in this building is wired to the security system: the regular doors, the blast doors, the security cameras, the lights, the ventilation system, the gas…
Never throwing caution to the wind, Casey crept toward the office, but wasn't surprised to find that Chuck had been correct: the office was empty. Quentin's waist-high desk and long table had a multitude of papers piled upon them, and the wall-to-wall whiteboards were covered in math and computer scribble that meant nothing to Casey, but looked important. Casey gave a small appreciative grunt (one he would never admit to) as Chuck shut and locked the door behind him. The NSA agent now had a free pass to poke around without fear of being ambushed.
-.-.-.-
Thunderous applause followed Sarah's concluding remarks. Glancing toward the doors, she was oddly pleased to note that Chuck was looking right at her with a sheepish grin across his face, clapping as best he could with his phone still in his hands. Once the applause had died down, she could see him check his phone before she lost sight of him as people began standing up from their tables and moving around. She had to clamp down on the sudden panic she felt. Freaking out is not going to help. He'll head back over here any minute, and then you can lay into him for leaving the table.
Stepping away from the podium, she was about to turn her back to the audience when she noticed something unnatural in the movement of people on the ballroom floor. Her contained panic erupted in full as she turned back and examined the crowd more thoroughly. Oh dear God, please let me be imagining this… The more Sarah watched, the more she knew it was very real. She was seeing it unfold before her very eyes as Abigail and a few of the charity's board members congratulated her on a well-given speech. Two small groups of men were slowly closing on where she had last seen Chuck, something he probably couldn't see from where he was standing. Catching Abigail's attention, she turned a little to the side to speak quietly to her while the others exchanged small talk.
"Chuck was on the phone the entire time, which isn't like him at all. I'll be right back."
Not waiting for a response, she turned back to the larger group to politely excuse herself. She was weaving her way through the crowd seconds later as calmly—and quickly—as possible.
-..-
Chuck let out a sigh of relief as he watched Casey climb out the office window to relative safety. Every transgression that his phone had committed over the past week was suddenly forgotten—it had just come through for him. Big time. Who would have thought that, using a mere iPhone, an entire security system could be hacked? Electronically locking the window and punching a few more commands with a faint smile on his face, he finally pocketed the redeemed device and scanned the crowd for Sarah; he had lost track of her after the speech ended. As he did so, the crowd parted long enough to reveal a group of men heading his way before hiding them again. He had gotten a good enough look to know what was going on: the Fulcrum eagle tie pin worn by one of them was a dead giveaway, and they had been staring directly at him. His heart had taken residence in his throat. Oh crap. Sarah's stern warning not to leave her side—Or the table!—suddenly made all sorts of sense.
He desperately evaluated his options; none looked particularly promising. What is it with these guys and vanity, his inner monologue babbled as his eyes fell to a fresh bottle of champagne and tray full of empty glasses being carried by a waiter heading in his direction. First Mauser with the Fulcrum eagle watch, now this guy with the tie pin. Did they not see Thunderball? Making a split-second decision as the plan still materialized in his mind, he lifted the bottle and two glasses from the waiter before stepping into the lobby, making a beeline for the still-empty conference room from earlier. Please please please let this work…
Stepping inside the room, he barely had time to place his wares on the table and tug at his tie before his cell phone started vibrating again. The goodwill he had felt previously toward the device was gone. Could I catch a break, here? He almost ignored it, not even bothering to check the caller ID. …but it could be Casey, and it was a good thing you answered last time! Fumbling for it while keeping his back to the door, he pulled it out to find a picture of Ellie smiling up at him. WHAT could she possibly want!
"Hey, El, really not a good time, can I call you later? … Wait, what? … I really can't talk righ…what? … Yeah yeah yeah, that's fine. … I'm not being presumptuous—I would check with Sarah if I could, but like I said—NOT a good…"
The door clicking shut ended Chuck's sentence as he hung up on Ellie. Oh that wasn't obvious—good job sticking to the plan. Still facing away from the door, he tossed his phone into his pocket while reaching for the champagne and started peeling off the foil wrapped around the top of the bottle.
