Chapter 6:

"So," Sarah mused as they walked aft. "You serious about wanting to learn to scuba dive?"

"Sure," Chuck said. "I mean, I said I did, didn't I?"

She shrugged. "Yes, you did. I just thought you were humoring me, trying to... I don't know, get on my good side? There are probably more experienced dive instructors you could learn from."

"I guess you're right, strictly speaking, but I figure I'll at least get the friends discount if I let you teach me."

Sarah arched an eyebrow and watched him dubiously out the corner of her eye. "I wasn't going to charge you," she said. "But now that you mention it..."

Chuck grinned. "Well, at least my Roark Instruments expense account will come in handy for something."

"You think he'll mind if you charge a couple extra lessons?"

"At this point, I'm not sure I care," Chuck said. "Yeah, a couple extra lessons on the tab should be fine. Like twenty or so?"

That made her laugh. "I was thinking more of a 'misdemeanor' sized fraud, Chuck. Most successful criminal careers start small."

"I suppose I'll just have to defer to the criminal mastermind on that one," he said. And then frowned when she froze up momentarily. "What did I say?"

"No, nothing," Sarah said, shaking her head. "Forget about it."

He didn't know what to make of that, but tried to shrug it off. "So, Professor Walker," Chuck said, trying to turn the conversation back away from the dangerous topic, "what is your next lesson for this young Grasshopper?"

Sarah frowned. "Grasshopper?"

"Well, there goes the rest of your nerd-credit. You don't know Kung-Fu?"

"I take a KFM self-defense class once a week," Sarah said. "Does that count?"

"No, the TV show. Wait, seriously? That's what Batman uses."

"There was a TV show called Kung-Fu? And I knew that about Batman Begins; it's why I switched over from aikido. How's my nerd-credit doing now?"

"Careful there, Sarah," Chuck said. "Or I might just propose marriage again."

She rolled her eyes. "You could at least take me out to dinner first."

"Well, now that you mention it," he said, digging out his phone. "My expense account is just screaming to be used and abused. What's the fanciest place I can get reservations for on short notice?"

"Wait, you're serious?"

"Deadly," Chuck said. "Right, no signal out here. I'll go bring up Yelp on my laptop and figure something out." He turned on his heel and headed back toward the wheelhouse.

Sarah hesitated for a moment, and then ducked downstairs. She wasn't going to let him distract her like that; it set a bad precedent. Fancy restaurant or no, if she was going to teach him how to scuba dive, she was going to do it right. That meant dusting off her old textbooks on the subject.

Digging through the old steamer trunk at the foot of her bed, Sarah turned up her speargun, which she tossed aside carelessly, along with the bright orange backpack holding her survival kit. Finally she unearthed the set of expensive diving books and technical manuals.

She kicked the speargun under her bed and headed back up on deck to the wheelhouse, where Chuck was deep in conversation with her father about the best place in the Philippines for sushi.

Sarah wrinkled her nose, none too thrilled with the idea, "I had sushi yesterday," she protested, "what about Italian?"

Chuck stared at her incredulously. "But... that's... really? Here we are in the south pacific, and you want Italian food?"

"Berroni's Pizza is probably the best in the islands," Sarah said, then shrugged. "Or, it's my favorite anyway."

Jack shook his head, "Darlin," he said in a mildly scolding tone, "The idea here is for us to go someplace we normally wouldn't. I'm thinking the Champagne Room at the Manila Hotel. You like French food, Chuck?"

"That's fine," he said. "I just... I don't know, my first night out I expected some kind of eastern food."

"Well," Jack said with a grin. "Last time I checked, Paris is East of LA by a fair margin."

"Fine," Sarah said, surrendering to the inevitable. "But that means I need to dress up. You going to spring for that too?"

"Why not?" Chuck said. "The limit on my expense account is still pretty far off."

She shook her head helplessly. "Your boss is going to have a conniption when he sees the receipts," Chuck's laptop made a funny little beep, and Sarah blinked at it. "Was that..."

