A/N: I had the week from hell last week, which made posting another chapter impossible. I apologize to anyone who was waiting for this chapter. But here it is! All sorts of Sarah Walker up in this chapter, too. You are in for a treat! I think. I hope. I'm sure you'll all let me know once you finish reading it.
Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, sent me a tweet, PM, note on tumblr, etc. You're all marvelous!
Summary: In 1776, George Washington declared himself King of the United States of America and began turning a new nation into the United States Empire: expanding to the west, amassing colonies and gaining power. Over one hundred years later, the government's secrets are at risk and a new way to keep them safe must be created. When those secrets are accidentally brought to inventor and toy maker Chuck Bartowski's doorstep, his future becomes uncertain as his life fills with adventures, hardships, and even a bit of romance.
Disclaimer: "Chuck" is not mine. Its characters are not mine. Though they might as well be, considering how often I think about them.
A mysterious woman appeared out of the blue (with eyes of bright shining blue) to help our hero after a run-in with a jerk patrolman, promptly pulling a vanishing act that makes Houdini look like a party-trick doof.
Who was she? We know who she was. LET'S FOLLOW HER! Wear your ninja clothes, everybody! And let's be ninjas.
Sarah Walker was one of the nation's, nay, the whole world's most sought after confidence artists, or at least she had been prior to allowing herself to be blackmailed by a damned spy. What happened to the Ice Queen?
She had shriveled up, apparently. Disappeared, even.
But when her father's safety and her own freedom were both at risk, she found she had no other options. And so here she was.
She wished to Russia and back that she had just killed Bryce and left him in that alleyway in Atlanta—but it couldn't be helped now, she supposed. At least she was getting paid. And at least Sarah Walker would be safe. Free.
She cursed Bryce Larkin to hell as she opened her eyes and blinked at the ceiling of her hotel room. She rolled over in bed and ignored the early morning light coming in through the spaces between the pale green curtains. Staring at the wooden floors, the woman attempted to make sense of the muddled clump of thoughts trapped in her head.
Sarah started with the most obvious problem, and that was Charles Bartowski. Or Chuck, as Agent Larkin had called him when he briefed her in Atlanta.
Now there was a strange, yet undoubtedly interesting, fellow. A toy maker, indeed.
He was certainly not what she had expected after listening to Bryce speak of him.
The numerous times the spy had mentioned his boon companion, he had made him seem weak and ineffectual. Kind and thoughtful, and as a consequence, easily tread upon by others. A man who hid from conflict, avoided any factions of society which were distasteful to him, locking himself away in his bubble of naivety and childlike innocence.
Chuck was tall, just as Bryce had said. A brunette, yes. And he was lanky, just as she had expected. The photograph her blackmailer had shown her of Bartowski was from just before Bryce left for the Factory. When Bryce was eighteen and Chuck, sixteen.
Ten years had certainly changed Chuck Bartowski, but not in the way they had seemed to change Bryce Larkin. And perhaps that was what he meant when he said he wanted to protect Chuck from the world of espionage and government secrets.
Chuck had grown taller than he was in the photograph by a few inches at the very least. And she would not be human if she did not also notice that he filled his clothes out much better now than he had when he was sixteen.
But she had expected him to look every bit the sheltered inventor who locked himself away in his workshop all day long—uncombed hair, thick glasses, choice of clothing brimming on socially unacceptable, maybe even an inherent fear of the opposite sex. And while Chuck did have a mess of curls atop his head, he had none of the other traits she had expected.
Granted, he had been a tad awkward at first, reaching up to touch her face. She had a glimmer of remorse about slapping him when she saw his hand approaching. The poor fellow wasn't entirely himself after being grazed by the patrolman's bullet. But Sarah had never reacted well to being touched without giving permission. Even by dazed, harmless toy makers.
But the awkwardness had somehow morphed into self-deprecating humor, a tinge of wit, and certainly a great deal of sincerity. This, she was not prepared for.
He was very different from the boyish mechanic Bryce had described. And he seemed all too aware of the world around him. Hence the situation in which they met in the first place. It was quite the stunt he pulled and Sarah could not help but wonder what Bryce might have done if he had been there. Would he have scolded Chuck, perhaps treated him like the child he still thought he was?
She had arrived in Los Angeles having come up with absolutely no plan whatsoever. Except that she knew Chuck could never find out she was actually a con artist. Worse than that, she was a wanted criminal.
