A/N 11/10/12 – Here come the heavy's. This chapter isn't titled confrontations for nothing. Poor Chuck is going to get it from all sides.
Thanks to my beta readers on this chapter, my sweet (and dangerous) wife, and somedeepmystery; they are both extraordinary and very understanding ladies.
I don't own Chuck
Sarah Versus the Farm
Chapter 6 - Confrontations
They drove in silence down the county road toward the Wasco airport, each lost in their own thoughts. As they sped along in Sarah's Porsche, Chuck stared out the window. He was tired, and the fatigue made his mind wander to places he wasn't sure he wanted it to go. He couldn't help thinking about that kiss, all of the kisses, and the way he felt when he was around her, when he held her. As he thought about the last couple of days he wondered if his feelings for this beautiful woman had taken control of him; whether they had gotten the better of him and clouded his judgment. She was a trained intelligence operative; a graduate of the CIA's Farm, and apparently a woman with a reputation that followed her, born of years of field experience. He knew so little about her, but she knew so much about him. As much as he tried not to, he worried that he was being manipulated by someone who was a master at the game of deception. It was eating at him. He didn't want to doubt her, but couldn't help himself. And even with those lingering doubts brought on by the strange circumstances they both found themselves in he knew there was something special happening between Sarah and him. All he had to do was look at her to see it. He stole a glance at her and there it was, in her eyes and on her face. She had said she wanted to be with him, and he wanted so much to believe it was true.
Sarah watched him from the corner of her eye as she drove. He looked tired and haggard and tense. But his hair was an adorable, wild mop blowing in the wind and all she wanted to do was run her hands through it, to do whatever it took to calm him. When she was around him she wanted more, of everything. Chuck's very presence had a profound effect on her that she couldn't explain. Through it all, he had placed his trust in her, and given all that had happened she couldn't help but wonder why. She could tell from watching him and his occasional reluctance to make eye contact that he had his moments of doubt about her, and when it happened it made her heart sink. Sarah took a deep cleansing breath and looked over at him receiving a sheepish smile in return as she caught his eye. She smiled as she thought of Chuck's explanation of the X-Files and agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. The strange story of the two FBI agents only made her wonder what the future might hold for Chuck and her. God, why do I feel like I'm living in an X-Files episode? Is my life imitating art? She shook her head ruefully at the thought.
"What?" he asked as he studied the odd smile she wore.
"I was just thinking about that TV show," she deflected, as the smile turned into a guarded grin, "Were Fox and Dana an item?"
"Huh?" Chuck looked at her curiously. "I guess that depends on who you ask. I always thought they were, but it was never overtly shown. It's generally accepted that they got together at the very end and even had a child together. Up to that point there was mostly a lot of sexual tension and allusion to a deeper attraction." He broke eye contact and his cheeks reddened. "Why do you ask?"
"I don't know. I guess I'm trying to figure out how you and I got where we are and how we can make all of this work. Did they trust each other?"
"Yes, very much," he said, without hesitation. "The biggest obstacle between them was the difference in what they each believed the truth was."
Sarah pursed her lips as she looked down the road toward the airport. Even though she knew he was talking about a TV show she could see the hidden message in his answer. Asking Chuck to trust her and her version of the truth was not going to be enough. She was going to have to demonstrate that she was worthy of it through her actions while somehow still walking on the tightrope they both found themselves on together. She couldn't treat him like a mark or an asset and ever expect to earn that trust, and she knew his trust was something she would have to work for. As she turned through the airport gate and saw the two Blackhawk helicopters parked on the ramp she realized that that work would begin right here and now. "Things might get a little tense here, Chuck. Try to stay calm, okay?" she said as she turned and looked at him intently.
"I'll try to follow your lead," he answered as one corner of his mouth turned up. He had that look on his face again. The look of resignation to his fate he'd had on the flight home from the cabin.
Crap. He's worried I'm going to turn him over to them! What if I can't prevent that? She placed her hand on his. "We'll get through this, Chuck," she said, as much for her own benefit as his. She watched him return a stoic smile while taking a deep breath, and then immediately tense up again as she took her hand away and pulled the car to a stop in front of the Flying B Aviation office.
Several very large men in black tactical garb stood outside one of the helicopters. They all were wearing sidearms and one of them had a very heavily accessorized M-4 carbine with an integral sound suppressor on it, hanging across his chest on a single point sling. It was a very wicked looking weapon, and the man's eyes were focused on Chuck. Looking closer they both recognized one of the men. It was John Casey. As they walked toward the helicopters Chuck noticed several other men in flight suits loitering near the helicopters. Then his eye caught movement in his peripheral vision and he turned to see two more men in flight suits walking around one of his Air Tractor's examining the airframe. He couldn't help the small smile that crossed his face. Pilots just can't help themselves. If it flies they have to take a closer look at it.
He turned back to the helicopters just in time to see four people step down from the side door of the chopper that was surrounded by the men in black. They were all wearing tiger striped battle dress uniforms in subdued shades of sage green and grays. It was a pattern Chuck had never seen before. One of them was a woman not much more than five feet tall with her red hair wrapped in a tight bun. On her jacket collar were the stars of a brigadier general, and tapes that said 'U.S. Air Force' and 'Beckman' were over the two top pockets. She had a very stern looking countenance. So this is General Beckman, thought Chuck, as he studied her.
One of the other three was an Air Force Major, a tall, dark, lean, and observant man that Chuck immediately assumed was the General's adjutant since he was carrying a nylon camouflaged briefcase. The remaining two were very fit looking young men decked out in full battle dress with maroon berets, carrying suppressed Heckler and Koch MP5 SD submachine guns. As they approached Chuck recognized the flash of the Air Force Pararescueman's insignia on their shoulders and berets. John Casey and two of the men in black joined General Beckman as she strode up to Chuck and Sarah.
"Keep your hands visible," said Sarah, quietly to him as they walked up to the group.
Chuck complied and gulped loudly, his eyes moving from the General to her mean looking escort and the weapons they held, not quite trained on him and Sarah.
