It's a Wonderful Cover Life
A/N: Are your eyes deceiving you? Quite possibly. Welcome to the first update for 2014. This is the part where I usually thank everyone for their reviews, but today I'd like to thank you for your patience. I'm grateful for those of you still around. I wasn't planning on updating today, or any time in the next two months, as this story has reached a critical point and any plotholes will make it fall flat, but today is a special occasion. You know him as AdmiralK on here and MKudron on Twitter and today is this awesome guy's birthday. Someone else who's celebrating today, on a plane I believe, is Frea O'Scanlin – may your choices be beef, chicken or cake. Happy birthday to both of you! Have a fabulous one.
I've accomplished many things on my to-do list in the past ten months, but acquiring the rights to Chuck is still unchecked.
As always, a big thank you to the delightful duo Nervert and Quistie64 for the advise, beta and sorting out the commas.
90. Pie Charts and Cannibals
Chuck, it seemed, was a leg jiggler whenever he sat still for too long. Sarah tolerated it for as long as she could before placing a hand on his knee to stop the limb from bouncing.
"Sorry," he mumbled without taking his eyes of the graphic novel he was reading. They hadn't spoken much since Sasha had reprimanded them for their inappropriate behavior.
Honestly, Sarah was surprised that they'd gotten carried away in public without the excuse of Tequila, but that was quickly forgotten thanks to the commotion that had happened in the corner. She hadn't seen what exactly had transpired, but it had been fairly obvious when Hannah had jumped up, a brownish stain blossoming on her skirt. Sylvia hadn't looked the least bit apologetic, but rather miffed that her iced latte – which smelled suspiciously like it was laced with bourbon – had spilled. When Hannah had returned from the bathroom, giving them the evil eye, Chuck had decided that it would be safer for him to hide behind Sarah with his nose in a comic book because, as he'd put it, 'if looks could kill he'd be nothing more than a blood stain on the wall'.
Sarah sent a glance in the direction of the group. When her eyes inadvertently caught Hannah's, she held the brunette's stare in a silent challenge. It was beneath her to gloat, but she thought Little Miss He-prefers-brunets got the message that she didn't stand a chance. Chuck had made that perfectly clear with his lips. Just the memory of it made her heart beat faster and fingertips tingle and, turning her attention to him, she couldn't help but wonder how he would react if she dragged him to that storage closet right now.
Chuck cleared his throat, pulling her from that fantasy, and only then did Sarah realize her hand was still on his leg, squeezing it a little harder than before.
"Sorry," she said this time and let go of his knee.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, finally risking drawing his attention from his book.
Sarah shrugged a shoulder. "No reason."
"Uh-ho, I think there's a reason."
Chewing her bottom lip she tilted her head, contemplating asking him how fast he healed, but he'd been embarrassed enough for one day, so she decided to show some mercy.
"I'm bored."
"Oh," Chuck said, "that's your bored face? Honestly, I was going to guess hungry, but that would only make sense if you're a cannibal, and though I've never met one before and would like to at some point, I don't think I'm mentally prepared for that quite yet."
Sarah blinked, wondering if that was the nerd version of a double entendre, and more disturbingly, if Chuck could read minds. Then she shook herself out of it, putting it down to how they'd almost started the day. That was bound to cloud her perception. She cleared her throat before she spoke.
"I'm not a cannibal, Chuck, I'm just bored."
His eyes darted to the magazine in her lap. "I'd be bored too if I was reading The Economist." He held up his comic book, offering her half. "We can share."
"No thanks," Sarah replied, and just as quickly changed her mind. She took the book from his hands and swapped him for hers.
"That's not how sharing works."
"I'm doing you a favor," she said, ignoring his fake pout. "You'll be starting your own business soon, so you should read more Economists and Forbes, and less Robin Hood."
"Superman."
Sarah raised an eyebrow at the correction. "Green tights, blue tights, what's the difference?"
The question horrified Chuck, judging by his expression and the short gasp that escaped his lips. He opened and closed his mouth twice before any actual words came out.
"Robin Hood does not wear tights. Tights were only invented three hundred years after the story took place. Of course there's no actual standard when it comes to the character's costumes, but if the movie makers put a little more effort into doing actual research instead of calling their mistakes "interpretations", they would not get it so wrong."
At first Sarah was taken aback by the passionate response, and impressed that Chuck could make double air quotes without dropping the magazine. Then a slow smile spread across her face. "You are such a nerd," she said, and couldn't help but add, "Who knows a lot about tights."
"It was a pub trivia question." He answered far too quickly for her to believe him. Before she could call him on it though, he tapped a finger to his temple. "I have an entire database of useless facts in here which turn out to be very helpful in the strangest situations. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have some data to add while you give Superman a shot."
He motioned to the graphic novel she'd liberated him of, shifting in his seat to get more comfortable, and started to leaf through The Economist. The magazine didn't hold his attention for long.
"Do you have Cliff's Notes on this thing?" Chuck asked. "It's a little wordy. And all the pictures are of people in suits. No, wait," he said, opening up the magazine and turning it sideways like it was a Playboy centerfold, "here's a pie chart. Pretty colors."
