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: is a really special writer. Re-reading this chapter reminded me of that once again. Because she's able to do so much here, layer in so much emotion and description and then turn on a dime and give you something completely different. Plus, I love her way of characterizing Chuck, particularly in this chapter. I think you'll enjoy Close Encounters with the Detective and the Tech Guy!

XOXOXOXO

He sat alone, calm, thoughtful…unfettered.

His eyes flicked up to the clock in the corner of his office, the second hand tick, tick, tick, ticking in time with the methodical tapping of his fingers on his knee. It was well past two in the morning, the witching hour come and gone, his own personal demons come and gone.

Even the overachieving technicians in the lower level offices were probably gone for the night. Or was it morning?

What did it matter anyways? What was there to go home to but his large, empty apartment, the silk sheets on his bed, the full bar?

Well, there was that. There was always a good, strong martini.

Being alone used to not bother him. It meant more room for himself, more time to be who he wanted to be, do what he wanted to do. And no one to tell him he worked too hard, when some days working hard at the office was all he wanted to do. It gave him a thrill, watching his plans come to fruition, watching the bare bones of a new program grow into something real and palpable, something sellable. But now, as he watched the second hand twitch around the clock face, he felt the emptiness that came with being lonely. Not just alone, but lonely. And the darkness somehow made it worse. But he hadn't the initiative to even reach over to turn on his desk lamp. And so he settled further back into his chair, watching the moving lights of downtown Los Angeles out his window in the distance, listening to the impatient horns of taxicabs and late night revelers trying to maneuver around the still-active city streets.

It had been a long day, a trying day, but the last thing he wanted to do was sleep. He wasn't even tired.

How could he be tired with her on his brain?

Speaking of thrilling.

Some people could smell danger. Sarah Walker could smell it from a mile away. It was part of the job. Instinct. Maybe it was something she was born with.

Yeah, some people could smell danger. But not Chuck Bartowski.

The electrical spark—no, more like all-encompassing combustion—between them should have given him pause. It was dangerous. Anything that intense had to be dangerous.

Someone wanted his father dead, wanted him dead. Whoever it was put a bomb in his coat pocket. Anybody else in his shoes would stay in their apartment, hiding under the covers of their bed, pull as many bodyguards as possible in to protect them from the threat. Stop living life and hole themselves up somewhere safe and fortified.

But Chuck woke up every morning, dressed, drank his mug of damn good coffee, and went to the office. Just like he'd done before Bob Gerheart was murdered in front of Bartowski Electronics Corp weeks and weeks ago. Before the threat on his father's life was issued. And the threat on his own life. Before Sarah Walker purposefully marched into the office and sat in front of him and his father, pulling a recording device out and setting it in between them on the table.

In spite of it all, Chuck fostered a major crush on the detective who was leading the investigation to find the killer, as well as handling his family's protective detail. And he thought of her when he woke up in the morning, and sometimes throughout the day. And he let the flirtatious banter flow between them. In fact, he did his best to nurture the flirting. Because it felt good. And anything that felt that good couldn't be dangerous. Could it?

No.

Because then there were those moments they had—not just moments but entire stretches of time, hours really—in which everything seemed to settle around them. Like the other night when they sat on the rooftop together. It was ridiculously cheesy, but he couldn't help feeling that the world had stopped for a few hours. There weren't men out to kill him, or a protective detail hanging around his office and family home. It was just Chuck and Sarah, sharing a bottle of wine and cheese and crackers. And the moon. And the soft breeze. There wasn't the usual amount of heat churning between them. There was just this deep understanding there, a peace that they shared and could enjoy together without having to put words to it. There was laughter. And at one point, Sarah had giggled so hard, she had to sit up to keep from choking on the wine she'd just swallowed.

Chuck grinned now as he thought of the way she flushed and glared when he laughed at her and saluted her with his own glass.

It was just so comfortable. There was no other way to describe it. And something that comfortable, something that came so naturally to him, to them both…Chuck didn't understand how it could be negative in any way.

Of course his mind chose that moment to go in a different direction—in a more physical direction, in fact. That incomparable heat he felt when they were close. When she touched him. Or when she looked at him a certain way. The heaviness of the air between them when they were locked in a car together on the way to and from the office—it was usually a toss-up whether they chatted comfortably or sat in heat-charged silence while pretending it was comfortable silence.

And then there was aikido.

