The Detective and the Tech Guy
Author: Steampunk . Chuckster
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 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.
Disclaimer: No money is being made from this story. I don't own Chuck or The Thin Man series.
Author's Note: Here's Part 3!
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
The Detective Versus the Assistant, Part 3
Alphabetical just didn't work with these, and he thought maybe he'd found a better way to organize them: by the date on which the cases had begun. It'd be easier for her to find when she needed them in a pinch. Sarah was a numbers girl, anyway. She was good with numbers.
Or maybe he'd fucked this up entirely and he was making it all worse.
"Hey, Sarah?"
He heard her voice after a few long seconds. "Huh?"
And then the door to her agency opened, oh so slowly, and a man he recognized from putting together the dossier on him walked in, his back ramrod straight, a scowl on his face. "H-Hey, Sarah?" Chuck called out louder.
"What?!" she clipped, amusement in her tone.
But before he could tell her what, Mark Macklin strode past his desk towards Sarah's office.
Chuck Bartowski's hackles rose immediately, protectiveness and worry rearing both their heads at once in his chest. He was immediately assailed by the call he'd had with his father the night before, and Stephen's recollection that he'd refused to meet the senior Macklin about a potential venture after hearing threats of violence had been made to one of his own partner's. Stephen had insisted it was years earlier but that it had made him decide it was best to just cut that off before it even started. It had underscored Sarah's decision not to take the case, and she'd been grateful Chuck had asked his dad if he remembered the name.
Now fear for Sarah's safety made him spring up from his chair, lunging around his desk and following after the obviously peeved construction CEO.
Sarah was sitting at her own desk, pouring over one of her many notebooks, when Chuck burst into her office after Macklin, ready to tackle the piece of shit if he made a beeline for his P.I., and she immediately, albeit calmly, rose from her own chair, eyebrows coolly raised.
"Mr. Macklin," she said smoothly. "What can I help you with?"
Her gaze flicked over to Chuck and she gave an imperceptible shake of the head, as if asking him to pull his claws back in and stand down. As if telling him that she could handle this.
"We've still got business, you and me," Macklin growled, flicking his finger back and forth between them.
The way he was dressed, in the pinstripe suit that didn't fit well, the box-like shape he cut wearing it, and the equally boxy shoulders, made the guy look like some kind of old school mob boss. Or the mob's fixer. The guy who went to the shop owners to shake them down for their "rent" or something. Then there was the dye in his jet black hair starting to mix with his profuse sweat that dripped a pattern down behind his ear and onto his shirt collar, making Chuck feel almost a little nauseated.
"Oh? I figured we were on the same page that our business had concluded when you hung up on me," Sarah enunciated slowly, raising both eyebrows with a small businesslike smile.
"This ain't business that can be handled over the phone, obviously. So I came here to handle it in person."
"I don't see why. I thought I made myself perfectly clear. I won't be taking your case."
"You're taking my case."
"No, I just told you that I'm not."
"Do you think I'm playing with you, precious?" he snarked, and Chuck took one step closer, his hands crunching into fists at his side. Sarah gave him a 'down, boy' look when she saw it happen and he inwardly rolled his eyes, staying put.
"No, Mr. Macklin. You don't seem like the playing games type."
Damn, she was so cool. Not even a bit flustered, her feathers unruffled. And she held her chin high, her spine straight and unbreakable, shoulders back.
"I'm not. Which is why I'm telling you that you're taking my case."
"No. See, I'm not the playing games type, either, Mr. Macklin. Which is why I've given it to you straight."
Chuck could see the tension in the other man's body as he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. And finally a smirk slid over his slimy features. "You came highly recommended. A P.I. who was capable of keeping a tight lid on things, who works fast and diligently, gets the results, takes the check, and disappears like you were never there at all."
Those things were all true, but it didn't sound as good coming out of this guy's mouth, Chuck found. Really, nothing sounded good coming out of this guy's mouth. Even if Mark Macklin was introducing him to Bo Derek or Mrs. Emma Peel herself, Chuck wouldn't like the sound of it coming out of his mouth.
Sarah pursed her lips. "I do my best to be all of those things as a P.I., Mr. Macklin, yes."
"But not this case. Hm? You have some problem with me? S'that it? With my company? The way I do business? You got somethin' against self-made men?"
Self-made men who inherited millions, including a massive construction company that basically ran itself, and yet still managed to squander a lot of the fortune and was on his way to running it into the ground? Chuck rolled his eyes where only Sarah could see it.
He kept his gaze on the private investigator then as she uncrossed her arms and instead kept them at her sides, somehow standing even straighter and taller than she had before. "This particular case is untenable."
"Bullshit, it's untenable. You tell me how it's untenable," he demanded, stepping closer. Chuck clenched his jaw, making fists at his side, taking a small step closer to the other man as well, ready to tackle him if he had to.
No matter what Sarah said, if this guy made to attack, Chuck would beat the shit out of him before he touched even a single hair on her head. Sarah could defend herself, probably better than he could defend her, and still, Chuck wasn't going to let this asshole get anywhere near her. Sarah could be pissed about it if she wanted to be. He'd deal with that later.
