A/N So Shaw, a real life honest to God CIA agent, thinks Chuck should go to Paris. A pretty insulting line, canon was subtle that way. Sarah's a real life, honest to God CIA agent too, isn't she?

"Superboy came back."

"'Spy' is the least of the things Chuck is."

"What weakness is that?"

"You have to blaze your own trail."

Chuck and Agent Shaw walking around the Buy More sales floor, alone. "Have you ever had one of these?" asked Shaw, holding up a small cylindrical object.

"Hey, a KGB tranq pen," said Chuck, taking it. "Casey's got one of these too, he loves the little gizmos. He calls it 'bedtime for bad guy'." Shaw simply looked at him. "You do know Casey's a Ronald Reagan fan, right?"

"You do know how to use one of these, right?" asked Shaw. At Chuck's nod, he said "Show me," pointing at a nearby mug of coffee. It had the name 'Jeff' on the side, along with the Nerd Herd logo. Its owner, Jeff, was entering data into the computer, looking glum at having to work.

Chuck took one look, appalled. "You want me to tranq Jeff? I can't do that."

"I've read everyone's file," said Shaw, with a gentle wave. "Jeff Barnes will be fine."

"No, I mean I really can't do that," said Chuck. "Jeff Barnes comes pre-tranqed. He tranqs himself for fun."

"I don't care if he drinks it, Chuck," said Shaw, with a sigh. Somehow Chuck didn't think him the sighing type. "I just want to see you in action. Distract him and administer the dose. If what you say is true, no one will even notice."

"Oh," said Chuck. "Yeah, I can do that." The worst that could happen is that Jeff would fall over unconscious. It's not like that had never happened before. He walked over to the Nerd Herd desk, pen in hand. "Hey, Jeff."

The wild-haired man didn't look up. "What do you want, collaborator?"

Chuck tried to project an air of complete innocence. "Just trying to safeguard your health and well-being," he said. "Morgan–"

Jeff's lip curled. On purpose. "The traitor-in-chief?"

"Yeah, that Morgan. He just got a phone call from the coffee service people. It seems they installed the wrong filter yesterday. Your coffee here…" He pressed the release and tapped the rim of the mug with his pen "…could have some unhealthy additives in it." Chuck put the pen in his pocket protector and grabbed the mug. "We just got it fixed, let me get you a fresh one."

Jeff grabbed it back. "Hey, don't think I don't know what you're doing," he said, cupping a hand over it protectively. "You're gonna take my coffee back to that little weasel. Sorry, Chuck, nothing doing."

Chuck shrugged, looking sheepish. "Okay, Jeff, you caught me." He walked away, the picture of defeat.

Lester came up behind his companion in tomfoolery, in his usual sinister style. "What was that all about?"

"Just Chuck, going on about toxic additives in the coffee again," said Jeff. He took a sip, testing the brew like a connoisseur. Finally he sneered, "Doesn't taste any different."

"Excellent work, Chuck," said Shaw, as Chuck got closer. "Why did you try to take the mug? Wouldn't it have made more sense to knock it over?"

"I assumed you wanted to see a proper scenario," said Chuck. "Reverse psychology has always worked best with him. No faster way to make him drink it than to try and take it away." They looked back to see Jeff continue to drink. "He's got a pretty high tolerance."

"Plus that pen was loaded with distilled water," said Shaw. He handed Chuck a second pen. "You didn't think I'd ask you to tranq a civilian in public, did you? That would be both stupid and unethical."

Neither of them things Chuck wanted to be. "Right there with you," he said, taking the new pen and handing over the old. "What's next?"

"Nothing," said Shaw. "I've seen your proficiency ratings already, but your training in Prague was cancelled before this scenario came up." He checked his watch. "Your things should be prepared down in Castle, so let's get you on your way."

"The CIA contact will meet you in Paris, Agent Carmichael," said Sarah, straightening the tie in the briefcase while staring at the one around his neck.

Casey had the paperwork ready. "Your itinerary, business cards, and passport, Mr. Carmichael." He watched as Chuck put all of his real papers in a box, and loaded up with the fake stuff. "Okay, reality check."

Chuck stuck out a hand. "Hi, Charles Carmichael, Carmichael Industries. Just making a few quick stops in Paris and Brussels, on my way to the big software and security expo in Bern."

"There'd better be one," warned Casey.

"There is," said Chuck, pulling his hand back. "The usual trade show, but the focus is on electronic security instead of the physical stuff. It's called Cyber-SAFE." He flipped some of the clothes back, and handed Casey some of the brochures underneath.

Sarah noticed something else. "Nunchuks, Chuck?" she said, picking them up.

"Absolutely," said Chuck. "Non-lethal, and you know how I feel about lethal weaponry. Quiet, safe for use in enclosed spaces like hotel rooms. A bit of a crazy hobby to have, I guess, but really no one's supposed to see them."

"Are they in the–"

"Yes, they are," he said, taking them back, brushing his fingers over hers as he did. "If I lose control I figure I can just whack myself in the head." He stuck them back in the case as Sarah went to get something else.

Casey handed him the brochures. "It looks to me like you could really use some back-up…"

"He goes alone," said Shaw, coming out of the back room. "Sorry about that, Colonel, but look at the bright side. Weap-Con is next month. Wouldn't want to use up your vacation time early." He handed Chuck a phone. "We've set up a subnetwork on your phone. You should be able to text and call from the plane."

"Here's your ticket," said Sarah, sounding like a proper personal assistant. "Your car is outside, Mr. Carmichael."

Shaw nodded. Whatever got the student into the role. "You'll get further instructions in Paris."