She had gone in with no plan of attack, really, except that she knew he could not find out who she really was, or that she was in any way connected with Bryce. He had given her those exact instructions before boarding the zeppelin more than a week before.
Sarah had been waiting outside of the Buy More, trying to decide whether she should walk in as a customer or just bide her time and act as his unseen bodyguard for a little while longer. But he made that decision for her when he came out of the Buy More with a look of barely controlled terror and equal parts confusion. She followed him immediately, curiosity her primary motivation.
If push came to shove, Sarah Walker was better at improvising than anyone else. It was a hassle, sure, and she preferred having a plan with a few back-ups in case the first went awry. But having a plan that ended up successful was a luxury in the con game, so she had learned how to roll with the punches.
Sarah was no fool, nor was she the type of woman who wasted her time with false modesty, unless the job called for it, of course. She knew she was strikingly beautiful. And she saw the way heads turned when she walked into a room, no matter what she was wearing or whose arm she was on. Her figure was exemplary, not too thin, with some curvature, but certainly not too much thanks to her exercise regiment at night before she went to sleep. Her startling blue eyes were her greatest asset, she thought. She could entrance any man or woman into believing anything she wanted them to, and if that didn't work, she always had her trusty knives strapped to various parts of her lower body, and more than often tucked into one of her sleeves. Those never failed her.
If she were honest with herself, she hadn't been entirely prepared for the immediacy of Chuck's need for protection. She had only been trailing him for a little over a minute when he had taken action to protect the boy thief from the patrolman's bullet. His heroic impulse shocked her so much that she'd had an uncharacteristically delayed reaction.
She was almost too late when she came up behind the patrolman who cornered Chuck and the thief in the alleyway. The bastard got his shot off but luckily she kicked the barrel of the rifle in time for his bullet to graze her charge's right shoulder instead of embedding itself in his chest.
The patrolman now lay dead in the back of a produce cart, and some merchant was in for a nasty surprise, but it was all Sarah had time for. She had to make sure Chuck was alright, and she had to make her move on him. The first rule in confidence artistry was to be quick—and cautious, of course—but quick all the same.
As annoyed as she was with him for taking on such a foolish endeavor, she was also mildly impressed. She saw Chuck's eyes move to the patrolman with his rifle trained on the little boy who had probably stolen nothing more than a bit of food. And so what? Anyone who had not had to steal food every so often when they were a child was either supremely rich or was absolutely lying. Hard times were everybody's plight. She couldn't even count how many times she had done just what that little boy did. And she wondered if Chuck had, too. He was an orphan. Perhaps he had felt a stirring of empathy for the boy, if that was the case.
Sarah shook her head. That did not matter. What did matter was that the toy maker was either incredibly rash and idiotic, or he was much braver than Bryce could ever know. It was not that surprising that the egotistical bastard had gotten some things wrong about his friend. Especially if he had not seen him for years. Who really knew what Chuck Bartowski had been through to get where he was.
Chuck must have known there was a chance he might be shot when he leapt after the boy, or maybe he was so set on saving a life that he did it without thinking of the consequences.
Either way, it was foolishly heroic.
If this was a precursor to the kind of idiocy she would have to deal with, she really would kill Bryce.
Lord help her if Bartowski brushed up against the law all the time. Who knew how often he did things like this? Or if he was some sort of criminal himself?
Now that she thought of how wrong Bryce had gotten so many things, she wondered if she had somehow walked into something she could not handle. And if Sarah Walker could not handle a situation, it was bad. Very bad. Because she could handle just about anything.
Sarah rolled over and dragged her hands down her face. Then she got out of bed and walked to her trunk, hauling it open and lifting her clothes out, setting them in neat stacks to the side.
She lit a nearby gaslight on the wall and an array of knives, swords, pistols, rifles, and explosives shone up at her from where she hid them at the bottom of the trunk. One by one, she began taking them out to clean them.
With an asset that was apt to get into trouble, she would have to keep on her toes, and that meant having her weapons at the ready. God, this was already more difficult than she had thought. And she was angry about being blackmailed into babysitting before.
She put a light walking dress on over her slip, fastened her corset, and pulled her hair up behind her head again, not paying much mind to the tendrils falling out from the hairpins as she fastened a small top hat with a half veil of black lace on her head to cover some of it.
