A/N: So part one of First Date. This is the shorter half, but a good place to break. It was unmanageably long the other way. So many things with the episode that don't make sense. I tried, using my between the lines and behind the scenes backstory, adding a whopper of a bombshell here...which could have been true-it is never contradicted, partly because there were too many plot holes. Looking back, like we know everything, like Sarah is doing, it is easier to believe what I propose. Finished up the summer in the beginning of this as well. The introductory scene in First Date is in medias res, so also tried to explain how Chuck ended up with the Cipher in his hand, dangling out a window, with Casey and Sarah on their way to save him. Bear with me, the next part is even trickier. Enjoy. Season 2 is my favorite, so I'm loving these chapters!
We told Ellie we had been in a car accident, in order to explain Chuck's injuries. We decided to leave my car out of sight for a while to keep that story believable. He was discharged less than 24 hours after being admitted, sent home with generic pain medication and told to rest for a few days. He was restless after just one more day, trapped in his apartment, with Ellie fussing over him like he was a child. Sometimes, her mothering instinct when it came to Chuck went a little out of control. It was annoying at times, to be honest, but Chuck always kept her perspective in mind, never judging her as harshly as he could have. I had to learn from Chuck to be that forgiving, always trying to understand her true motives.
While Chuck was convalescing, Casey and I were arguing, debating, and generally not trusting each other. Looking back, he was the one who was hiding information from me, per his orders, but the close call with the fake mission had rattled us both. His secretiveness was only concerning the kill order for Chuck–the rest was just trying to piece everything together. I asked Casey straight up if he thought Beckman set us up, since she was the one who had known the mission was fake. Casey never explained in any kind of detail, but he told me the set up, by Beckman, was meant to draw Fulcrum out…and it had.
What was that all really about? Graham, distrusted by Beckman. He never knew what we were doing in the building was fake. Graham had believed that we were investigating a breach. The facts about the cleaners were only communicated to us–Chuck, Casey, and me. Like I said, Fulcrum did have agents on the police force, but we never proved that here. What this mission proved, though we didn't really know it at the time–Graham was cleaning his own operation by blowing up the building, with his potentially compromised associates inside. We were just almost caught in the crosshairs. I think about it now—it was something Graham would have sent me to take care of, assassination orders for the agents that had raised Beckman's suspicions.
No one will ever know all of the truth about Graham, because he was killed only two months later. I don't believe he was working for Fulcrum, not the way Ted Roark, or even Perseus for that matter, were. Graham never outright sabotaged anything we did as a team, and for most of the orders that he gave, the United States' safety was the goal. Money, however, is truly the root of all evil. I don't know where he personally drew the line, how much he would risk and still consider himself a patriot. Anyway, I'm almost certain whatever misdeeds Graham was involved in when it came to Fulcrum, he was either being extorted, or was the one doing the extorting.
Why this conclusion? The building explosion was meant to eliminate individuals who could be traced back to him. The kill order for Chuck, though communicated almost exclusively by Beckman to Casey, was ultimately Graham's will. Once Graham was dead, that order somehow disappeared, never to be spoken of again.
Director Graham has been forever immortalized within the annals of the CIA, every description of him a hero, struck down by evil doers as he worked diligently to preserve the safety and security of the United States. His demise was officially credited to Fulcrum, his and a handful of his best agents who died with him in the Intersect room. Plain, simple, Warren-Commission open and shut case. Nothing is ever quite as simple as it seems, though. The more I thought about it, the more sure I was, though, like I said, I had no proof. I will never have that proof. Everyone involved is dead now.
I believe it was Bryce Larkin who sabotaged the second Intersect, eliminating Graham in the process. Shocking, perhaps, but I already knew what lengths Bryce was willing to go through to protect Chuck. His mysterious partner, later known to be Orion, who was Chuck's father, would have had the resources if they were working together. It was the only thing that made sense once it was all in the open. I kept that information to myself for a very long time. I told Chuck the same time I told him everything else about Bryce, when we were on the train from Paris to Zurich. Casey and Beckman only learned of my hypothesis a full decade later.