The general stopped a few paces away from them and sized them up with a scowl on her face. "Agent Walker," she said frostily in greeting.
"General Beckman, ma'am," replied Sarah evenly, "I'm surprised to see you here. You don't get out of D.C. much these days."
The General's eyes narrowed as she looked hard at Sarah. "Agent Walker, apparently you have friends in very high places. I received orders directly from the DNI to come here and discuss with you how to handle the predicament the subject and Agent Larkin have put all of us in." The General wouldn't even acknowledge Chuck's presence as she continued, "If I had my choice, Mr. Bartowski," she said with venom, "would be in a bunker in protective custody at Fort Meade. But it seems his name is well known by the Director and several very highly placed officials, including CIA Director Shepard. Your report to Deputy Director Graham last night prompted the DNI to reopen some extremely compartmented classified files of which I haven't yet had the opportunity to see. I have no idea why they would have so much interest in a Naval Academy washout but I've been ordered to see to it that somehow his current life stays intact… such as it is," she added, disdainfully, as she surveyed the airport with disgust in her eyes.
"So what does the Director propose that we do?" asked Sarah a little surprised as she glanced curiously at Chuck, "Do you have a plan? Or are you asking for recommendations from me based on my field observations?"
"As I said, I have orders to discuss and review our options, within the parameters I've been given, and I don't like any of them one bit." Beckman looked at Major Casey and the Air Force Major standing next to her briefly and shook her head with irritation. "Is there somewhere we can talk? This meeting shouldn't be conducted on an airport ramp."
Sarah looked at Chuck questioningly. She could see he was upset about the conversation that was taking place as if he wasn't even there. He gazed back at her and shrugged. He didn't want the General and her men in his office snooping around, and the place was currently an uncharacteristic mess. "You can talk in the hangar," he said with a hint of anger in his voice, "there should be enough privacy in there. There's no one else on the airport today or within a mile of us, so, this way, please," he added, with a sweep of his hand toward the large maintenance hangar.
As Chuck started to lead the group towards the hangar the general's armed escort raised their weapons at the sound of a loud pop coming from the road. They all fixed their eyes on the entry to the airport to see an old beat up, orange, late 1970's Dodge Power Wagon drive on to the ramp headed right for them. It was hard to tell which parts of the orange truck were paint and which parts were rust. As it slowed to a grinding halt in front of them it backfired again, and then dieseled for several seconds before the engine finally stopped with a loud clatter. The general's bodyguard's lowered their weapons when she gave them a wordless signal with her eyes and a subtle nod of her head.
Two unusual looking men got out of the pickup and looked at Chuck incredulously. The dark haired, dark complexioned man wearing an untucked short sleeve madras shirt, tattered jeans, and flip flops spoke first. "Chuck, my man, what is the Gestapo doing at the Wasco County Airport? Shouldn't they be penned up on a military reservation somewhere playing wargames, or whatever it is that warmongers do?"
Chuck watched with a bit of mild amusement as Casey and the rest of the General's escort bristled and Beckman cleared her throat. "Mr. Bartowski, who are these... men?" she asked with more than a tinge of offense in her voice.
To his own surprise, Chuck looked at the General apologetically and held up his finger. "Just give a minute, ma'am, I'll take care of it." He looked back at the two men who had crashed the general's party and sighed, "Lester, Jeff, what can I do for you today? Do you have some spray work that needs to be done? Did the job on the melons turn out okay?"
"No, no, our crops are doing fine, and the cantaloupe look great, Chuck," said Lester, as he watched his red-eyed partner sway. "We just saw those black helicopters land and thought we should come check it out. Are you associating with brownshirts now, Chuck? We thought you didn't like the man much."
"Yeah dude, what's the matter with you? You lookin' to get a bad rep with us organic farmers?" asked the bleary eyed man with wild blondish-orange hair, wearing a tattered rock band t-shirt, dirty overalls, and Birkenstocks.
"Look, guys, this is probably a bad time to be talking about this. You fellas know how important your business is to me, and all the business of your fellow organic growers. Can we talk about this later?"
Her curiosity piqued; Sarah walked over and took in the sight of Chuck and his two customers, trying to hide her amusement. "Is everything okay here, Chuck?"
"Whoa, Chuck, dude, who is the hottie, and what the heck is she doing with you?" said Jeff, with a lecherous slur, and a wild-eyed grin. "We thought you were celibate."
Chuck exchanged an awkward and slightly embarrassed look with Sarah, and then glanced over his shoulder at a very peeved General Beckman. He pursed his lips, and looking down, tapped the toe of his cowboy boot on the asphalt several times. "Guys, I want you to meet my new pilot. This is Sarah."
"What? You've got to be kidding me," said Lester with stark disbelief.
"Hubba, hubba," Jeff exclaimed with a leer; "she can dust my melons any time, Chuck."
Chuck looked over his shoulder again and almost laughed at the sight of General Beckman's and John Casey's mouths hanging open. To her credit, Sarah was rolling with it and wearing a thin, embarrassed smile. "Look guys, show the lady some respect, or I'll have to ask you to stay away from the flight line when she's around. I value your business, but I have to draw the line somewhere."
"Really, a lady ag pilot, Chuck? What planet did you move to?" Lester replied mockingly.
"Really, isn't that more than a little bit sexist Lester?" Chuck retorted, "I'll bet your liberal friends would skin you alive if they heard you say that. I think you owe the lady an apology. Or maybe I should have a word or two with your associates about your parochial attitude. I'd hate to have you guys miss the Memorial Day barbecue because your friends decided they didn't want you there, you bein' the life of the party, and all."
Lester's eyes went wide at Chuck's challenge and he settled his eyes on Sarah contritely. "You're right, Chuck. That was totally uncalled for. We'll be on our best behavior for your gal 'Friday'," he said, gesturing with air quotes.
Chuck sighed, "Lester, get a grip. You're not scoring any points, and I'm still the best deal around for your organic tomatoes."
"Okay, okay, Chuck. I'm backing down. But do you want to explain why you have the military here? I'm sure some of our mutual friends would have a field day with that."