Off she went down the road to catch a trolley, her four throwing knives attached to the outsides of each thigh and a small pistol hidden in her drawstring purse hanging from her wrist, and another tucked beneath her corset.
It took about twenty minutes for her to reach the front door of the Buy More. It was a hot day and the sun was shining through the smoke layer and soot in the air, creating streams of light in which floating dust and exhaust from passing motorized vehicles could be seen.
She opened the door, her presence announced by the ringing of a dainty bell.
Sarah stopped short when she spotted a small android turn around from where it was shutting the glass face over the clock it must have just rewound. Her fingers laid over her corset where the tiny pistol pressed against her. After Bryce's absolute failure in knowing about Chuck, she was not taking anymore chances.
This must be Morgan. Bryce had warned her about Morgan, about its testy personality, if it could be called that since it was not human.
Morgan asked questions, Bryce had told her, and was protective of Chuck.
She had not thought it would resemble a human as much as it did. Save for the fact that its features were brass or some other form of metal, and the fact that you could not properly tell where its eyes were looking as they were brown glass balls pushed into the mannish face. Oddly enough, it wore a mustache and beard and a bowler cap. It also wore a tailored suit, a few decades out of fashion.
Who put facial hair on a machine man?
Bartowski was insane as well? Lord give me strength.
Not that she had ever done anything that would earn such a request to be granted, she thought to herself wryly.
But this was the strangest thing she could remember seeing, which was saying something for being a fugitive from the law. Perhaps she had misjudged Chuck Bartowski again, she thought tiredly. She wasn't in the mood to babysit a nut job.
"Yes, may I help you?" the giddy voice asked, Morgan rounding the counter and standing a proper five feet away from her, its hands clasped behind its back as it looked up at her.
"Uh—Uh, yes. I have this family heirloom…" She pulled the drawstrings open and pushed aside the tiny handgun to retrieve a locket and watch she had found on the side of the road in New York. She thought the broken thing might come in handy someday, and now it had.
"Heirloom? Heirloom." She could practically hear the gears in his—its head spinning. "Tomato?" the android asked. "Heirloom tomatoes. Miss, this is not a grocer. I will be happy to direct you to—"
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "No! No, not a tomato." She paused for a moment, holding up the watch between them and reading confusion in the emotionless face. Strange, that.
"Oh! Is that watch? Why did you not say watch?"
"It has been passed down—You know, never mind. I wonder, is your—"
The door behind the counter opened and Chuck stepped out, his sleeves rolled up above his elbows, his brown vest smeared with grease, his damp, curly hair popping up around the goggles he had pushed to the top of his head. A magnifying glass stretched from behind his ears to in front of his right eye.
"Morgan, how is it go…"
The voice drifted off as he flicked the magnifying glass away from his eye and spotted Sarah standing just to the side of his android. A slow smile started on his lips and grew into a full-fledged grin. Then, as if he remembered himself suddenly, it died down into a friendly but small smile. "Uh, Morgan…"
"Yes, I know," Morgan sighed in his lowest tone. "You want to be alone with the pretty lady."
"Morgan…" Chuck said in a sing-songy warning voice through his tenuous smile. He looked at Sarah again and let out a nervous laugh.
With another steamy sigh, the android moved past its creator and gave him what might have been a pointed glance before disappearing into the workshop. This was all too strange for the con woman. And for a moment, she thought she should just run away. Perhaps she could just stalk him for awhile, protect him from afar. Then she would not have to deal with all of this ridiculousness. An android that was too human to be comforting, for instance. And the weird man who built him—it.
"Morgan. Door."
The door slammed shut and Chuck winced. He turned back to shrug at the expectant young woman by the front door, his lips pressed together in a slightly dopey smile. "Well…you're here."
"I am."
He clambered to fully remove the magnifying glass from his head, wincing when it caught on his hair, and folded it up, shoving it into his pocket.
"What, uh—What are you doing here?" Consternation crossed his face and he held up a finger. "I mean, I mean—That was rude of me. It's just that I did not think I would ever see you again, what with the way you…disappeared on me yesterday."
Sarah bit her lip and looked away. "Yes, I apologize for that. I had a prior appointment and I realized I was late. I figured you were in good hands by then."
"No, that's—that's alright…" He raised both eyebrows in question.