"R2-D2, yes," Chuck grinned and fiddled with the touchpad. "I've got an email, hang on one second... that's odd."

"What's up," Jack said.

"It's a reply to my report," Chuck explained, "But it's straight from Teddy Roark's personal email. It's gotta be... really late, over there, right?"

"We're fifteen hours ahead," Sarah said, checking her watch. "I think... yeah, it's half-past four here; that makes it 1:30 am back in LA LA land."

Jack let out a low whistle. "Somebody's working late," he mused. "Think your report riled him up a little?"

Chuck turned the screen so the Walkers could read over his shoulder. "The timing is a little odd," he allowed.

Chuck,

Sorry about the mixup, don't know what happened there. Heads will roll (figuratively anyway, haha), and we'll need to pull the plane up to see if our internal security guys can figure out where the laptop went. Good work so far. Why don't you take the Salvage people out to dinner and see if they're up for that job? Otherwise, you're on vacation for two weeks, on me. Act like it. I want that expense account maxed, kid.

Teddy

Jack grinned crookedly, "And the content is indicative as well, isn't it."

Chuck wasn't so sure. "I don't know," he said. "But, that's the problem with emails, isn't it? You can't tell if they're flat out lying to you.

Sarah pointed to the screen. "Like how he glossed over two dead bodies? You weren't really demanding answers, just asking—politely—but still, it's thin as far as explanations go. Lots of bland reassurances, but no facts. I think the expense account thing is to bribe you into not asking any more questions."

"And to keep tabs on your activities. Plus the bit about taking us to dinner," Jack said. "It's couched as a suggestion, but that's probably an order."

That was worth a nod. "Yeah," Chuck said. "Since we didn't mention the gunshots, he probably wants to do something about the bullets. If all the police shows on TV are any guide, that's the only forensics that'll be any good."

"So," Jack said. "This is some kind of criminal conspiracy then. We're in agreement?"

"I think—" Chuck started, then stopped and shook his head. "No, I'm sure there's something illegal going on, even leaving out the killings. Question is, who do we call?"

"One other thing," Sarah said. "If we do pull the plane off the bottom, who'll be waiting for us? Local cops are kind of notorious for taking bribes. We might be on the hook for those bodies if we're not careful."

Chuck's grin didn't touch his eyes. "So, you're saying you'll take the job?"

"No," Sarah said, before Jack could interject. "But we'll check out those co-ordinates your ex-BFF sent you. And that's not going on any expense account statement."

Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to fight off the headache he knew was coming. "I dont think I'm cut out for this kind of thing. All this intrigue just makes my head hurt."

Jack laughed at that. "Seems like you're doing okay," he shrugged. "Kind of goes with the territory in our line of work, don't it kiddo?"

Sarah had to nod along, "The prospect of pulling a shipment of gold off the bottom of the ocean brings in all kinds."

"But this is just computer parts," Chuck explained.

"Probably," Jack said. "And there's an awful lot of wiggle room in probably. You mind letting me take a look at those co-ordinates? We're down to about half our bunkerage; wouldn't do us any favors to run out of deisel, would it?"

Chuck shook his head, and handed over the post-it Sarah had written the co-ordinates on. "No, that would certainly put a damper on my 'vacation.'"

"Come on," Sarah said, closing the lid on Chuck's laptop and plopping her armload of diving books down. "We can worry about conspiracies later, you've got a test in an hour."

"You're not even joking a little bit, are you?"

"Hey, if you want me to certify you to dive down for whatever is at those co-ordinates, you gotta hit the books," she said.

Chuck grumbled and cracked the first book open. Jack shook his head. "The table in the galley is bigger, if you want to spread out."

They relocated belowdecks, and Sarah was true to her word, even going so far as timing him with a stopwatch. Chuck managed to scrape an eighty-nine on his preliminary dive-safety exam, which was a pass, but marginal as far as Sarah was concerned. He wasn't the least surprised to find her something of a perfectionist in that regard, and she drilled him unmercifully for another hour. Thankfully Sarah didn't have a different version of the test ready, nor did she trust him not to have memorized the answers, so they reached the marina before he was subjected to another test. He'd decided not to pursue a post-graduate degree at Stanford for any number of reasons, but test-taking was pretty high up on the list. Chuck didn't like the stress, even if he usually did well, and he remembered waking up in a cold sweat both before and after exams which he'd turned out to have aced.

