A/N: I don't own Chuck, I don't own these characters, I'm not making money on this.
Deuces, Charles, Deuces
Chuck, Casey, Sarah, and Shaw sat around Castle's conference table, awaiting the morning briefing from General Beckman. Chuck scanned the room. No one was looking at him. An awkward silence filled the room, and the spirt of discomfort settled over the team. Chuck had seen this before. They knew something he didn't. And it was something that he wouldn't like.
A few seconds later, the viewscreen switched on. General Beckman's stern face appeared on the screen. She coughed once, then began speaking. She appeared nervous, as if she knew that her briefing would draw a negative reaction.
"Greetings, team. Before I brief on your next mission, there is a matter of some . . . urgency that I'm afraid we need to discuss."
Shaw, ever eager to please his de facto superior, jumped in. "Go on, General."
The General sighed, then paused briefly as if trying to figure out how to form her next words. "It involves the Intersect 2.0. We have recently discovered that it has bestowed the Asset with, um, an ability that we only recently became aware of." The General sighed again. "As you know, the Intersect in the Asset's brain operates by translating digital information into biological equivalents. In other words, it stores what was originally computer data in the form of amino acid chains, encoded proteins, and other organic molecules. It turns out, that information doesn't just stay in the Asset's head. It sometimes leaks out in certain bodily secretions."
Casey attempted, half-heartedly, to stifle a laugh. Chuck shot him a look and figured it out – Casey had clearly been briefed prior to the meeting.
"Leak, General?" Casey asked. "Leak as in, urine?"
The General sighed yet again. "Sadly not what I'm referring to. Mr. Bartowski's urine is sterile. But his, um, turds. . . are a different matter."
Chuck glared at the screen as he spoke. "Turds? Did you say turds? As in . . . you know . . . ?"
"Gross," Shaw interjected. Casey continued to half-heartedly stifle his laughter.
General Beckman groaned. "Yes. I'm afraid so. As your father might have said, if we were able to reach him, it appears that the Intersect experiment 'went a little caca.' Simply put, your posterior deposits are the functional equivalent of a flash drive that has been ejected from your biological computer. With the right software and analysis tools, the amino acid and protein combinations contained within those deposits can be read, and the data decoded."
Chuck barked back "And you know this how?"
Casey snickered, this time making less of an effort to stifle his gasps. The General glared at him sternly, and maintained her glaze until his laughter ceased. Then she answered the Asset's question.
"We had suspected the possibility for some time. Given that, the restroom facilities at Castle were outfitted with the proper analysis capabilities. We got the results back yesterday from a 'contribution' you recently made."
"Bullshit," Chuck replied.
"More like 'Chuckshit,'" Casey quipped, giggling almost like a school-girl.
General Beckman ignored the Colonel and continued her explanation. "I didn't want to believe it either. But the results are clear. Once put through facility's analyzer, we retrieved the following information – news to me, I assure you: 'Tupac is alive and working in New Zealand as a goat farmer, under the alias Shlomo Finkelstein.'"
"I was right about Tupac!," Shaw boasted, the rare smile escaping from his lips.
The entire team looked at him funny.
"What, I'm a fan," he answered.
"Ahem," General Beckman commented, trying to refocus the team. "This is no laughing matter. With every one of Mr. Bartowski's movements, our nation's dearest secrets are in jeopardy. We are, um, going to have to make certain adjustments to Mr. Bartowski's lifestyle - Shaw, can you show him the prototype?"
Shaw nodded his head affirmatively, retrieved his briefcase from the floor, and opened it on the conference table. He pulled out a large adult protective undergarment.
Chuck glared and responded incredulously. "You expect me to wear that thing?"
"Depends," General Beckman responded – only for Casey to interrupt.
"Heh, she said 'Depends,'" he snarked.
General Beckman rolled her eyes. "Mr. Bartowski, we installed the proper collection and analysis equipment at Castle. But we were unable to do so at your permanent residence or at the Buy More. The plumbing simply wasn't compatible. Can you guarantee that every time you need to go, you go here?"
Chuck stammered, but then wordlessly nodded a soft "no."
The General motioned with her hands, palms out, gesturing as if display reluctance yet acceptance. "Well, there you have it." She pressed a button, which pulled up a screen that presented the new device's schematics. She spoke "Let me introduce you to the:
Data
Intersect
Analysis,
Preservation, and
Examination
Repository."
Chuck stood up, visibly angry. His right nostril flared. "A diaper! You even call it a fucking diaper!"
General Beckman interrupted him. "Mr. Bartowski, I assure you. We take our jobs seriously here. The acronym is a coincidence, nothing more."
Chuck shouted at the screen "Now you are just trolling me."
General Beckman responded bitingly. "We do not 'troll,' Mr. Bartowski. We are in the information gathering and protection business. You poo is information. We want information."
Chuck's eyes rolled into the back of their sockets. "Did Morgan put you up to that one. Seriously, a Prisoner reference? Am I Number Six?"
Casey began cracking up, no longer pretending to hold back his gregarious laughter. "No, you are Number Two. Or least, what matters is Number Two. Tell him about the venereal disease, next."
The General sighed yet again. "Very well. Mr. Bartowski, we realize that your sister and her husband are both medical doctors. They will catch on to your, um, new wardrobe. So a cover story is necessary."
The General pressed a button, and the image of an overweight blond woman with crooked teeth and patchy, pimpled-skin appeared on the screen. The biographical information next to her picture revealed that she was 37 years old, 5 foot 3 inches, and 173 lbs.