"We're discussing an off-season research contract to study the air quality impact of military operations here in the valley. They asked us to help them assess the impact by using aerial monitoring equipment. If it helps to keep your application fees stable maybe you should consider cutting these people a little slack," Chuck replied, not skipping a beat.
Lester Patel rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Alright, Chuck. We're onboard with that. I'm all for higher profits, and I suppose I'm glad to hear the military industrial complex is concerned about our air quality."
"I'm happy to hear that, Lester. Maybe you'll actually think about it yourself, and do something about registering that truck, and maybe getting a smog check?" Chuck said, with a bit of acid in his voice.
"Touche', Mr. Bartowski." Lester looked at his partner who had been staring at Sarah through the whole conversation and smiled. "C'mon, Jeffrey, as much as I hate to admit it, we've overstayed our welcome, and we need to check on your medicinal crop."
Jeff looked at his partner with manic eyes, "Time to get the mind right." He said, nodding enthusiastically.
They climbed back into their beat up Dodge truck and turned to leave. As they passed Chuck and Sarah, Jeff leaned out the open passenger window and shouted, "You can dust my organic nuts any day, Sarah, if you know what I mean!"
Chuck palmed his face as Sarah snerked through a shocked expression on her face. "I hope all your customers aren't like Jeff," she said, through a suppressed derisive laugh.
"No," replied Chuck looking up at her through his fingers, "Jeff and lester are rather unique, even among the organic growers."
"I thought you handled that well," whispered Sarah, back to him.
"Yeah, everything except the bald-faced lie."
"Ahem, if you don't mind, I'd like to get this charade over with," the General exclaimed, giving Chuck a critical and appraising look. "Well done with the cover Mr. Bartowski, you seem to think well on your feet. I didn't expect it." The concession was surprising, causing Chuck and Sarah exchange a quick glance, unfortunately the comment also sounded strangely uncomplimentary.
-II-
They walked through the side door into the large hangar that served as Mac McConnelly's office and base of operations at Flying B Aviation. Chuck turned on the overhead lights and gestured to a round table surrounded by six chairs in the front corner of the space near the door. But instead of looking at the table and taking an offered seat, all eyes were on the airplanes. Arrayed around the tidy hangar on an epoxy floor so clean you could have eaten off of it were three very nice aircraft. Two of them, parked in the corners of the hangar, had the Flying B logo on the vertical tail fins. In one of the rear corners was an Extra 300L unlimited aerobatic monoplane with a very splashy red, white, and blue paint job. Tucked in the other rear corner of the hangar sat a Cessna 210J. But what everyone was staring at, sitting prominently in the center of the space, was a very sleek, clipped winged P-51 Mustang. The airplane had an ice blue multi-hued paint job and stylized snowflakes streaking over the wings and down the sides of the fuselage. The race numbers 007 on the tail and wings and the name 'Frost Queen' were airbrushed on the airframe. The angular paint scheme and the way the colors blended across the fuselage and wings from light to dark blue, absolutely screamed speed. "What the hell, Chuck?" exclaimed Sarah, when she looked at the name Chuck Bartowski painted below the small aerodynamic canopy, "Is this a racing plane?"
"I'm a pilot," answered Chuck matter-of-factly, "What did you think I do for fun, collect antique motorcycles?" he asked with a grin.
Everyone stared in shock alternating between the plane and him as he stood next to the table and waited.
Finally one of the PJ's escorting the General said, "You're the dude that broke the lap record at Reno two years ago, aren't you?"
"What?" said Beckman loudly, with disbelief.
"Yeah, look," said the PJ pointing to the side of the fuselage with the barrel of his MP5. Below the six exhaust stacks on the cowl was painted, 'National Championship Air Races Unlimited Gold Cup & Lap Record 508.035 mph, Sept. 18, 2005'
"Hmhg," Casey grunted, with a tone that sounded like surprise.
"Oh, sweet, Jesus," said the General as she brought her hand to her forehead, "You're famous?"
"Only in certain circles," Chuck answered modestly, "Air racing isn't the national pastime that it once was."
"Holy shit, dude," exclaimed the PJ, drawing a glare from Beckman, "You're the second youngest pilot to ever win the unlimited gold cup. My son idolizes you. Can I get an autograph for him?"
"Sure. I'd be happy to, just a second." Chuck walked to a drawer in some cabinets behind the table and pulled out a glossy photograph from a stack along with a Sharpie felt tipped pen. It was a picture of the P-51 flying past the finish pylon panned in a way that froze the plane sharply against the blurred pylon and background. "What's your son's name?" he asked, as several faces stared at him.
"Curtis."
"Okay." Chuck placed the photo on the table and wrote - To Curtis- Fly low, fly fast, turn left! - in crisp engineer's printing across the sky on the photo and signed his name with the race number 007 behind it. "Here you go, I hope your son likes it."
"Oh, I assure you, Chuck, he's going to love it!"
The general cleared her throat loudly, "Are you done Lieutenant? Would it be all right with you now if we got on with this meeting, or are there other race fans in your family?" she asked, sarcastically, as she glared at him.
The pararescueman snapped to attention and stared straight ahead, "Begging the General's pardon, ma'am, I'm sorry, I got caught up in the moment. It won't happen again."
"I'm sure it won't. At ease Lieutenant," said Beckman acerbically, "Do you have any other surprises that haven't made their way into your apparently severely outdated dossier, Mr. Bartowski?"
"Not being privy to the government's classified documents on me, I wouldn't know ma'am," answered Chuck, politely.
So you haven't figured out how to access your own file yet. "Damn. It's no wonder we were told to back off. I so much want to have Bryce Larkin's head on my office wall right now," she said, with exasperation.
Chuck looked over at Sarah, and for a few seconds he tried to decipher the look on her face as she stared at him. Her face was an expressionless mask and her lips were a tight line as she peeked at the picture the PJ was holding in his hand. Is she mad at me? Why would she be mad at me? She blinked and looked away when she saw the look of confusion on his face.
"Please, have a seat," said Chuck to the General as he shook his head and pulled a chair out for her, "I'd like to get this over with as much as you would."