One in particular his senior year had given him the oddest nightmares for a week. However, when he tried to explain that to Sarah, she'd merely said 'good,' and kept hammering facts into his head.

It was a relief when he felt more than heard the thrum of the big marine diesel engines cut off and the boat lurched slightly as it came to a stop.

"Land," Chuck said. "Freedom!"

Sarah scowled. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"

"If I buy you a fancy dress can I not answer that question ever?"

She tried to keep scowling, but the corner of her mouth twitched up against her will. "I'm trying to condense six hours of classroom time into two; it's not easy on me either."

"Fair enough," Chuck said. "Fancy dress time?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Yes, okay. But you have to wear a tux."

"That wasn't part of the deal."

She adopted a deep, gravelly voice. "I am altering the deal; pray I don't alter it any further." Chuck groaned and Sarah grinned crookedly, "You can't set me up like that, Chuck. I'm going to hit it out of the park every time."

"Well, at least I got to be Lando in that quote. That's something."

Sarah led the way back up on deck and they helped Jack tie off to the dock, before heading into the marina parking lot.

Then, of course, they hit a snag. Sarah's Jeep only had two seats. "I'm not sitting in your lap," Chuck said immediately to Jack, who just laughed it off.

"Let's put a taxi on that expense account of yours, how's that sound?"

"Seriously?" Sarah said later, her voice carrying from her stall in the changing rooms. The store Sarah had selected only had the one set of rooms, and Chuck was donning his off-the-rack tuxedo in the next stall. "What was your next move if dad hadn't suggested the taxi?"

"Well, I certainly wasn't going to let you sit in my lap," Chuck said.

"Let me?" Sarah scoffed. "Sure, your word choice isn't telling at all."

"Hey, excuse me if I'm not used to the idea of throwing money around like this," Chuck said defensively. "You ever try to take a taxi in LA? You're lucky if they don't take the shirt off your back."

"That's not exactly an LA exclusive, Chuck," Sarah shot back. "You mind zipping me up?"

"Ah," Chuck said. "Yeah about that. I don't think that's a good idea for any number of reasons, your father being chief among them. Do you want me to go down the rest of the list? ."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I doubt he'd object to you helping me put clothes on, Chuck; come on."

Chuck peeked out of the stall nervously and walked two steps to the door to Sarah's changing room. "Will you protect me if your dad tries to knock my block off?" The door swung open and Sarah presented her back, holding her hair out of the way with one hand.

"Zip it, Bartowski," Sarah said. "And I mean that both ways." Her dress was a deep blue, he noticed, trying unsuccessfully to limit himself to that one glance. He spotted the back of a black lace bra and immediately looked straight up.

His hand shook slightly, but he managed to get the zipper up where it needed to go without making more of a fool of himself.

Sarah turned and the grin froze on her face. Chuck's jaw dropped into a similar expression. Finally Sarah reached up to straighten Chuck's tie and the moment was broken after only a handful of awkward seconds. "Hey, looking good, you two," Jack said from the entrance to the changing rooms. "I wish I had my camera; I never did get to play photog for Sarah at any high school dances."

She grumbled something under her breath, "Thanks dad, way to advertise what a misfit I was in school."

"Don't feel bad," Chuck said. "I didn't go to my prom either. I was in the State science fair semi-finals."

"Because that makes it better?" Sarah said. "At least you had an excuse."

"You had your reasons, Darlin," Jack said defensively. Sarah shot him a look, and Chuck frowned at the byplay, unable to make heads or tails of the exchange.

"On that note," Chuck said. "Our carriage still awaits, and his rates are pretty outrageous, even if the company is paying them."

"You realize your company is probably setting you up for two murders?" Jack said. "Just wanted to make sure you remembered that."