The way they'd moved together in the makeshift dojo dance studio, her strong warm hands against his skin as she easily and gracefully flipped him onto the mat over and over and over again. The feel of her warm body moving against his. Her tempestuous blue eyes filled with a suggestion of later. Later.

God, he wished it could be later already…

It had stunned him speechless that she had continued the lessons. It hadn't stopped with that first time, in spite of the fact that he had literally been a millisecond away from finally feeling her mouth against his and finally knowing for sure if her lips were as soft as they looked. They had been so close to kissing.

While that hadn't happened the other few times they met for aikido lessons, it remained on his mind, and the physicality of the sessions remained just as sexually charged as the first had been.

He was getting better, too. That was the best part of it. While he enjoyed the touching and grabbing and…pinning…he was legitimately learning how to protect himself. And that more than anything made him not just intensely attracted to Sarah Walker, but incredibly grateful as well. Grateful and, if he were to be completely honest with himself, really really turned on.

There was a light knock at his door. "Chuck, you in there?"

It was as if he had summoned her by thinking of her. "Yeah," was the only thing he could say at the moment. She caught him off-guard, showing up here at two-thirty in the morning, when he was sitting alone, in the darkness, listing in his mind all of her finer attributes. Remembering the way she had felt against him and the things he imagined them doing together that had very little to do with aikido lessons…

He blushed a little even as she opened the door and poked her head around.

Chuck quickly dropped his feet to the ground and sat up straighter, suddenly aware that his suit jacket was off and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. His hair was probably ruffled from dragging his hands through it too much, the curls atop his head making funny animal shapes, as Ellie liked to say when she'd had a bit too much to drink.

He switched on the lamp and Sarah's beautiful features were illuminated in the low light. She squinted in confusion, then seemed a little contrite. "Did I wake you up?"

"No. I wasn't sleeping."

She looked dubious. "You were just sitting by yourself in the dark at two-thirty in the morning?"

Chuck shrugged and smiled lazily, noticing the way her eyes softened a little. His heart made itself known in his chest, thudding against his ribcage a little harder. "I was just thinkin'. It's easier in the dark."

Sarah looked at the blinds he'd pulled open an hour earlier in order to watch the traffic down below and shook her head, walking all the way into the office and revealing her perfect figure to him, clad in her typical dark pencil skirt, matching blazer, and white blouse, topped off with black pumps with preposterously high heels. Just another thing to add to the docket of amazing talents possessed by Detective Sarah Walker.

"You know," she said, gesturing with a graceful hand, "It's not exactly safe having your blinds hanging open like that. People have been sniped in harder to get at places than this. Anybody could chill in one of those buildings across the street, pick your office out, and in a moment, you'd be gone."

Chuck watched her face carefully, the shadows dancing on it as she moved right up against his desk and leaned her palms on top, supporting her weight by her wrists. He looked for any signs that his demise would mean more to the intelligent, utterly capable, stunningly beautiful Pinkerton detective than just a lot of dull paperwork. But, like always, her face was a blank canvas.

Damn training.

With a sigh, he shrugged. "Well, the light was off before you came in here, so they wouldn't see me anyways. And it's not like I smoke."

Her brow furrowed and she tilted her head in confusion. It was damn adorable. "What does smoking have to do with it?"

"The glow from the end of the cigarette. Have you never seen any film noir? Or even Rear Window?" When she rolled her eyes, he grinned. "That has to be rectified."

There it was. That mischievous, coy look he enjoyed so much. The way those amazing blue eyes flashed. Then she gave him her secret smile, something he couldn't describe and hoped he'd never fully understand, even though it rankled him. Like there was some joke she was trying to share with him, a joke he didn't get. And he wanted her to think he did get it so he just gave her his best rendition of a secret smile back.

This made her smile deepen. And he wondered if she knew his smile was a ruse.

Of course she did.

Observation was a part of her job. A part of her identity, really. She knew things other people would never get in a million years, even if it was spelled out in front of them.

He loved that about her, even at the cost of his own pride.

"So what are you doing here this late?" he finally had to ask before he let his thoughts get away from him. She seemed to shake herself a little, as though she'd been lost in her own thoughts, her bright eyes (in spite of the late, or perhaps early, hour) fastened on him.

"I was on duty. I've been downstairs, waiting for you to come down so I could take you home." She tilted her head forward so that she could look at him through her eyelashes and Chuck felt his pulse pick up. "But you never did."

Chuck gestured with a halfhearted wave at the door she'd just entered through. "Making sure someone didn't snipe me while I was up here alone?"