"Fantastic speech, sweetie. Time for som…"
He turned to find five Fulcrum agents in the room with him. All were male, and all were looking at him with a very bemused, but sinister, look. He had been a little worried about appearing honestly surprised that it wasn't Sarah that followed him into the room. His worries were for naught—even he could tell. The nervous smile across his face as he started untwisting the metal cage surrounding the champagne's cork wasn't forced. Neither was the hint of nervousness in his voice that he quickly hid before they noticed.
"Well, you're definitely not Sarah. Can I help you, gentlemen?"
One agent leaned up against the door, preventing it from being opened. Three others stepped off to the side, and the man in charge—Mr. Tie Pin himself—sat down on the table, right where Sarah had been earlier.
"You're doing just fine, sir," stated Tie Pin. "An associate of ours would like a word with Ms. Walker. We've been asked to keep you company in the meantime."
There's the "something" that Sarah was anticipating. Crap crap crap crap crap… Gamble #1 of his, at least, had paid off. These Fulcrum guys have no idea that I've had brushes with them in the past. They think I'm just the boyfriend…or fiancé…whatever. He was able to create a fashion a look of curious innocence. I'm not supposed to know who these guys are, and they are DEFINITELY not supposed to know who I am…
"I appreciate the thought—you thought you were doing me a favor by saving me from a dreadful social function, but really: you didn't need to keep me company. Your associate could have come over and talked to us both. I don't mind sharing her, really."
Tie Pin gave a thin smile.
"He wanted a private word with Ms. Walker, sir."
I do NOT like how that sounds.
"Oh."
The room was silent. A thought popped into Chuck's head: They don't know who I am…but they do know who Sarah is. If he played this right, it could actually work. Using his natural inclinations to their fullest, Chuck broke the silence with a refined sort of babble as he pocketed the metal cage.
"It's actually kind of nice to be able to come to one of her functions for work, you know?"
The question sat in the air, and all five reacted exactly as Chuck had hoped: they all exchanged sidelong glances with one another. He would even go so far as to say that Tie Pin looked a tad bit intrigued.
"Do you know what your fiancée did for a living, sir?"
Jackpot. Chuck shrugged as he glanced at the agent leaning on the door. Luckily for him, door-leaner was taking a keen interest in the exchange, perching on one foot and placing the other flat against the door.
"Some idea, but not much." He hesitated enough to imply forbidden curiosity, drawing them all in even more. "Was…was she good at it?"
"Very."
"Oh. Is that a good thing?"
To his credit, Tie Pin didn't sneer when he answered.
"Depends on what side you're on."
Alright, time to go for it. Please let this work. Chuck began wiggling the cork out of the champagne.
"Huh. I guess that makes me feel a little better."
The others remained oblivious and relaxed, but suspicion clouded Tie Pin's face…but just a moment too late. The champagne's cork launched out of the bottle and flew across the room. Chuck had been aiming at the door-leaner, and sure enough, the cork pegged him in the forehead, startling the agent enough to upset his balance and send him sliding off to one side of the door. With the pop sounding like a strange gunshot, and the resistance on the door no longer there, Sarah flew into the room, smashing door-leaner between the wall and the door as she opened and shut it with force. Overjoyed that she had really been outside the door, like he was hoping, and that he had managed to distract everyone long enough with his "innocent" curiosity, Chuck forced himself to focus on Tie Pin, who was beginning to stand up and head toward Sarah.