"You're hopeless." Sarah dropped the comic book back in his lap.
Chuck grinned at her, but his retort died on his lips as they both turned their heads in the direction of the sound of little feet stampeding down the hallway.
91. Cold Feet and Fist Fights
Chuck shut off the tap and swirled his hand through the water to check the temperature before rocking back on his haunches, mindful to not aggravate his abrasions for the umpteenth time that day. It didn't sting as bad as the night before, provided his thighs didn't touch. Once he'd found his balance, he inched one of the Water Wobblers on the tub's edge forward with his finger.
"I'm gonna jump!" Grabbing its duck friend, he waggled it over to the penguin. "No, don't do it!" He watched Maggie in his peripheral vision, playing with her dollhouse, not in the least distracted by his animal impressions. "But look at all those bubbles, they're calling to me." He tipped the penguin over the edge, followed by the duck. "Yes, I hear it. I think I'm going to jump in too." Still being ignored, Chuck let go of the toys, letting them fall into the bath with a plop and dumped a couple of building blocks and sponge letters in for good measure before he stood, drying his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder. He leaned through the doorway, bracing himself against the doorjamb with one hand. "Your bath's ready, Mags."
She glanced up at him with disinterest before turning her attention back to her attempt at fitting Barbie on one of the tiny kitchen chairs.
"Kitty gave me a bath this morning," she said without looking at him again. "If I take too many I'll melt."
"You're not an ice cube, Boo."
"But my feet are really, really cold."
"A bath will warm them right up."
Maggie finally looked up with an I-don't-believe-you expression and he decided that perhaps it was time to start using his trump card. It was the season after all and he might as well take advantage.
"You know Santa's coming soon, right?" Maggie nodded her head so vigorously Chuck worried that her chin was going to leave a permanent dent in her sternum. "Do you know how long till Santa comes?"
Her head stopped bobbing and she frowned. "No."
"Four more baths." He held up the appropriate amount of fingers.
Maggie's face brightened and she jumped to her feet, leaving poor Barbie with her neck stuck between two chair legs. "Can I take them all now? Can I, Daddy, can I?"
That wasn't quite what he'd had in mind. "Aren't you scared you'll melt?"
She shook her head as she pushed past him. "Nope."
How convenient, Chuck thought with a wry smile. "I'm afraid it doesn't work that way, Boo. You get one bath every night for four nights. That's the rule."
Maggie looked up at him, her head tilted. "Why?"
"Because it is." It wasn't a real answer, but effective to avoid getting stuck in a seemingly endless loop of whys. Not taking the chance of that happening anyway, he cut in before she could ask another question. "Now," he said, his arms stretched out to the sides as he simultaneously pointed to the basket in one corner and the bath in the other, "clothes in the tub, kid in the hamper."
Maggie giggled. "It's the other way 'round, Daddy," she said, grabbing the bottom of her sweater and pulling it up together with her undershirt.
"One at a time, Boo," Chuck said, but it was already too late. The clothes had tangled and got stuck around her head. "Let me help."
"I can do it." Her voice was muffled by the layers of cotton and wool. She tried to wriggle herself free.
"I know you can, but you may strangle yourself." He freed the t-shirt and pulled it back down. "Take the sweater off first." When it landed in a pile by her feet, he let Maggie finish with the shirt while he untied her sneakers. It took him a second to figure out the knots as Sarah was apparently unfamiliar with the bunny method.
Once Maggie had returned from placing her dirty clothes in the laundry basket, Chuck gathered her hair, twisting it in a loose bun before fixing the SpongeBob shower cap on her head. Then he lifted her into the tub, squirted soap on a wash cloth and handed it to her. He grabbed a second one and started to scrub her back.
"Can I go with Kitty again tomorrow?" Maggie asked.
"Aunt Ellie is going to come fetch us in the morning," he replied. "She's going to drop me off at work and take you to daycare and later to ballet." He'd already bought a box of Godiva chocolates tucked away in his messenger bag that he would accidently on purpose forget in Ellie's car. It was never easy to get her to accept any token of his appreciation for her going out of her way sometimes to help him out.
"And the day after that?"
"I don't know yet, Boo." He hoped he would have healed enough by then to drive himself around. The possibility that he might have to rely on Casey for a ride was never far from his mind. Between Casey and Morgan, he honestly didn't know who the most reckless driver was.
"Is my recital tomorrow?"
"Nope. Three more sleeps," Chuck said. "Wash behind your ears please."
"Okay."
He held the shower cap in place while Maggie rubbed the cloth over her ears and neck. She stopped suddenly and looked at him, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Kitty's gonna come to my recital."
It was news to him and Chuck couldn't help but wonder if it was part of the plan to impress Beckman with their little happy family routine. That would be taking it a bit far, he thought, making a mental note to add it to the things he was planning to discuss with Sarah later. And even if her motives were pure, there was the problem of getting an extra ticket on such short notice. Since the fist fight that broke out the year before over 'excessive seat saving', Miss Easton had adopted a more formal approach to the event. Not to mention that Hannah was in charge of allocating the tickets and Chuck suspected that he was the last person she'd be inclined to do a favor for. Either way, he decided to play it safe.