"As I said on the phone, Bertha Veracruz seems to be telling the truth about her injury and is entitled to some workman's comp. My task were I to take your case would be to find anything I can to sully her reputation and name, to make her out to be a liar, a grifter. And it doesn't seem that she is a liar. Or a grifter. She's an honest woman who deserves compensation for the injuries she sustained on your construction site because you didn't follow safety protocols. And that is why the case is untenable."
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. A private investigator who won't take a case…on moral grounds." Macklin laughed. It was a grating, mean sound. A mocking sound. And Sarah didn't even flinch, just watching quietly. Her gaze slid over to Chuck and she gave him a small shrug. It was purposeful, a way to cut into the pernicious laughter, to let the asshole know his mockery wasn't even making a dent.
And Chuck Bartowski felt his heart hammer against his ribcage with just how much he loved this woman. He smiled a little at her, trying to be comforting, or at least to let her know he had her back, but he didn't think she saw it because she'd switched her blue eyes back to Macklin now that he'd stopped laughing.
"Yes. On moral grounds. I suppose it didn't make its way into the recommendation you received from one of my past clients that I'm honest. I'm not too happy about that. But I don't take cases that result in ruining the life of an innocent person, no matter how big the paycheck."
"You're a bullshitter, lady. Money is money. My money's as good as any other stuff shirt's."
"I've done some research, Mr. Macklin, and I'm not sure that's altogether true. This isn't the first time you've tried to stiff workers at your construction sites, threatening counter-suits so that you can sneak out of paying them for the work they did. That's your way of cutting costs, expenses, and it's conniving and cruel, and I'm not working for you. I won't be your next victim." She crossed her arms at her chest again and if he squinted, Chuck thought he could see a diadem on her forehead, a flowing blue cloak of Themysciran silk covering her shoulders and cascading down her back. Or maybe there was an S on her chest. Yeah, that one. And a red cape.
He had to shake himself a little, turning his gaze to the other man, who, it seemed, had gotten even more tense. A snake, coiled up, ready to spring at its prey and unhinge its jaw to swallow it whole. Let the fucker try it. Chuck knew exactly which aikido move he'd use to get the beefier guy onto his back. And he'd keep him pinned until the cops got here too.
And still, Sarah had yet to crack, that mask over her features. Unmoving. Statuesque.
"You think you're so high and mighty, don't ya? You're above the rest of us who gotta scrape and struggle to make ends meet."
"You're not scraping, Mr. Macklin. Or struggling. You're worth millions."
He slammed his hand down on her desk, making both Chuck and Sarah jump. "That's right, I am!" he yelled. "I have a whole empire in this fist." He lifted said fist. "I have power you wouldn't even begin to understand in this fuckin' city. You don't get to say no to me."
"Maybe you have power out there…" Sarah leaned forward, bracing her palms on her desk as she looked him right in his entitled eyes, and her voice went quiet, steady and strong. "But within the walls of this agency, my agency, I'm the one with the power." Chuck's knees immediately became weak. "This is my business. I get to decide whether or not I take a case. And I'm not taking your case."
Macklin stood up straighter, a scowl on his face, and then a gross smirk grew on his chapped lips and he snickered. "Well, all powerful private investigator… That's all fine and good. I see how you operate. You're better than the rest of us, with your moral compass that's in fine order, up on your pedestal, looking down at me like I'm some kind of criminal for building an empire out of nothing."
Chuck tilted his head and made a high-pitched humming sound laced with doubt. Macklin turned to eye him.
"Did I ask you, secretary?" He wheeled around to face him, fists at his side. "First I'm talked down to by a woman, a woman P.I. no less, and then I get guff from the little man-secretary."
"The appropriate term is assistant, first of all, welcome to the twenty-first century," Chuck said, ignoring the wide-eyed please stop look Sarah was giving him. "And secondly, you could probably learn something from this woman P.I. if you took the entitlement fuzz out of your ears long enough to listen to her."
"And you could probably shut the fuck up. I don't have business with you, smartass." Macklin turned back to Sarah and Chuck supposed that was that, then.
"Mr. Macklin, you don't have business with me, either. Because I'm not taking your case. You can leave, actually."
"I'm not leaving until you take my case, little missy." He pointed at her threateningly. "You will take my case."
"No."
He turned red. And then a lightbulb seemed to go off in the grifter's eyes and he smirked. "You flaunt your moral high ground, not wanting to affiliate yourself with a criminal like me… Wonder what your ol' pop would have to say about that, hm?"
Chuck furrowed his brow and looked at the man in shock, before he looked at Sarah. The gotcha look on Macklin's face was on account of the way he seemed to have actually gotten her with that. She looked like she'd been punched in the gut, but just momentarily. She was Sarah Walker, so the mask was back just as quickly, though there was a dangerous flash in her eyes.
"That's right. You can play this frigid icy bitch with the moral high ground card, but I did my research too, Miss Sarah Walker. I've got my own hand to play. And if you don't take this case, you can say bye-bye to this nice little reputation you got. And bye-bye to that fuckin' moral high ground too." He mockingly lifted his hand and waved by wiggling his fingers. "See how long you last in this business, see how long your agency exists, when I work my magic. Pull some strings."
