Snapshot

By Steampunk . Chuckster

Summary: Photojournalist Sarah Walker has spent her short and acclaimed career walking the tightrope of societal norms and an inherent yearning for adventure. When her duty to making appearances for her career puts her in Bartowski Electrics CEO Chuck Bartowski's path, their very different worlds collide. Will she discover there is more adventure to him than meets the eye? Charah AU based on Hitchcock's Rear Window.

A/N: It's all clicking, folks! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own CHUCK and I'm making exactly $0 from this story. Per usual.


His fingers went slack and his briefcase slipped out of his hand, thumping loudly against the floor as it landed. And that more than anything made it so much harder to run the way she wanted to.

But where could she run?

She'd failed in her mission.

And now he was here, staring at her like she was his sun and he'd been in the dark for months.

"Sarah," he breathed again, reverently. "Oh my God. You…" He took a few steps closer, almost like he was being pulled towards her on a string. "You're…here. What…What are you…?"

Sarah licked her lips and pushed away from the wall, utilizing every bit of her strength to speak. Everything from inside of his office, plus the suddenness of him appearing here, had stolen her ability to function properly.

This man had thought about her enough to sit at his desk in his office, doodling a little superhero version of her, with her camera and all. How was she supposed to look at him now, standing here in front of her, and cope with that?

"Hello," was all she could say.

He walked towards her, a smile starting on his handsome face. God, he was so handsome, even more than she'd remembered and she'd remembered him as very handsome. "You—" She silently pointed behind him, at the briefcase he'd left on the floor, as if having forgotten completely about it. He followed her point and blurted, "Oh! Right. Yes." Then he went back and scooped it off the floor by its handle, hurrying back to her. "You're here."

"I…am."

"Why…why are you here? You okay?"

The immediate concern. God, she wanted to fall into him and never let go.

She nodded. "I'm just fine. I'm…I was leaving. Trying to leave because I'm…"

"Leaving? But…you're here and… How'd you…?" He shook himself, then gently put his hand on her arm, pointing back towards his office. "Please. Please come into my office." She shook her head vehemently. "Sarah, please. So we can talk."

If she went back in there…she didn't know what would happen.

He wasn't supposed to see her.

And still, she let him lead her back into his office. And he shut the door behind them, both doors, before he carelessly tossed his briefcase into his chair over the desk and closed in on her. He didn't kiss her or embrace her, maybe sensing she was afraid he might.

Instead, he tenderly cupped his hands around her arms and looked down at her with his golden, soulful eyes. "I'm…I'm so glad to see you." God, help her. "How'd you find me? Were you—You must've been looking for me. I was in a meeting. And then I forgot the damn manual I needed…" he drawled, rolling his eyes at himself. "I'm glad I forgot it though. You might've escaped without me seeing you. And I'd never…I'd never know. Why were you leaving?"

"You…weren't here."

She was out of her element. She didn't know how to deal with this. She didn't mean for him to see her. He wasn't supposed to see her. He was supposed to be in a meeting right now. Oh God oh God oh God.

Chuck was apparently confused and she didn't blame him one bit. "I know, but-but you…"

"I'm sorry," she blurted then, shaking her head desperately. "I'm so sorry I came here. I shouldn't have come. This-this is too confusing." She'd just wanted to save him, to protect him. She hadn't wanted him to see her here. "I'm confused and I'm confusing you. This was so stupid. So stupid. I'm a hypocrite. Weak. Selfish. So weak. I don't even know my own mind. It—"

"Whoa, whoa." He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. "Now, wait. Wait. Hypocrite? Selfish? Weak? What are you saying? Why'd you come to find me?"

"Because I wanted to," she admitted out loud. That was the truth. And she knew that now. She'd hidden it even from herself. But she'd wanted to see him so badly for months now. She'd missed him with every last fiber of her being. And she'd known it was silly, crazy even, to still want him as badly as she did when she'd given herself enough space and time to be over their time together in Paris, to move on from it, onto other things.

She wasn't over it, and she couldn't move on.

"This was crazy, though. I know that now. I'm a mess. I know that too. Well-Well I've…always known that." She pressed her fingers to her forehead, desperate for a way out. "This can't…happen. And I know it can't. It won't be what we think, and eventually it'll break us both, and I know that. I know that. And I still wanted to see you." She took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry I did this. That I showed up like this to make things worse for both of us, harder, you know? I shouldn't have—It was a mist—"

Chuck moved in then and pressed his lips to hers. He kissed her. It was gently probing, comforting, reassuring, and she melted into his arms, knowing she shouldn't…she shouldn't…she really shouldn't…and still reaching up to wrap her own arms around his neck, kissing him back.