"You think you're being funny joking about that?" she asked, reaching across his desk and smacking his shoulder harder than he'd expected.

"Ow! Yeesh! Sorry!"

"You should be." She crossed her arms, her lips pursed and her blue eyes dark as her finely shaped eyebrows arched. She was incredibly beautiful, especially at two-thirty in the morning, when they were most likely alone in the large building, in the semi-darkness, with nothing but this damn desk between them. And a whole lot of Pinkerton protocol.

"So?" He broke the silence that crackled between them.

"So, what?"

Chuck shrugged again, swiveling his chair to face her and leaning forward with his elbows on his desk, their faces only a few inches from one another. "What are you doing up here?"

He wasn't flirting, only curious. Or at least, that was what he was going for, and apparently he was successful, because there was none of the teasing chastisement on Sarah's face his innuendo usually garnered.

"Just letting you know that Agent Frederick will be taking you home whenever you're through sitting here in the dark not-napping."

"Oh. You're not?"

"Not what?"

"You're not taking me home?"

"I'm already a few hours past my shift, Bartowski. You kept me up way past my bed time." There was the flirtation. And the feelings in his chest (and other places) that always accompanied it.

"I always do, don't I?" He flashed her a cheeky grin and he detected a hint of a flush on her face, or maybe the bad light was playing tricks on him. The rooftop hang-out had lasted well into the early morning hours, even after they'd finished off their bottle of wine, well past the sun sinking behind the skyline. And it wasn't even the first time they'd been up past one talking and drinking after a long day. He hoped to God it wouldn't be the last, either, as the case seemed to be drawing to a close more and more rapidly as the days went by.

"What is it you're doing in here all hours of the night, anyway?" She tilted her head and stood up straight again, and a part of him mourned the loss of her nearness. "It can't be anything too important."

He laughed. "If I didn't know you were joking, I'd be offended, you sassy thing," he teased in a flamboyant tone.

That made her giggle and he felt like the room was suddenly filled with light. "I'm, uh, I'm actually working on the layout for some new software. May or may not work out."

"Again…I bring your attention to the fact that I walked into pitch darkness when I came in here. Do you have night vision or something?"

"I'm actually a half-elf. Low-light vision." She made a face. "Pretend that didn't happen. Actually, I was plotting in my head. I do that before I write it all down. I sit and think."

"Oh. I've never heard of anyone doing that before."

"I'm a singular kind of guy."

"Yeah," she said softly, a small smile twitching on her lips. "You are."

"So, uh," she rushed as he grinned widely at her soft-spoken compliment. "What is this software of yours?" She widened her eyes in a gesture he recognized as prompting him to continue. He gave her the skeleton explanation of the software, its purpose for its buyers, what he hoped it might accomplish for the company in the long run. And she listened closely…as she always did.

He loved her voice, and the way it sounded when she was amused, even the brittle tension in it when she was frustrated or stressed, or even angry.

But the way she listened was more eloquent than speech.

There was a soft eagerness in her that made him confident when he spoke to her. And he wondered if it was just wishful thinking on his part, but sometimes he thought there was even a intrigue in the way she listened to him when he talked about his work, or when he told a story. A flash of excitement in her eyes, the small smile on her full lips, the way she leaned towards him, only a little.

Maybe it was just her job.

She was a detective, after all. And making the people she was paid to protect feel comfortable around her was important. And she made him feel comfortable.

She made him feel so good.

So he would take that and run with it, not caring where it took him. Because maybe it was dangerous, and maybe he didn't care. And maybe when this was all over, he'd get hurt. But it would be worth it. For the ride.

For moments like these.

When they were alone and she let herself just be, instead of going into agent mode as she did when the other Pinkertons were around. Or his father. And especially his mother.

Not that he didn't also appreciate Sarah Walker when she was professional. The way she would snap into her leadership role with the other agents, never hard or unfeeling, but business-like and capable and dependable. In all honesty, Chuck Bartowski found professional Sarah Walker to be incredibly sexy. And when she saved his life over a month ago, diving on top of him at the risk of being blown to smithereens herself, he'd been incomprehensibly grateful and stunned and warmed by it. Even though it was her job, the fact that she did that without a second thought left him breathless even now. But there was also a part of him that had been turned on by her inherent ability to protect him. He felt a bit piggish for it, but there it was.