"Sarah," she finished for him. She pondered for a moment about whether or not she should tell him about the smudge he had left on his forehead trying to remove the magnifying glass. No, she would save him the mortification. He seemed nervous enough as it was.
He smiled. "Sarah. I'm Chuck. Bartowski. Chuck Bartowski. And I was in good hands." He gestured to his right arm. "Right as rain. All fixed up. It wasn't as bad as I originally thought."
He blushed at that and it was rather sweet.
She smiled. "Well, being shot is never enjoyable, really. So, I suppose I cannot blame you much."
"That is true. You also have to factor in my low threshold for pain."
His honesty was refreshing, albeit a bit self-deprecating for her tastes. She smiled wider, flashing her brilliant white teeth and turning on her best Sarah Walker charm. It made him falter a bit, his eyes glassy, his mouth opening and closing, the loud swallow…He gathered himself a bit, clearing his throat.
Well, at least he was human.
"So, what brings you here? I mean, how did you find me? There wasn't much time for exchanging names." He walked a bit closer and she pulled the drawstrings of her purse to shut it tightly. If he spotted the gun, there was no telling what he would assume; that she was a con artist, he could not guess immediately. No one would believe her if she stood on the street corner and yelled out "I'm a swindler" for all Los Angeles to hear. But he would know something was wrong. Even in a world in which a child would be shot at by a law man, a woman with a gun was irregular enough to warrant concern.
Improvise. "I went back after my appointment and found out who you were from one of the merchants along the street where it all happened."
"Mister Blandings? He makes amazing pigeon sandwiches. You should try one sometime. They are my favorite."
She tilted her head and smiled wider. She honestly could not have planned that better. "I'll have to try them. I was a bit preoccupied trying to find out about you to notice what he was selling."
He swallowed and crossed his arms, stepping a bit closer so that he was only two feet from her. The oil smudge was that much more apparent, as were his wide shoulders and the evident strength of his arms. "You wanted to know that badly?"
She raised an eyebrow, playing amused. "I wanted to make sure that you were alright. You seemed…a bit rattled. Terrified, even."
"I wouldn't say terrified. I-I mean, by then I was just…" He stopped and sighed, grinning again. His eyes dropped to the locket hanging from her fingers.
"Oh! I brought this along because…it's broken." She held it up. "I tried to explain it to…um, your…friend…"
"Morgan? Yes, he's…He has trouble, uh…"
"No, he was very nice. It's just that I, um, told him this was an heirloom and he thought I meant the tomato." She giggled, letting it dangle from her fingers between them.
Chuck grinned. "That—That's Morgan for you. I programmed as many dictionaries as I could into his memory box, but he gets a little confused when a word has more than one meaning. Unlike humans, he hasn't the ability to determine which word is used in different situations. You should have seen when a sailor came in here, wanting to buy a compass to install at the bow of his rig. Poor Morgan spent the entire time bowing at the waist…" He paused, looking into her eyes for a long while.
It was not entirely uncomfortable, having him look at her like that. A little strange, of course. Chuck was not ogling, as other men seemed wont to do. It was strangely innocent, as though in that moment, he had ceased to be cognizant of where he was or what he was doing. She thought she might do him a service by ending it and cleared her throat.
"Would you be able to fix it?"
"Yes!" He snapped away from her gaze, blushing a bit and reaching out to take the locket in his hands. "Yes, of course! This should be an easy repair. Let me just pop it open and take a look." He fished in his pocket for the magnifying glass he had just taken off.
"Should I come back for it tomorrow? Or…another day…soon?" she added, purposefully tingeing is with a smidgeon of flirtatiousness.
Chuck's eyes widened a bit and lifted from the locket he had just popped open, meeting her blue-gray gaze. "You, uh—What? No. Not at all. I'm sure this will be an easy and quick fix. Maybe you could stay here while I work on it? You are more than welcome to. If you like. I mean."
"How long do you think it will take?" she asked, meaning to stay there anyways since he invited her. Either way, she would find a reason to stay at the Buy More, as she would not be able to protect him very well were she elsewhere.
"Not long! Not long at all. Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes?" He licked his lips, looking a bit like some sort of lizard with the goggles poised on his forehead, smashing his hair down against his head. "Of course, if you have someplace to be—"
"No, I don't. I will just wait here. There is plenty to look at." And there certainly was.