Her soul filled with light. Like she'd been driving on a road in the middle of nowhere for days and days, her gas tank down to the last drop, and spotted a gas station on the horizon. He filled her tank up to the brim, his lips moving against hers, hands gentle on her, not possessive, not grabbing.

He finally pulled back and she sucked air in through her teeth, keeping her eyes shut, ashamed she wanted anything this badly, let alone something she couldn't have.

"This doesn't have to be anything you aren't ready for," he said quietly, nuzzling her nose with his. Confused, she blinked her eyes open and met his gaze. "I don't need a reason, you don't need to give me a reason. We don't have to dive right into something if it-it doesn't feel…" He huffed, seeming frustrated by his inability to find the right words. "If it isn't what you want. I just—I just want to see you sometimes. That's all. I want to see you. Like tonight. If you're free."

She hated herself. She hated herself so much. She was selfish. So selfish.

And she nodded. "I'm free."

}o{

Chuck expelled a rough breath. What in the hell was happening?

How had she just shown up out of nowhere like this? What was happening to his life? He had to be doing something right that she came here like this, confused and unsure, but needing to be here. Needing to see him, wanting to see him.

One moment, he'd been rushing back to his office to grab the manual he realized he forgot, wondering if he would've been a jerk for asking Miguel to get it for him, and the next moment, he was so so glad he hadn't asked Miguel. Because Sarah Walker, photojournalist, was standing right outside of his office, leaning against the wall, looking…

He didn't know how she'd looked besides beautiful. It was like he was slapped across the face with how beautiful she was, in spite of how beautiful she'd been in his memories of her. Head to toe, she was the most stunning thing he'd ever seen in his life.

Again.

And she was miserable, he realized. Miserable while being torn in all sorts of directions. She probably had doubts about their pact they'd made, just like he had, over the last three months, wondering if they'd screwed up doing this to themselves, to each other.

Perhaps he was projecting his own misery onto her, his regrets. It felt right in Paris, the decision they both made together. And it felt wrong right now, standing here with her in his arms, peering up at him with those fathomless blue eyes of hers.

He was so sure he'd never see her again, sure he could move on, and then the other night, sitting at the table with Lou Palone, kissing her the way he had numerous times before, he knew that was fool's gold.

He couldn't move on, even with someone who was a sure thing because she was a known part of that area of his life. Someone he'd had sparks with before.

Sarah Walker had rendered even the beautiful, interesting, funny, buoyant Lou Palone's lips ineffective. At least for him. Chuck had no doubt there were others out there who would think he was nuts.

He was nuts.

About this woman here, in his arms right now, looking at him as if she had no idea what in the hell she was doing. There was so much confusion in her face, he couldn't help breathing, "Are you sure?" He leaned his forehead against hers and stroked his fingers down the side of her face. "Really sure?"

A saner man would know he'd just been given a yes, an opportunity. They wouldn't have given her another chance to get out.

Maybe he was insane, but he needed her to be sure. He didn't want to take from her if she wasn't sure, if she was confused.

But she nodded. "I'm sure."

Well, that was that, then.

Grinning, he asked, "Dinner? Seven-thirty?"

"Yes."

"I'll pick you up at seven."

She went a little tense in his arms and shook her head. "No, I'll…I'll meet you. At the restaurant. I can't make you go out of your way," she said vehemently. "I'll meet you. I'm sure," she rushed out, as if knowing he was going to ask.

He didn't know why she was so adamant, but he was taking what he could get here. So he assented. "All right. Giovanni's? Seven?"

"I thought you said seven-thirty…" There was that sparkle in her eyes he remembered from Paris.

"I did. I know. But I-I want to see you earlier than that."

She smiled softly. "Six-thirty."

"Six-thirty it is."

Sarah giggled and he thought he might be able to do a backflip. Right here.

She pulled away a little, and then seeming to think twice about it, she moved in to press a quick but adamant kiss to his lips. He kissed back for as long as she let him before pulling back again and grinning at him. "See you tonight."

"Yeah. Yes. Tonight."

"This is crazy. You realize that? We're both nuts…" Her fingers lingered in his even as she kept backing away from him.

"Absolutely batty," he murmured dreamily, shaking his head in awe. And then he couldn't stop himself from asking: "No second guesses, right? You'll be there?"

