The Detective and the Tech Guy
Authors: Steampunk . Chuckster & dettiot
Rating: T
Summary: A case of mistaken identity and murder brings Sarah Walker, Pinkerton agent, to sunny California. Protecting the heir to the Bartowski Electronics Corporation should be just business-but Chuck Bartowski fills out a suit nicely and makes a mean martini. Chuck lobbied to hire the Pinkerton Agency, but had no idea that the detective they'd send would be as alluring, intelligent and fascinating as Sarah Walker. Will the detective and the tech guy solve the mystery, distracted by the riddle in their own hearts? An homage to The Thin Man movies co-written by Steampunk . Chuckster and dettiot.
Disclaimer: Neither of us own Chuck. If we did, there would have been a 1940s flashback episode. And a musical episode. And . . . you get the idea.
Author's Note: You might think this chapter is being posted today because it's Halloween. Well, it's not-it's just a happy accident. And really, those are the only good kind of accidents. Speaking of accidents, things have definitely changed for Chuck and Sarah after that cell phone explosion in his office. How will the two of them cope with those changes? Steampunk . Chuckster does a fantastic job with this chapter, so I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did! And happy Halloween!
XOXOXOXO
They always show awkward elevator rides on television and in movies. Comedians work the awkward elevator ride routine into their stand-up occasionally.
But nothing either Sarah or Chuck had seen could rival the awkwardness of this particular elevator ride.
They stood on either side of the elevator car, leaning back against their respective walls, Sarah looking down at her crossed arms and Chuck staring up at himself in the mirrored ceiling. Things had been less comfortable between them since the cell phone bomb that exploded in his office, and she knew it was mostly her fault. But the sight of Chuck lying beneath her with blood and dust caking his face had haunted her for two weeks now. And every time she spotted the bruises on his body as he padded and winced around his apartment in the days after he was released from the hospital, or the bandage the covered the stitches that had been required for his head wound, her stomach flipped uncomfortably.
Now the bruises were mostly healed so that he insisted he was perfectly fine. But he still wore a small bandage over the stitches along his hairline. It served as a reminder to Sarah of what she almost lost. Rather, how she nearly failed to do her job.
It had been a rough day for both of them, and getting chewed out by Chuck's mom again hadn't improved it any. She'd already gotten a similar dressing down from the older woman at the hospital while Ellie stitched him up in the other room, very soon after the explosion. Sarah hadn't been in the right mindset as she would have been had it been any of her prior clients. And even while she wasn't exactly prepared for the barrage of accusatory language thrown at her, she'd dealt with it appropriately.
The second lecture had fazed Sarah as much as the first had—which was not at all, frankly. She was used to being berated by clients and their families. And Sarah was already frazzled enough about the near-death experience and how much of a part her inaction had in his being injured in the first place.
If she hadn't put so much distance between herself and Chuck after she dragged him dress shopping—No, wait. I didn't drag him dress shopping. I dragged him off to buy him a suit and then he dragged me off to buy me a dress—And we both have a knack for getting each other to do things we shouldn't be doing.
Maybe she could have noticed something if she hadn't ran so far away. She would have seen whoever planted the phone on Chuck. While pursuing anything more than a friendship with the Bartowski heir would be disastrous, she didn't have to pull away completely. Her ability to do her job had been compromised by her fear of getting too close.
But Chuck's mother had insisted on throwing superficialities like "how much is my husband paying for this?" at Sarah, accusing her of drawing the investigation out in order to squeeze the family for more money. And as the job dictated, she answered calmly and politely, always professional and business-like, apologetic and reassuring. The woman left in a swirl of perfume and discontent and slithered in the direction of Chuck's office.
Sarah was certain Mary Bartowski had repeated to her son her worries about Pinkerton's inability to successfully conduct the investigation, because Chuck's face was still red when he emerged from his office a few hours later, his features twisted into a scowl—something she didn't see often on him. And he was abnormally quiet when she drove him back to the apartment at the end of the workday.
She saw that Chuck clutched a paper bag in one hand, his briefcase in the other, chewing on his cheek as he lowered his head and caught her eye. Then he smiled. She sent a halfhearted smile back.