Just like Wii Bowling, just like Wii Bowling… With the chant continuing in his head, Chuck underhanded the bottle of champagne like a bowling ball with a bit of force, champagne pouring out as the bottle tumbled end over end through the air. It squarely connected with the side of Tie Pin's head, knocking him out cold. Chuck raised his arms in victory as Sarah's particularly vicious right hook connected with the last agent standing—she had managed to take care of the other two while Chuck champagne bowled, though in the floor-length gown, he wasn't quite sure how. Who would have thought Wii Bowling would have EVER come in handy? Correction: who would have thought that plan would actually WORK! Chuck lowered his arms immediately as Sarah spun to face him for the first time. If looks could kill, he would be dead. Of that he had little doubt. He had never seen her so furious before in his life. Looks like tonight's a night for firsts…
Her thoughts were more conflicted: I don't know whether to laugh, cry, or kiss him. She settled for a fourth, unlisted option as she rapidly crossed the room: punching him in the shoulder. Hard. And then almost did it once more before electing to plant her hands on her hips.
"I TOLD you not to leave the table!"
Chuck tried his best not to react—he did deserve it, on some level—but he was wincing and rubbing his shoulder without realizing it. Wow, that HURT! AND she's pissed. I'm so dead.
"Ow! And I know you did, but…"
"But NOTHING! There is a reason I told you to stay at the table, and this is EXACTLY why! What would have happened if they had taken you somewhere, huh? Casey's not here, and I wouldn't have been able to get to you! What then, Chuck? Just…damn it!"
The uncharacteristic curse, accompanied by her hand slamming down on the table, rendered him speechless. He had been ready to fire back at her even still once he'd recovered, until he noticed her face wasn't a mask of pure rage anymore. There was something else. Chuck had to study her a little longer before he could put his finger on it. Holy crap, it's fear. But…fear of the Intersect being captured, or fear of me being captured? The mere possibility of the latter was sufficient to calm him down. He let out a sigh and spoke in a more moderate tone as she folded her arms across her chest.
"Sarah, the phone call was Casey, he was in trouble, alright? Things didn't go as planned on his end, either. Now, fine, be pissed at me, but you know what I'd do if it was you calling for help and Casey had ordered me to stay at the table."
She saw the grim truth etched across his face. Oh hell, that's what he was doing on his phone the whole time—helping Casey. God damn it. The mention of Casey prompted another thought as she pulled Chuck toward the door; more pressing matters precluded her from responding or asking for details. I have five Fulcrum agents in various states of unconsciousness sprawled around a conference room... Opening the door, she hauled another into the room—the "associate" that had wanted to speak with her; she had made quick work of him. …make that six. I need a friendly face, and I need one NOW.
-..-
Despite being a room populated by many former intelligence officers, their entrance and exit had gone unnoticed by many because it had been voluntary. Still on the stage, Abigail happened to be in the perfect position to see everything. She had been present for Sarah's abrupt departure from the stage, clearly saw Chuck's exit from the ballroom, the exit of six similarly dressed men right after Chuck, Sarah's exit from the room, and had glanced back toward the door again to see Sarah and Chuck reenter, together, minutes later. Abigail's spy radar was roaring, and she began to discretely make her way toward the happy couple.
Sarah was casually leading them back to the stage, it being the highest vantage point in the room, offering the best chance for detecting any more trouble. She doubted the remaining Fulcrum agents would make another attempt, though—it would be too obvious, and they'd have enough problems covering up the botched attempt. However, there was no way that she was risking it. We got lucky…this time.
Noticing one of the other VPs heading their way, Sarah offered a small smile before signaling her to hold on a minute. We need a cover story to explain all of this, Sarah thought as she noted other VP's eyes slightly narrow in suspicion before smiling and nodding at them, and it has to be one that's convincing to ex-spies, for Christ's sake! How are we ever going to save this one? Working through all the possible stories, her thoughts were interrupted when Chuck leaned over to whisper something to her.
"I didn't recognize any of those Fulc…uh, those guys. Did you?"