Chuck sighed. "I do," he said. "Its not any kind of loyalty to my employer, okay? Its just... force of habit I guess? I had to be pretty miserly in school, once dad skipped; I know I shouldn't be worried about money right now, but I can't exactly turn it off either. If I don't worry about that, it just leaves the other thing, and I'm trying not to think about the gunshot victims we found at the bottom of the South China Sea."

"I can understand that," Jack said. "It's hardly favorite subject either. But don't let yourself forget about it too long."

"Like that's gonna happen anytime soon," Chuck said. Sarah nodded agreement. He rolled his eyes. "And on that note, who's still hungry? At all."

They managed to be just on time for their online-reservation at seven o'clock, and were seated almost immediately. Jack grabbed the wine list and ordered for them, without giving Chuck a chance to glance at the prices. He became more concerned when there weren't any prices listed on the menu itself, and then mentally berated himself. It was Roark's money, and the man had flat out told him to indulge himself. Before the waiter even came back with the wine Jack had ordered, his coat buzzed. He pulled out his cell-phone and glanced at it. "Sorry, kids. I've got to take this," he said and slipped out from his chair, phone to his ear.

Chuck and Sarah's eyes followed her father briefly, long enough to spot him flagging down their waiter before he swept out of sight. A minute or so later, a busboy came to remove Jack's place setting. Chuck and Sarah exchanged a look. "Oh hell," Chuck said. "Did this just turn into a date?"

Sarah let her head fall into her cupped hands. "I'm going to kill my dad," she said earnestly.

"So now probably isn't the time to say how amazing you look in that dress?"

She glared at him for a moment through her fingers, and then opened her mouth with a pithy rejoinder on her lips when the wine arrived. "Saved by the bell," she said instead.

The waiter poured a little taste of white wine for Chuck, who sipped and then glanced at the bottle. He wasn't a connoisseur by any stretch of the imagination, but it was probably the best wine he'd ever tasted. Sarah spotted the pleased look on his face and grabbed the wine list.

"Mmm," he said. "That's really good."

Sarah grinned when she matched up the label with the entry on the wine list. It was more of a book, than a list, anyway, but it was the most expensive one on that particular page. "It better be," she said and turned the list so Chuck could see it, tapping the page. He paled visibly, and nodded for the waiter to pour full glasses.

That broke the ice, and Chuck finally managed to get the cost of the meal out of his head. Once he and Sarah decided on their entrees, he even asked the waiter for the best pairing for their meals. He didn't bother to check the prices on the wine list, and when the man started to suggest a cheaper label, Chuck waved the man off.

Sarah tried to hide the smile this caused. While they waited for their food, they sipped their wines and mostly confined themselves with chitchat, talking about places they'd been. Chuck got her talking some about interesting dives that Walker Marine Salvage had gone on, and time seemed to fly by.

After dessert, when the waiter brought the check, he tossed his corporate credit card without looking at the check. "Give yourself a healthy tip," Chuck said. "I'd rather not know what the damage was."

The waiter froze at that pronouncement, and eyed Chuck like he was some kind of strange new creature.

Chuck refused to look at the price when he signed the receipt, though Sarah smirked and pried his fingers off the itemized list, her curiosity getting the better of her. She winced, over theatrically he thought, and let him shut the bill away in the little leather credit-card holder.

"So," she said on the way out the door. "I know we were kind of joking around about dates and all, but..."

"Uh-oh," Chuck said.

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "Hey, let me finish," she protested, "We're actually not that far from a club I know."

"Was there a question in there? I'm not the worlds' best dancer or anything," Chuck warned.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Who is?"

"Manny Dancington," Chuck said. "Widely known fact."

"Oh, a 'fact' is it?" she snorted. "I'll believe that when I see it."

"Okay, hang on one second," Chuck said, pulling out his phone. There was a suspicious amount of typing involved just to pull up wikipedia, before he handed over the phone.

Sure enough, there was an article for 'Manny Dancington,' but she wasn't buying it. "I didn't just fall off the turnip truck yesterday, Chuck," Sarah scrolled down to the bottom, and pointed to the creation date on the article. "And I assume you're cbart12?"