Where the fuck did he get off threatening her?
And what was that about her ol' pop? He knew nothing about Sarah's parents, her family in general. And Macklin bringing it up had stung her. It had knocked her off her track for a moment before she hopped back onto it just as quickly. Chuck couldn't even use the context to try to put it together, but the mention of her father had rocked her, made her unsteady.
"Pull your strings, Mr. Macklin," she said. "And when you're done with your little puppet show, I'll still be here and so will my agency. Get the fuck out."
He didn't seem to be expecting that, but Chuck felt adrenaline coursing through him. God damn, that was a line.
But then Macklin slammed his fist on her desk.
"You don't get to talk to me like this. You'll get yours! You better watch your step!"
Okay, that was enough.
Chuck marched up to him and put himself between Macklin and Sarah, towering over the older man even if the guy had way more padding than he did. It didn't matter. Chuck was scrappy. He could scrap.
"She told you to get the fuck out. You should get the fuck out."
"So you're a bodyguard, then. That makes more sense. A little lady in this line of business isn't safe."
The irony of that statement almost made Chuck snort, considering he met Sarah Walker when she was assigned as his bodyguard. But then he picked up on the extra meaning at the end, there, the threat, and he clenched his jaw.
"Get out."
"Make me and see how that goes for you, little man."
Chuck was absolutely certain if he did 'make him' get out, he had the standing and money to come out on top of this issue. Macklin Construction was small potatoes in comparison with Bartowski Electronics Company.
So Chuck grabbed him by the arm and turned him towards the door.
"Chuck—"
"Come on. We're going." He held Macklin's arm in a tight grip and walked him away from Sarah, towards the exit, ignoring Sarah as she called his name.
"Get your hands off me, you fucking—"
Chuck just kept pushing him at the exit. "You've overstayed your welcome and you're leaving."
"Chuck, don't—"
In hindsight, he might've listened to Sarah. In fact, he probably should've. Because in his attempt to shrug Chuck's grip off of him, Mark Macklin swung his elbow up and back, and it connected with Chuck's eye. He closed it just in time, but light exploded across his vision, like an explosion had happened right in front of him, a sharp pain cascading from the point of contact to the back of his head and down the rest of his body somehow.
"Chuck!"
And then he was on the ground. Chuck covered his eye with his hand and watched with his good eye as the door slammed shut, Macklin gone.
Well, at least he left, Chuck supposed. But…
"Ow," he muttered.
A pair of heels and long legs surged past him, headed for the door. And he knew why.
"Wait, wait! Sarah, wait, don't!"
"What do you mean, wait?" she snapped over her shoulder, whipping the door open. "He hit you and I'm going to go beat the shit out of him!"
"Don't beat the shit out of him, stay here, please," he basically begged.
She spun on her heels to face him, a hand on her hip as she raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so you can lay your hands on him, but I can't?"
"I wasn't going to beat him up, I was just guiding him out of the office! …Forcefully." he added with a sheepish shrug.
Sarah rolled her eyes and huffed. "He threatened me, my agency…and he gave my guy a black eye, so excuse me for wanting to kick his ass."
Chuck opened his mouth to respond, but then her words sunk in. "Wait. Am I gonna have a black eye?!"
She came back to him, Mark Macklin's dignity (and possibly his life) spared for now, and she knelt down beside him, gently taking his hand that was covering his eye and forcing it out of the way. She winced. "Oh yeah. That's gonna be a black eye. It's already darkening." He groaned. "I'm sorry, baby. C'mere. Get off the floor."
"My dignity is already shattered beyond repair," he muttered, flopping back onto the floor as if he'd given up completely. "What does it matter if I'm on the floor or standing up? Who cares?"
"Oh my God, the melodrama," she giggled. "Come on. Get up." She slung an arm around him and forced him to sit up, and he let her help him to his feet, guiding him to the chair he'd been sitting in when the entitled prick had first burst into the office. "I promise you'll live, but I am sorry." She leaned down to kiss his forehead. "This is my fault."
"It isn't your fault. I got all macho bouncer status with him because he threatened you."
"Which was pretty sweet, I won't lie, but that's why you'll have a shiner for a little while." She pushed her fingers through his hair before she stepped around him and went into her office, coming back with her cell phone and wiggling it. "I'm getting you some ice. Call Casey and tell him what happened. He's in my phone under 'J' for John Casey."
Chuck took the phone. "Casey? The cops? We're calling the cops?"
She gave him a what the fuck look and shrugged. "Yeah, of course we are. He threatened me. And he knocked you out."
"Whoa. He didn't knock me out, okay. He caught me by surprise with his elbow. Which is technically cheating."
"Okay, tough guy," she said with a smile and a snort. "Call Casey. Tell him what happened. I'm getting ice."
He watched her go even as he dialed the number.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
She pressed her forehead against the cool steel of the ice machine and just stood there, bag in hand. She took some deep breaths, letting them out shakily.
