A/N Yet more gaps in the story that just cried out to be filled.

"How did it go, Frost?"

"He called her 'mom'."

"Let's go meet my mother-in-law."

"Please don't kill each other."

His wife?

He was nine! He was her baby, she still read him fairy-tales before bedtime!

Stop that.

She hadn't read him anything in twenty years. Hadn't read anything that wasn't a mission report. She'd deliberately kept herself apart from him and his sister, refused to know anything more about their lives than the driest, dustiest facts and figures could tell her. No emotional content was allowed, for fear that it would break her. As it was breaking her now.

His wife?

This is a mistake.

Sarah watched the older woman's eyes, not the gun pointed at her. The eyes were the best way to know when and where the enemy was about to pull the trigger, or whether the mark was buying the con, but they were just eyes. She'd never believed that the eyes were the windows to the soul, until she met Chuck. Now she knew better, but old habits died hard.

How little his mother resembled her son.

Her eyes were blue, not warm, loving, chocolate-y brown. Clear but hard, like her own used to be but much more so. Yet her own had never looked like those, not in all the mirrors in all the hotel rooms she'd ever flopped in.

This woman was his parent but was she really his mother?

"Great," said Chuck. "Just great. I can see the…" he moved his hands back and forth, distracting her. "…connection already. BFF…facebook buddies." Frost surprised Sarah by taking her eyes off the target to glare at her son. "I'll shut up now."

Sarah stepped up, knowing how little Chuck could defend himself against the women in his life. That was her job. "Did you honestly think he would come alone?" she asked, with a double helping of amused condescension.

Frost tried for some affronted motherly condescension of her own. "I thought maybe he would trust me."

"Okay," said Chuck, not looking at either one but surprising them both, "Considering that you left me when I was, oh, I don't know, nine years old, and I still don't know if you're good or bad, I think I have every right to have a mother issue or two right now."

This isn't working. The last thing she needed right now was a pissy little boy, talking back and saying no just to prove he could.

"You're right," said Frost, lowering her gun, apparently giving up the contest. "You're absolutely right."

"Thank you, thank you," said Chuck, sounding vaguely surprised. He turned to his wife, still braced to fire, and put his hand on her gun, pushing down. "See, no shooting necessary. None whatsoever."

As Sarah's arm went down to her side, her charm bracelet slid down from inside her sleeve, coming to a stop on her wrist.

Frost stared, not really hearing as her son started blathering on about something or other. Her bracelet, on the wrist of this little…wife. That's what she'd left it to him for, after all. All grown up. He really was–she looked up at him, and there he was, arm around the little woman, talking about bakeries. "Chuck!"

He wound down. "Or we could stay right here in this creepy dark playground."

Creepy? Dark? What kind of spy was he? They lived in the dark, and creepy was just a matter of perspective. After all the things she'd seen, or worse, done, this empty lot was a breath of spring. Dammit, she'd missed her moment, and now he was going on about chocolate, and even worse, his tenth birthday. "Chuck, stop! I don't want to know anything about you."

One dark, creepy briefing later…

Sarah drove. Chuck sat next to her, his fingers steepled before him as if in deep thought, meditation, or prayer. Really it was the fastest way to remove the tranq-coated fingerprints, short of tweezers and a mild acid solution.

He looked he might have preferred the acid right now. "Is that what this all boils down to, Sarah? Months of searching, and the only reason she comes to see me is to set up a meet? She knew about Carmichael, but she has to know Carmichael is dead. Do you think she knows about Mr. Charles? Why else try to get him to pose as the buyer?"

For someone who specialized in seeing the bigger picture, he sure could wallow in the details when he had a mind to. Not on her watch. "No, the reason she came to you is because you are the only person she could trust absolutely with a weapon of this magnitude." Assuming it really exists. With his fingertips glued together she couldn't take his hand, but she did her best. "I know how she feels."

He started moving his hands, peeling the false fingerprints off. It couldn't have felt pleasant but he didn't show it. "What about Dad?"