Seems crazy, a wild accusation, but it will make more sense once I explain the missions we were given concerning the supposed theft of the Cipher, the electronic brain of the new Intersect computer, created in an NSA laboratory. It becomes quite convoluted. As convoluted as Bryce protecting Chuck from the Intersect…and then sending him the same damn thing a few years later. Bryce could justify anything to himself, using his own criteria, his assumptions and his inability to see his own short-comings. Orion, though at the heart of everything motivated by love (and guilt,) was similar to Bryce in that way. Arrogant to a fault. In his defense, I also believe his motivations were pure–he was, yet again, protecting Chuck. Or, rather, he was working with Orion…and they were protecting Chuck together, to the best of their ability.
Plain and simple–Graham was a threat to Chuck's long term survival. Thus, he was eliminated.
Backtracking here once more, that summer after Chuck was injured was relatively uneventful, other than the debating between Casey and me. We had about five more missions, follow ups on flashes of Chuck's, not all sideways or dangerous, fortunately. More things going right, which was a nice respite.
In the middle of August, the Orange Orange, the yogurt shop functioning as the CIA cover, finally opened its doors to the public, on the outside anyway. I had a new, slightly better uniform. An orange tank top, white jean capris, and a light blue sweatshirt. The look wasn't complete without my orange chucks and my apron. Orange went better with my complexion and I could wear my hair how I wanted, not in those ridiculous pigtails. When it first opened, I think it was a novelty, for we were very, very busy with customers, busier than the Wienerlicious had ever been. I began to question the wisdom of the CIA with the new front, but gradually, the traffic in and out of the store decreased. They were still working on the last few details in the base below that was accessible through the Orange Orange, however.
Things started to go wrong, very wrong, at the end of September.
We were given a briefing by Beckman and Graham about a theft that occurred at an NSA laboratory. They knew it had been mercenaries. Only one piece of intelligence had been stolen–what they referred to as the Cipher. They gave us no further information, most likely because Chuck was present at the briefing, and news of the new Intersect computer was not fit to be disseminated to him yet. They had security footage, very grainy, but Chuck flashed on the license plate of the getaway car. The location of the mercenaries hideout was included in that flash, but not much else. Beckman sent us to go investigate.
We waited for the cover of darkness. I'm sure you know what I'm going to say next. We told Chuck to stay in the car while we looked for activity. Long story short–Chuck didn't stay in the car. He only stayed in the car, for real, I think one time total. Casey and I were sweeping the location, an abandoned warehouse, floor by floor. Apparently while we were busy doing that, Colt, the head of the group of mercenaries who had stolen the Cipher, arrived on the scene in full view of Chuck. Against our instructions, he followed Colt into the building.
He explained what happened while we were otherwise occupied: he stayed hidden, overhearing Colt make a phone call, explaining that he had the Cipher and was ready to turn it over. Colt took the device out, thinking he was alone. The moment Chuck had an opportunity, he swiped the Cipher and ran. Colt caught him.
Our experience here: the building was empty up to the top floor, because we had already swept the bottom level before Colt arrived. We went back outside to find the car empty. I looked up…and saw Chuck, dangling out the window on a very high floor, in Colt's grasp.
"Casey, he has Chuck!" I yelled to him as I ran straight back into the building.
"Of course he does," Casey grumbled, huffing as he ran behind me.
We blasted through the locked doors of the room where Colt was holding Chuck. We were a bit of a distance away, but I could see that Colt was literally holding Chuck by his tie, almost all of Chuck's weight shifted away. One wrong move and Colt would drop him. Casey had enough sense to issue a warning before he started shooting.
"Let the geek go," Casey hissed.
"Wait!" I shouted as Colt turned. "Not out the window!"
A look passed between Chuck and me at that moment. He was afraid…and I was worried. He was pleading and apologizing with his eyes; I must have looked like I did after I thought he had been blown up. Colt had a getaway plan–a tether to the ground that he climbed down. In order to get to it, he flung Chuck around like a shot put. Fortunately, Casey caught him, tossing him onto the sofa. Casey ran to go after Colt, but saw the man had already escaped and there was no way to follow.
I took the time to admonish Chuck for not staying in the car. Casey asked him if he had gotten the Cipher, which he had. He gave Casey this silly little, out-of-breath "It's me," jokingly, but rich with some of that newfound confidence he had been slowly gaining all along. He made me smile, my fear gone for the moment. It would return, however, multiple times during this mission.
