A/N The title of the story, by the way, is actually nine2five 2.1, not 21, but the title don't allow periods. So I'm going with the European system and using a comma instead.

It's amazing how many errors I had to correct, just to make sense of what was going on. Morgan does less, Greta does more, and Chuck doesn't commit treason. At least, not yet.

"Didn't we fix that?"

"You know my brother so well."

"Casey is certifiably insane, I'll have you know."

"Oh, Chuck."

"What do I do now?" said Chuck. "This was our last hope."

Carina left off with the comforting gestures. They didn't seem to be working on him but she was getting pretty worked up herself. Be good to get back to her toyboy. "We stick to protocol, Chuck. You check the files, I'll check the trash." Hard to get excited over trash, or stay that way.

She kept her head down as the doors started slamming.

"Nothing! There's nothing here!"

She grabbed a flyer and held it up. Chuck liked Chinese, maybe he'd find this more comforting than her. "It's not a total loss, Chuck. We found a new Chinese place."

He looked over, glanced at the flyer, but he didn't recognize the emblem. "I'll have to ask Morgan," he said, unwilling to be cheered up so easily. "Let's get back, we need to contact Ellie and Beckman."

With the tragic death of Charles Carmichael, an obscure office became available. With the sudden miraculous recovery of analyst Bartowski, an office was needed for his use. Serendipity.

Not so serendipitous was the brunette bombshell walking down the hallway as he opened his office door. While the place wasn't a state secret anymore, the less anyone noticed his comings and goings, the better. He pretended to fumble for his keys, keeping his face turned away, and slightly hunched over to hide his true height.

"Mr. Bartowski?" she asked, in a rough, throaty voice.

Crap. Suddenly he found his keys. "Yes, Miss…?"

She stopped, very close. Chuck tried to back away but the door didn't move, stupid door."You can call me Greta, Mr. Bartowski. I've been assigned to your wife's team. They told me I should see you to get brought up to speed."

Who were 'they'? "That's…very nice, Miss-Greta, but I just got back from a little fact-finding tour of my own, so as you can imagine, I need some time to bring myself up to speed." The problem wasn't getting the key in the lock, not for the Intersect, the problem was making it look like he was having trouble.

She moved closer, staring, unblinking. No more problem.

"That's all right, Mr. Bartowski. Perhaps over dinner tonight?"

"D-dinner?"

She smiled at him. "I'm shipping out for Thailand in the morning. I really need this briefing, as soon as you can give it to me."

"You don't have an older sister named Carina, do you?" This little girl had a bit of growing to do, to step into those shoes. Chuck smiled at her, not the one Sarah owned, but another one. "Sure, a little time with someone would be good. It gets kind of lonely when she's out on these long assignments, you know?"

"I sure do," said Greta. She touched his arm. "Thank you, Mr. Bartowski."

"Please, call me Chuck."

The lights were on in the Manoosh-cave, so someone had to be there other than him. Chuck stepped into the office Ellie now shared, to find his wife standing there. The door hit him in the back as he just stood there, but even so he wasn't sure he wasn't dreaming. "You're here?"

She wrapped herself around him and proved it with a kiss. "We just got in, and Beckman already wants us to go out again. This mission just won't end! I need to see you more than once a month."

He ran his hands over her back, inhaled the scent of her hair, savoring every shred of the experience of her that he could get. "Me too. I have your picture but it's not the same."

She didn't ask about his mother. She didn't have to. "My picture?"

Reluctantly, he took a hand away from her body and pulled out his phone. There on the screen was her smiling, sleeping face.

She got out her phone. On the screen was a shot of him, sitting in an airport waiting room, staring at his own phone with a goofy grin on his face.

"Yeah," he said, turning red. Thanks, Carina. "Thanks for sending her, by the way."

"Not my idea, but there's only one thing harder than getting Carina into Russia."

"What?"

"Getting Casey out of it. You won't believe how disappointed he was when our mission suddenly diverted us to Hong Kong."

"What's in Hong Kong?"

Casey stalked out of the back room, pretty sure his partner was done playing patty-cake. "A big black hole, six kilometers across." He grabbed the back of Chuck's shirt, pulling him out of Sarah's arms and over to a table, forcing him to look into an open case. "Flash," he ordered, as if to a trained dog.

"Ah!" Chuck groaned, and Casey pulled him upright again, holding him steady as he wobbled. "Portable EMP generator, manufactured by Volkoff Industries in Venezuela, probably at their Corta Verona facility." He shuddered, and Casey let go. "Who's Volkoff?"

Sarah moved in, started adjusting his tie. "He's the next mission Beckman wants us to go out on."