"This is Agent Amanda Harris of the DEA. She has been undercover for some time, posing as a prostitute named 'De Lightful.' We will arrange for you to be arrested for patronizing her. Your recent break-up of the cover relationship with Agent Walker provides the perfect backdrop for this story. According to Agents Walker and Casey, you've publicly displayed more than enough desperation and erratic behavior for your sister and her husband to believe that you would resort to such a foolish activity. This will be especially apparent when the police report details how you instructed De Lightful to go by the name 'Sarah.'"
Chuck gnashed his teeth. "And what the hell does this have to do with my poop?"
Shaw placed his hand on Chuck's shoulder, purportedly to comfort him, as he answered. "There is a rare venereal disease known as Crumpett's Fever, which can cause horrific incontinence, lasting years. Your arrest for soliciting De Lightful will provide the appropriate cover for your diagnosis with this condition."
Chuck shook his head almost violently. "So, to be clear . . . your grand plan is for me to be humiliated in front of my friends and family for patronizing a really hideous fake prostitute, so that you can diagnose me with a hideous fake disease, so that I can wear a fucking diaper everywhere?"
The General nodded. "That is generally correct, yes."
Chuck threw his hands up almost in a tantrum. "Is there anything else that the United States Government requires of me?," he asked sarcastically, notably raising his voice.
The General sighed again, for perhaps the 20th time that briefing. "Unfortunately, yes. Your stools are not the only secretions we are concerned about. It appears that highly classified information may also be encoded in your semen."
Shaw went behind Chuck and massaged his shoulders. He then bent down and spoke softly in Chuck's ear. "Don't worry Chuck. We have a plan. We know that you've been taking matters into your own hands for, well, years. And you can use the same receptacle for that you'll be wearing for the, um, other issue. You'll just need to keep up a regular schedule. We don't want any secrets to be lost in your dreams, if you get my drift. So just report to me every night at my apartment to hand-le the situation, and leave the evidence in my restroom, for analysis."
Chuck looked absolutely flummoxed. "You can't be serious."
Shaw smirked, as he continued speaking in Chuck's ear. "But there's some good news. We know this can be awkward. So I spoke to Agent Walker and she agreed, albeit hesitantly, to give you some encouragement."
Chuck almost cracked a smile as he turned around to face Shaw, who was still behind him, rubbing his shoulders. "You don't mean . . ."
Shaw smiled back. "That's right. Sarah and I will share the films we've made of our private encounters, to make your solo job . . . a bit easier. And we have a lot to share. My place has been a mini-movie studio every night for weeks. . . sometimes three times a night."
Chuck grunted and grimmaced. Shaw smirked wickedly. "I should warn you, Chuck, but Sarah is into a bit of historical role-play . . ."
Chuck felt sick to his stomach. Still, his curiosity got the better of him. "Like who?"
Shaw answered, deadpanned. "Last night, I was dressed as President William Howard Taft."
Sarah responded, seductively. "More like William Howard Shaft."
Casey growled. "TMI. Besides, wasn't he like 350 pounds? Didn't he get stuck in a bathtub?"
Sarah continued her slutty banter. "Mmmph. . . . 350 pounds of pleasure."
Shaw exhaled. "She has a thing for U.S. Presidents. But only the Republican ones."
Casey spoke. "Good taste. Like who, Warren Harding?"
Sarah moaned. "Oh, so, so hard."
"George Herbert Walker Bush?"
Sarah almost gasped "He could play with my bush anytime he wanted to."
"Theodore Roosevelt?"
Sarah shrieked in almost orgasmic ecstasy. "The Rough Rider. . . he could ride me rough, so rough."
Chuck put his head down and started softly banging it on the table.
The General interrupted Sarah's back-and-forth with Casey. "That's enough." She directed her gaze to Casey, smiled, and spoke:
"Happy Birthday, Colonel John Casey."
Casey, Sarah, and Shaw all started laughing. The General did not lot laugh, but her face could not hide her amusement.
Chuck looked up sheepishly. "Happy birthday . . . you mean?"
The General nodded. "I'm afraid so. Three weeks ago, I made the mistake of asking Colonel Casey what he wanted for a present. This is what he came up with. I went along with it, against my better judgment. But I owed him one. . . . more than one."
"So did I," Sarah added.
"And I just thought it would be good for team morale," Shaw stated.
Still in disbelief, Chuck probed the General. "So none of this was real? This was all just one elaborate prank?"
Casey cackled. "Spy humor, Chuck. You're close to becoming an Agent. Consider this a good rookie hazing."
Three minutes later, after the General briefed them on recent developments, the meeting adjourned. Despite her statement at the beginning, no mission was ordered or discussed.
Casey and Chuck left the table and walked out together. "Don't feel bad Bartowski. Even the best get taken once in awhile."
Chuck turned towards him. "You know Casey, that was a real shitty story you concocted. Real shitty."
Casey looked on nonchalantly. "Eh, it happens."
A/N: That's it. Just a quick one-shot. But if you like my rather twisted sense of writing, please read and review my other works. Of them, "Echo of Memory" and "End of History" and their spinoffs are full stories that have some humor in them but are mostly serious. The other stories, for the most part, are short humor pieces. I still like getting reviews even years after they were finished. I will apologize for all the typos in them (and possibly this one) - they are the result of writing while watching small kids. All the stories are Chuck stories, and all are finished, except for one unfinished HIMYM piece (I will finish that some day!).