Her fingers had been quivering when she shut the door to the snack room behind her, ignoring the sloppily written out sign that said "Please Keep Door Open At All Times". She would open it again later, but she needed a God damn second first.
Stepping back from the ice machine, she took another rough breath, letting it out in a huff, trying to keep the panic at bay.
She didn't know why she always had this reaction. Post-traumatic stress? Trauma in general? Fear that the past would come back, attack the progress she'd made and the life she'd built now in the present, cause it to come crumbling down?
Sarah Walker's spine was made out of steel. Chuck said it all the time, Ellie had said it on occasion, even Langston Graham, head of Pinkerton, had said it a few times when she was still in his employ.
All it took was for someone to mention her "ol' pop" and that steel snapped. She became weak, helpless, confounded, frazzled.
She was freaking out. Mark Macklin had looked into her just as deeply as she and Chuck had looked into him and Bertha Veracruz.
And he'd apparently found some things.
Sarah supposed that was all it took, really. Do some searching around, hire a P.I. to look at the P.I., run some background checks… it would always lead back to New York City, twelve years ago, or was it thirteen now? It didn't matter. They'd find everything that followed since then.
It was easy enough.
And nobody had done it yet. At least, not that she knew of anyway. If they had looked into her background, they'd found it and had decided not to rub it in her face the way Macklin just had.
He hadn't just rubbed it in her face, either. He'd threatened her with it. Threatened her with her past in a way no one else had before. Daniel Shaw had gotten her fired from Pinkerton, sure, but even he hadn't waved her past trauma in her face, and she was pretty sure he'd probably looked into it with how gung-ho he was about getting the Sarah Walker shaped thorn out of his side.
It was so easy to find it all. It had been in the news for weeks, at least locally. Higher-ups in the city's leadership knew about it, watched her family, sometimes watching over them, and it wasn't something that could be hidden away. It was still there, festering, and it was why she'd only stepped foot back in that whole state once for a Pinkerton case when she was first hired. She worked that case and solved in in less than forty-eight hours, and then she hightailed it back to Chicago to hide in the bed in her apartment for another thirty-six hours.
She could've changed her name maybe. And nobody would ever be able to connect her to the whole thing. To the people involved…to her family…
But what would that accomplish in the long run? How much would it really fix? And what would her life look like now if she had left Sarah Walker behind to become somebody else: Connie Stapleton? Jenny Burton? Lois Lane? (She snorted at that thought. Chuck would have a field day.)
Nobody would've helped Jenny Burton get into law school, or Connie Stapleton, or Lois Lane. Pinkerton wouldn't have hired some random person without the recommendation and connection from the Harvard law school president. Graham wouldn't have known shit about her, or cared. And she never would've been sent to Los Angeles to lead the extra sensitive and important Bartowski case.
She still had that moment cemented in her head, sitting in the briefing room with her fellow detectives, ready for Graham to send fucking Agent Shaw to protect Stephen Bartowski, CEO of Bartowski Electronics Corporation, and get to the bottom of the crime inflicted upon his peer. And then he'd said, word for word, "Agent Walker, I want you taking point on this."
Without that moment, she would never have any of this. She would never have met the youngest Bartowski.
And now he was her entire present. He was her future, too. Of that she had no doubt.
And it was crazy, she knew, that she still couldn't manage to pull her past up to align with her present, with her future. It hurt too much. It still felt too raw. Too fresh.
She finally stopped shaking.
Macklin couldn't touch her family, not really. There were too many barriers to get past, and he wouldn't know where to start. Nobody would. Only she would.
And in spite of everything, she would protect her past with every bit of her.
Even though she owed it fucking nothing. Still, she would protect it.
Chuck was on the phone with Casey now (hopefully) because she meant to protect her present, too. And her future.
Macklin had threatened her, her agency…but most importantly, the fucker had hit her man. He'd have a black eye to show for it, poor guy. Even though it was a little bit his fault, she couldn't really blame him. She would've done the same in his shoes.
It was hard not to be protective when someone threatened the love of your life. She couldn't fault Chuck for that.
But he needed ice to reduce the swelling and pain he'd be feeling with that eye of his.
So she sucked it up, put on a game face, slipped the mask on, and filled the bag with ice. Chuck knew her too well not to recognize that she was wearing the mask, and he would wonder. Whether he would ask or not, she didn't know. He'd heard Mark Macklin's crack about her dad. Would he ask about that too?
He'd been so sweet and thoughtful and understanding in the past few years she'd known him, as if he could feel it, this urge to shove people away if they tried to touch on her past, ask about her family. So he hadn't really. There were moments, but she tiptoed around them, and the sweet lovable man let her do it. He wasn't stupid. He was observant. He learned things about her without her even knowing he was doing it. It had scared her back when she was trying to keep her distance (and failing).
It didn't scare her now, even if she did have her moments here and there still, she was only human. Now, it made her feel stronger, supported, like she was a part of something spectacular.
Sarah grabbed the top of the bag, spun the bottom, and tied it shut skillfully, having had to do this many a time as a Pinkerton agent. God, the shiners and contusions she'd ended up with over the years. The busted lips.
She was lucky her nose was still straight.