It was just that she was so sincere, calling herself weak, a hypocrite, selfish. If she thought twice about showing up tonight, that would hurt worse than if she'd simply said no to him here, right now.

Sarah arched an eyebrow. "That's not how I operate, Mister Bartowski. I say I'm gonna be there, I'm gonna be there."

He took a deep breath, following her to the door. "Sorry. I'm…" He was what? God, he didn't know. Losing his mind?

"I know," she said. She grinned at him, running her fingers down the lapel of his suit jacket. "Tonight."

"Yes. Yes, tonight. I…Oh. Wait. Have you been to Giovanni's?"

She shook her head. "I'm sure a cabby can find it well enough."

Chuck went back to his desk and grabbed a piece of paper, quickly scribbling the street address. He stopped then when he realized something was amiss.

"Chuck, you don't have to…" Her voice faded. "What? What is it?"

"Somebody left me a note, I suppose." Strange. Most everyone who would come to his office to talk to him was in the meeting he really had to get back to.

He picked it up and walked around to Sarah again, handing her the address, and then he distractedly glanced at the note someone had left on his—

"What the hell?" he breathed.

"What?" He heard concern in her voice.

He cleared his throat and lowered the note. "Uh, ahem…" He didn't want to look at it too closely just yet, so he raised his eyes to Sarah's face again. "Question. When you came to look for me, did you see anyone in here? Anyone else? Someone who might've…left this? For me?"

Sarah made a perplexed face. "I never made it much further than where you saw me, so I'm…not sure about who was in here or not."

He nodded, and then he folded up the note and stuck it in his pocket. "Right. No, of course." Who had left it? How was he supposed to figure that out if Sarah hadn't seen them? She was the only one who could have seen them.

"Is everything okay?"

"Sure, yes. Yep. Company stuff. As always."

"Oh. Okay." She bit her lip, then moved in to kiss his cheek. "See you later."

This time, he actually took her all the way to the door that led into the hallway, and she finally let go of his hand, leaving.

Sarah Walker looked back at him over her shoulder as she went, and he stared after her. This felt so different from the last time she walked away from him. Everything was alive inside of him. There was no misery or hurt. Only adrenaline. Joy.

And he waited until she turned out of sight before he looked down at his pocket, fished the note out, and opened it to read it again.

Bandits are planning on breaking into your flagship store and stealing thousands of dollars worth of merchandise. The police won't believe me so I took this warning straight to you. They won't do it if they see better security than you've got now. Act fast, they're moving very soon.

Nobody had signed it. Who had put it here? How had it gotten here?

Chuck hurried out of his office and down the hallway, forcing himself to be calm as he spotted Wilma sitting at her desk. "Wilma?"

"Yessir, Mr. Bartowski?" She looked up from the numbers she was running and sat up straight, pulling her shoulders back.

"Did you see any strangers coming through here? Anyone you didn't recognize?"

She frowned, looking around. "Strangers? Why, no. No, I didn't see anyone."

"Okay, thank you."

"Is something the matter?"

"No, no. Everything's fine. You're doing great work. Thanks, Wilma."

She smiled a bit tentatively as he excused himself and asked around the room. No one had seen anything out of place, anyone who might not have belonged here. And it sent a chill down his spine. How had someone snuck all the way through the building, found his personal office, left the note on his desk, and not been noticed by anyone here?

It was a dire warning.

That flagship store had a lot of merchandise to steal. What was in the front of the store, set up for customers to see was only a fraction of what they kept in the warehouse at the back of the store. It was massive. It had thousands upon thousands upon thousands of products, worth millions likely if you added it all up.

His store could potentially lose millions in one night if these so-called bandits were real, and if they were good.

Suddenly Morgan—his best friend and LA district manager of over thirty-five stores—appeared at the doorway into the large office space and caught his attention with a wave. "Hey, Chuck…" His smile dimmed then, as if he'd seen a particular look on Chuck's face. "Everything okay?"

Chuck rushed to his side. "I have so much to tell you, man. But first…"

"Yeah, you rushed outta there to get the manual and then never came back. We've moved on to a new topic. That room is surprisingly egalitarian, you know? Feels like Revolutionary France in there."

Chuck made a face, humming. "Buddy, I think you might want to revisit that point in history, read a few books about it. If it's like Revolutionary France in there, I might need to fire some people. Especially if they've brought in guillotines." He winced.

"Oh. Fair. Maybe not the best comparison."

"Not so much, no. But look at this. I went to my office to get my manual and found this on my desk." He'd shoved the note into Morgan's hands.

