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 guys ever read a good sexual tension scene? Well, get ready. Because you're about to. Sexiest picnic I've ever read, to be quite honest. My writing buddy dettiot sure knows how to write 'em. Hehehe. In all seriousness, the imagery and the intensity and the silliness all blend so well. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did when I read it! Onward, readers!

XXX

Never let it be said that Chuck Bartowski wasn't the most persistent man alive. It had been a week since the night in his apartment, when they ate ice cream for dinner (somehow, they went from dessert to drinks without any dinner preceding it) and Chuck had asked her, quite insistently, to teach him how to defend himself. When she had refused, he kept asking. And asking. And asking.

If he had been any other man, she would have described it as begging. But with Chuck, that wasn't the right word to describe how he kept asking. It was almost … cajoling. Like he knew he had to convince her, but he knew that she wanted to help him, too. So it was just a matter of time until she gave in.

Sarah wasn't sure if she liked that idea. That eventually he would wear her down. Because if he convinced her to teach him self-defense, what else could he convince her to do?

Blowing out a breath, she stopped at one of the several tiki bars scattered across a stretch of beach that had been rented by Bartowski Electronics Corporation. Today was the company's annual founder's day picnic and party, Chuck had explained to her a few days earlier.

"We always celebrate the day my dad started the company by throwing a big party for all the employees. There's the picnic and activities for the families, and then as night falls it shifts into more of a party. Music, dancing, random people getting thrown into the ocean while still in their clothes … it's a lot of fun." Chuck had grinned at her widely. "And since I have to be there all day, you will, too."

"Don't think you can catch me when my guard is down and get me to agree to this idea of teaching you my moves, Bartowski," she had cautioned him, even as she smiled back at him.

The memory of his reaction made her stomach flutter still. How he had looked at her for a long moment, as if there were so many things he wanted to say. He might be silent, but his eyes spoke volumes: admiration, respect, friendship … and buried down deep, a spark of longing. And seeing that spark, some perverse part of her wanted to throw some wood on the fire, make that spark become—

Nothing. Nothing was what would happen, because Chuck Bartowski was just a client. Nothing more.

At least the bartenders at this party knew how to mix a drink, Sarah thought as she sipped her rum and Coke. A martini didn't seem the right thing at a beach party, and besides, Chuck's excellent take on the drink had spoiled her for anyone else's, she suspected.

And she was still thinking about Chuck. When she should be focused on looking for any threats to him. Even though the beach had been cordoned off and several Pinkerton agents were patrolling to prevent any non-Bartowski Electronics employees from crashing the party.

Still … she needed to keep her eye on Chuck. Which wasn't a hardship, she had to admit.

After a day spent in the summer sunshine and in and out of the water, his skin had gotten a light tan that was visible in the tiki torches. The curls in his hair had become more pronounced, leading to a rumpled, tousled look that was nice. Very nice. And best of all, he was out of his usual tailored suits and into something much more casual: striped board shorts and a thin t-shirt, with bare feet and a drink of his own that he was nursing as he talked and joked with people.

Seeing him in this setting, watching him interact with his employees … it was eye-opening. Because he was still Chuck. He was the boss, and she didn't think any of the people surrounding him ever forgot that, but it wasn't because of Chuck. He was friendly but respectful. He didn't make jokes at other peoples' expense, made sure to smile at and talk to everyone in the area. She hadn't realized just how much of a social butterfly he was, how at ease he was with people.

But she should have realized that, with how he had drawn her out of her shell. Normally when on assignment, she spent most of her time focused on the job. And what little time she had to herself, she usually spent doing research or working out. Ever since she had met Chuck, though, she had more of a social life than she had ever imagined.

Beside all the lunches and dinners with him, all the evenings spent enjoying martinis on his rooftop deck, there were Bartowski Electronics events like tonight, stopping to chat in the break room with various employees, the occasional lunch invite from the women at the office that Sarah told herself she accepted in order to not make waves …

Ever since the cell phone bomb, she had told herself that she needed to get back to her routine. Stay focused on the job, step up her investigation, and push aside all these distractions. After all, she had a good feeling about who was responsible for the assassination of Bob Gerheart and the attempts on Stephen and Chuck Bartowski. At least, she thought she had, until the cell phone bomb happened. That was totally outside her suspect's MO, so she really should be digging into everything they knew about these attacks, to make sure that she was on the right path.

But maybe … maybe she was overlooking a way to gather clues. Perhaps this job was different from all the others. And if she was friendly, relaxed and loosened up to outside observers, she'd find out what she needed to know in order to protect Chuck and his father. If she fitted in with these people, she might find out who wanted to hurt Chuck.

And if that meant she drank some more rum and Cokes, danced with people, and had a good time … what would Pinkerton care if she got the job done?

Sarah had the sense that her thinking wasn't exactly linear. But instead of worrying about it, she tossed back the rest of her drink and then headed over to the section of beach that was for dancing. She recognized some of the people she had talked with at the office, and they welcomed her with smiles and high-fives.

So Sarah danced.

XXX

This was an awesome party. Really, every sign of an event that would be talked about for years—lots of people laughing and talking, free-flowing booze and food, and the late hour meaning only a switch to quieter, slower songs by the DJ—was present.