"Russian arms dealer, billionaire," said Casey, closing the case behind him. "Recluse. The power behind the DSL, and with that one flash you just made it possible for us to bring him down."

"Um, you're welcome," said Chuck to Casey's back as he left the room again.

"He missed you too."

"I can see that." He could see nothing but her. "You know the broom closets down here have locks on them."

She trembled. "Don't tempt me." She pushed away. "I have to go report to the General, before we head to Venezuela. Intel like this can't wait."

"Yeah. You go do your thing. I'll read your reports, let you know if I flash on anything." He fled the room before she did.

Fortunately Greta came to get him a little after six, otherwise Sarah would have had to punish him at some point in the near future for not taking proper care of her husband. "Mr. Bartowski," she said, tapping lightly on his door. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't find any places without open tables tonight. We can go to my place, if you want. I can cook, and it would be more private."

No way was Chuck going to make a woman cook for him on her last night home. "You deserve better than that," he said. "I have a friend, my best bud, he's a manager at a restaurant near here. Let me just give him a call…" He reached for his phone, not noticing the look of disappointment that flashed across her face.

"Sure thing, Mister…Chuck. It's good to have friends."

Morgan, of course, came through for him, getting them a good, reasonably private table at his place. Chuck noted the placement of the security cameras and pulled out a chair for her that had her sitting with her back to them.

None of which precautions did anything to prevent the man with the microphone from capturing every word he said. Fortunately he didn't say much, there just wasn't a lot on this guy Volkoff in the Intersect and he hadn't had much time to do more mundane forms of research. To compensate for his lack of knowledge he tried to do his best to set the poor girl's mind at ease about the team she was joining. His wife was a bit of a legend in the Agency, so he tried to present her more human side.

The woman was working when her computer buzzed at her. She'd put a flag on their surveillance systems, and the target had appeared in one, and the system sent her an alert. She put her work to one side and opened up a window with the live feed.

The man was the same man as last night, but the woman was different. Shorter, stockier, short black hair. The man's face was plainly visible, but she doubted any lip reader ever born could understand what he was saying. He appeared to be talking a mile a minute, his face very mobile and animated. Whatever he was talking about really excited him, and judging from the way the girl kept touching him, her too.

"Oh, Chuck." The woman closed the window. Let the system record their interlude, she'd review the video…some other time.

Morgan Grimes walked through his restaurant, making sure everyone was happy, greeting the regulars like the friends they were. When he reached the table of his oldest friend, sitting with some hottie, his voice got somewhat cooler. "Hey, Chuck, how are you this evening?"

"Morgan! This is Greta. Greta, this is Morgan, the friend who got us this table."

Greta mustered a smile and they exchanged greetings but Morgan clearly had other things on his mind. "Chuck, can I talk to you a second?"

If this had been a date Chuck would have been flustered, but since Greta was simply an associate, he took the interruption in good stride. "Sure thing, buddy." To Greta he said, "Don't wait for me. I told you, that stuff's best when it's hot. I'll be right back."

Morgan led Chuck to a quiet spot by the bathrooms. "Alright, Chuck, what the hell's going on? You're gone for months at a time, I had to find new teams to join on three of my favorite games 'cause you haven't logged on for, like, ever, and now here you are with some babe!"

"What, Greta? She's on the team." Really, he probably shouldn't have said that, but this was Morgan. "I'm sorry about the rest, but…some information came to light about my mother, but it's beyond classified. We've been looking for her."

"You and Carina?"

"How'd you know?"

"She came by the house this morning, barely polite, mentioned something about you needing cheering up, and threw this flyer for some Chinese place in my face!"

Chuck winced. "Sorry about that. She's in a bit of a dry spell, I think she's experimenting with faithfulness, and we were gone a month."

Morgan shook his head. "I hope she's still with that cop. She might break anybody else." He slapped Chuck on the arm, much happier. "I'm glad to see you, buddy, and I hope you're alright. We need to get together sometime, but not that Chinese place. I didn't even recognize half of the dishes on the menu. Have you ever heard of Shimira Chicken,' cause I haven't."

Chuck flashed.

Morgan knew about the Intersect, but had never seen a flash in person. "Hey, Chuck, are you okay? You having a seizure? You want I should call Ellie?" He pulled out his phone.

"No, no!" said Chuck, grabbing his arm. "It was just one of those things I'm not allowed to talk about, remember?"

"Oh, is that what that was? I thought you'd bitten a hot pepper, or something, which was impossible, 'cause you didn't order any–"

"Morgan!"

The bearded man shut up and looked attentive.

"I need that menu. Where is it?"