The General's eyes settled on him with a hard expression and she sat down with her adjutant and Major Casey flanking her. Chuck pulled out another chair next to him and looked at Sarah, raising an eyebrow when she hesitated. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she cocked an eyebrow in return and raised one shoulder a bit, before she finally walked over and sat down next to him. Chuck then slid her chair in for her. This didn't go unnoticed by the General and she gazed at him curiously. General Beckman looked around the table and then at the rest of the security detail. "I need everyone to clear the room except for Major Casey, Major Shaw, and Agent Walker," she ordered. She watched while her security detail filed out the door and it closed before she began speaking.
"Mr. Bartowski, I realize you didn't ask for any of this," said General Beckman with her hands flat on the table in front of her, "But whether you like it or not, you have become embroiled in a national security scandal. Your friend Bryce-"
"Bryce is not my friend," Chuck interrupted, staring with his jaw set at the table in front of him, "The son-of-a-bitch got me kicked out of Annapolis for something I didn't do. He stole my fiancé away from me. He's done nothing but turn my life upside down, and now it looks like he's done it again."
Fiancé?
"Show some respect to the General, Bartowski," growled Casey, "if you interrupt her again-"
"I'll show the General some respect when she's earned it, Major," Chuck spat back, looking Casey in the eye, "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a member of the military. The Captain's Mast at the Academy saw to that, and on the slimmest of evidence. And the General put out a hit on me, so I'm not feeling too warm and fuzzy about giving her any respect at the moment."
The Major rose quickly from his seat and slapped both his palms on the table, leaning toward Chuck with a menacing glare. Chuck reflexively leaned back in his chair, his eyes going wide, as Sarah placed her hand on his forearm, giving him a piercing look of warning while attempting to mask the shock in her eyes. The General was fuming, but grabbed Casey by the elbow, "Sit, down, Major," she commanded. Casey slowly settled back in his chair giving Chuck a look that could kill.
Diane Beckman leveled stony eyes on Chuck, "Mr. Bartowski. As I was starting to say before you so rudely interrupted, Agent Larkin has pulled you into a national security emergency, and the nature of the emergency gives us no choice but to conscript you into the operation. If what I'm hearing is true, you are now the only source of some of our most important intelligence data. The Intersect was created to cross-correlate and find patterns from a wide variety of intelligence sources. It has been destroyed at the hands of Bryce Larkin, and he sent the only copy of the database and program to you."
Chuck looked back at her crestfallen, "Why did he do this? Why me? I'm a reasonably talented engineer, but there have to be others more talented than me that are already members of the intelligence community. Why send it to someone with no ties to the program at all?" Chuck looked at Sarah and she avoided his gaze, staring at the table in front of her. What the…?
"We don't know why he chose you," the General continued, "Agent Larkin was working undercover at the time of his disappearance and when he sent you the Intersect before destroying the lab. We haven't been able to find a trace of him since."
"Then why is there a sanction order on him? Seems to me he'd be a valuable source of information and be able to shed some light onto what's going on."
"Because up until this point in time all evidence pointed to him having gone rogue. I can't divulge more than that at this time," said the General, flatly.
"Why does none of this surprise me," Chuck responded, his voice dripping with irony, "I really hate you Bryce," he muttered under his breath, drawing a quiet grunt from Casey.
Sarah looked up at him sharply. Chuck could see something in her eyes, something unspoken. "General what does the DNI have in mind for Mr. Bartowski?", she asked, "What exactly do you mean by conscript him?"
"For the time being, Mr. Bartowski will be assigned a security detail to ensure his safety. You and Major Casey will be the leads on that since you've already been read-in on the Intersect program and know Mr. Bartowski's identity. We can't afford the risk of too many more knowing about him." The general let her hard gaze travel around the table. For a moment she appeared to be lost in thought, then she turned to her adjutant, "Major Shaw, I'm going to have to ask you to leave also. Wait for me back at the helo." Her adjutant looked at her curiously then started to get up from the table. "Leave the intel Major," she added as her adjutant started to reach for the briefcase at his side. The Major shot her a quick sideways glance and set the briefcase on the table before turning to leave.
Once her adjutant had left the hangar the General opened the briefcase on the table in front of her and pulled out several files with red and white striped tape across them stamped 'Top Secret'. "Mr. Bartowski, I want you to have a look at these files."
"What on earth for? I'm not cleared for that stuff," Chuck said hesitantly.
"You're cleared for them now. Just humor me, and have a look at them," the General ordered, with a scowl.
Chuck started to leaf through the files looking at the headers and skimming through the dossiers and intelligence data. It all seemed like uncorrelated gibberish to him until he saw the photo of a bearded man in an Afghan Shemagh, then all hell broke loose in his brain. It felt like someone had struck him with a hammer and his head was vibrating in D flat. He saw an image of the man and several other men flash through his mind, opium fields, fifty-five gallon drums filled with cash, and handheld antiaircraft rocket launchers. The images were framed by a nondescript image of a surfboard stuck in the sand, of all things. He looked up from the file and shook his head as he rubbed his temples, "Whoa…"
"What the hell just happened there?" said John Casey, as he stared perplexedly at Chuck.
"That is one very bad man," exclaimed Chuck, still rubbing his head with his fingertips. "General, Majeed Khurana is selling Stinger missiles to several insurgent groups who have intentions of smuggling some of them into the states. The missiles are on a container ship with a Liberian registry - the Trade Winds."
"What?" Casey asked incredulously, "How do you know this?"
"I don't know how I know, I just know, okay?!" replied Chuck with distress in his voice.
"This is precisely how the human Intersect is supposed to work," said the General, unceremoniously. She gathered up the files and put them back in the briefcase before interlinking her hands in front of her on the table and observing Chuck appraisingly. "Mr. Bartowski, until further notice you'll be reviewing more files like that on a daily basis and debriefing with either Agent Walker or Major Casey on your findings. I'll expect reports filed every three days unless any uncovered intel requires sooner notification. Until we can set up a method to do this electronically, you will be receiving courier packets every one to three days. Is that clear?"