And she was a fantastic teacher. While the aikido lessons were infused with sexual tension and teasing and a ridiculous amount of flirtation (all fused with a healthy dose of competition), she was absolutely serious about making sure he was learning. As a result, he had taken those lessons seriously, taken her seriously, and he was now at least proficient in it. All credit to Sarah Walker.

And damn, but she was intelligent. The way she slowly whittled away at the investigation. He stumbled upon the charts she created in her notebook, lines connecting the actors in Chuck's life and his father's business associates, personal biographies that she constructed as she learned more about the people who may or may not be involved. It was fascinating to him that he so often forgot she had an actual job to do here, and even more fascinating was the fact that she was constantly working behind-the-scenes, along with her partners, keeping the investigation quiet. It certainly wasn't a secret that Stephen J. Bartowski and his son Charles had targets on their backs, that an important man was murdered, and that a private company was conducting the investigation. It had been plastered all over the Times for weeks, until it got bumped to the second page, then the third page, and even now a blurb would pop up here and there in the local section.

But that was the nature of Detective Walker, and the nature of Pinkerton. Things were handled quietly and efficiently, with as little interruption to the lives of the people involved as possible.

And now she had apparently pinpointed whoever was behind the whole thing. Chuck witnessed firsthand the way the adrenaline seemed to course through her now that she thought she was nearing the end of the investigation. The way she walked through the hallways of Bartowski Electronics with a sense of determination, her jaw set, eyes focused. It was hot. To say the least. But mostly, she was just so damn impressive.

Sarah finally gathered herself to leave after a few more minutes of semi-flirtatious banter over Chuck's desk, walking to the door of his office. "I'll see you at noon?" she asked over her shoulder.

"I'll be here, I'm sure."

She sent him a knowing look. "I'm sure, too. Don't keep Frederick up too long, Chuck. I don't think he'll like you much for it."

"I don't think Ted likes me much as it is," he said with a big grin, sending a wink her way. She smirked and a voice in his head with a Brooklyn accent went, What a knock-out dame. He chided himself for being so corny, but couldn't help but agree, his eyes following the line of her skirt, down her long legs to her killer shoes. And the way her blond hair swept over one eye, brushing against her cheek as she opened the door to his office and turned to look at him.

"Good night, Chuck."

"Night. Don't let the bed bu—"

"Don't even say it," she snarked with a grin. "I'm not afraid of bed bugs."

"You're not afraid of anything," he shot back, unaware of the softness in his eyes, or the sincerity in his voice.

Sarah stopped and looked at him for awhile, her fingers fiddling with a lock of her hair. He noticed she had a French manicure that hadn't been there two days ago.

So she liked to pamper herself. Interesting.

"Some things," she answered quietly.

He didn't quite know what to say to that, but her admission sent warmth flooding through him and he found himself smiling at her. "I'll see ya."

She winked and nodded her head once, sweeping out of his office with light, tinkling giggle.

As the door clicked shut softly, he fell back against his chair and let out a long breath.

Chuck Bartowski was absolutely crazy about Detective Sarah Walker, and he was mildly aware that it could potentially be a problem. And maybe that affection between them, whatever it truly was, would prove to be dangerous.

But he still couldn't make himself stop.

He wanted her to come back inside, toss her briefcase onto his leather couch, walk around his desk and lean down to kiss him. He wanted her to say to hell with Pinkerton protocol, to hell with the investigation, to hell with everything that didn't involve the two of them together.

But as he listened to the silence out in the hall, he realized it was only a dream. It could only be a dream. Sarah Walker was professional. And he was professional.

And Chuck wouldn't have it any other way.

So he stood and decided he'd pack up and meet Agent Ted Frederick down in the lobby where the man was undoubtedly impatient to take him home. He pulled the blinds back down and grabbed his briefcase from his desk, pocketing his cell phone.

His eyes fell to an envelope with Sarah's name on it. He'd forgotten to give her the list she'd asked for yesterday when she'd come to his office. A list of Stephen's clients from the years he'd run his own tech repair business right after college. "Damn!"

True, he could always give it to her tomorrow when he saw her again. That would be easier.

But chasing her down to give it to her now meant seeing Sarah Walker again before later today. And no amount of fatigue or laziness would cause the young electronics guru to pass up that opportunity.

He dropped his briefcase, grabbed the envelope and moved out of his office, into the hallway, shutting and locking the door behind him, all while shrugging his jacket on. "Sarah?" he called, knowing the chances of her still being on this floor were slim.

Then he climbed into the elevator and pressed the button for the garage level, folding back against the rail and sighing. Suddenly the fatigue was hitting him.