"What's in that bag of yours?" she finally asked as their elevator car slowly climbed up each level of the building.
"Replacement for what we drank last night," he answered, tucking his briefcase under his arm and freeing his other hand to pull a large bottle of gin out of the bag. He bounced his eyebrows a few times and she pursed her lips, trying not to smile.
"You did most of the drinking, if I remember correctly. I was on duty."
"Yeah, because that stopped you the first time. I know you." Sarah felt a mixture of warmth and discomfort at his proclamation and she looked down at the black pumps she wore on her feet, trying to persuade herself he actually didn't know her at all. "You're a woman who can't resist good gin."
"I can!" she shot back, though knowing what he said was true.
"Well, you sure did a great job of it last night, Sarah." His eyes were shining brightly beneath his bandage and she felt compelled to give him a flirty little one-shouldered shrug.
"I can't help it if you make a fantastic martini."
Chuck's face softened at that and she knew she'd found the way to this man's heart in particular. Compliment him on his martini-making skills. "Well, you throw 'em back like a champ."
Sarah narrowed her eyes at him and his ears turned red. "That was meant to be a compliment, by the way."
"Hm. Charming," she teased, watching him as he slipped the bottle of gin back into the bag and clutched his suitcase in his hand again.
The ding sounded as the elevator reached the fifth floor and they stepped off, wandering down the hallway towards Chuck's apartment. They were silent the whole way, and silent again when he opened the door and let her inside.
"I'm gonna fix myself some ice cream. Want some?" he asked quietly, walking around her and heading into the kitchen. He set the gin to the side of the sink and turned to look at her questioningly.
"Uh, no. No thanks. Wait, ice cream? Did you already eat at the office?"
He blinked at her in slight confusion. "Uh…no. Why?"
"You're having ice cream before dinner?"
He chuckled, producing the carton of vanilla bean ice cream from the freezer and setting it on his counter. "Don't faint, Detective Walker, but yes. Yes, I am."
Sarah rolled her eyes and walked to the couch, pleased with the way the awkward tension between them throughout the day had eased a little in the elevator. "I haven't had dessert before dinner since I was in middle school. God, that was thrilling at the time," she finished drily.
Chuck turned and watched her kick her pumps off, rubbing her feet after she plopped onto his couch and made herself at home. He gaped at her playfully. "You're kidding! Dessert before dinner is the coolest thing since sliced bread."
"For the record, sliced bread isn't all that cool. I personally prefer slicing my own bread."
Chuck laughed heartily as he prepared his ice cream, his actions unseen to her as she bent down to grab her briefcase and pull it up onto her lap. She had a few background checks of Bartowski Electronics Corporation to run by the younger Bartowski before he got too settled in his post-work routine. She staved off the flush to her face at the sound of his laugh, knowing she'd been the one to cause it.
"And you say you don't have a sense of humor," he teased from the open kitchen.
She bit her lip and thumbed through the papers to find the documents she was looking for. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't recall ever saying that."
She caught Chuck emerging from around the counter and moving towards her in her peripheral. "Oh. Sorry. You know what? I must have overheard Detective Brandon saying that. My bad," he said, plopping down in the nearby chair with a sigh.
"What?" Her head snapped up, wide-eyed.
Chuck was looking at her with barely concealed laughter, his eyes alight at the worry and annoyance mixed with anger in her features. Everything crumbled but the annoyance as she realized he was joking and they laughed together, even as she threatened to throw one of her pumps at him.
That's when Sarah noticed he had two bowls instead of one. She pointed. "Uh, what's that?"
"Hm?" He looked down. "Oh. Ice cream. Vanilla bean ice cream. To be exact. It's my favorite. Extra vanilla-y." Chuck gave her a big grin, and she had to look away from it, glancing down at her briefcase instead.
Sarah breathed in through her nose. "I mean, why do you have two bowls?"
"Oh, right. Well, you're about to eat ice cream before dinner, so here." He thrust one of the bowls out to her. "I gave you less to make you feel a little better about it."
She furrowed her brow and gave him a dubious look, eyeing the bowl before reaching out to take it. "I don't eat dessert before dinner. Sorry you went to all the trouble."