"General, my work season is just starting to ramp up, where am I going to find the time to do all this?"
"That is your problem, Mr. Bartowski. I don't anticipate this taking more than a few hours a day, but you will have to work it into your schedule. If I have my way you will no longer be flying an ag plane. It's too great of a risk for the only existing Intersect."
"With all due respect ma'am, I make my living flying an ag plane, I can't just quit unless the government is planning on paying my bills, and I'm not going to quit flying airplanes just to keep your precious Intersect safe."
"Well it seems to me you've already hired another pilot to help with the work load," retorted the General, as she looked pointedly at Sarah, "and you might not have a say in the matter about staying in the cockpit."
Chuck bristled and stared at General Beckman with fire in his eyes, "Like hell, I wo-"
"Chuck," said Sarah quietly as she grabbed his forearm, "don't go there. We'll figure something out, okay?" Chuck looked over at her and exhaled sharply as his fists balled up in his lap.
"Thank you Agent Walker," said the General patronizingly, "I'm glad the asset is willing to listen to you. In the meantime we'll need to figure out some security arrangements for the asset and covers for you and the Major, although it looks like you already have one."
If you use that word one more time, I swear… "I think I may already have a plan in place, General. But I'll have to set up some of the details with Deputy Director Graham. For starters I'll be staying with Chuck in a spare room in his house and I believe I have some ideas for lodging and a cover for the Major and a larger cover for the whole operation. I'll consult with him and Mr. Bartowski on it when we're done here and report to DD Graham by tonight."
The General's brow knit together as she studied Sarah,and her mouth drew together in a line, "Very well, Agent Walker. I want you and Major Casey to keep the asset under twenty-four surveillance until further notice. Though, I would prefer that Major Casey stay with him."
Damn you! I'm sure you would. "Mr. Bartowski will not agree to that, ma'am," Sarah replied quickly as she felt the muscles in Chuck's arm tense under her hand, "Major Casey and Mr. Bartowski have obvious trust issues right now, and we probably won't be able to sell it to Chuck's friends and family because of it. I stand by my initial recommendation to guard Chuck at his home, and I have Graham's backing on it. I believe we can arrange for Major Casey to stay in the caretaker's house for the time being. It's the closest comfortable accommodations to the Bartowski house. Until such time as that can be arranged I suggest the Major stay in a motor unit near the house."
Chuck looked at Sarah, then closed his eyes and groaned, "Morgan is going to freak out. I'll never hear the end of it."
Major Casey sat stone-faced staring at Sarah. She concluded that he didn't want to be staying in Chuck's house any more than Chuck wanted him there. In fact, he was probably pissed about the whole assignment. And Sarah knew John Casey would eventually have something to say about it that she wouldn't like.
"Alright, Agent Walker. I hope you realize selling your stay at Mr. Bartowski's house might involve a more intimate cover," Beckman said with an almost imperceptible smirk.
I'm counting on it. "I understand ma'am. We'll cross that bridge when or if we come to it," said Sarah, with her best poker face.
"I don't like the idea one bit but I'll let you take point on this and make the necessary arrangements. An agency analyst will have to have a look at Mr. Bartowski's computers to ascertain if the Intersect database is indeed lost, and we would like to arrange for an agency doctor to evaluate Mr. Bartowski in a few days."
"We'll be ready for them ma'am," replied Sarah with a squeeze of her hand on Chuck's arm.
"Then we're done here, for the time being," said the General brusquely as she rose and walked to the door. She paused for a second as she opened the door. "Agent Walker and Major Casey, I'd like a word in private before I head back to Edwards. I'll be at my helicopter."
"Yes ma'am," replied the Major and Sarah as they rose and Sarah gave Chuck a subtle apologetic glance, as he politely rose from his seat with her.
Chuck watched as Casey and Sarah walked to the door. As his chin fell to his chest and he gazed thoughtfully at his feet he heard Sarah clear her throat and he looked up to see her standing in the doorway, her blonde hair glowing from the mid-morning sun pouring through the door opening. "We are going to have a talk about that thing, Chuck" she said, pointing at the 'Frost Queen', her face once again veiled from emotion, before she turned and left.
-III-
Chuck sat on the deck in front of the Flying B offices in the porch swing, watching the General and Sarah and Casey consult in front of the general's helicopter. He had missed most of the conversation because as soon as he tried to leave the hangar he was waylaid by the helicopter crews asking for autographed pictures and a look at the 'Frost Queen'. Now, even from across the ramp, he could see the tension in Sarah's body language. He knew she was trained to not show these things and did an admirable job of not displaying it, but he was quickly picking up on her subtle tells the more he studied her. And he couldn't help but study her closely. In many ways because of her secretive nature, close observation was the only thing he had to go on. He watched as the conversation ended, and rose from his seat as Sarah strode purposefully toward him. John Casey climbed into a black SUV with two other men and drove off out the airport gate.
"C'mon, Chuck, let's get the hell out of here," Sarah stated flatly as she walked to her car. The helicopters engines started to spool up as he got in and Sarah pulled away briskly with a screech of rubber while he struggled with his seat belt.
Keep the subject compliant using whatever means necessary. You bitch! Who the hell keeps you compliant? As Sarah thought about that - while trying to concentrate on her driving - she remembered the general's admission that she, Sarah, had friends in high places. But she was starting to wonder if the person with the most friends up top was actually Chuck. Someone was obviously trying to keep General Beckman on a leash. She needed to know who that was, and why. Sarah stole a quick glimpse at the source of her currently tumbled emotions and noticed him studying her with concern written all over his face.
"Not a good meeting, huh?" he asked, trying to smile.
Sarah turned to him and smiled pensively. God, he tries to find the humor in everything. I wish I could do that. Maybe I can get him to give me some lessons. "Let's just say Diane Beckman has some serious control issues."
Chuck let out a short laugh, "She's a general, Sarah, it goes with the job."
Sarah felt herself relax and chuckled, "Yeah I suppose you're right, but we have to be very careful around her… and if I hear her call you the 'subject' or the 'asset' one more time…" She looked over to see Chuck beaming at her and felt herself flush.