Morgan read it, then went pale. "It's the bandits themselves. They did it. They're telling their prey they're coming for them."

Chuck blinked. "What? Why would they do that?"

"For the challenge, of course!"

"Morgan, I love you dearly. You're like a brother to me…"

"Aw thanks, pal."

"But your logic skills need some work." Morgan frowned, offended. "They want the merchandise to sell on the black market. They can make a lot of money with the things we're keeping in that store. They're not going to jeopardize that by telling me they're coming."

His best friend pursed his lips. "Oh. Okay, well, maybe not. Fine. I'm just spitballing."

"I don't care who left the note. I'm past that." He really wasn't but for the sake of saving his store and employees, he was moving on. "What I need now is to figure out what to do."

"Police."

Chuck made a frustrated sound and pushed past Morgan, taking the note along the way. "That isn't going to do a damn thing. They won't do a damn thing."

"Chuck. Pal. I know you and Ellie haven't had the greatest experiences with LAPD, but that was then. This is now. You have money and power now. They'll do what you tell them to do." He winced as Chuck shot him a look over his shoulder. "It's the truth. You have the power, might as well use it to protect what's ours, right?"

"That isn't how this should work." He spun on his heel and gently poked Morgan's chest with the warning note. "When people are in trouble, the police should respond. No matter their social status, no matter the money, no matter which neighborhood they're in."

"I agree with that, Chuck."

"I know you do, I'm just mad. And worried." He huffed and kept walking, bringing Morgan along with a hand on his back. "Don't tell anyone, will ya? Please? I believe in transparency, I really do, but…I want to have a plan of action before I scare the pants off'a my people."

"Like going to the police?"

"No. Like getting even better security than that."

"What's better security than poli— Ooooohhh nooo." He figured it out as Chuck smirked at him.

"Security that doesn't have red tape, that doesn't have to pause. Security without a rule book to follow. You put money in their pockets, they protect you, and then they move on like it never happened." He snapped his fingers.

"Chuck, not that guyyyyy! He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you, he hates everybody."

Morgan snorted. "Fair point."

"But he and his team are really good, and we need them. Buddy, do me a favor. Just keep this between us for now. After I get my ducks in line, so to speak, we'll make an announcement at the store for everyone to look alive and be careful."

"Got it. And I'll definitely not tell that grump that you just called him a duck."

"Yeah, definitely don't do that."

}o{

She knew how much of a ridiculous human being she was for going back and forth all day on whether or not she'd made a massive mistake by putting herself in a position that meant being caught by Chuck Bartowski hovering around his office.

First of all, because she didn't know if he might figure out she'd left the note and wonder how in the hell she knew his store was about to get hit by thieves. And secondly, being seen by him and seeing him in turn again for the first time in three months would set off an avalanche of emotions. She had to know if she saw him again, she wouldn't have the willpower to do Paris all over again.

She'd resisted the need to be with him in Paris. She couldn't resist it here. She couldn't be that strong twice. She'd known this would happen, and still, she'd stuck herself right in the middle of the place where he probably spent more time than he did at his own home.

Had she done it on purpose? An unconscious but purposeful move to force another meeting because saying goodbye in Paris with no intention of meeting again was a mistake?

The thing was, she never would've ended up at the Bartowski Electric headquarters if Eberle hadn't hired her—or rather, hired Ricky—to case the B.E. flagship store in downtown Los Angeles. She never would've been standing at Chuck's office, trying to recuperate after being in his space, sitting in his chair, looking at his doodles—one of which was literally her in a superhero costume holding a camera. He never would've walked around the corner to see her there.

She had spiraled out of control seeing him again, especially after all she'd witnessed in his office, coupled with the deep need to protect him, to keep him and everything that belonged to him safe. And when he gave her room to take a breath but insisted he just wanted to see her, there was no other option than to accept his offer of a dinner date.

Sarah Walker couldn't deny herself twice. It took everything in her to do it the first time. Damn it.

Nobody ever said she was perfect.

And that was why she should resist this.

She was weak. And a hypocrite. And she was still so confused. Seeing him again had plunged her into a deep, deep state of confusion. Her body had cried out for him, reached for him, and her brain had set off alarm bells. All the while, her heart was stuck in the middle getting tugged in all sorts of directions.

Having his lips pressed against hers had given her a moment's respite, though. A calm had settled in her. A feeling of deep contentment and calm and comfort.

None of which was at all normal. Regular.

He was so gentle, but she'd also felt how much he wanted her.