"Heaven forbid Pinkerton's best and brightest star switches things up a little bit," he snarked, the pleasant sparkle in his eye completely obliterating the sarcasm she thought she'd detected at first.
Glancing down into the bowl, eyeing the little dots of ground vanilla bean in the silky white mounds of delicious ice cream he'd scooped, she found the entire prospect of surrendering to Chuck Bartowski's peer pressure incredibly alluring. The temptation of the ice cream was filling in where his natural charm wasn't doing the job.
She took an extra large spoonful and shoved it into her mouth viciously. She regretted it immediately when a chunk of ice cream collided with her cheek and dribbled down her chin. It would have landed in her briefcase if she hadn't caught it with the back of her wrist.
Chuck was there at a moment's notice, handing her a napkin, laughing so hard his entire body was shaking.
When she swallowed and the sudden brain freeze passed, she glared at him from behind the napkin. She'd finished wiping her face, but kept the napkin in front of her face to mask the intense blush. As she felt the heat of her cheeks lessen, she lowered the napkin again and pursed her lips. "Are you finished?"
"I'm sor—I'm sorry," he gasped, still laughing as he fell back into his chair and slumped down, still having not had any of his ice cream, Sarah mused. "That was the best thing I've seen in years." His laughter died down as he used the pads of his fingers to wipe the tears of mirth from beneath his eyes.
"I'm glad I could be a source of entertainment for you," she groused half-heartedly, smirking down at her briefcase and setting the rest of her ice cream aside. As delicious as it had been, it turned out to be more trouble than it was worth. And her chin still felt a little sticky which was just gross.
"Oh come now. It was amazing."
"Hardly worth the calories," she said, raising an eyebrow even as she kept her eyes on the papers she shuffled through.
"Speak—Speaking of calories, actually…" She heard the clink of Chuck setting his bowl down on the coffee table. When she swung her gaze over to sneak a peek, she saw he'd devoured the ice cream completely. He was a marvel. How'd he always eat so quickly? And where did he put it?
Her musings died immediately when she saw the way he was nervously rubbing his hands on the thighs of his slacks. Oh no.
"About this morning…"
She almost laughed, relieved as she was by the fact that Chuck was worried about that and not his mother. "Chuck, I don't know why you're being so weird about it. We don't have to talk it out."
"I just feel like I need to apologize, is all. I shouldn't have just stood there like an idiot."
She shook her head with a grin. "Yeah, why did you just stand there forever?"
He was silent for a second, so she flicked her gaze up to him. His ears were red and he was looking down at his lap, rubbing the back of his neck a little bashfully. "I have a feeling you know why."
When his brown eyes met hers she felt a chill go down her spine and she shut her briefcase with a snap. She cursed herself silently. That hadn't exactly been the answer she'd been expecting, but wasn't that one of the things that thrilled her about Chuck? His ability to keep her on her toes? Just when she thought she had him figured out, he went and said something unexpected. It was exciting and frustrating all in one.
Sarah hadn't actually taken the background checks out of the briefcase like she'd meant to. And now she would have to reopen it and look again and…
She set the briefcase at her feet slowly, deciding she could always show him later on.
"Maybe I do." She fought to keep her features steady as she met his gaze.
His lips twitched. "I like going to the gym in the morning when it's still kinda dark out. Because if I work out for a half hour, forty five minutes or so, and I walk back outside, the sun is up by then." He shook his head. "It's weird, but going in when it's dark and coming out when it's light makes me feel really good."
She chuckled. "Like you've been at the gym all night?"
"Exactly!" He pointed at her and grinned again, lounging back into his chair and kicking his shoes off. "So…So, uh…you were really pounding on that punching bag, huh? You do a lot of boxing, or…?"
Sarah reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Uh, no. I didn't box in college or anything, if that's what you're asking."
"Ah. Just exercise?"
She shrugged a shoulder. "Sure."
He paused. "Well, what was that thing you did? The uh, the thing…"
"The thing?" she asked, raising her eyebrows with a small smile.
"Yeah! You looked like a ninja. I thought the bag was gonna come out of the ceiling."
"Oh. That thing. It was nothing." She shrugged again.