"Thank you, Sarah. I can hear the sincerity in your voice when you say that. It means a lot."
He still doesn't trust me completely. She sighed as her eyes turned toward the road again, "I have to make a stop at the hotel to get my things. Then we'll head back to your house and I'll tell you about my plan, okay?"
"Okay. I kind of figured that since you were heading to Bakersfield," he said with a lopsided grin.
They pulled into the lot at the extended stay hotel and Chuck watched as Sarah went quickly up to her room and came back down the steps with two small duffels, a notebook computer case, and a garment bag that she tossed into the back seat. "That's it? That's all you have?"
"I pack light," said Sarah, as she climbed back into the Porsche and headed to the highway, "The life of a CIA agent means that we often have to travel on a moment's notice, so it's not sensible to travel with a steamer trunk."
"Ha! Yeah, I could see where that would be a problem running through an airport trying to catch your flight," Chuck quipped.
"At some point I'm going to have to shop for some more clothes. I may enlist your help with that. I need to find some things appropriate for the cover."
"I'd be happy to help, but maybe Ellie might be a better choice. I think she has much better women's fashion sense than I do. Actually better fashion sense overall. She often drags me out to go shopping for my own clothes. Which reminds me, I really need to call her, or something other than a short text. She's only sent me about a dozen of them - texts that is - since Thursday evening. I think Morgan and her have been talking."
"Morgan," said Sarah, shaking her head, "He seems to really look out for you. You think he's told your sister about me, huh?"
"Oh, yeah. Morgan and I have been best friends since kindergarten, and yes, he's definitely told my sister about you."
"I'm looking forward to meeting Ellie," said Sarah, as her lower lip pinched between her teeth, "How does your sister feel about that racing plane?" she asked, casting a sideways glance his way.
"Are you mad about that? You didn't seem very pleased when you saw it."
"Isn't that a very dangerous sport? I have a hard time picturing you doing something like that, Chuck. The name of the plane also made me feel a little uncomfortable," she admitted. "And I guess I was a little surprised that you didn't tell me about it."
"Well, it never really came up, did it? And you didn't exactly ask me about what we kept in the hangar. I would have told you if you'd asked. Can't say you would have been as forthcoming," he added with a little irritation.
Sarah sighed and looked at him guardedly, "I suppose I had that coming, didn't I? I'm sorry I've been so secretive, Chuck. I have a difficult time talking about myself and I know I can be evasive. I'll try my best to answer any questions you have in the future, okay?" She reached across the console and took his hand giving it a squeeze.
"Okay, Sarah," he said, pursing his lips, and sitting quietly for a moment. "Ellie wasn't exactly excited about my racing either," he finally said, softly.
"How did you get started doing that?" She looked at him apologetically, "I'm sorry, here I go asking all the questions, again…"
He chuckled back, "It's alright. How else are we going to get to know each other better if we don't ask them? The answer is not a short one, though."
"I think we have time," said Sarah with a smile.
"Yeah, I guess we do," he said taking a deep breath. "Air racing is actually a fairly common hobby with crop duster pilots here in the valley. There are several racing planes based at Minter Field, not far from here, and most of them are owned by ag pilots. My grandpa was a member of the group of original organizers of the Reno Air Races back in 1964. He bought that P-51 and twelve Rolls Royce Merlin engines for a song at an auction in 1962. The plane is worth almost seventy times what he paid for it now. I almost sold her after Dad died and I got kicked out of the Academy. I was going through a rough spot financially because the business sat idle for several months before I took it back on. My crew talked me into keeping the Frost Queen and took a pay cut to allow me to keep her. It worked out great for them in the end since my solution to the problem at the time was to set up a bonus and profit sharing plan."
He does seem to have a way of looking out for his friends and employees. "How did the plane get that name? It was a bit of a jolt when I saw that."
"Yeah, sorry about that… how was I to know?"
"It's alright, I understand," she answered, stroking his hand in circles with her thumb.
He smiled at her sheepishly and turned his hand over to clasp hers, intertwining their fingers. "My Mom used to tell me this bedtime story about the Frost Queen when I was a youngster. It was a fantasy adventure, with a bit of romance thrown in. She told the story so well that even the romance parts were fun for a little boy. I never forgot it. I'll probably be able to recite it to my own kids effortlessly." Chuck gulped and felt the color rise up his neck as Sarah's eyes went wide and she gripped his hand.
He cleared his throat, looking away embarrassed, and then continued, "When Gramps and my Dad raced the P-51 she was called the Silver Bullet because she was all polished out aluminum. I renamed the plane the Frost Queen to honor my mom when I decided to race her in the fall of 2005. That's also why I chose that race number. We won the gold race and set the lap record in her our first year at Reno. I guess I had something to prove to myself, and it helped take my mind off all the crap I was going through at the time. When you're flying an airplane fifty feet off the desert floor at five hundred miles per hour trying to keep from cutting pylons or hitting another plane, you don't have a lot of time to think about the things that are bugging you. It was good therapy, and I think Ellie understood that. Anyway, we've been a fixture at Reno ever since, and as much as Ellie hates me doing it; she's my crew chief and public relations spokesperson… along with Morgan, of course. He talks about it to anyone who will listen," Chuck added with a roll of his eyes.
Sarah looked at their hands clasped together on the console and bit her lower lip. "I hope you understand that Beckman is going to fight you tooth-and-nail about going to Reno to race that plane. I doubt my boss will understand, either."
"Yeah, I thought about that. I understand. But I hope you appreciate how hard I'm going to fight to keep my life intact. I'm not going to give up the things that are important to me that easily. And I'm not going to let Bryce Larkin try to ruin my life..not again. The only positive thing I can say about all this is that he brought you into it. For that, I am very grateful," he said looking at her earnestly.
Sarah turned and gazed into his eyes as she took a deep breath. I have to show him that note. I can't keep it from him any longer.
Sarah pulled her car over to the side of the road and watched as Chuck looked at her with surprised curiosity, "Sarah? What's up? Why did you pull over?"