Chuck looked at his watch, feeling a sense of melancholy and loneliness, and maybe even a tinge of darkness settle over him. Here he was in the elevator, riding down to catch a beautiful woman before she drove away…after having been locked in his office with her, just the two of them…

Maybe if he was more of a man, he would make a move. Pull her tall frame against him, tangle his hand in that fantastic blond hair of hers, look her in the eyes, and kiss her like crazy.

He snorted at himself.

He would never do that to her. And if he tried, she wouldn't shrink against him. She wouldn't surrender to him after weakly thumping her tiny ineffectual fists against his chest—the way it always happened in old movies.

No. Sarah Walker would have him flat on his back before he could say 'Just kidding'. And then he'd receive a lecture. Or maybe not even that. A disappointed glare, and then nothing else at all. A swish of her hair as she left the room.

Life wasn't an old movie.

Sarah's unattainability was a testament to that. She was a detective, not just any woman. And she was on assignment. She was protecting him. And she had already saved his life once. Perhaps she would save him a second time. Or his father. Or mother. Or Ellie.

And until this was all over, until she brought the culprit to justice as he knew she would, Sarah Walker would remain unattainable.

For now, he was content for things to stay as they were between them. But later…

The elevator dinged loudly and he jumped. Then he cursed himself because he realized Sarah hadn't parked in the garage. She stuck to parking on the street for some reason, even though he reserved a spot near his car in the garage. Personal preference, maybe, although he had a feeling she might have some form of claustrophobia and didn't like being underground. She got a little squirmy whenever he drove into the garage with her in the passenger seat of his car. And she wouldn't stop until they got into the elevator and began rising above ground.

Chuck raced across the garage to the stairs that would bring him up to the sidewalk at street level, bursting through the door that locked behind him to keep non-personnel out of the garage.

He turned to see Sarah walking slowly down the street, a little less than a block away. He thought to call her name, but it was closing on three in the morning and somebody somewhere nearby was probably asleep. Perhaps everybody. And he was nothing if not thoughtful.

The envelope clenched in his hand, he walked at a brisk pace down the sidewalk, keeping his eyes on her back as he closed the distance between them.

Chuck stilled as he heard the quietude of the street behind the Bartowski Electronics Corp headquarters broken by the sound of screeching tires. He looked at Sarah and saw that she was still strolling along, perhaps having not heard the sound, perhaps lost in her own thoughts, or tired and distracted. That wasn't like her at all—the Pinkerton agent who was constantly on alert, ready for anything.

She was maybe a few dozen feet away from him.

Chuck spun to see a black Chevrolet that looked to be a model from the mid-nineteen-forties peel around the corner, the tires screeching again on the asphalt. Without a moment's thought, fear and adrenaline rocketing through him, Chuck burst forward down the sidewalk toward his detective.

"Sarah! Sarah, get down!"

She spun, producing her silver Smith & Wesson from beneath her trench coat. He looked over his shoulder at the approaching threat and saw the back window of the old Chevy slide open. He'd seen this sort of scene before. Numerous times.

The subsequent, terrifying ratatatatatatatat followed, shattering the glass windows behind Chuck as he collided with the shocked woman and tackled her to the floor. Glass rained down upon them as the loud rapid-fire continued, destroying shop windows and the windshields of the parked cars, peppering brick walls and stone façades.

Chuck kept his body over Sarah's, blanketing her as best he could, his hand covering her head and receiving the brunt of the glass showering them. The car sped past where they took cover and the Tommy gun stopped its violent assault.

Sarah slammed her shoulder into Chuck and knocked him roughly onto his back as she climbed to her feet and raised her gun to return fire. But Chuck knew what happened in the movies. When at first you don't succeed, try try again.

The car swung around in a U-turn and surged toward them again, the Tommy gun protruding out of the shadows and beginning its assault a second time. Sarah was right in its pathway.

"Sarah, no!"

He pushed himself off the ground and wound an arm around her waist, pulling her behind the nearest car and pinning her against the door with his own body, clutching her to him tightly and praying to whatever higher being that was listening that none of the bullets had touched her.

Finally, he heard the car zoom away, but he clung to Sarah nevertheless, afraid that if he pulled away, he'd discover that one of them had been shot. Sarah moved suddenly and he pulled his head back a bit, his hands on her shoulders. She had her phone pressed against her ear.