Frankly, so was Chuck. His eye would hurt and be swollen for a while, probably, but at least his nose hadn't taken the brunt of the elbow.
Sarah Walker loved her boyfriend with everything in her, but he would would be reduced to utmost melodrama if he'd ended up with a broken nose. She wouldn't mind doting on him, but God.
Smiling a little in spite of herself, she finally stepped out of the snack room again and propped the door open as the sign asked, walking back to her office a lot more slowly than she'd escaped to get ice.
She wasn't shaky anymore. She had control over herself. And she was pushing all of the extra stuff, her ol' pop, out of her mind. Instead, she would focus on protecting what she had now, because it was so much more priceless, the most important thing by far.
And as she pushed into her office again, the most important thing had moved from the chair she'd left him in and was sitting at the edge of the assistant's desk, playing with her phone between his fingers.
"Hi."
She smiled at him and hurried over with the ice. "It's getting pretty swollen there, my guy," she said with a wince of sympathy, gently lifting the bag of ice to his eye.
He hissed and flinched. "Ah. Ah ah ah. Oh. Oooohhhh, that's better. That's actually very nice. Thank you."
"You're welcome." She leaned in to kiss his other cheek. "Reach Casey?"
"Yeah. He's sending someone over."
"He didn't have to do that."
"I told him that fucker threatened you. It's better they take a statement, he said, just in case. I dunno if I'm pressing charges. I probably won't. I kinda just want that piece of shit to stay the hell away from you, from us, our life."
The way he'd just made life singular there felt kind of…monumental. But she stayed quiet, just smiling at him a little.
"Well, that's your decision. You're the one with the pain, and the shiner."
"It's cool. I'm gonna look like Sly Stone as Rocky Balboa." He did a cute little move with his fists like he was a boxer. Bad form, but that was okay, he was just making a point and she'd let him have it because he was adorable.
"What'd Casey say about the threat?"
"They're gonna talk to us about it, but Sarah, I was thinking… LAPD being on your side, having your back, that's good. I'm glad. I respect and appreciate the Captain for that. But you've got me, too. And my dad. Mark Macklin is small potatoes compared to us. He even tries to attack Walker Investigative Enterprises, or God forbid you personally, he tries to make a dent in your reputation here, we'll bring down our giant boot and crush the tiny potato asshole. We'll stop whatever it is he's trying to do. And we'll have zero qualms about it."
Sarah raised an eyebrow, a liquid heat spreading through her. Not a warmth, a heat. The hardness in his jaw, determination in his non-swollen eye. And with his suit a little mussed from being knocked to the floor, he kind of did look like a scrappy punk who'd gotten into a fight in an alleyway and maybe she was attracted to that for some ridiculous reason.
"I think I'm a pretty lucky girl," she said quietly, straightening the collar of his suit jacket with her free hand that wasn't holding the ice to his face.
She sort of loved that he still hadn't taken the ice from her to hold it there himself, instead letting her do it. Something she discovered the first time he'd come to her tired after a long day of work, and the next time when he'd been bummed about a bad meeting with a potential sponsor, and the time after that when he'd gotten a minor cold from not wearing a jacket to a baseball game he'd gone to with Morgan. Chuck gladly, willingly, and easily took comfort from her when she offered it. He melted into her touch. And there was not even a speck of shame in him for it. She loved it. She loved how good it made her feel, how needed it made her feel.
"There's no luck about it. You protect me all the time. You bet your beautiful backside I'm going to protect you. With every single weapon I have at my disposal. I might not have a lasso of truth, but I've got money, connections, and a shit ton of power in this city." Yeah, that was hot. She really shouldn't think that was so hot, especially with what she suspected was some sort of superhero reference laced into it, but it was. It was really hot. Downright sexy. "That bullshit he said about holding LA in his fist. He doesn't. He's talking out of his ass. I do, though. And so does my dad. More like…cradling, though. We cradle LA in the palm of our hand. Gently."
She giggled and leaned in to carefully find his lips under the ice, kissing him slowly, dragging her arm around his shoulders and letting him feel her weight as she melted into his chest. She broke the kiss, feeling better already. And she whispered, "I love you a lot."
His right eye, the good one, shone with adoration as he met her gaze. "Mmm, you know I love you a lot, too. I took an elbow to the face for you and I'd do a lot more, too."
Sarah laughed, shaking her head, and the door to the office opened. She was ready for it to be Macklin, back for more. Maybe he'd snapped, maybe he was coming back here with a gun or something.
And she didn't know why that was her first thought, but it was, so that she spun from where Chuck was cradling her (apparently like he cradled Los Angeles in the palm of his powerful hand?) and had one of her throwing knives clutched in her fingers, pointing directly at their visitor, moving a little in front of her tech guy in the process.
Detective Zondra Rizzo stopped halfway in the door and gave her a wide-eyed, slightly weirded out look. "Uh, chill, maybe?" She snorted and stepped all the way into the office, shutting the door behind her as Sarah lowered the knife, slipping it back into its spot, aware of the way Chuck's gaze lingered, gaping at her.
She was well aware the knives she still kept on her person most of the time was something of a kink for him. And she would use it to her advantage whenever she could.
