A/N Shaw is simply a humble special agent trying to take down a world-spanning conspiracy and avenge his wife's death. It's not like he's psychotically evil, or anything.

"Charles Carmichael is very focused, and very cold."

"I think he was awfully quick to abandon those men to their fates."

"I have seen some signs of unusual brain activity."

"General, Chuck's been arrested for assault!"

Discomfort reigned at Langley, and it was all Chuck Bartowski's fault. He'd been caught brawling in the hallways. They couldn't have that, that was FBI crap. He'd injured a Special Agent. They couldn't have that either. Everybody knew (hey, it's the CIA!), everybody was watching, and they couldn't punish him.

Fortunately the Special Agent in question, one Daniel Shaw, woke up and accepted responsibility for the affair. The charges were promptly reduced to disorderly conduct and the spilling of mop water, and Chuck was remanded to his immediate superiors for punishment.

Tough Guy left Dimples' office in shock, surprised to find most of his IM colleagues there awaiting the verdict. No wonder Casey loves it here. Even Sarah was there, in a seat of honor. "I have officially been reprimanded for failing in my duty. Daniel Shaw got up much too soon."

Pebbles nodded. "You take someone down, Tough Guy, you're supposed to take them all the way down."

Tough Guy nodded in miserable dejection. "That's what Dimples said. I'm to report to the duty officer each day, and spend part of each day sparring until my performance reaches acceptable minimums."

"Don't worry, Chuck," said Agent Sarah Carmichael, and Walker before that, his handler. "They'll be careful."

The big, tough guys fell over themselves agreeing with her.

Except Ladyfeelings. "Okay, Tough Guy. That's the official verdict. How about unofficially?"

Tough Guy stood up straight, slowly drew his hand from pocket, raised it to his chest, and carefully inserted Dimples' cigar in a place of honor in his shirt pocket.

Ladyfeelings grunted his approval as they all applauded. "That's more like it."

"All right, Mr. Bartowski, what happened?"

"Daniel Shaw approached me as I was leaving the office, General. He was insistent on entering, wanted to speak with Agent Carmichael about an operation."

"You refused, of course."

"He wouldn't take no for an answer, and the situation escalated. He tried to force his way past me."

"Is that when you attacked him?"

Chuck shook his head. "I…don't know, General. He was pushing, I was pushing back, we were both yelling, Casey was nowhere in sight, and then-then he was on the ground, and I was standing over him, and people were saying I went all kung fu on his a-, uh, anatomy. That's all I know."

Beckman switched her focus. "Doctor?"

"General, one of my goals in developing the Intersect was to separate the skills, especially the fighting skills Chuck would use in his own defense, from the data. I believe this goal has been partially achieved, although it took the stress of the last mission to make it apparent. This would account for the unusual activity I saw in the scans."

"Very good. The next item on the agenda then is the office. It was supposed to remain unnoticed. You were never supposed to be seen entering or leaving, Chuck, no one was."

"Charles Carmichael was never supposed to actually be here. Shaw wasn't looking for the office, but the man. I guess he assumed an unused office would be a good place to start looking."

"Let's send Charles Carmichael someplace far away, then, let Shaw go haring off after him. I can pull some strings if I have to but I'd rather let him go on his own. Until then, Sarah, stay close. You'll have to run interference."

Sarah smiled. "Yes, ma'am."

Beckman smiled back. "Dismissed."

"We're going home now, Chuck. I want to tell you all about my trip to Hawaii." Sarah grabbed Chuck by the collar. "Stay close."

"General! Ellie! Help!"

Both screens went blank.

"They call you 'Tough Guy'," someone said the next morning, in a smooth, precise voice. Chuck turned from his polishing to face Shaw, who was touching the bandage on his face. "I can see why." He watched as Chuck slowly stood erect. "You seem a little…stiff."

So do you. "Rough night." Chuck looked around, noted all the people not watching them. "Are we supposed to be within a thousand yards of each other, sir?"

Shaw smiled. "No hard feelings, Chuck. You did the right thing, I'm only surprised you did it so well. I'd like to take you to lunch, if you don't mind?" He gestured.

It would be public, of course. "The CIA Commissary?" Shaw nodded. "You must have deep pockets. I can barely afford the vending machines in there." Help.

Shaw chose the table (good view of the room, back to the wall), but Chuck chose his chair, watching as the room slowly filled and emptied. "Can I just cut to the chase, Agent Shaw? You still want to pump me for information about Mr. Carmichael. I must say I appreciate your technique better this time." The food was better than he normally got to eat.

"Mister—what do they call you besides 'Tough Guy'?"

"Call me Chuck."

"Okay, Chuck. I asked you to lunch to apologize for last time. I was hasty, and rude."

"Must have been important. You don't even look like that hurt."

"It does, and it is. What you lack in finesse you make up in enthusiasm."

"I meant the apology."

"Embarrassment is a luxury I can't afford. My hasty rudeness has cost me another day, and time is pressing. If you could help me contact Agent Carmichael, it would be–"

Just then, Chuck laughed, a machine-gun, rapid-fire, braying laugh completely unlike the sounds he normally made. Across the room, a somewhat portly man named Sam reacted to the noise, looking about covertly. "You're kidding, right?" said Chuck, not seeming aware of Sam's presence. "You want me to tell tales out of school about Agent Walker's husband? He tore strips out of an NSA Major over a parking space." Sam looked up, caught his eye.

Shaw looked a little confused by the slight jog in the conversation. "Not at all. I want to contact him about an operation."

Chuck didn't answer, more interested in Sam as he talked into his phone. Plus the food was good, it would be a shame to ignore it.