"Yes. Please, feel free to look around. I will be…" He started walking backwards towards the counter. "…over here. If you want to ask me anything. You know, if you have questions."
"Thank you." She bit back a laugh as he bumped into a table with knick-knacks on it. They tottered but thankfully stayed where they were. He blushed red and walked facing forwards back to his counter, setting the locket on the counter and popping the face of the clock inside open.
Sarah allowed herself a few moments to take in the sights and sounds of the Buy More.
It was a strange little place, filled with strange little toys and contraptions. Clocks lined the walls, carved from dark woods, light woods, some with intricate carvings and others simplistic and plain.
Six long, sturdy tables were set in two rows of three with a large aisle going down the middle, leading to the counter and display case. There were a few feet between each table to allow even the stoutest of shoppers to move comfortably around the shop floor.
On each table were knick knacks and whirly-gigs and strange little figurines with keys coming out of their backs, all posed differently—some stood up straight and others sagged wearily. Gadgets and gizmos lined the shelves along the walls, things she had never seen before in her life.
All at once, it gave her the shivers and awakened something in her that had been dormant for a long long time, something she couldn't remember ever experiencing before: a sense of wonderment. It was unsettling, to say the least, being surrounded by things she might have sold her only pair of shoes right off her little feet to have when she was a child.
She reached out and gently touched a tin owl that was as big as her thumb. Its little eyes were black as coal, but shimmering in the light streaming in from the large shop windows. As were the little gems inlaid into its wings, imitation of course, as Sarah Walker could spot an imitation stone from one hundred paces.
Oddly enough, she did not judge him for that. Unless he charged an arm and a leg for it. And then she felt like a hypocrite, because she really had no call to blame him even then. She thieved on a daily basis. And more than that. While he was trying to run an honest business in a dishonest world.
"How much is the owl?" she found herself asking a bit distractedly as she very carefully lifted its wing. It was as light as…well, a feather. Surprising, considering it was made of metal.
When he did not answer, she furrowed her brow and turned away from the majestic little owl to peer over at the counter where he had been fixing her pocket watch. He stood behind the counter, the odd magnifying glass he had been wearing earlier fastened over his eye again. But instead of being hunched over the watch as she had been expecting, he was standing at his full height, his eyes locked on her, his features a bit dazed. One might call his look…dreamy…if one were predisposed to that sort of romantic tomfoolery.
Sarah Walker, the Ice Queen, was not, so she just raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips in outward amusement.
He must have realized what he was doing then, because his mouth snapped shut and his eyes refocused. Chuck looked down, his ears turning so red they could almost be classified as being fuchsia. "You just spoke to me, didn't you?"
"I did."
"Would you mind terribly if I asked you to repeat what you said?" He still wasn't looking at her, instead having gone back to the watch, his ears in what looked to be in a permanent state of floridity.
"Oh, no. Not at all." For a split second, she flirted with the prospect of teasing him. He had definitely been staring at her and while it was nothing new to have a man ogle her, she didn't want to call what she had caught him doing ogling, as much as he just seemed stunned by her. As though he was trying to figure out how she even existed in the first place.
He was simply a problem solver.
It was a new type of flattery, one that lacked sliminess or ulterior motive, and instead was innocent and sincere. Because Sarah didn't quite know how to receive a compliment of that nature, she plastered a smile on her face and fingered the owl's wing again. "How much are you charging for the owl?"
"Oh! Do you want him?" The toymaker—and human vessel for all of the government's intelligence and secrets, Sarah's conscience reminded her, since it seemed to be so easy to forget with this man—whipped the magnifying contraption off his head, wincing when it caught again on an errant curl (did he never learn?), hustled around the counter, and stepped onto the main floor, hurrying to her side but stopping with an appropriate distance between them.
"Him? Could it not be a her?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
He looked confused for a moment, and then he grinned, as though he was laughing at himself along with her. It caught her off-guard. She had expected him to take her seriously, and maybe blush or stutter some more. "It could be whatever you want. And it's yours."
That made her head snap in his direction. "Pardon? Oh. No, please, Mr. Bartowski. I was only asking because I was curious."
"In that case…" He picked it up and turned it over so that she could see where he had inked the price on a tag and stuck it to the bottom of the base. He wasn't swindling his customers at all. But of course not. Why would he? And why was she actively trying to find things wrong with him? What would that help?