"Nothing?!" He put his hands on his head, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping. "Are you kidding me? It was so cool! The way you—Okay, I know. I'm being ridiculous, I'm sorry. It's just that it was pretty impressive. That's all I'm saying on the subject."
She smiled and ducked her head a bit. "Thanks. It's all part of the job."
"Do you really use that? I mean, you fight people?"
"What part of me being your bodyguard did you not get?" He just gaped silently, his body unmoving, his eyes unblinking. It was cute, if a little cartoonish. "I have to know how to fight so that I can protect my clients, Chuck. Agent Brandon is Muay Thai champion of the New Jersey branch of Pinkerton, you know."
"What? Nooo." He shook his head, dubiously, his smile still present. "He's shorter than me."
"That has nothing to do with it. And, uh, Chuck…you're, like, six and a half feet tall, okay? A lot of people are shorter than you. Most people are shorter than you."
"Okay, granted. I just think that's wicked awesome. So you Muay Thai?" He swung his hands around in a sad rendition of something that looked a little like kung fu, wrinkling his nose adorably and scowling.
"Sure. Yeah."
"You do?" He scooted forward on his chair, leaning close. She didn't sit back even though they were now much closer than was necessary for this conversation.
"I do."
"Look, you don't even understand how awesome this is. That's really bad ass. You're literally a crime fighter." She tried to ignore the admiration in his eyes, the dreamy look on his face, but she couldn't. It reminded her of the loud thump that had pulled her out of her zone in the gym that morning. And how when she'd turned, Chuck was standing there staring at her with the dreamiest look she'd ever seen on anyone's face, his gym bag on its side at his feet as though it had slipped from his limp fingers.
It was obvious he'd been standing there for awhile, and it was obvious he'd been admiring her. And not just for her fighting prowess.
Sarah's work out gear included a sports bra and tight yoga pants…and nothing else.
What's worse, she'd even felt a little embarrassed at him seeing her that way, covered in a sheen of sweat, her hair in a messy bun at the back of her head, escaped tendrils plastered to her forehead, temples, cheeks…
But he didn't seemed to mind much as he gawked. And then he snapped out of it, stumbled over his gym back a little, picked it up, and apologized profusely. He didn't hear her reassurances that it was alright, that it was his company's gym, and he was free to stay. And he practically ran out of the place like a bat out of hell.
"I'm not a character in one of your video games, Chuck."
"No. No, you're definitely not."
Was that flirting? She eyed him steadily and didn't bother fighting the grin. "Yeah, well…real life fighting is not as easy as pressing a combination of buttons."
"I'm sure. Have you fought bad guys and stuff?"
"What are you, eight?"
"What?" He shrugged.
"Bad guys?"
"Yeah! The bad guys. Like the bad guys who wanna hurt my dad, who killed Bob Gerheart, who blew me up." He tapped the bandage on his forehead and she shivered. "The bad guys."
She sobered a little and shook her head. "What's next? The bogeyman?"
"I bet you'd kick his ass, too."
Sarah giggled. "They don't teach anything that would be effective for ghosts, unfortunately."
"Pity. But they do teach you how to fight humans."
"They do. And to answer your question, yes. Yes, I've fought plenty of bad guys."
"But the details are classified," he boomed in a mockingly official baritone.
She laughed again. "Sort of. Not really. Doesn't matter. They're all closed cases."
He paused for awhile, squinting his eyes and rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. "Have you taught other people how to fight? Grasshoppers?"
"Wh—Grasshoppers?"
"It's a movie reference. Forget it."
He seemed to have a lot of those up his sleeves, this guy. "Oookay. Uh…yeah I've taught some of the rookies, sure. But I've been out in the field mostly."
"But you have taught fighting tactics and stuff?"
"Yeah. Why?"
A slow smile bloomed on his face and her fingers and toes started tingling. "Can you teach me?"
Sarah Walker crashed back down to Planet Earth and gaped. "What? No."
"No?! Why?!"
"Because!"
"Because why, though?"
"Chuck, that's the worst idea ever."
He snorted. "Surely chicken and waffle flavored potato chips are worse."
"Chuck…"
"Okay, seriously. I'm being serious. I'm seriously asking you, please, to consider teaching me how to kick ass."