And he was pleasantly shocked when she launched herself across the console to hug him and give him an ardent kiss.
-IV-
When Sarah stopped her car in front of Chuck's house, he quickly reached into the back seat and grabbed her bags before she could, receiving a slight one-sided smirk in return for his efforts. "I'm not helpless, you know."
"Oh, I'm sure you're not, but my parents taught me the right way to treat a lady," he answered as he let her lead the way up the steps, "Besides this way your hands are free in case you have to use Kung Fu on anyone."
"You may have a point there, but if you don't knock it off I might start using Kung Fu on you. You're going to spoil me."
"Promises, promises," He said with a soft laugh, "Maybe it's about time someone pampered you, anyway. Might as well be me."
Sarah looked up at Chuck as he set a bag down and reached around her to open the door. Her mouth fell open just slightly and her eyes sparkled as they met his. "I might be able to get used to that," she breathed.
Chuck blinked and pried his eyes away from her lips. "I'll tell you what then, let's get the pampering off to a proper start. Let me show you your room and I'll fetch some towels for you so you can take a shower… unless you'd prefer a bubble bath," he said, giving her the Bartowski smile.
"Oh, a bath would be so nice right now. It's been far too long."
"Hmph, the last couple of days have been a little hard on the personal hygiene, haven't they?" he quipped, as they walked through the living room.
"Yes they have," she sang, looking up at him. "I'm feeling the need for a long soak."
Chuck turned left into the hallway behind the living room and they walked a few steps down the hall and turned right into a modestly sized bedroom. There was a brass framed bed covered with a patchwork quilt and embroidered pillow shams against the far wall. A large cable rug was spread under the bed covering the hardwood floors, and soft lace curtains with wooden blinds covered the two north facing windows flanking the bed. "Here you are," said Chuck as he set her bags on a cedar chest at the foot of the bed. "This used to be my room at one time. There's a wardrobe over there." He pointed to a cabinet set across one corner, "And the bathroom is over here. It's a Jack and Jill. It's connected to Ellie's room."
Sarah looked into the bathroom and beyond through the connecting door into a similar sized room with similar country style furnishings and decor and a bay window facing to the west. She turned back to him and said with a soft smile, "This is very nice, Chuck. Thank you."
"I think you'll find it comfortable." Their eyes locked briefly, and Chuck returned a shy awkward smile before attempting to squeeze around her into the bathroom. "Here, let me draw you a bath." he said, as he brushed by her to the tub and started the water. "I know we have some bubble bath around here somewhere," he said nervously, as he rummaged through a cabinet. "Ah, here it is." He turned around with a bottle in his hand, and there was Sarah standing right in front of him looking up at him with a grin on her face. "Whaa…"
Sarah giggled, "Thank you Chuck. You're definitely getting the pampering off to a good start." She stood on her toes, gave him a quick peck on the lips and took the bottle from his hand, pouring some of the liquid into the bath water.
"Let me get you some towels," he stammered as he shuffled from the room, "I'll be right back."
Sarah tilted her head to one side with her hands on her hips, and smirked, watching his retreating form. She then walked back into the bedroom, removed her jacket and tossed it onto the bed, and then sat on the cedar chest and took off her boots and socks. She had just pulled the tail of her blouse from her jeans and her fingers were hovering over the top buttons when Chuck cleared his throat from the doorway and she looked up at his shy tight lipped smile.
"Here you go. I got you a robe too." He held out the stack of plush cotton terry accessories to her.
"Thanks." She stepped right into his personal space and took the towels from him, letting her hand linger on his, and looking up at him through her lashes. She was so tempted, but he was obviously so nervous. Not now, he's not ready. She took a half step back, and turning, sashayed toward the bathroom. "I might be a while."
"That's quite alright, take your time, you deserve it." He said softly as she lingered at the bathroom door, melting him with a smile. "Right, I've got a few things to do around the house, I'll see you in a while."
Chuck stepped out into the hallway and leaned against the wall, "Oh, Jeez, Bartowski," he groaned as his head fell forward and his forehead banged into the wall. He repeated the gesture several times, his head impacting the wall with a thunk, each time. "What on God's green earth is the matter with you?"
"Are you alright out there, Chuck?" asked Sarah as she disrobed and tested the water, running her fingers through the bubbles with a grin. She had heard the whole thing. He is such an adorable, but awkward and modest gentleman.
"Huh?" His head came up and he tried to see through the wall, "Oh, yeah… I'm fine… no worries. Just me being my usual clumsy self," he said with exasperation.
"Don't make me worry about you, or I may have to ask you to stay in here with me," she teased as she lowered herself into the warm water with a sigh.
"Oh? Oh, Har-dee-har! I don't think my coming in there with you would help either of us much right now." Slow and steady, Chuck, slow and steady.
Sigh. Speak for yourself, Mr. B. She blew some bubbles away from her face as she settled into the water up to her chin. Another soft thud came from the hallway. "Chuck?"
"I'm okay, I'm okay." He took a deep, deep, breath and exhaled forcibly. "Enjoy your bath, Sarah."
"Oh, believe me, I am." Sarah slid down in the tub and her head disappeared under the water. Bubbles came to the surface as her laughter finally escaped. How long am I going to have to wait for you to make your move, Chuck Bartowski?
Chuck walked down the hallway into the master bedroom and stripped off his clothes. He felt grungy, and… a cold shower was in order. He'd kill two birds with one stone. He felt so weird right now. The woman of his dreams was living in his house and he didn't know what to do with himself. He turned the shower on and let it warm up just enough to comfortably wash his hair and jumped in. Once his head was clean he turned off the hot water and braced himself against the shower wall.
A short while later shaved and dressed in some black sweatpants, a pair of flip flops, and his Browncoat t-shirt, Chuck walked into the kitchen. As he sat at one of the stools next to the island with his head in his hands, considering making a snack for Sarah and him, he heard a vehicle come to a stop outside. Oh, great. If that's John Casey…
There were three sharp raps on the front door and it swung open, "Chuck?! Whose Porsche is that out there?"