"She might be too busy to make it, Mags."
"Kitty is never too busy for me. She said so."
Kitty's sleeves seemed to be chockfull of surprises, he thought, which meant he had to pull one out of his own if he didn't want his daughter to be disappointed.
92. The Demise of Charles Charles
"Will you stop being so dramatic?"
Carina banged her forehead on the smoothly polished mahogany desk one more time before pressing her cheek to the wood, looking at Sarah from her odd angle. "She has the bladder of a squirrel."
"Classy."
"I need a drink." Carina rose and crossed the room to the giant world globe, doubling as a minibar. "Want one?" she asked Sarah, raising an empty whiskey tumbler.
"That depends." Sarah dropped her pen on the pile of papers in front of her and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. "Will it reach my desk or will it mysteriously disappear in the Bermuda Triangle on its way over? Which doesn't even exist, by the way."
"I'll take that as a yes." Carina turned two glasses over and then pulled the top off a crystal decanter with a pop. "So if the Bermuda Triangle doesn't exist, how do you explain all those planes and ships that went missing?" She poured two generous shots.
"That is your concern?"
"That, and the real identity of Jack the Ripper."
"Who is long dead by now."
"Same as Charles Charles. Probably. I considered killing him off in a boating accident, but knowing Beckman she'd insist on attending the memorial. This way, all that's left for us to do is to send out an imaginary search party that will turn up nothing." Her hands stilled and she closed her eyes for a moment, concentrated, and opened them again. "There. Done."
Sarah just shook her head. "Don't you find it strange that Beckman is buying all of this?"
"Maybe she's a few sandwiches short of a picnic."
"Will you get serious for a minute? You know she's going to find out the truth eventually, if not sooner."
"Not sooner," Carina replied. "Not if you keep up this Mommy-of-the-year act." She flipped the lid off the ice bucket, peered inside and frowned. "It's empty."
"No one's fixed a drink from there in six months," Sarah replied, ignoring the jibe. All she got in response was a shrug when Carina dropped the lid back. She picked up both drinks and back at the desk handed one to Sarah.
"Beckman has no reason to suspect us of lying," Carina said, "and by the time she finds out she's been conned, it will be too late. The sale will be final and you and I will be sipping Sangrias on a white sandy beach in San Sebastian."
That was the one topic Sarah wished she could avoid for the time being. A lot had changed in the past week. "Yeah, about that – "
"Uh-uh. No. No. We've been planning this trip for ages. You're not bailing on me now. You promised, and you, Sarah Walker, never go back on your word. It's like the one good thing about you."
"The one good thing? Why are you even my friend?"
"Because you're the only person who puts up with me, and don't change the subject. We are not canceling our trip." She finished her drink in one gulp and got up to fix another. "Look, I get it. Right now you think Chuck is your Mills and Boons knight on a white horse, saddle sores aside – but is that really what you want? Don't you want to take charge of your life instead of always following some guy who's just going to end up – "
"Didn't we already have this conversation today?" Sarah cut in.
"If you want my advice," Carina said, ignoring the question, "sleep with him. Get him out of your system and nip this in the bud before you convince yourself of something that's not there. You said it yourself – it's a crush. It'll be over before the plane touches down at Biarritz."
Sarah loved Carina like a sister, she really did, but sometimes the woman drove her nuts. Like a sister would, she supposed. They'd had their share of disagreements over the years, and this could definitely turn into one of those, but Sarah couldn't risk Beckman walking in on it. It was getting late and she simply didn't have the energy to explain yet another awkward situation. Against every instinct she regarded Carina with as much calm as she could muster.
"Maybe you're right." She tried her best not to let the glee clearly written across her friend's face get to her. On the upside, it made her feel less like a jerk for possibly deceiving Carina as she hadn't truly made up her mind yet. Despite that, Sarah said, "Give the travel agent a call in the morning and confirm our reservations."
"So we will be ringing in the new year in Spain?"
Sarah plastered on a smile. "That was the plan."
A shuffling noise from the hallway caused both Sarah and Carina to turn their attention towards the door.
"Shit," Carina said under her breath. "I hope that wasn't Beckman." The doorway remained ominously empty and she let out a relieved chuckle. "Maybe you have ghosts."
Sarah didn't reply. A sudden chill ran down her spine and it had nothing to do with their petite business associate or the paranormal.
"I was kidding," Carina said when Sarah got up to investigate. Sarah waved a hand behind her back to signal for Carina to keep it down. She peered out into the hall, checking both sides. Beckman was nowhere in sight, but it wasn't fear that their lie would be exposed prematurely that had her stomach tied in knots. What it was exactly she didn't know, but as she stared down the vacant hallway, Sarah couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Seriously wrong.
A/N: Don't shoot me, I know this is short, but this was the only 'safe' bit I could upload. Plus that cliffhanger works nicely in my favor. See you back here in December. Thanks for reading!