"It was worth a shot," Chuck said. "Seeing is believing and all..."

"You're stalling."

"Tsk," he said. "Nicely spotted, Walker. Alright, a-dancing we will go, but under protest," Chuck hailed a cab and let Sarah direct the cabbie to the dance club.

It was only a ten minute cab ride, traffic had thinned out somewhat since darkness and the cabbie drove far too sedately for Sarah's taste. She griped at the man in Tagalog for taking the roundabout route, and he apologized in English, dropping them outside the club and only grumbling briefly about being forced to write out a receipt for Chuck's expense account. The super-sized tip Chuck left him probably helped somewhat in that regard. He was surprising himself a little; spending money was much more fun when it wasn't yours.

Chuck ditched the more noticeable parts of his tux, cummerbunds and bow-ties not necessarily being 'hip' enough for a dance club and let Sarah lead the way upstairs to the club. Chuck spotted the sign, Republiq, shrugged it off. Spelling wasn't everybody's cup of tea.

The club itself was pretty nice, although Chuck's ability to gauge that kind of thing was notoriously bad. He hadn't been out to a nightclub since Morgan had dragged him out after Jill had dumped him. Chuck shook his head and grimaced, hoping Sarah hadn't noticed. No such luck.

"Something wrong?" she turned to face him fully. "This is probably the most popular nightclub in town. We're really lucky we got in."

Chuck managed a grin. "Yeah, not so much. You remember I said you looked amazing? May have been under selling it. They probably would have let us in even if they had to kick people out to appease the fire marshals."
"They don't call them that here," Sarah said.

"Not the point, Sarah," Chuck said.

"I know, I was distracting you while I got you to the bar. Next on the distraction agenda: two martinis, please!" she had to shout over the live band to be heard by the bartender.

"Liquid courage?" Chuck said in her ear. "I'm not that bad a dancer."

Sarah grinned. "That remains to be seen," she said, turning with the drinks and nodding toward Chuck when the bartender said something, probably about payment. He dutifully pulled his corporate card and paid for the drinks. Chuck turned to Sarah for the protocol on opening a tab, when she stiffened suddenly.

He didn't have to read her lips to know it was a curse that would never have made onto network television. Chuck's eyebrows went up, sure he'd only known her for a day, but she didn't strike him as someone who used that sort of language lightly. "What's wrong?" Chuck leaned in to ask.

"Hey there gorgeous," a man's booming voice said. Chuck turned and grimaced. The man was tall, but maybe an inch or so shorter than Chuck's six-three, and well-muscled. He wasn't thick, like a body-builder, but Chuck was suddenly self-conscious about not hitting the gym more than once a week. The man had dark hair with lighter tips, and a leer on his face, until he spotted Chuck and the two drinks Sarah was holding. "What're you doing with my girl?" he demanded.

Chuck turned to Sarah. "Wait, what? You have a boyfriend?" He snatched one of the martini's and drained most of it in one slurp. "That's better," he said, slurring slightly.

She winced at Chuck's reaction. "He's not my boyfriend. Garett, you're not my boyfriend. We've been over this. Don't make me get a restraining order."

"Listen," Garett started, grabbing Sarah's arm. Chuck had heard the magic words 'restraining order,' and they'd combined to finish off two bottles of wine at dinner, coupled with the martini he'd just downed, his better judgment took a holiday. Chuck grabbed Garett's wrist and yanked, trying to make him let go of Sarah's arm.

He hadn't considered what to do about the man's other arm, and the fist in the eye came as a thoroughly unwelcome surprise. Chuck stumbled back a step, reeling from the blow and throwing a fist of his own which glanced off Garett's shoulder. The shorter man turned with the blow and Chuck staggered forward past him, turning as fast as he could regain his balance.

Garett was advancing in what looked disturbingly like a martial arts stance of some kind both hands up. Chuck flinched and managed to duck the first punch, and though he could see the next one coming, he was caught flat-footed. He was already tensing up to take a punch right in the nose when Garett's breath went out of him in a rush.