"1946 Chevrolet Fleetmaster Coupe. Black. Occupants wearing black. Black fedora, I think. And a Thompson submachine gun, perhaps two." She paused. "I don't care if it is weird. Just look for them, damn it!" she snapped, lowering her phone and letting out a breath, her head falling back against the door of the car and her eyes slipping shut.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, his hands drifting down her arms to check when she didn't reply right away.

Then her eyes snapped open and she was angry. Incredibly angry. Her hands darted out and pushed his jacket over his shoulders and half off of him. If he wasn't still incredibly terrified and in shock from being shot at by a 1940s gangster squad, he would have blushed at the efficiency with which she'd just undressed him.

And then her concerned gaze was sweeping over him, her hands following. "Are you okay? Did you get shot? Did they get you?"

"No. No, I'm okay. I'm fine." He held his hands up. "Just…uh…maybe I'll need a change of pants," he said with a crooked, unsettled smile. Sarah didn't laugh. She didn't smile. She just breathed out in relief, until the anger surged back.

He wasn't prepared for the sudden barrage of fists coming at his shoulders and biceps. Or the way it legitimately hurt. "What the hell is wrong with you, Chuck Bartowski?!" she yelled in between attacks. "Those were real bullets!" She punched him again. "From a real gun!" And again. "And you could have been killed!"

With that, she shoved him all the way off of her and clambered up to her feet. He noticed she had skinned knees and palms and…where was that gun he'd seen her draw?

"But, you were—"

"Now I have to get my stupid, freaking gun out from under the…" Her voice drifted off as she lowered herself to her stomach and reached under the car he'd tackled her into the second time.

Oh. There's her gun.

He probably knocked it out of her hand when he pulled her down, causing it to skitter underneath the car.

When she emerged, the gun in her hand, she seemed incredibly tired and frightened. She holstered the gun and climbed to her feet again, leaving him sitting below her. "Well? Get up, then."

He stood up slowly, pulling his jacket all the way on again. "Are you hurt at all?"

"Mm. My knees are messed up. And my hands."

"Oh. I see that. D-Did we just get dropped in the middle of a nineteen-forties gangster movie, or is it just me?"

Sarah shook her head. "That was the weirdest thing that's ever happened, and…" She turned suddenly, her hair whipping around and her eyes bright. "You saved me."

"I, uh…I just saw 'em coming around the corner and I've seen all those movies so I guess I just knew what was coming. I guess."

"They were after you!"

"That's the thing, Sarah. They weren't after me. They were after you. I saw the car making a beeline for you, then it swerved, and the gun popped out of the window. They were trying to kill you."

"Son of a bitch! So you dove into the line of fire? Are you fucking crazy?" she breathed out, covering the lower half of her face with shaky hands.

"They would've killed you!"

"I'm not discussing this right now!" she barked. "I have to make a damn stupid report and I have to lead the search for the bastards and you? You have to go home. Where the shit is Agent Frederick?" she snapped, pushing past Chuck grumpily.

He blinked. He'd just saved Sarah Walker's life at the risk of his own. And while he hadn't truly been aware of his actions at the time, he knew that if he had the chance to go back, he'd do it again in a heartbeat. If it meant those bullets missed her.

Sarah was on her phone again. "Yes, Sir. It's a mind game. They're screwing with us. We're dealing with some sort of twisted individual, Sir." She turned and snapped her fingers over her shoulder. "Come on, Chuck." She turned forward again as Chuck glowered at the back of her head. What right did she think she had snapping her fingers at him like he was a dog?

Moodily following her down the street, he watched her hang up her phone and lead him back towards the building entrance. Chuck unlocked the door to the front lobby silently, trying to peek at Sarah's face, and hopefully gauge from her eyes (if nothing else) the way she was feeling.

There was still so much fear there, fear and doubt and confusion. And still a bit of anger. But the thing that really concerned him was the way she was nibbling her lip. She was so lost in the cloud of emotions that she neglected to slip her mask on. Every bit of what she was feeling was there for him to see.

And it worried him.

"Sarah…"

"Not now, Chuck." And then her eyes widened and she gasped. "Frederick! Shit!"

He followed her gaze. Agent Ted Frederick was slumped on the ground beside the security desk in the corner of the lobby, his eyes shut, his body limp.

Once she reached the downed agent's side, Sarah verbally confirmed he was just unconscious and not dead, but that didn't stop the sick feeling from rising in Chuck's gut, and that didn't stop him from lurching forward to his knees and emptying the contents of his stomach onto the polished, marble floor of the lobby.