"Well, you put it like that, okay."
"Really?"
"No." She smirked at the way he whined and flopped back into his chair like a thirteen year old. "Chuck, my job isn't to teach you how to 'kick ass'; it's to protect you and your father and find out who's threatening you both and why. These guys put a bomb in your pocket! You almost died!" She tried to disguise the hitch in her voice by clearing her throat.
"I know that. But it's like the whole thing with the guy and the fish and the fishing pole."
"The guy and the what and the what? What are you even talking about?" she asked, having no clue where he was going with that, even though she couldn't deny she was having a little bit of fun getting there.
"Th—The story about the man who was going hungry. And another man walks up and gives him a fishing rod and teaches him how to fish instead of just throwing a basket of fish at him and calling it a day."
Sarah blinked. "I think you got that wrong."
He waved her off. "The specifics aren't important. What's important is the point of the story—"
"And what's the point of the story?" she interrupted, wondering if maybe she was having too much fun.
Chuck sent an unamused look her way and crossed his arms petulantly. "What happens if I don't have a bodyguard around and someone tries to attack me?"
"There won't be a time when you don't have a bodyguard."
"What if I'm in the bathroom?"
Sarah was silent, arching an eyebrow.
Chuck's jaw dropped. "Oh come on! You're not seriously saying you guys are gonna follow me into the bathroom! That's pushing it a little, don't you th…" His voice petered out as she began to laugh. Then he narrowed his eyes, smiling a little. "Alright, you got me. Fine."
"Turnabout's fair play, as they say."
"I don't know who says that, but I wanna punch 'em."
"This is exactly why I can't teach you to fight, Chuck. You'd use it to punch people who make up idioms." She shrugged and pouted a little, earning an amused glare.
"Come on, Sarah. Please? I want to be able to defend myself! It's important! It's an imperative life skill! Especially for a guy like me who people want to see dead."
"Oh? And are you going to use karate on a cell phone bomb? Chuck, there are threats self-defense classes can't protect you from! You almost died two weeks ago because of one of those threats!"
He opened his mouth to protest. But then he hopped up instead and reached down to grab her by her wrist, hoisting her to stand in front of him. "Just show me a little somethin' somethin'."
"What, now? No!"
"Yeah! Come on! There's plenty of room…" He looked around, then gestured to the wide space in the living room. "Here! Over here!" Chuck tugged her into the middle of the space and crossed his arms, stepping back. "Oh! Just a sec…" He pulled his suit jacket off and tossed it on the nearby chair. "Ready!"
"I'm not teaching you to fight."
"Do it! Come on! I need to know how to defend myself!"
"No." She crossed her arms and lifted a pert eyebrow.
"Yes. Please? Come on. Can't I at least see a demonstration?" When she didn't respond, he breached the distance between them and put his hands on her shoulders, leaning down a bit to look at her face to face. It was a little disorienting to be this close to him, to say the least. But she kept her calm. "Look, sooner or later, you're gonna solve this case and we're gonna pay you and you're gonna be on the first jet out of here. Then I won't have my bodyguards anymore. What if I get jumped in the parking lot and I die?!" he said a bit dramatically. "Surely you don't want that, Detective Walker?"
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You won't be embarrassed having to learn to fight from a girl?" she couldn't resist teasing.
He took his hands off of her shoulders and stood to his full height, his features softening as he took her in. She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. "I'm pretty sure you're not a girl, Sarah Walker. You're most definitely a woman."
Her insides turned to water and she thought for a moment her knees had stopped working. Not for the first time, she felt the heat of wanting something she couldn't have creep up her neck and into her face. She cleared her throat and broke his gaze. "It's not a good idea, me teaching you to fight."
"Okay then, teach me how to def—" He reached his hand out to grab hers and she stepped into him, using his weight and her balance to easily flip him over her shoulder and onto his back.
She knelt down next to the gasping future electronics CEO and smirked. "You said you wanted to see a demonstration."
"Oh my God!" he wheezed enthusiastically. "That was awesome! Can you teach me that?"
She almost laughed at his perseverance, but instead uttered a simple "No" and walked back to the couch, sitting down, propping her briefcase on her lap and opening it to continue looking for the background checks.