"Not if she's serious about giving the Atroxium to the CIA she wouldn't." Her voice got soft. "And she may think he's dead, too. Maybe she had a video from him, same as you did."

"He knew how to contact her? He knew where she was all that time?"

"I said 'maybe', Chuck. It could have been a one-way blind drop. All we really know for sure is that she knows that you have the Intersect." Which would be bad enough, when they told Beckman. If they told Beckman. It would be almost treason not to tell, but possibly outing a fellow agent if they did. "Was she there when you did that first download?"

He watched as pilled-up fragments of plastic fell into his lap, shreds of an unused identity. "In the house? No. But she hadn't left us at that point. She was away a lot on missions, but she always came back to us. She had a lot more missions after that, though."

Sarah knew better than to ask where.

"I have to call Beckman," said Chuck, moving on.

"Thank God," said Casey, when the all-clear was given. "Grimes, time to go."

"You can go on without me, big guy," said Morgan, curled up far too closely to Alex as they scrolled through his photos of the Costa Gravas trip yet again. Casey'd already gone through them once, but once was enough.

He lifted Morgan off the couch by the collar. "First of all, Grimes, not in my lifetime. Second of all, this isn't some college dorm room. This is a secure FBI training facility, and our temporary security pass just got revoked."

In the locked privacy of his Crown Vic, far from anywhere, Casey said, "We need to talk about my daughter."

"You can let me out here," said Morgan, reaching for the door handle.

The car accelerated, the doors locked, and Morgan's seatbelt tightened. "I'm beginning to think you might have something to offer."

Morgan started to breathe again. "As a boyfriend?"

"No, as a photographer. Who picked the outfit?"

"That was Carina's idea…"

Casey grunted. Thought so.

"But I want to tell you, big guy, I was a perfect gentleman. I would never disrespect Alex in any way."

Casey eased up on the seatbelt. "Relax, Grimes. I know you wouldn't."

Morgan rubbed his neck where the edge of the belt had cut in. "You do?"

"Yeah." Casey turned to look Morgan in the face, without slowing the car down a bit. "First of all, you live in completely justified terror of what I would do to you if you ever hurt her." He looked back at the road. "Second of all, I saw your photos."

Morgan mopped his sweaty forehead with his tie. "They were pretty PG-13…"

"They'd be banned in thirteen countries, just from the outfit alone. But they were in a reasonably public place, and I checked the timestamps. You didn't have time to be anything but a perfect gentleman. Good work."

His phone rang.

"Good evening, Agents," said General Beckman. "It's late so I'll keep this brief. Preliminary follow-up data is supporting the intel received from Agent Frost. We'll have everything we can find on Dr. Wheelwright in the dataset for tomorrow's upload. Pending the results of the Intersect analysis, I will approve the mission."

Sarah shifted in her seat. "Who will take the meeting, General?"

"Mr. Charles will, of course."

No! "Chuck is not an agent!"

"Agent Bartowski, this toxin can shift the global balance of power. We must get our hands on it before our enemies do. Agent Frost has specifically requested Mr. Charles' presence at this meeting, and we dare not do anything to upset her applecart. Is that quite clear?"

"Yes, General, quite clear." The tone of her voice made Carina shudder.

"Good. Now, assuming we will need him, Mr. Bartowski has some level of acting experience, and he will need some coaching from the rest of you in his role. All that remains is to select a venue."

"How about Grimes' restaurant?" said Casey. "We've already got the staff in place."

Morgan looked wide-eyed at him. "Wait, Casey, what you mean, my staff? You've got CIA in my restaurant?"

"Colonel Casey, what is Mr. Grimes doing there?" asked General Beckman severely.

"We were holed up at Quantico, ma'am. On our way back now."

"We'll discuss this breach of protocol in the morning, Colonel, but, since he's already up to speed…Mr. Grimes, your country needs you, or more specifically, your restaurant. Can we count on your cooperation?"

Morgan leaned closer to the phone. "You'll have it, General." He'd just have to swap shifts, and not tell his boss.

"Thank you. Good night all. Chuck, I'll expect your report first thing in the morning."

Casey ended the call from his end. "You stepped up, Grimes. I like that."