His head came bolt upright, "Ellie?" He turned and looked at his sister with surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"Well that's a fine how-do-you-do," said his sister with a jubilant smile, as she kicked the door closed with her colorful cowboy boot with a bang. "I haven't seen you in weeks, and now I'm hearing rumors from the Morganmill. Care to come clean, little brother?"
"Already done that. I just got out of the shower," he deflected, as he got up and shuffled to the edge of the living space.
"Oh, ha, ha," Ellie replied, with her hands on her waist, before she strode over to him and gave him a bone crushing hug.
"Ooof. Ellie, take it easy, you're going to break one of my ribs."
She released him and gripped his arms giving him an appraising look, "Says the brother who has fallen off a horse how many times without a scratch?"
"Not fallen, thrown. There's a difference, you know."
"Toe-may-toe, Toe-mah-toe, you're still practically unbreakable," she laughed, as she ran her hand through his hair shaking it, "That hair is getting mighty long, Chuck. It's starting to make those funny animal shapes again. You need a haircut."
"If I cut it I'll lose all my super-human strength."
"Oh, is that this week's excuse?" Ellie shook her head with a smile. "All right little brother, tell me about the owner of the fancy sports car."
Oh, crap, I'm not ready for this either! "Well, El… it's like this… it's… it's…
"Mine… and I vote for no haircut… at least for a little while longer."
Ellie and Chuck turned quickly to the doorway between the living room and the hall, and Ellie's mouth fell open. Sarah was standing there in a blue terry cloth bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her head. Ellie turned back to her brother, eyes wide. After a very pregnant pause she cocked her head to one side and closed her mouth on the tip of her tongue as her eyes narrowed at Chuck. Anyone else might have thought she was mad, but her eyes twinkled with mirth.
"Hi, Ellie, I'm Sarah. It's so nice to finally meet you."
"Well… hi," Ellie said as she turned quickly back to Sarah with a huge grin, "It's nice to meet you too, Sarah," she said, as she strode briskly over to shake Sarah's hand, "Wow, Morgan wasn't kidding…"
"Morgan," said Chuck, accusingly, "What wasn't he kidding about, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Um, he said you met this girl… and that she was absolutely stunning… and, um, that he thought you two were already… um… an… uhm… "
"An item?" asked Sarah with a smirk, "That seems to be the popular term for it today."
"Well… yeah, that wasn't the exact word he used, but it works." Ellie looked back and forth between the two of them, seemingly in a moment of indecision. Then she blurted out, "Is it true?"
Chuck gazed at Sarah like a lost puppy. He didn't know what to say, and he didn't want to step over a line that would make her feel uncomfortable, "Ellie, it's a bit compl-"
"Yes, it's true," said Sarah, grinning broadly at Chuck's reaction, as his mouth fell open and then snapped shut just as quickly. "I guess you could say that Chuck and I fell into the deep end," she added with a snicker.
Chucks mouth opened and closed like a guppy for a few seconds, his emotions in turmoil. A small part of him still wondered if he was being played.
"Oh, my gosh," Ellie squealed in glee, "I can't believe this. Didn't you two just meet?"
"Yeah, yeah we did," said Chuck, finally finding his tongue as he gazed with adoring confusion at Sarah, a bit shocked by her proclamation. "What can I say, we kind of fell pretty hard," he said truthfully.
"Tell me, I have to know, how did this all happen. Morgan said you met at the airport after work a couple of days ago."
"Yeah, that's about it in a nutshell." Chuck rubbed the back of his neck still trying to figure out how much to say.
Sarah looked at him, shrugging one shoulder, and smiled as she tilted her head to one side, "I was looking for a job, and it sort of went over the cliff from there."
"Really. What sort of a job?"
"Morgan didn't tell you?" asked Chuck a little surprised.
"No, he didn't mention it. He was mostly carrying on about how… Sarah… well… he kept using the word 'hot'," Ellie giggled.
Sarah smiled and blushed a bit as she studied a knot in the hardwood floor. I think I really like your sister, Chuck.
"Sarah's a pilot, El. She's going to fly 402SB."
This time Ellie's mouth opened and closed like a guppy. "You're kidding me?"
"Nope. It's the truth. And she didn't have a place to stay so she's staying here at Casa Bartowski."
"Whawhawhawhat? This is all too much… too much to absorb. I need a drink," she said as she took a few steps back and flopped into one of the chairs by the fireplace. She looked up at them questioningly, "Are you? Are you? Oh, damn, I shouldn't even be asking this question, I'm sorry."
"I'm staying in Chuck's old room for now, Ellie. We're taking it slow. Neither of us wants to rush into this." God, I am such a liar.
"What a shame," said Ellie under her breath, averting her eyes with a wry smile.
Sarah looked at her with a start, and blushed. Did she just give me the green light to do the deed with her brother?
"I think I'll open a bottle of wine," said Chuck with a tremor in his voice, "Preferably something fortified. How does that sound to you, El? Would you like a glass of Paso Robles rocket fuel?"
"I already told you I wanted one, pour away. Do you have a bottle of Dusi?"
"Yep." Chuck walked into the kitchen and opened the wine fridge. "One bottle of Dusi Vineyard Zin, coming up."
"You know your way to your sister's heart," said Ellie, affectionately.
"I think I'm going to get out of this bathrobe and into something a little more presentable," said Sarah as she pulled the towel off her head and shook out her blond tresses, "I'll be back in a few minutes."
Ellie's eyes grew a little bigger when she saw Sarah's hair spilled out over her shoulders and she nodded with a grin, "Hurry back, I have more questions… and maybe a few suggestions, from one girl to another," she said, with a wink.
Sarah responded with a curious smile as she rolled her eyes and left the room. Just as she made it to the door of her bedroom - her room, she liked that thought - she overheard Ellie talking to her brother.
"Chuck, if you let that one get away, I swear, I will hurt you."
Her hand came up to her mouth to stifle a laugh, and she smiled.
A/N – She's moved in with him! Oh, my. What's going to happen next? Stay frosty.