Then why did Chuck feel like he hadn't had a good time at all?

To anyone watching, he probably looked like a guy who was enjoying himself. He'd spent the afternoon helping at the picnic, giving piggyback rides to kids and judging the various games and awarding prizes. As the families headed home and the single people settled in for their party, he had joked around with various people that he didn't see often enough, had some food, and had a few drinks. About the only thing he hadn't done was let himself be drawn into the dancing going on.

Because honestly, there was only one person he wanted to dance with. One woman.

Throughout the day, he kept feeling Sarah's eyes on him. He knew she was just watching him, protecting him. Serving as his bodyguard and nothing more. But whenever he tried to catch her gaze, she'd look away. Refuse to meet his eyes.

She'd kept her distance the whole time, and he wondered if she had finally realized just who Chuck Bartowski was: a wimp who couldn't take care of himself. A guy who was a little bit witty and could make an okay martini, but certainly not someone worthy of a woman like her.

Rolling his eyes, Chuck finished his gin and tonic and walked to the nearest bar for another one. He'd nursed his drinks tonight, but now that the party was closer to the end than the beginning, it seemed like the time to stop pacing himself. To let loose and drink as much as he wanted.

This bar was very close to the dancing. Since it required more alcohol than the world possessed to get him on a dance floor, Chuck just watched the dancers while feeling the gin slide down his throat. He almost did a spit-take when he caught a glimpse of Sarah.

Setting down his drink on the closest surface, Chuck stepped closer, trying to get a better look at her. As he did, there was a little voice in the back of his head saying this might not be a good idea. But Chuck ignored it, too tempted by the allurement of Sarah Walker.

Throughout the day she had been wearing a tank top and a denim skirt: comfortable, appropriate, and not at all flashy. With her hair back in a ponytail and a pair of sunglasses on her nose, she had fit right in.

Now, though … the tank top had come off, revealing a white bikini top. Her hair was out of the ponytail and her sunglasses were off as she danced slowly, moving in perfect time with the music. Her eyes were closed and he wondered what she was thinking, what she was feeling.

She was more than just a woman at that moment. She was a siren, calling him in. Making him, Chuck Bartowski, a man with two left feet, want to dance for the first time in his life.

Finding himself on the edge of the dance floor, just twelve feet from Sarah, made Chuck wonder just what he was doing. But then Sarah opened her eyes and saw him. He could see her stop for a moment, then she shot him a grin. A challenging, impish, altogether delightful grin. It all but said, "Wanna dance?"

And Chuck did. So he stepped up towards her, leaning down close to her. "Hi."

"Hey, Chuck," she said, resting a hand on his shoulder.

Chuck blinked. Was Sarah Walker tipsy? It certainly seemed that way. Just how much had she drunk? Her body was loose and relaxed and there was a teasing note in her voice, something he hadn't ever heard before.

Then she started moving again, and having her this close, her body brushing up against his a little, made all his thoughts drift away like the bubbles in a glass of flat champagne.

Under the stars, with slow, soft music playing, in a crowd of people, Chuck felt like the only people in the world was him and Sarah. Her hand slowly slid from his shoulder to the back of his neck. Not quite sure what to do with his hands, he settled them lightly on her hips, trying not to touch any of the warm, golden-kissed skin revealed between her bikini top and her jean skirt. Because if he touched her, he might just lose control.

Somehow, Chuck managed not to step on her feet. It might be his imagination, but the longer they danced, the closer they seemed to get to each other. He found himself leaning down towards her, his hands holding her hips tightly, their faces only inches apart.

Her warm breath kept washing over his lips, making them tingle. Making his whole body tingle. As much as he wanted to just stay in this moment forever, Chuck also wanted to take that extra step. To press his lips against hers and never stop kissing her.

But she was drunk. This wasn't right.

Chuck swallowed. "Sarah? Maybe I should take you home."

She kept her head lowered. "Why?" she asked, her voice soft and sweet as honey.

"Because … because you seem a little tipsy and I don't want anything to happen to you," he said, trying not to shudder from just how sexy her voice sounded.

Sarah pulled back and looked up at him. Looked at him for the first time since they had started dancing, he realized. And he saw that she was absolutely not tipsy. Her eyes were steady, her cheeks were just slightly pink, and her hand loosened on the back of his neck. Not holding on to him in order to stay upright, but holding on to him because—

And now she was leaning in towards him, and Chuck felt his mouth go dry even as his tongue darted out to lick his lips, and all he could see was Sarah and everything was Sarah and she was going to kiss him!

Suddenly, there was a slap on his back and Sarah's lips were brushing against his jaw. Chuck looked around and saw that two drunk employees, staggering past them, must have bumped or pushed against him at precisely the wrong time.

He whipped his head around and looked at Sarah, who had stepped back from him. Her face was carefully, determinedly blank. Her eyes were a flat blue, no longer sparkling and alive and wanting him.

"You're right, I should get home," she said, her voice even and professional and very, very calm. "Have a good night, Chuck."

As he watched, she turned and walked away, heading towards the parking lot. He wasn't able to speak in time to say goodbye, or ask her what had just happened, or find out whether he had just dreamed the dance and the almost kiss and this whole wonderful, awful night.

End.