"That's how much it is. And it's still yours." He turned his warm eyes on her, standing so close that she had to steel herself to keep from taking a step back.
"No, please. I cannot accept it."
"Then think of it as thanks for coming to my aid the other day. Even though I was embarrassingly yellow over the whole ordeal, you were very kind. If you do not want the owl, pick something else."
She just shook her head resolutely. She did not need a silly little metal keepsake as thanks. She still had Bryce's money that he had given her in Atlanta a few weeks before. His shoulders seemed to sag a little as he gave in with a sigh.
"But…there is something," she said quietly, looking up at him through her lashes.
Sarah had gone over it again and again in her mind. It was not enough that she lived near Chuck's home that he shared with his sister and brother-in-law, and it was not enough that she had procured work only a block away from the Buy More. She had to be near him to protect him, which meant she needed a reason to be by his side, to cling a bit perhaps. The only way she could think of doing this was to feign romantic interest, or to procure his, at the very least.
The latter part of that had apparently been accomplished, if the moony eyes he had when he looked at her meant anything, but she had to persuade him of her own interest and that would be the difficult part.
Granted, it would not be as difficult as all that, she thought to herself with an inward smirk. Out of the wide pool of gentlemen (and non-gentlemen, it had to be said) she had to charm over the years, Bartowski was leaps and bounds better than most. And already, he was better than Agent Larkin. Or at least…easier.
"Something? W-Would you prefer maybe a—" He stumbled a bit, obviously reluctant to wager a guess as to what she might like to purchase, in case he might offend her. She had to hand it to the toy maker. He was much more socialized than Bryce had led her to believe.
"No, no. Please, stop offering to gift me things from your shop, Mr. Bartowski." She smiled a bit sheepishly to lessen the firmness of her tone, hoping he did not think her affronted or put off by his gesture. As desperate as it was.
"At least allow me to not charge you for repairing your watch." She would have been annoyed by his persistence, but something in the way he smiled a bit wincingly made her realize he knew how frustrating he was being. He was meeting her stubbornness with some of his own. It was an oddly satisfying realization. And she suddenly caught herself looking forward to…well…something. She did not quite know what.
The Ice Queen had to take a moment to regroup, and then she narrowed her eyes a bit teasingly, the corners of her lips turned up. "Alright, then, Mr. Bartowski. You can have this one. But I cannot promise I'll back down so easily the next time."
Bartowski smiled slowly until his teeth shone in an outright grin. She allowed herself to study his unguarded expression and wondered how often he had gotten people to do things for him with it. Or perhaps he was the type of man who did not know the strength of his charms. Which made it all the worse for his victims, she reasoned.
Two can play at that game.
Suddenly, the grin dimmed and his eyes widened a bit, his features slack. Somehow he managed to swallow and clear his throat at the same time. "Glrrm. You'll pardon me for asking, Miss…"
"Walker." Well, there it was. She supposed she had no reason to use anything other than Sarah Walker. It would be easier that way. And perhaps safer. Well, maybe not safer. But it was too late now. Anyhow, what was the phrase? Hiding in plain sight?
Nevertheless, she felt a little spike of nerves at how it had come out without preamble, without even an extra thought on her part.
"Miss Walker." He smiled a bit again and it was so easy and warm that she wondered if he was slapping on an extra coat of charm for her benefit. No one was this sincere, this innocently agreeable. It just was not possible. "But you said you won't back down so easily next time. I wonder what it is you mean by that. Because I'm not so sure I can afford to make this offer again. I have a business to run, after all."
The con woman gaped for a moment and took in the tentative smile he wore, as though he was not quite so sure how well his bon mot would be received.
And then she laughed, watching his shoulders sag a little in relief, and the tentative smile became a laughing grin. "You are a mechanic, a hero, and a comedian, Mr. Bartowski. I must admit I am impressed."
He seemed incredibly pleased by this, and perhaps even a bit taken aback. "My sister would correct you there and say I like to think I am a comedian, but in actuality I am not. And then she would admonish you not to encourage me."
She let out another soft laugh. "Hm. Well. She may have a point there."
Chuck Bartowski grinned again, then sobered a bit, his eyes snapping as though something had just occurred to him. "But we've digressed. You said there was something I could do for you? Besides the watch. And I won't back down on that, Miss Walker."