Being wanted like this…it was intoxicating. She wondered if he felt how much she wanted him back. Was he addicted to that sensation too?

He told her they didn't have to dive into anything she wasn't ready for. He wasn't going to force her to do anything she didn't want to do. He meant it, too. She felt how much he meant it.

He really did just want to see her.

She needed to string together a few deep breaths, set her own intense feelings to the side, and let herself sit in a restaurant with that man across the table from her, eat her food, drink her inevitable glass of wine, and enjoy being in his presence. One thing at a time. Just this one thing.

All of the things that caused them to agree not to continue things past Paris still existed. They were still here between them, even though they were in Los Angeles instead of Paris. The income disparity was still there, he was still much more in the limelight than she was, he had influence and power she'd never have.

And if she was seen with him, when things inevitably continued past them having dinner tonight and the gossip columnists began to catch wind of it, the gold digger moniker would come back into play. Was she ready for that?

No.

She wasn't.

She feared Chuck wasn't ready for it, either. But it wasn't his reputation that would take the hit. It was hers. He would continue to ride his success to the highest of heights as a self-made man, and she would be the photojournalist on his arm who only got her photographs into galleries because her man's influence and money put them there.

Sarah turned from where she sat behind the wheel of her bluish green 1942 Fleetline. She'd parked it at the end of the block, across the street from Chuck's flagship store. And she was watching over the building, seeing if she spotted any action that meant Chuck took her tip seriously.

There hadn't been any police presence yet, business running just as smoothly as always. People piling in and out of the store didn't seem to know that some night soon, maybe not this night or the next, a team of bastard criminals meant to break into the store and take everything out of it they could carry.

None of the employees knew either, she figured. Chuck seemed like an excellent CEO, leader, employer, but she didn't imagine he would go telling every worker in there that their store was in danger of being robbed right out from under their noses.

And now she was supposed to carry this off somehow—going on a date with Chuck when she knew what might be coming. And there was no evidence as of yet that he had any intention of doing anything to protect himself in spite of the tip he'd gotten.

Another hour passed, nothing amiss, no sign of even extra security, and she wondered if everything she'd done earlier on in the day that had meant seeing Chuck again was for nothing. The note was going unheeded by its recipient.

Maybe he just didn't have time yet. He'd been in a meeting, he'd forgotten something and had to go back to his office to grab it when he saw her standing there in the hall—hadn't he said that? Maybe he was still in the meeting now.

She had to give him a chance. And in the meantime, she'd keep a look out, watching over the place.

Sarah had to snort at herself, rolling her eyes behind her sunglasses. What did she mean to do if she did see Eberle closing in? Even if she saw his guys scoping it out, now that she'd memorized all of their faces when she went to collect her orders, payment, and give it back again when she realized who they were targeting. What in the hell could she do about it?

She felt like such a fool.

And she put her fingers to the key in the ignition to turn on her car and sputter away from the scene of a potential future crime when she spotted something. Or someone.

Someone familiar, in fact.

Even with the hat on his head, she knew him, all the way from across the street. He was walking down the sidewalk with a certain amount of purpose. Walking at his shoulder was an equally tall man who looked like a tank in his suit, a big cigar sticking out of the side of his mouth.

They stopped at the corner of the store. The older man with the cigar took the stub out from his lips, blew smoke, and gestured up at the eaves, speaking to the CEO of Bartowski Electric as he did so.

Sweeping his fedora off of his curls, Chuck held the accessory at an angle, possibly to block the sun, and he pointed up in the same direction with his free hand. The other man nodded, a sour look on his face.

He stuck the cigar back in his mouth, putting his hands on his waist thoughtfully. His unbuttoned suit jacket moved just so and she saw the sun glint off of something on his hip. She knew the glint well. She'd seen it enough on the hips of the men she did her side jobs for.

This guy didn't seem like an LAPD detective or a plainclothes policeman. She would have to do a bit of research to find out who he was.

But as Chuck took him around to the doors of the store, both of them nodding at the greeter, they were pointing at the handles on the door, flicking the locks, testing… This guy was some sort of security expert, maybe?

Or he had his own security business, with his own licensed security guards. A private contractor, perhaps?

Sarah raised an eyebrow, a slow smile sliding across her features as she kept her gaze on Chuck Bartowski's back. And she kept watching him as he walked the man around the corner of the store down the back alley and out of sight, continuing the tour and inspection he was conducting with the security fella.

She'd underestimated the technology CEO, then. Apparently.