Morgan started patting his pockets. "No, wait, it's in my case!" He pointed to his office.

Chuck sagged in relief. "Great. Go get it, and meet me at the table."

Morgan turned and ran, making his subordinates wonder if the tall guy was a food inspector, or worse, the owner's relative.

Chuck went back to his table. Greta smiled when she saw him, but that didn't last long. "I'm sorry, I have to go." Chuck got out his wallet as Morgan came back, puffing slightly. Greta slumped, disappointed. No one noticed.

Morgan handed him the folded up paper and some containers. "Put that away, it's on me." He swept the food into the boxes as Chuck carefully put the menu away without looking at it. The last thing he needed was to flash in the middle of the main room.

Morgan escorted Chuck to the front door, holding his food as he put on his coat. After Chuck left, Morgan turned to check up on Miss Hottie, only to find a man old enough to be her grandfather had already moved into Chuck's place, and she wasn't blowing him off. "That didn't take long."

"Well, 'Greta', what did you learn?" said the older man, swirling his martini. "You were my star pupil, you know."

The implication that she no longer was stung. "What was I supposed to learn? The only thing I didn't do was sit in his lap, but he wouldn't stop talking about Agent Walker. I never had a chance." She stabbed a fork into her entrée and started slicing.

He got out his notepad and made an entry. "Excellent."

"What do you mean, 'excellent'? I blew it."

Roan Montgomery put his pad away and finished his drink. "Sometimes that happens, my dear, even to star pupils," he said, standing. "Don't get up, it would be a shame to waste such a meal. I'll see you at the debrief." He ambled to the doorway, deep in thought. Excellent work, Charles. He smiled. Let's see how long you last.

When Chuck pounded on the door, a man answered. "I need to see Carina."

"Wait right here," said Officer Davis, getting his keys. "I'll go get her."

"No need," said Carina, coming into the room in an oversized shirt and nothing else. "What do you want, Chuck? You're interrupting our seventh-inning stretch."

"The menu!" said Chuck, brandishing the paper. "The menu is the clue."

Carina dropped her head into her hands. She raised it again. "Fine." She turned to Davis. "Save my place." Back to the bedroom for her clothes.

"Carina," said Davis, following. "You really don't have to–"

"I know I don't have to. If I did, I wouldn't. I'm doing it because I want to."She closed the door.

That's when Chuck noticed that Davis was mostly undressed, and armed. "Sorry.'

"Don't be," said Davis, putting the gun down. "I knew the risks. Can I get you a beer?"

A half-naked man was offering him one of Carina's beers, in her apartment. "Uh…no, thanks."

"Suit yourself." He went to get one for himself.

Carina came out, ready to go. "Come on, Chuck, let's get this show on the road. The sooner we go, the sooner I can get on my back."

Davis sprayed beer. "Carina!"

She was gathering her hair. "What?"

Both men shook their heads, but there was nothing to say.

"You mind if we take your car?" said Chuck, in the elevator. "I want to look at this menu."

"Sure," she said. "It's got a back seat you can lie down in. You know, if you need to."

Of course it did. "You wouldn't happen to have a younger sister named Greta, would you?"

"Greta?" Carina smiled. "Oh yeah, it is that time of year, isn't it?" she said as the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

"Huh?" asked Chuck, risking a glance at the symbol on the front page. "What?"

She didn't look back. "Nothing."

"Anything jump out at you?"

"Yeah," said Chuck, rubbing his eyes. "Too many. This thing is a shopping list for classified weapon systems."

"Why would your mother have that? Is it what she was working on?"

Chuck pulled out his phone, started dialing. "You'll know when I know."

"Chuck, don't–!"

"Who is this?" demanded a distorted voice from the speaker. "Identify."

"This is Mr. Charles," said Chuck with his Southern accent. "I speak for the Ring."

"The Ring was eliminated."

"I see I'm gonna have to rethink our relationship, if you're gonna believe such an obvious piece of malarkey as that. Goodbye."

"Wait, Mr. Charles, do not hang up. Clearly we have been misinformed. The person responsible will be shot before sunrise."

Oh, God. "Shot?" He didn't just get someone killed, did he?

"Sorry, I mean 'fired'. Please excuse my poor English."

"That's all right, friend, nothing to kill over. It's true we have suffered a few setbacks, lost a few properties, but our pockets are deep and we need to resupply. What say you?"

"I say you will come to Moscow immediately."

Moscow? That wasn't just distortion, that was a Russian accent. Chuck looked at Carina. "Immediately? Why's that?"

"Mr. Volkoff wants to deal with you," said the voice. "Personally."

A/N2 This story is talking to me more than I expected. Let's hope that continues.