Sarah shook her head. "I've already folded, Sir, where the watch is concerned. I told you. No, this is entirely different, in fact." She paused, then tilted her head, her eyes fastened on the top most button of his white shirt poking out from beneath his brown vest. She put on her best shy smile, peeking up at him through her lashes. "You see, I've just arrived in Los Angeles recently. As such, I know almost nothing about it. Or how to even get around."
"Oh! I had no idea! Welcome!" he chirped in a pleasant and friendly gesture.
"Thank you." Sarah paused for a moment, biting her lip in a way that conveyed nerves. "I grew up in a small town and I am not used to the hustle and bustle of city life. I thought perhaps I might look to you for guidance, Mr. Bartowski."
He did not respond at first, instead looking at her as though she had suddenly sprouted fangs. It was clear Charles Irving Bartowski was not the type of man who regularly associated with women, his sister excepted.
"I know you must be very busy, what with the Buy More and your…er…machine…friend."
"Morgan…?" was all he seemed capable of muttering, his voice breathless and wispy.
"Yes." Sarah paused again. "I hope you don't think I would force you to escort me around the city. I only thought, as I know no one else in the city as of yet—"
"No!" he interrupted, apparently surprising even himself, as he nearly yelped, covering his mouth with his hand.
"Pardon?" she tried.
He winced and lowered his hand, sending her an apologetic look.
"I'm terribly sorry. Yes, I mean." Chuck shook his head. "I'm afraid, Miss Walker, you caught me by surprise. I-I don't—Uh," he shook his head, "I've decided not to say that. Instead, I'll just say that I would like nothing better than to introduce you to my city. Well, it isn't my city. It is a city. The city of Los Angeles. And I grew up here. Was raised here. I—" He stopped. Perhaps the wide eyed look on her face clued him in on the fact that he was rambling. In fact, he was in outright shambles.
Chuck brought his hands up in front of his mouth and pressed them together in a steeple. Suddenly, he began to laugh, ducking his head and running a hand over his curls. "Are you quite sure you want to risk being seen in public with an unholy mess of a fellow like me?" he asked, still chuckling. "I promise I am capable of constructing sentences in the English language with proper amounts of fluidity and…I'm not helping myself at all, am I?"
Sarah laughed. "You aren't so bad, Chuck Bartowski. Although, if you end up buying me dinner, I may require you escort me sans oil smudge on your chin."
His ears burned as he frantically brought his bicep up to rub at his chin with his shirt, doing little else than dirtying his sleeve. The smudge was still staining his skin.
She giggled. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. I think it's rather fetching, in fact." She fished in the bodice of her dress and pulled out a white lace kerchief. With as much grace as she could muster, she stepped a bit closer and wiped at the dark spot on his chin. "It gives you character."
She knew there was a risk she would scare him into a shell, being this familiar with him. Or perhaps he might run in the other direction. But she must have judged him correctly, for he stayed put and even tilted his head back a bit to make it easier for her. He was blushing quite a bit though and his features were decidedly bashful.
Sarah made a mental note of Chuck's apparent lack of disdain for a woman who was forward. Not that this was so forward. She chalked it up to his growing up with his sister, who was apparently a force to be reckoned with by her own right. Any woman willing to turn society on its head, even going so far as to attempt to change the law in order to accomplish her career aspirations, was certainly a formidable creature.
"I wasn't aware I required more character," he teased, causing her to rock back on her heels and smile at him.
"There." She made to tuck the kerchief back in her bodice, but he stopped her by reaching out. His fingers hovered a few centimeters from her wrist.
"Please, let me have this cleaned for you. And I'll return it tonight?" Sarah found herself gaping a bit and he backtracked quickly. "I didn't mean to presume. When I said tonight. Any night. Or day, even. I have an assistant now." Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but he rushed on, lifting a finger. "He's human."
Sarah Walker bit her cheek to keep from laughing again. This was proving much more interesting than she had bargained for. "Tonight will be fine, Mr. Bartowski." For a start, she added silently. And perhaps by then she would be better prepared for the disarming personality of the Intersect.
A/N: Ho hooo! The next chapter is going to be SO MUCH FUUUUUUN. You guys don't even know.
I'm not sure I even know.
LEAVE ME A REVIEW THOUGH! I love them.