Chuck checked the ticket. "First class." He sounded impressed, then he looked at his partners and smiled. "What, again?"

Everything went well until he got settled into his seat. His companion was a beautiful brunette, perfect in every way. A little on the short side, perhaps. Fortunately, Sarah was more perfect, and he'd already practiced his spiel. He only babbled a little, right at the beginning.

"Cyber-SAFE, huh? Sounds like fun, I wish I could go, Charles-but-my-friends-call-me-Chuck." She held out a hand, with a card in it. "Hannah, but my friends call me Hannah."

Great, a colleague. This mission just kept getting better and better. Maybe he should just go get a…

"Drinks?" asked the flight attendant, with a couple of flutes of champagne on a tray.

Chair-side service. Terrific. Well, at least it gave him something to hold. Maybe a mouthful of champagne would keep Miss Curious here from–

"So, what do you think of our fellow passengers?" asked Hannah, pointing.

Chuck looked around, and flashed. "Uh, Syrian dignitaries there." He looked elsewhere, and flashed again. "Those look like nuclear physicists to me." The next group brought no flash. "Um…"

"Yale fencing team," said Hannah.

"Sounds good," said Chuck, and they toasted each other.

Agent Jones watched the Departures board jealously, a flight to Paris being the last before her flight to LA, as if the universe wanted to just rub it in a little harder. Either not important enough, or far too important–who can tell with Generals?–her delivery run was denied the use of a chartered transport. She wasn't meant for coach.

"Excuse me, Miss," said a man with a rough voice, dressed like a truck driver. He'd been on the phone all the way across the concourse, and he was after he'd passed her by, heading for the Paris gate. "They've loaded the casket already, and I'm boarding now…of course not, since when have I ever flown anything but first class?"

Agent Jones grabbed her bag–Damn you, Agent Carmichael!–and stomped off towards her own departure gate.

Chuck could really get to hate Hannah, except she was too nice. She was also too lonely to leave him be, and with them having common interests she was a moth to his flame. He probably should have said he was in retail or something dull like that, maybe then she would have left him alone. "Why don't you think I fly first class often," he asked in response to her latest question. "Do I not look like a flies-first-class-often sort of person?"

"No, it's just that I do fly first class often," she said. "I work for a private investor. He flies me around, I fix problems for him. It's a lot of stress, but I get to travel. I live in Paris, and I have a view of the Eiffel Tower. Have you ever seen it?"

"Quite a few times," said Chuck. Did pictures count?

"Oo, fresh meat," said Hannah. "Check out Mr. Muscles over there. What do you think he does? Professional wrestler?"

Chuck turned to look at whoever she was looking at, and flashed on a Ring agent right on the plane with him. A big Ring agent. Crap.

One quick phone call to Castle later…

"You should have told me," said Sarah. "Us."

"This is why I didn't," said Shaw. "Chuck listens to you. If you're upset about a mid-air mission, he'll get upset about a mid-air mission."

"We can't help him now. Hugo Panzer is a master of hand-to-hand close quarters combat."

"So is Chuck."

"As long as he can control it," said Sarah. "And if he can't, everyone on that plane is dead."

Chuck sat at the bar, thankful that Miss Curious had found something else to do since takeoff, typing away industriously on her computer. He kept an eye on Mr. Panzer while pretending to do a crossword puzzle, watching as he spoke to the attendant and she came over to the bar. He got out his 'lucky pen'.

Upstairs…

Casey couldn't take it anymore. He ducked into the break room for a moment of privacy, and made a phone call. "Any update on Chuck?"

Downstairs…

"Oh, Chuck's fine," snapped Sarah, glaring at Shaw while she said it. "He's trapped in a metal tube thousands of feet above the ground, with a Ring agent already on the plane."

Upstairs, in the break room…

"You want me to kill him for you?"

"Who?"

"Anybody."

The door opened, and Casey ended the call reflexively, his anger surging. Unfortunately, it was only Morgan. "Hey, John," he said mildly, unaware of his danger. "Got a second? I need a favor."

The only favor Casey felt like giving anyone was to make them shorter, and it was too late for that with Morgan. "Not interested."

"I hate to pull rank, here, John, but…" Morgan stroked his vest. "I am your superior."

John could think of a number of superiors who would serve their troops better from below ground. Morgan wasn't one of them. "What?" he asked, cracking his knuckles ominously.

Morgan sagged, his moment of confidence gone. "It's Lester, and his cabal of evil tricksters."

Now John was interested.

"It's a casket," said Chuck. Panzer was safely unconscious upstairs, and his claim ticket was clutched in Chuck's sweaty fingers. Unfortunately Chuck had wasted a lot of time looking through the luggage first.

"They're clever. Customs won't check the body. Open it, find the key."

Chuck opened it, and saw a real dead guy in a suit. "That's disgusting." The key he sought was not immediately visible. What kind of ghouls set it up so they'd have to touch this?

"That's the job, Agent Carmichael."

As Chuck searched the body, starting with the clothes and the pockets, the elevator went up and came down again, holding someone who cast a big shadow. Chuck didn't notice until the door opened.

Back in Castle, the phone rang again, and Sarah reached for the button.

"Don't answer," said Shaw. "He's taken care of Panzer, he'll find the key. There should be nothing up there that he needs our help with."

"And if there is?"

Shaw shrugged. "Then the last thing he needs is for us to distract him."

Chuck crouched low in the dark, as he heard the ponderous footsteps of Hugo Panzer approach the casket. He hadn't been able to close it silently. He whispered to himself, "Don't freak out."

A/N2 It turns out SAFE as an acronym for the Security And Firearms Exposition is not in use anywhere, so maybe I can get some royalties someday. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.