He didn't go to the police. Smart man that he was—wily even—he went to a private security firm for help. He had the money for it, so why not? Pay to get the right service. You ask gents like that to do something, as long as you paid them well, they damn well did what you asked. The police could hide behind bureaucracy, badges… they were in politicians' pockets a lot of the time, too.

You knew what you'd get with a private security firm: whatever you paid them for.

Everything she learned about this man only made her admire him more. He was keeping her on her toes, too. What made him distrust the police? Did he have experience with the LAPD that turned him off of seeking them out? How'd he know how to find this private security firm?

Maybe he wasn't the Boy Scout she'd assumed he was.

The Boy Scout she'd been so sure she'd dirty if she stayed around him for too long.

Grinning, Sarah turned on her car, already feeling better about everything. She'd done the right thing. And Chuck was acting on the tip someone left on his desk.

Now she had to work on perfecting her surprised face if he told her what was happening at Bartowski Electric tonight during their date. It was all falling into place, and his workers wouldn't have to worry, he wouldn't have to worry, about any two-bit criminals targeting his store.

She pulled over at a mom and pop drugstore, walking in, thanking the man who held the door for her, his eyes running up and down her tall figure as swept past him. She'd give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that had been unconscious.

And she had work to do. Walking up to the bar, eyeing the youths sitting shoulder to shoulder, sharing a root beer float, and smirking at the sight, Sarah took out a few coins and laid them on the bar top.

The soda jerk came over. "What can I get ya, Miss?"

"Just a Coke on ice, please. You have a pay phone in here?"

"Over there in the corner." He pointed. "I'll hold the Coke 'til you get back."

"Much obliged." She smiled genuinely at him and slid off of the stool, headed for the pay phone that was thankfully unoccupied. She didn't know if she'd even be there right now, but she had to at least try. She knew she could at least trust her.

She waited for the operator to pick up.

"Yes, would you please direct my call to the library, downtown branch? I don't know the exact number, I'm sorry."

"Of course, just one moment."

Sarah waited…

And waited.

And finally the call was put through.

She asked for her friend and was pleased to be connected through again to her personal office line.

"Library research, this is Miss Miller, how can I help you today?"

"Carina. I need your help."

She heard a quiet groan. "Seriously, Blondie? I'm in the middle of this Aztec text they found down in San Diego in their archives and I was about to have a breakthrough."

"Aztec? I didn't know you know Aztec."

"I don't but I like the pictures, they're pretty."

Sarah snorted. She loved this woman. "I know you don't get paid to help me, but I'll pay you back with a beach trip tomorrow. Lunch is on me. I'll even toss a certain crime novelist into the bargain."

"Yeah, right. Like you can peel Rizzo's eyes away from that dirty filth she writes for even a couple o' hours."

Laughing, she shook her head. "Carina, you and I both know we're both suckers for that dirty filth just like the rest of the American public."

"The more blood the better."

"Exactly. Hey, but really. Please. I need you to look a few things up for me, huh? Like for instance, a list."

"You want me to put a whole list together? In the middle of my work day…" the redhead drawled in a flat voice. "You're lucky I love you… And also that I'm very intrigued. What job's it for?"

She ignored the last question. "I need a list of private security firms operating in the greater Los Angeles area, and if you can get me print-outs of what the fellas running 'em look like, that'd be swell. Thanks, Red."

"Whoa, whoa. Private security firms? What trouble did you get into that you need security? You piss off a gun somewhere?"

"No, no," she giggled. "Nothing like that."

"It's you we're talkin' here, kid. It wasn't a reach for me to assume."

Sarah knew it wasn't. "Someone I know hired a private security firm to look after their stuff and I just want to make sure they're on the up and up. That's all. I'm looking out for someone."

"Who?"

Seeing an opportunity, the photojournalist smirked. "I'll tell you if you bring me those pictures tomorrow when we go to the beach."

"Damn you. Damn you to hell."

"I know. I'm a stinker."

"You stink to high hell."

Sarah laughed, throwing her head back. "How's three tomorrow sound? At our beach."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be there. You round up the heathen in pants. And tell 'er no go unless she wears a proper bathing suit."

"I refuse to tell her that."

"Fiiiine. See you then. I'll bring a couple o' these mugs with me too."

"Thank you."

"But you better give me deets then!"

"I will. I promise."

"Good."

"Thanks, Red."

"Pfft." She heard a click and giggled to herself, pushing out of the phone booth and heading back to the bar. She could really use that ice cold Coke.

}o{

"Brewtuski, you got your troops rallied yet or what?"