Chuck jumped back a step, hopefully out of range of further attack, and spotted a rather dainty blue strappy shoe protruding from between Garett's legs. The shoe disappeared, and Garett collapsed as if that had been all that held him up.

"He's really not my boyfriend," Sarah said from her position behind the downed man, twitching her skirts back into place after the kick.

"Thanks," Chuck said, just before a meaty hand grabbed him by the collar. "Hey, what?"

Two bouncers picked Garett up off the floor and Chuck found himself being manhandled quickly through the door. A second man appeared as if by magic at his left side, and he and Garett were both unceremoniously ejected from the club. It all happened faster than he expected, and a fifth bouncer stood between them, twenty yards apart, in case either tried to start throwing punches again. "Listen," Chuck said. "I was just defending myself... and my date," his brain was still muddled and he shook his head.

"Sir, you're drunk," the nearest bouncer said.

"I'm not drunk," Chuck protested. "Seriously, I'm not."

"You're a little drunk," Sarah said holding her thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. Had they hauled her out of the club as well?

"Really?" Chuck said, and she nodded.

"Ma'am," the bouncer said politely. "Who started the fight?" Sarah pointed vehemently toward Garett, who was all but being held up by the two bouncers that had hauled him off the floor. The bouncer nodded toward Chuck. "He's not driving, is he," it wasn't really a question, though it was phrased as one.

"We took a cab here," Chuck said, helpfully, he thought.

The bouncer-in-the-middle nodded, and the others released Chuck.

Garett was starting to come around, "Lemme go," he said, and the middle bouncer turned to Sarah.

"You pressing charges?"

"No, just wait until we're gone and let him go?"

"That's the plan," the bouncer said. "We already called you a cab."

Sarah helped Chuck down the stairs to the street. "How are you less drunk than me," Chuck said.

"I had a glass out of each bottle," she explained. "You did the rest."

"No, I only had a couple," Chuck protested.

"The sommolier kept coming by and refilling your glass," Sarah said.

"Oh, I missed that, I guess. Also, my face hurts," Chuck said.

"I'll bet," Sarah shook her head and genty brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Let's get you back to your hotel, how's that sound?"

"Shleepy."

Sarah waved down the cabbie and gave him directions back to Chuck's hotel.

"So, your boyfriend has a mean right cross," Chuck said in the cab.

"I told you, he's not my boyfriend," Sarah said. "We went out on a couple of dates a few months ago, but he turned out to be a big jerk."
"I know. He punched me right in the face."

"Not what I was referring to, but yes, he did," Sarah said.

Chuck turned to look at her and she sighed. "Worse jerk than the punching? That doesn't sound good."

"Yeah," Sarah said. "Just a piece of advice, always find out what somebody does for a living before you decide to date them."

Chuck blinked. "That's kind of a nuns equator."

"A what?"

"A thingy that is a odd change of topic," Chuck said carefully.

"Oh, a non sequitur. No, not really," she said. "It's why I didn't press charges. He's sort of a lieutenant in the local mob. I didn't want to put a target on your back."

"Wait," Chuck said, suddenly feeling much more sober than just seconds ago. "Say that again, please? You dated a mobster?"

"We only went out twice," Sarah said defensively, "It wasn't serious."
"That's not..." Chuck stopped, trying to rephrase his concerns effectively was taxing his alcohol muddled brain-parts. "I mean. You kicked a mobster in the unmentionables, Sarah. I'm drunk, and I know that's not a great idea."

"Oh," she said. "I guess I didn't think that through very well, did I?"

"Stop the car, I think I'm going to be sick."

Sarah thought for a moment he was joking, and when she realized he wasn't, she relayed that to the cabdriver as quick as she could. It was almost fast enough.

TO BE CONTINUED...

A/N: This chapter was kind of schizophrenic, moving around a lot in setting and tone, which mostly explains why it took so long to get on 'paper.' I think it turned out pretty good though; what do you think? Drop me a review.