Uh. Now wasn't the time for that, though. So she stepped back from him a little, putting some distance there.
"Detective Rizzo…" she greeted with a dip of her chin. "Good to see you."
"Uh huh." She smirked at Chuck, then full on chuckled at him, stepping in a bit closer and leaning to the side to look at where Sarah was still holding the ice. "Hah. He got ya, huh?"
"Lucky elbow."
Zondra snorted again. "What's with the crazy knife lady greeting, anyway, P.I.? Didn't Shiner over here tell you I was comin'?"
Chuck frowned a little around the ice that he'd finally taken from Sarah. "That's not my name—You know what? I think you could probably call me whatever you want maybe," he rushed out when Zondra turned to raise her eyebrow dangerously at him.
Sarah ignored the exchange. "Uh, yeah. I knew Casey was sending someone, but after that trash bag of a dude made all of those threats and hit this guy, and my countless experiences with volatile people during my time with Pinkerton, that door opened and I thought better safe than sorry, right?"
The brunette shrugged. "That's a good point. You got a license for those?" Sarah bristled and Zondra snickered. "Just kidding. I don't give a fuck." Sarah rolled her eyes, easing back. "Let's just get this over with, huh? I've gotta take statements." She reached into her leather jacket's inner pocket and produced a small notebook and pencil, flipping it open. "So?"
Sarah moved to lean her side against Chuck who slung his free arm around her waist, and she propped her elbow on his shoulder. "What kind of a statement are you taking? It's not like anything was stolen."
"This guy's pride, maybe," Zondra said, throwing her thumb in Chuck's direction.
"Hey, I—" He paused, then tilted his head. "Actually, that was funny."
"I know it was. Just start from the beginning." She posed with her pencil to the notebook, watching them both expectantly.
"Well, I was sitting here with—"
"I called Mark Macklin to tell him I wasn't—"
They both spoke over one another at the same time, causing Zondra to roll her eyes tiredly, giving them a flat look.
Sarah turned to give Chuck a particular look. He cleared his throat. "Right, I'll let you take the lead on this. You've got, um, experience with these…procedural things. If you need me I'm…right here. Holding this icepack to my face."
Sighing, Sarah turned back to Zondra, exchanging an amused look with the other woman. "I called Macklin to tell him I wasn't taking his case."
"Why?"
"Because he's a crooked bastard. He wanted to hire me to have me create a dossier of lies that would derail Bertha Veracruz's lawsuit against him. She's lucky she isn't in a wheelchair after the fall she took because he cut corners in his construction project to save money, and he's trying to hire a P.I.—namely me—to drum up lies about her to make her look like a money grubbing con artist. So I said no. If I could've said fuck no, I would've."
"Sounds about right. That guy tries to sue plumbers for the shirts off their backs so he doesn't have to pay them when he's overseeing construction projects." Zondra shrugged when Sarah raised her eyebrows. "He's got a history. We know about it. Nothing we can really do."
Sarah wasn't so sure about that, but she didn't have much of a choice but to let Detective Rizzo get away with it. She needed the LAPD on her side, today especially.
"So you said no. How'd that go over?" She gestured at Chuck with the hand that wasn't resting affectionately in his curls and Zondra winced. "Right. Not so good. Noted. But what happened between the phone call and the black eye? He didn't hit him through the phone."
"I already hate talking to people on the phone. I can't imagine how much worse I'd hate it if people could reach through the phone to hit you," Chuck muttered dully.
"Chuck…" she admonished as nicely as she could.
He wrinkled his nose. "Sorry."
"Fuck talking on the phone. It's the worst," Zondra groused.
"THANK YOU!" Chuck pointed at her with the bag of ice, giving Sarah a good look at his eye. God, that was really swollen and black and blue. Yet another reason for Mary Bartowski to hate her guts, getting her son a black eye this time.
Sarah calmly reached over to put the bag of ice back over his eye. He kept it there, properly admonished.
"He hung up on me when I told him I was passing on the case. And a little while later, he showed up in person. About half an hour."
Still leaning against Chuck, feeling drained by the whole thing suddenly, she went through everything with Zondra. In spite of the notebook, she didn't write much of it down. She mostly listened, and her features lost their almost mocking amusement, a cloud coming over them, her jaw clenching.
She finally spoke up once Sarah and Chuck both recalled the words that were exchanged. "Did he seriously say that? 'You'll get yours. You better watch your step?' He said that?"
"Almost word for word," Sarah confirmed. "Which is why I thought it best to call you folks at the LAPD and just cover my bases. I'm not exactly sure what kind of volatile shit we're dealing with here when it comes to this guy and his megalomania."
"It doesn't surprise me he got pissed that you chose not to take his case, but the threats are kind of nuts."
Chuck spoke up. "For me it's the way he threatened your f—"
A spike of panic awakened in Sarah and she hurriedly spoke over him: "My agency, yeah, Chuck. We already told Detective Rizzo about him threatening the agency." She stared into his eyes for a long moment, until he deflected his gaze. And because he was observant, because he listened to her, and probably because he knew her looks pretty well by now, he didn't say anything else about Macklin using her father against her. She didn't want the wily detective looking into her background, her family. That would really take the cake.