Chuck took a deep breath, reminding himself that this man and his guards were what stood between B.E.'s flagship being ransacked or not. Maybe. If the tip wasn't some sort of prank.

The director of the firm had looked it over when Chuck hired him, and he'd deemed it didn't seem like a prank to him, that places like this got hit by bandits all the time. He said putting his people there was a good way to make sure they didn't even bother trying, and then Chuck would never really know if it was a prank or not.

But at least he'd still have his TVs.

"Bartowski," Morgan piped up.

The man slowly turned to look at the much shorter—and smaller in general—bearded man, his lip curled. He just as slowly took the cigar out of his mouth. "What's that, li'l man?"

"Y-You called him—"

"Morgan, it's fine," Chuck tried.

"—Brewtuski, but his name is-is actually…gulp…Bartowski."

He glared for a while at Morgan, and then switched his gaze to Chuck. "Hmng. 'Pologies. Bartowski, we gotta get the show on the road here. Almost closing time. Sun's down. If they're gonna make their move tonight, we gotta get our guys in place."

"You're right. Yes, of course."

The last customer cleared out of the store, Bobby locking up, and Chuck hoisted himself on the cashier stool so that he could stand on the counter. He let out a whistle and then clapped his hands. "Friends, if you could just stall for a moment and gather 'round. I know you want to get home, it's late, there's a lot of work to do." Everyone gathered around him, even the custodial staff, and he put his hands on his hips.

This wasn't fun at all, he found.

"Today, I got a tip, anonymous as it was, that someone's planning on breaking into this store to steal our merchandise." There were gasps around the room and he held out his hands placatingly. "Yeah, I wasn't too thrilled about it either, folks, but listen…I'm on top of it."

"Anonymous tip?" Norman, one of his floor managers, asked.

"They left it on my desk in my office. Don't know who it was or why they're looking out for us. I don't even know if it isn't some sort of gag. But it's enough for me to take it seriously. You folks depend on this store and our products. I'm not letting any of you down, all right?"

"What do we do?" Barbara asked from where she stood at the counter by his feet.

"You don't have to do anything. And I don't want any of you worrying too much, either. But I also wanted to be transparent with you all about why these fellas you don't recognize will be buzzing around the store as you're closing it down. Some of 'em will have guns. That's!" he exclaimed over their worried murmurs. "That's for your protection! These guys are better than most policemen you know. They're trained. You can trust 'em. And they'll be posted throughout the night to make sure nothing happens. Okay? Thanks for your patience, everybody. As you were."

They still seemed unsettled and worried as they shuffled off to continue with the closing up process, counting drawers, straightening shelves, setting up for the next morning's opening shift.

One of the security firm's men came up to Chuck then. He was eyeing Barbara as she efficiently counted down the drawer, marking totals with a pencil. "Think I should accompany the money to the safe. Just in case."

Right. Sure.

Chuck sent the man's director a flat look and he shrugged back with a wince.

"Good idea, I'll go too. I'm the big boss, right? I've got to make sure my people are taken care of." He didn't miss the subtly grateful look Barbara shot him over her shoulder before she went back to counting.

"Eh. R-Right. Sure." Dejected, the guard slumped off.

Chuck rolled his eyes a little, aware this gesture might make him slightly late to the restaurant. Sarah would understand, right? Damn it.

He hoped so.

If he told her why, she would. He hadn't meant to keep it from her earlier, but he'd been confused and startled by it. He didn't know if it was a hoax or what.

She'd get an earful about it over Italian food, though. Poor woman.

But as he accompanied Barbara and the fresh guardsman around the counter with the envelope of cash from the registers, along with the credit card sales slips, Chuck had a bit of a spring in his step.

Soon.

}o{

He should have said seven. Six-thirty was too early. They got carried away, moving the time up because they wanted to see each other sooner.

That's why she was a little late.

He checked his watch. Just ten minutes late. That was nothing. He'd just gotten here five minutes ago, after all.

Which was plenty of time for him to go into Giovanni's, scour the room for her, and ask the hostess and hat check counter if they'd seen a stunning blonde with blue eyes come into the restaurant. He'd received amused looks from both. This was Los Angeles, and one of the finest establishments in the city, where the well-to-do frequented. Stunning blondes with blue eyes walked in and out of these doors constantly, he was sure. Including those of the acting profession.

He'd felt foolish, slinking back outside to wait for her by the doors instead of inside where both of the workers could see him and smirk. They weren't smirking at him, anyway. That wasn't fair. They had work to do, way bigger things to focus on than laughing at him.