When we got back to Casey's apartment, we contacted Beckman and Graham to let them know the mission was successful. They explained what the Cipher was–the brains for the new Intersect computer. They had said it in front of Chuck, like it was no big deal. Every silent alarm bell in my head was going off, everything that I knew telling me something just wasn't right. I kept my cool, not wanting any of them, including Chuck, to see me suspicious.
Chuck came right out and asked what happened to him once the new computer was up and running. Graham was almost flippant when he replied…and Beckman never said a word. Those two things, happening at the same time, really said it all. Graham could lie–he was head of an entire organization of professional liars. Beckman was a soldier; she didn't need to lie. She gave orders and they were followed, no questions asked. She never gave those phony lines about enjoying the rest of his life. She knew there was no plan for his life to continue. She just stayed silent, so she wouldn't be reduced to lying. As if somehow it was more noble.
I was in shock, but I did my best to hide it. If my mission were about to end the next day, I would have heard something before Graham pronounced it like that, only after we had succeeded in our mission. They needed all the pieces…that was the last one. The start up of the new computer had already been delayed, I know now. I was worried about how I was informed, and also what it meant for me.
If my mission in Burbank was over, what was going to happen to me?
Another assignment, maybe another cover…someplace far away. Danger, assassinations...whatever Graham had been so impatiently waiting for me to do. For all my time in the CIA before I had met Chuck, I wouldn't have even wasted my time thinking about it. I would just do it, on autopilot, letting my life guide me instead of me guiding my life, like always.
Only…I was different now. So different I almost couldn't remember what the old me had even been like. The thought of doing what I was thinking about frightened me, made me feel nauseous, anxious and almost desperate. How could I just go back to that life…now that I had seen what my life could be…what I wished it could be? It was like taking one bite of ambrosia. I would be hungry for it for the rest of my life, nothing I could ever hope to ingest would be able to substitute. I would die of starvation while overstuffed.
Chuck was in such a good mood after that conversation…lighthearted like I had never seen him, in a daze like someone who had just won the lottery. It was his dream–to be rid of the Intersect, free from what Bryce had inflicted upon him, no more lying to his sister or his friends. His dream…there in his hands, ready for the taking.
Once we were outside, I asked him if he was ok…told him that he was going to get his old life back. He was ecstatic, glad to be done with the spy protecting and danger.
"Don't tell me you're going to miss all of this," I said to him, stepping closer as he stopped walking.
"No," he was quick to answer. "No, of course not," he added, more gently, with a crooked little smirk. "I don't think I'm really cut out for a job where you disarm a bomb, steal a diamond, and then jump off a building."
"Well, you could have fooled me," I said teasingly, although, as with all forms of sarcasm, the truth lies underneath. For someone apparently just winging it, Chuck was amazing. Even if there had been a few hiccups along the way. His successes outweighed his failures. The world was better off for the work that he had done, for the work we all had done with him. I felt like the deal I had made with myself when I had started working for the CIA had finally come to fruition, everything I had hoped would make up for what I had lost suddenly in front of me. I didn't want that feeling to end, but I would rather Chuck be free and happy, even if it meant my furlough from hell was over.
"That's very kind of you to say, but I'm pretty sure my girlish screams in the face of danger give me away," he said, his voice low. He was looking into my eyes. I was struggling to keep my face neutral, feeling like I could almost burst.
"So, what happens now? You're almost free," I said. I wanted him to say something…I just didn't know what. Something that let me know what he was feeling about me. "What are you gonna do next?"
"Well, you know, I got the Buy More…" he said, self-depreciation edging his voice.
I hated when he put himself down like that, even if he was trying to be funny. "Chuck, can I tell you something?" I interjected.
"Of course," he said, suddenly serious. The way he looked at me…all the blood in my body started rushing to my feet, that same feeling I'd had since that night in my car on our second fake date.
"You can do anything," I affirmed, echoing the words he had said to me when he thought he was being taken away about eight months previously. "I've seen you in action. And I'm not just talking about the bomb defusing, or the diamond stealing. I mean, anything you wanted, you could have."