"Sounds like nobody's ever said no to this asshole before," Chuck added instead, and she could kiss him. "And Sarah did. In…magnificent fashion," he drawled, no small amount of pride in his face. "I mean, honestly, Detective Rizzo, you should've heard it. Smooth as silk."
He turned to look up at her, one side of his mouth stretching into a crooked smile, like someone had attached a string to just that one corner of his mouth and pulled oh so slowly. "That puppet line was the stuff dreams are made of." He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as she contemplated just how much she loved him, and then he snapped his fingers with the hand not holding the ice, dropping the ice from his eye anyway he seemed so excited. "Oh! He said he was all powerful and all he had to do was pull strings to get rid of her agency. And Sarah said something like, 'pull your strings, Mr. Macklin, and when you're done with your little puppet show, I'll still be here.'" He whistled low and shook his head.
Zondra gave a low chuckle. "That's a pretty good line."
"It was so slick. Was that where you told him to get the fuck out?" he asked her.
Sarah pursed her lips. "Yep. Thank you. Good to know someone listens to me."
"Um, word for word, apparently. A little strange, kind of disconcerting, but it's not my relationship so whatever." Zondra shrugged, flipping her notebook shut with a flourish and tucking it back in her jacket. "So, Shiner, what say you?"
Chuck raised his eyebrows, winced, and only raised the unhurt one instead. She subtly slipped her hand down the back of his head to the nape of his neck, rubbing comfortingly. "Uh, what…do you mean? Fuck that guy. That's what I say."
"Fair," Zondra said with a snort. "I meant, do you want to press charges? You can." She shrugged, pursing her lips. "I wouldn't blame you if you did, either."
He tilted his head, thinking. Finally, he sighed. "I can't see many pros to that. He's got too much money for it to make much of a dent, and I don't need money. I think it's probably best to keep the piece of shit away from us, especially Sarah. That's-That's actually the most important thing. I want to make sure he can't actually go after Walker Investigative Enterprises."
Nodding, she tucked some hair that escaped her high ponytail back from her face, behind her ear. "Well, we can make sure he stays away physically. Like, if you're afraid he's going to try to come after you, attack you or something, we can take care of that. But if it's the reputation of your agency, of yourself, you're looking to protect, not much the LAPD can do about that. I think for that you have to utilize your boy here."
Chuck preened, looking between Sarah and Zondra. "That's what I said."
"Macklin's got a fraction of the dough and say so that Shiner over here's got. And I don't know what the hell goes on at your fancy schmancy rich people parties. Frankly, I don't want to know."
Sarah let out a sigh. "Yeah, I figured as much. But I wanted to pick your brain about it anyway. I need to know how to protect my assets from this guy."
Zondra pointed at Chuck. "That's how. Your dad's gotta know how to beat back shitty, lying PR, right?"
He tightened his grip around Sarah's waist and she gave his neck a gentle squeeze in acknowledgement. "B.E.C.'s got that part covered."
"Good. Anyway, Walker, the guy blows smoke everywhere he goes. But I doubt he's really going to actually do anything. He likes to talk a big game, and then he spends the whole fuckin' thing sitting on the bench." She pointed at Sarah and the younger woman thought maybe she spotted some respect there. "Especially when it's a strong woman calling him out on his shit."
"Thank you," Sarah chirped, smirking.
The LAPD detective clapped her hands together then. "So, how 'bout putting a detail on you? Think that's something you want? Captain's ready to send someone over to keep tabs on you just in case if you want it."
Sarah felt a bit of warmth blossoming in her chest at that. And she couldn't help smiling a little. "Aw. I guess you guys care after all, huh?"
Zondra laughed. "Cute. Do I tell him you want it or not?" she asked, taking her cell out and wiggling it.
She shook her head. "I don't think I have to worry about him attacking me or sending someone after me. I hurt his pride, that's about it. The man has nothing in him but ego, so he'll forget about me soon enough."
"Hm." The LAPD detective nodded thoughtfully. "All right, then."
"Question." Chuck raised his hand with the ice in it.
"You're not in school. Just use your mouth," Zondra shot back, giving him a what the fuck look and crossing her arms.
Chuck dropped his hand and put the ice on his eye again. "Um, what about what he said about Sarah getting hers? I'm not thinking, like, physical threat, but what if he sues her? Or what if he sues Walker Investigative Enterprises? What then? I mean, is that the sort of thing that'll stand in a courtroom?"
Sarah shook her head. "I can answer that. It isn't gonna go anywhere if he tries to sue me."
"You didn't take any of his money, did you? No deposits or anything?"
"Nope."
"Then nah. Can't sue her for not taking a case. It's her agency, she gets to say no to whatever client she wants."
"Like no shirt, no shoes, no service," Chuck muttered, nodding in understanding.
Sarah smiled. "No standards, no soul, no service."
"Nice!" He shifted the hand that was around her waist out in front of her, palm up and she giggled, slapping it a little awkwardly in a sort of high-five.