But the longer he waited, the more he began to feel nervous. Not just that maybe something came up and she wasn't coming, but that this formal date setting would be his undoing, his unraveling. Rather than how they'd naturally fallen into one another in Paris, talking, drinking, cavorting—he inwardly snorted at that one—this felt like a different beast. This was how he usually interacted with women.

A restaurant, pricey food, wine, taking them out onto the dance floor at their request, not doing too well leading, sitting back down when they tired of not being held just right or led properly, and then awkwardly saying goodnight eventually.

At least Lou hadn't come with any of the formal requirements. Because they hadn't been dating. They'd been meeting one another, enjoying each other's company, and splitting off again to continue their lives. No harm, no foul. Just fun.

That part of his friendship with Lou was over for sure, no matter what happened with Sarah.

He really didn't want to get shot by one Stavros Whatever His Last Name Was. It wasn't worth it.

Shivering, he glanced up as a yellow taxicab slowly rolled up to the curb and halted. Chuck straightened up, a smile widening over his face. Because he knew even before he saw her. And he hastened up to the door, opening it for her, stretching his hand out towards her, a full-on grin on his face now.

One elegant gloved hand extended towards him, and then her face appeared, and the simple royal green taffeta dress she wore shocked him down to his very core as she slid across the seat and carefully eased herself out of the car.

The wide slices of fabric on either side of the gown rested halfway down her biceps, leaving her shoulders and neck bare and he was once again stunned into silence by this woman.

As she stood, she reached back and gracefully straightened the long skirt of the dress, and he shook himself, hastening to shut the door to the cab and waving at the driver. He straightened beside her again and just smiled at her, keeping his hand around hers, the black gloves crunching between their fingers.

"Good evening, Miss Walker."

She made a face. "Miss Walker? Really? Is that how tonight is gonna go, Mister Bartowski?" He didn't know how to respond, he just liked her so much he could die from it right then and there, so he just smiled harder at her. She smiled back. "I apologize for being late. That's usually not my norm. I have no excuse, just an apology. I didn't start getting ready in time." She winced.

Chuck laughed, shaking his head, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "Your honesty is refreshing. And no apology necessary, though I appreciate it. I've got the hostess wrapped around my pinky finger, so I'm sure they'll have no problem honoring our reservation, late though it may be."

She snorted, which was adorable coming from this woman dressed to the nines, her blond hair coiffed so elegantly, falling perfectly around her shoulders in waves. "Wrapped around your pinky finger, is she?"

"No," he admitted with a scoff. She laughed, letting him lead her to the doors of Giovanni's. "If they weren't so well-trained in customer service, I'm sure they would've laughed at me. When I arrived, a bit late myself I'll admit, I asked if a stunning blonde with blue eyes had come in before me."

"You asked that question at a place like this in Los Angeles, California?" she asked, raising a perfect eyebrow.

"Exactly."

She laughed again, stepping in close to hug herself to his side, squeezing his arm in both hands. "You're so charming, I don't know what to do with myself."

"That's what they said, too."

Still laughing, she sidled up next to him as another host stepped up, this time one he'd met a few times before. Ah. Good. This would be significantly less embarrassing. "Giuseppe, how are you tonight?"

"Ah, Mister Bartowski. I'm well, sir. Very well. We have your table ready for you. This way, please."

That went much more smoothly. Giuseppe was getting double his usual tip. If for nothing other than giving Chuck an immense amount of relief stepping up when he did.

Sarah sent Chuck an appraising look, teasing though it may have been.

And he was beaming all the way through his entire being as he held her chair for her to sit first, moving to sit in the seat next to hers on the round table, rather than across from it. Giuseppe was smooth again, wordlessly swiping the menu he set across the way off of the table and gracefully lowering it back down in front of where his guest actually sat, reaching up to snap his fingers for a busboy to hasten over and set the place setting in front of Chuck, and finally a second busboy came over with the water glasses.

Chuck felt Sarah's gaze on him as he took the wine menu from Giuseppe as well, and he wondered what she was thinking. Was this too intense of a venue for a date? Should he have gone with something less formal?

And his eyes stared with a blazing purpose at the long-winded names of each wine on the list, not quite reading them as much as wishing they would give him answers of what to do next.

Help


A/N: Help, he says. Pffft. Help. HA! As if he isn't gonna charm the hell out of her and vice versa. As if there isn't precedent there. What a dumdum.

Thank you for reading! Please review if you have the time! And take care of yourselves.

-SC