I don't know what made me choose those words, say it that way. I was trying to show him how far he'd come from the underachieving man I had met a year ago. All of his dreams that he had given up on–all of that was within his reach, if he only believed in himself. That was what I was trying to say. Subliminally perhaps, I was also trying to tell him…about me. That I was…available to him, if he wanted me. It wasn't a conscious thought, but it was what I meant. I was in love with him.
Chuck never played the kind of games I was forced to play with him. He was always transparent and honest about how he felt and what he wanted. I knew he felt…something for me. If asked, I don't think I would have told anyone I thought Chuck was in love with me here. Sounds crazy, but I was still dealing with my insecurities about myself when it came to him, how far from normal I was…how unworthy of him I was. Always, always…waiting for that look on his face to change, once he knew the whole truth. That insecurity had me being indirect here, dancing around what we were both trying to say.
He did smile, after I said that, looking away briefly, like he knew a secret that he wasn't sharing with me. I wanted that look, those inner thoughts to be about me. I didn't know, for sure, if they were…or if he was dreaming about something else. He said a dreamy goodnight as he made his way to his apartment door.
I was glad he was happy. But I was anxious.
I was so preoccupied on the drive home, I didn't remember all of the drive. I tried to sleep, but I spent more time staring at the ceiling than I did with my eyes closed. Uncertainty was all I had…a wobbly pillar of sand that now my entire life seemed perched upon.
The next day I was working in the Orange Orange when Chuck came into the store, taking a break from the Buy More. He was conversational, joking about missing the Wienerlicious. He made me laugh, and I couldn't relax my face out of the smile. He was looking at me intently, a determined look on his face. I asked him what was up, for I knew it was something.
He looked away, like he was gathering his courage, and then turned back to me and blurted, "You want to go on a date sometime?"
He floored me. I'm lucky my mouth didn't hang open, for I think he might have taken that the wrong way. It had obviously taken a great amount of courage for him to do that, especially considering he was still guessing about me and what it was that I truly felt.
"I mean a date without aliases and spy gear and a mission?" he added, lowering his voice slightly.
"Like a real date?" I asked him. A real date. I had never been on a real date in my life, even though I was 27 years old. The closest I had ever been was the fake date we had been on to the Mexican restaurant.
"Yeah," he said, his brow furrowed, though he never looked away from me.
I was the one who had to look away. "Chuck," I started, then cleared my throat, making sure I was being quiet. "I'm still a CIA agent, and there are a hundred reasons why I shouldn't do that."
"What do you have to lose? In a week, you're going to be undercover in some place like Jakarta in a knife fight with some evil-doer, and in that exact moment, you're gonna wish you spent one last…night of fun with me."
You can do anything. I had just said that to him last night. Here he was, fighting for the chance to go out with me, not taking my initial hesitation. This was confident Chuck, or at least, more confident Chuck. He was being funny, saying it like that. The truth was under there, though, edged with sadness, full of the knowledge that this was a goodbye date–an end, not a beginning. I felt those words go through me.
Wherever I would go, whatever I would do, for the rest of my life…I would always wish that I could have had more time with him…one more day, one more night, one more minute. He had no idea how true his words were, how he shook me up by saying them. I told myself I relented because by the end of the night, he wouldn't be my asset any longer. I actually relented because of those words…and their delivery, the way he looked at me, mesmerizing me until everything else in the world receded.
I told him yes. He smiled and it filled my insides. "Really?" he asked, like he couldn't believe what I'd said. I assured him I was telling the truth.
"Tonight," he added, sighing just a bit. "Our first real date."
"Or our second first date," I corrected him. I didn't want him to minimize that date at the El Compadre; it meant too much to me, for him to simply think that it was all fake and only this one could be real.
"No gunfight, I promise," he teased.
"Ok," I said gently.
"Ok," he echoed, then turned to leave.
I was smiling, feeling like Cinderella once she knew she could go to the ball. I was giddy the entire rest of the day.
If only I had known my coach was going to turn into a pumpkin later, perhaps I would have been more subdued. But no, I was destined for disappointment, a pumpkin, a torn dress, and a handful of field mice by the side of the road. Or Casey's Crown Vic. Same difference, all things considered.