Chuck's comment stopped Sarah in her tracks. That's it. That's exactly how we're going to save this one. And he has absolutely no clue—quintessential Chuck. It was brilliant and simple. Before Chuck could look around to see why they'd stopped, she pulled him into a long gentle kiss. By the time they had parted, Abigail had wordlessly appeared next to them. Noticing that Chuck's hand had taken up residence at the small of her back, Sarah nodded toward the stage with a small grin and resumed walking while she spoke, mind clearer than it was previously. Chuck said Abigail has no clue what's going on with Fulcrum using the firm for security. Let's hope he's right…
"Do you mind watching him for a minute?"
If Sarah had said it in the voice used to deliver the speech, the request would have sounded absurd. However, Abigail had heard that tone in Sarah's voice before. It normally was preceded or followed by trouble. Training immediately kicking in, Abigail scanned the crowd while taking a step closer to them. She spoke in clipped tones.
"Sure, why?"
"We just ran into a few leftovers from my last...project. There may be more around, and they seem to've taken a liking to..." Sarah tilted her head toward Chuck, who was catching on to her plan and was trying his best to look the part of the shocked fiancé. It wasn't a stretch. "Watch him while I make a call, please?"
"You're going to be on the phone forever." Abigail knew that Sarah wasn't a favorite at the Agency right now. They'd do something about the problem, but only after giving her the runaround for a little bit.
Sarah ground her teeth. If we weren't at this damn gala, I would just call Beckman's direct number. Damn cover. Abigail was, unfortunately, correct. I'll have to go through normal channels for an ex-agent reporting hostile contact…ugh.
"No choice—it was that kind of project."
Abigail nodded, understanding precisely what sort of project it was as they slowed near the stage steps. Chuck had no clue, which only solidified his look of shock and confusion. Noticing his priceless expression—Played to perfection!, she thought with a smile—she wrapped him in a hug.
"Humor me," he whispered, giving her a little squeeze before loosening his hold. "Don't walk off too far. I just used up my ninja quota for the year with that champagne."
She pulled back to shoot him a confused, but curious, expression. What champagne? All she remembered from the conference room was barreling through the door and leveling three guys. She'd obviously missed a classic Chuck moment. His request isn't all that outrageous, either…
"Fine, but only if I hear the story later."
With a grin and quick kiss to the cheek from him to signal his agreement, Sarah headed up onto the stage and hid in one of the wings, visible to no one except Chuck and Abigail. Sticking his hands in his pockets, Chuck bounced up and down. OK, breathe, you now have two kick-ass ex-spies watching you. It's fine, it's fine, it's fine… Suddenly having the urge to check on Sarah, he looked over his shoulder. She hadn't moved, and was just dialing the number now. Facing forward again, Chuck let out a low whistle as he watched Abigail scan the crowd for what seemed to be the umpteenth time since Sarah had left what seemed like ages ago, but in reality, only seconds. He spoke just loud enough so Abigail could hear.
"Man, what was this last project: illegal yogurt smuggling? Sprinkles of mass destruction?"
He heard her snort, the result of swallowing a laugh. A mini-smirk crossed her face for a beat before it was gone.
"Probably a little bit of both."
Wow, I was right: definitely not a great conversationalist. He looked back toward the stage again. Sarah was talking to someone now, and if her clenched jaw was any indication, it was going to be a very long phone call. His infant spy skills chided him as he returned his attention to the crowd in front of him. Keep looking at that stage and someone's going to notice. With Abigail's conversation skills doing little to distract him, Chuck bounced a few more times before slowing to a stop. You might as well get this over with now. Grabbing his phone, he dialed a familiar number. When the other end picked up, he had to hold the phone away from his ear.
"CHARLES IRVING BARTOWSKI! You better have been in serious trouble before, because if not, you are in serious trouble now! I try to call you to confirm a time for your engagement party tomorrow, and you hang up on me!"
Abigail wasn't able to contain her laughter this time, Ellie's voice cutting through the background murmur of the crowd easily. Chuck hesitantly moved the phone back toward his ear as Ellie continued her tirade in a more normal tone. All he could do was listen to her rant, unable to get in a word edgewise, but in having something to focus on, he felt himself relax. Thank God for my own very long phone call…