Morgan laughed. "Of course I stepped up, dude. It's the least I could do, after you and your CIA guys got rid of my little alien problem."

Casey sighed. "Think nothing of it."

The day dawned fair and clear, the weather fine and calm. Morgan was yawning, as his remarkably efficient staff set about creating an outdoor café area where none had existed before, surprisingly unhassled by local law enforcement, considering they weren't zoned or licensed for such a thing. They'd even set up a station for the new blonde maitre d', outdoor variety.

Sarah looked good in glasses, but then she looked good in anything. Or in nothing, but Chuck was a problem solver at heart and he found her various outfits delightfully problematic. "Table for Mr. Charles," he said, as he approached the station, already wondering how they could acquire that outfit for her closet.

Sarah was professionally polite as she led him to his carefully rigged table. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Hmm, yes," said Chuck quietly. "Perhaps you can help me figure out why Volkoff would be going to all this trouble when he could make just as much money legally, selling that holographic laptop of his."

Sarah rolled her eyes, like a beautiful woman hit upon yet again would, and walked back to her station.

Her husband watched her go with appreciation, muttering, "It's a serious question."

"Some other mission, moron," growled Casey in his ear. "Remember to sit with your back to the wall. Your mark will be there any moment, so get established. You have to control this meeting."

Alexei Volkoff cursed as he checked all his options. That damned Mr. Charles wasn't facing any of the security cameras Frost had hacked into. Hopefully she'd make the show worth the while.

"Your wine, Mr. Charles," said Carina, looking entirely too good, even in her server's uniform.

"Thank you, doll," said Mr. Charles, leering at her. The wrong role for her, thought Chuck. Wait staff are supposed to go unnoticed, that's what Casey always said, but no one could fail to notice Carina. On the other hand, she kept Dr. Wheelwright nicely distracted. The chime of Chuck's glass against his jolted the man back to alertness. "Cheers."

A fast black car spun up to the curb, and a woman got out.

"Incoming," said Casey.

Sarah spotted her easily. "What the hell is she doing here?"

Chuck ignored it all. They were the agents, his team. They would handle it, whatever it was. Then he looked up, and saw his mother approaching. Crap. It was no acting challenge to look less than pleased. "Miz Frost," he said, his strong accent oozing Southern…something. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

His mother looked…stunned, but shook it off quickly. "Toasting already?"

"Drinkin' and dealin' are some of the finest pleasures in life, that's what my daddy always said," said Mr. Charles. "Y'all did some fine work here."

"I know," she said, taking a seat uninvited. She poured herself a glass, and asked, "What are we toasting to?"

Dr. Wheelwright said, "The negotiations are going quite well."

"Well, here's to smooth transactions, then." She tapped her glass to his, but when she went to toast with Mr. Charles she unaccountably missed, spilling some of her wine on his jacket. With a cry of alarm, she picked up a napkin and daubed at it.

Chuck grabbed her hand and took the napkin. "Don't worry about it," he muttered in dark tones.

"Oh, but it's my job to worry about things, Mr. Charles," said Frost brightly. "Like the fact that you aren't who you claim to be." At Wheelwright's sudden nervous twitch, she said, "He's CIA. This is a trap." Before Chuck could stand or even move, she stood, drew her pistol, and shot him in the chest. He flattened against the wall, and sank to the ground.

Not that they bothered to watch. Frost grabbed Wheelwright by the hand, and turned to find them facing a sea of guns. "Don't fire!" she shouted, holding up a glass bottle full of blue liquid. "Shoot me and everyone for blocks around dies!"

The agents looked to Sarah, who shook her head. They backed off, and Frost herded Wheelwright back to her car as Sarah went to her fallen husband. "Chuck!"

He coughed, groaning as she pulled him a sitting position. He pulled his shirt apart and fingered the hole in the bullet-proof vest she'd made him wear. "She shot me, Sarah." He held up a deformed bullet, lodged very near his heart. "My mother just shot me."

A/N2 I have a plotline for Frost that makes her into a much more conflicted character than they really showed in canon.