Disclaimer: 'Chuck' and all it's affiliated characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. This fiction is written for entertainment only.
No profit was made. All I gain is satisfaction.
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Arriving at the Buy More a relatively good fifteen minutes late, Chuck made his way to the Nerd Herd desk as subtly as possible. Between the constant late-night briefings and the unexpected missions, it was a wonder he showed up at all some days.
The report to Director Graham and General Beckman that morning had been surprisingly uneventful. Even after hearing that Chuck's latest flash may, in fact, have endowed him with the knowledge to perform neurosurgery, they seemed unimpressed. Sarah and Casey were ordered to 'keep an eye on the situation', and that was all.
Even his two handlers seemed unimpressed. Or, in Casey's words, "You had a vivid flash on a random topic, and it took you by surprise. That don't magically make you a brain surgeon, Chuckles."
In hindsight, Chuck figured that made a lot more sense than anything else, and quickly put the whole thing out of his mind. And seeing Morgan attempting to sell a 70" Plasma screen to what looked like a 200 year old woman, he figured he had enough to deal with as it was.
Shaking his head at his friend's optimism, despite his total lack of sales skill, Chuck sat down and began going over the previous night's service calls. He'd been at it for a while when Casey sidled up to the desk.
"Bartowski." He grumbled, smirking. "Any more urges to perform major surgery?"
"I dunno, Casey." Chuck fired back. "How're you feeling?"
Casey snorted. "Cute. Big Mike sent me over. You're on an early lunch today. So scram."
Chuck didn't need to be told twice. He bolted up from his seat and headed for the doors. Once he reached the freedom of the outside world, he headed to the Weinerlicious for what was usually the very best part of his day.
Lunch with Sarah.
Bursting into the oddly themed fast-food joint, he found yet another group of teenage boys gaping at the sight of Sarah (in her almost indecent Weinerlicious uniform) going about her 'job'. It never ceased to amaze him that she put up with this place every day. The Buy More was bad, but this place was downright demeaning.
Shrugging the thoughts off, he watched the last of the teens receive his order and scramble out the door. Turning back to the counter, he was rewarded with a bright smile from the object of his not-so-secret affections.
"Chuck!" She beamed. "You're early."
"Yeah. Big Mike cut me loose early for lunch." He shrugged, mock-turning toward the door. "But if it's a bad time, I could let you get back to work..."
"No!" he cried, before composing herself. "I mean, I think the place can get by without me for a while."
Chuck laughed at her obvious hatred of her cover job, wandering outside to wait for her. A moment later, she emerged with her bagged (and notably healthier) lunch. As soon as the sunlight hit her face, a great weight seemed to lift from her shoulders.
"Oh, God." She exclaimed as she dropped into the seat across from him. "This place is driving me crazy."
He smiled. "You could just quit, maybe find something else."
She sighed. "Nope. I'd need CIA approval, and this hellhole has a perfect line-to-sight to the Buy More. I'm stuck."
"Ah. Another victim of the dreaded tag team of paperwork and linear physics." He quipped, sipping his soda.
"Mhm." She agreed through her mouthful of salad. Swallowing, she continued. "So what time should I pick you up tonight?"
"Huh?"
She rolled her eyes. "One year anniversary, Chuck."
"Oh." Chuck gaped. "OH! Right."
"Men." She chuckled. "If I didn't take care of things..."
"Okay, okay." He acquiesced. "But I think I should pick you up. It is a special occasion, after all."
Sarah eyed him. "Ellie on you to be more of a gentleman?"
"Like a monkey on my back." He confirmed, grinning. "Besides, your driving scares me."
Sarah looked affronted. "My driving scares you?"
He shrugged. "It just seems a tad aggressive sometimes. And I grew up in LA."
"Oh, it's not that bad."
"You drift turned through a packed intersection last week." Chuck reminded her.
"We were in a hurry."
"We were going to get a Slurpee." He countered. "And you drove through more red lights than greens."
She gave an indifferent shrug. "I was thirsty."
"Fair enough." He laughed, yielding the point. "CIA teach you to drive like that?"
"Yep." She confirmed. "Evasive and Tactical Driving was a required course."
Picking at her salad, she failed to notice Chuck's face go slack as he flashed. Images ripped through his mind. Cars twisting through turns, physics equations, the procedures for ditching a following vehicle... and a blueberry pie.
And then, the same feeling he'd gotten at breakfast. A wave of knowledge and familiarity washed over him, and suddenly he was remembering driving with Sarah in a whole new light.
He shook his head, and was about to tell Sarah... when he decided against it. This wasn't vital intel, and he wanted to take his newfound knowledge for a ride, so to speak.
The rest of their lunch passed quickly as they enjoyed their conversation, and just before he returned to work, he told Sarah he'd pick her up at seven, sharp.
The smile she gave him had him walking on air the rest of the day.
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"Ellie!" Chuck called out from his bedroom. "Where's my blue shirt?"
"In your closet." His sister called back. "Left hand side."
"No! My other blue shirt!" He clarified. "The one with the thing!"
"That one's in the laundry!"
"Dammit!" He cried. "What about my..."
"Dresser drawer, second from the top, right side." Ellie cut him off, sidling into the room.
A pause. "Thanks, Ellie."
She giggled softly. "Bit keyed up tonight, are we?"
"Yeah, well..." Chuck muttered, wrestling with his tie. "One year anniversary. Kind of a big deal."
Sighing, she stepped forward and swatted his hands away. Fixing his tie, she looked up at him. "You'll do fine. It's Sarah, and she's crazy about you."
Chuck almost winced. "I know."
"Good." She finished off the tie. "Now what time is she getting here?"
"Actually, I'm picking her up." He replied smugly. "Seven, sharp."
"Seven?" She gaped at him. "Chuck, it's six forty-five now. You're late! Go! Go!"
Bustling him out of the room, she shoved a bouquet of roses into his hands. Then he was out the door, and running for the car.
Leaping into the Herder, he fired the engine and threw it into gear, diving onto the street. Glancing at his watch, he spared a half second to weigh his options. "Oh, why the hell not?"
Stomping on the gas, the highly modified CIA-installed engine roared, throwing the small vehicle forward. With a level of skill not his own, Chuck wove in and out of traffic.
Ahead of him he saw the light at his turn switch to yellow, then red. Without a second's hesitation, he reached down and gave the handbrake a sharp tug, cutting the wheel sharply to the right. Countersteering quickly, he felt the little car slide effortlessly through the turn.
As he recovered on the other side, he was surprised to hear himself whooping with excitement. Coming up on Sarah's hotel, he turned slightly right, and cranked the wheel hard to the left. The rear end swung out, he entered into a 180-degree drift, slid easily through the oncoming lanes, and came to a perfect stop at the curb in front of the lobby doors.
Standing there, gaping like a fish, was Sarah. Lowering the passenger window, he grinned up at her. "Am I on time?"
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