Thrust. "Would you mind indulging my curiosity, Chuck?"

Parry. "I will if you'll indulge mine."

Feint. "If I can. Most of the things I have to talk about aren't fit topics for cafeteria conversation."

"Why are you pretending to be left-handed?"

"I…beg your pardon?"

"You eat like a leftie but comb your hair, wear your watch, and tie your tie like a rightie. What gives?"

Shaw saluted his guest's astuteness with a toast, and a graceful surrender. "I was wounded recently. Right shoulder."

Nothing about why. Interesting. "You took a bullet in your right shoulder, saving the life of Mrs. Carmichael when she was practically defenseless. It's because of that that I'm talking to you at all. Ask your question." Hopefully she'll get here before I have to answer it.

Shaw abandoned any pretense of eating. "Why do you, alone of all the people in Langley, have access to Agent Carmichael's office?"

"Because my husband looks after his own," said Sarah Walker, striding up to their table. "And so do I."

"I wasn't saying anything, Agent Walker."

"I know you weren't, Chuck. Good boy."

Shaw stood. "My apologies if I overstepped my bounds–"

Sarah smiled, and they sat down together. "You did, Mr. Shaw, but no apologies are needed. Charles made it possible for Chuck to keep people's distance for them, as you discovered." She ran her fingers through Chuck's curly hair, him not even trying to fight her off. "We owe you a favor as well, Mr. Shaw, but you're trying our patience."

He held up his empty hands, placatingly. "I have an operation I can't do myself."

Sarah sighed, and stood. "Say goodbye to the nice man, Chuck."

Chuck instantly stood up and stuck out his hand. "Thank you for the nice lunch, Mr. Shaw. Good luck with your operation."

Shaw stood and shook his hand. "Thanks, Chuck. I'll see you around, I guess."

"Now, Chuck," said Sarah. As he passed her out the door, she turned back to her former host. "Word to the wise, Agent Shaw. Keep your distance."

Shaw sat and finished his lunch, satisfied.

Once around the corner she asked, "Flash drive?"

Chuck shook his head. "Microdot. Class act, that guy."

"You're going to Paris? Without me?"

"What can I say, Chuck? That's the mission. Discover the courier, get the key, return to DC with said key. No sightseeing."

"No Eiffel Tower?"

"I climbed it once, so the romance may have worn off for me."

"I'd let you borrow mine, if I was coming."

Borrow his what? It couldn't be the skills, Ellis hadn't signed off on those yet. It couldn't be the data, he wouldn't have any. Oh–! "Chuck, I told you, no honeymoon couple."

"Why not? It's not like we've already had one."

"Because…because someday we'll get there for real, and I don't want to spoil it."

He smiled. "Hey! I got you a present!"

God, he was so…sweet! "Chuck, you already gave me some nunchuks, what more does a girl need?"

"This!" He put a small box in her hands, and she opened it.

"A pen and…eyeglasses set?" There had to be more to it than that. "A KGB knockout pen, and my camera glasses."

"Your sexy camera glasses, and the camera is in the pen, along with a transsceiver, so I can see what it sees with you. No knockout drops, I'm afraid. Oo, and check this out!" He touched the pen to the earpiece, and it stuck. "Magnetized! You can put the pen behind your ear facing either way, free your hands for dirty work, and build up your nerd-cred all at the same time!"

She shook her head, putting his little doodads in her pockets. He was so…cute when he was being all nerdy.

She squirmed in her seat, considerably less charmed by her husband's cuteness than she been mere hours before. Is every flight going to be like this? At least he hadn't kissed her. Sighing, she took her book of Sudoku puzzles and headed off to the bathroom for the first of many visits on a trans-Atlantic flight. Once safely locked in she attached the pen to her glasses, got out her second pen, and wrote "I'm going to kill you!" on the back of the book. A second later the screen flashed ':( ' and she felt a bit better. Then she read the instructions on how to actually solve a Sudoku, since her cover required it and the flight would be long.

At least her seatmate wasn't too bad. Chuck's only reaction to Hannah's image was to say "Cute!", whereupon Sarah had pointed the camera in some other direction. Sarah had never played the 'Guess the Passenger' game, but when Hannah started she used it as an excuse to point her pen. Apparently Chuck knew the game, though, on the third try he'd figured it out and sent 'Yale Fencing Team' over the screen just in time for Sarah to sound like a genius.

Or maybe they were the Yale Fencing Team.

Unfortunately they couldn't see the whole compartment from where they were. Several passengers had already put up their privacy screens which blocked her view. The bathrooms were forward, but she needed an excuse to go aft. The bar! Perfect.

Hannah was thirsty. Terrific. Well, on the bright side, she wouldn't be sitting there alone looking at people, like some kind of spy. Fortunately Sarah knew enough about Paris, and far too much about the damned Eiffel Tower, to not sound like a yokel. She dragged out their chat, nursing her drink as best she could, but with the sign off everyone was feeling free to move about the cabin, and she had trouble finding passengers she hadn't seen before.

"Another?" asked Hannah.

Sarah shook her head. "Only one per flight, that's my rule."

Hannah shook her head. "Waste of a good First Class perq, if you ask me."

As Hannah signaled to the stewardess-turned-bartender, Sarah looked idly past her. Suddenly images flashed on her screen, names and vital statistics. Hugo Panzer, Ring Agent and vastly more than a mere courier. Not to mention almost as big as Colt, and she was going to have to go through him to get the key. She scribbled a quick message on her napkin with her second pen.

"Note to self: Kill Daniel Shaw!"

A/N2 Time for the next commercial break. Feel free to move about the cabin. And maybe leave a comment as you go.