Zondra groaned and began to walk away then. "I'm done here. You two are terrible together."
Chuck laughed as Sarah extricated herself from his grip, giving his shoulder one last squeeze.
"I'll walk you out, Detective. Thanks for coming."
But the other woman stopped and eyed Chuck for a moment. "Actually, I want to have a word with this guy. Walk me out, Slugger?"
"Slugger now?" Chuck asked, looking just as surprised as Sarah felt. "Uh, s-sure. I'll, uh, walk you out."
He gave Sarah a shrug as he pushed off of the desk and squeezed past her, his fingers stroking over her wrist as he went.
"See ya, Detective Rizzo."
"Later, Walker. If the bastard comes anywhere near you again, kick him in the balls for me, huh?"
"Gladly."
Zondra cackled on her way out, Chuck following, leaving Sarah feeling…a little perplexed. And rattled. And frankly, just endlessly tired.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
"It, um, it's actually not so bad, driving with only one eye. I mean, considering my left eye is swollen shut."
Chuck had been trying to find a way to break the silence that had settled less-than-comfortably between them as he drove them both back to her apartment. Teasing mixed with a play for sympathy felt like a pretty good bet.
And he did get some sympathy as she reached over to rub his shoulder…but she didn't seem to have anything to say. She was obviously caught up in her head, and he didn't wonder why after Macklin's abrupt appearance at her agency, his threats, and the physical attack he doled out to her boyfriend.
But something had stuck in his own head since those words, those particular words, had come out of Mark Macklin's loud mouth. You flaunt your moral high ground, not wanting to affiliate yourself with a criminal like me… Wonder what your ol' pop would have to say about that?
The complete asshole's soulless play to attack Sarah's family aside, Chuck felt like Macklin was insinuating that Sarah was a hypocrite for taking a moral stance, not taking the case. But why? How?
And the way he brought her father into it left Chuck with further questions. To the point where he'd been stewing in them like vegetables and pork simmering in a pot of beef broth ever since they climbed into his car to leave her office. When he came back to the office after walking Rizzo out, Sarah told him she just wanted to go home.
Now here they were.
He had questions about her beginnings, her upbringing, whatever it was that pushed her to law school, to the Pinkerton Detective Agency, to his office where he saw her for the first time. But those questions dug into more general areas, and mostly, he wanted to know what her father had to do with Macklin being a criminal Sarah rightly didn't want to do business with.
Chuck was well aware of how foolish he was about to be, but he also had a keen awareness of their surroundings, this setting. They were in a moving vehicle, and they weren't even close to her apartment yet. For all intents and purposes, she was trapped in his Prius with him. There was nowhere for her to run.
So he stole himself, taking a deep, slow breath, and he spoke.
"Sarah, he—Macklin, that is—he didn't just threaten you and your agency, and me to a lesser degree. He also said that thing about your, quote, ol' pop, unquote." He felt her go absolutely rigid. "And I guess I get you not wanting the detective to ask a lot of questions about that. I mean, I dunno, I guess I get it."
"Chuck, not right now, okay?" she asked quietly. She didn't say please, but it felt implied. She was extremely tense, her fists balled in her lap, he noticed as he pulled off of the freeway and stopped at a light. And she had her head pointedly turned so that he couldn't very easily see whatever was going on in those stormy blue eyes of hers.
"It upset you. I saw it. It was like he'd punched you in the gut. Fuck that guy for bringing family into it. That was fucked up."
"Chuck. I said not right now."
"I know. And I'm not trying to upset you. But-But you always tiptoe around it, you know? You change the subject, and I let you because you don't-you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. I'm not owed that."
"Good. Then we're on the same page."
That stung a little and he was quiet for a few moments, swallowing hard, squinting at the road ahead.
"I just wanna make sure you're okay, that's all. Because I've never seen something…throw you like that. And yeah, it was just for a second and you recovered quick, like you always do. But I saw what I saw, Sarah."
"Congratulations. Do you want a blue ribbon or something?" She stopped herself, shut her eyes, and took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I don't mean to snap at you, Chuck. But I can't do this right now, okay? I'm tired. I just got threatened by somebody who probably has a few fixers and fucking gangsters up his sleeve, and I'm rattled. I don't want to have this conversation."
"I'm not telling you that you have to give me your whole life's story right now, Sarah," he argued. "But we've been dating now for a good chunk of time, enough time that I think I'm—"
"What? Entitled to know every little thing about me? All my secrets?" she interrupted, still not looking at him.
"No. I wasn't gonna say that. Stop just assuming I'm gonna say something I'm not gonna say. I was going to say that I think I'm allowed to be concerned about you when someone uses your dad as a battering ram to get under your skin. Whether I know that whole…situation or not."
"And you want to know the situation."
"Of course I do! Sarah, you're my girlfriend! I love you! Of course I want to know stuff about you! Don't you wanna know stuff about me?"
"Yeah, sure, but it's different with you. Your dad's right here. Your mom's right here. Your sister and brother-in-law. They've been here this whole time. With you. It's a different situation. There's family in your life and it's functional, okay? I don't…have that and I don't want to talk about it right now. I don't get why that's so hard for you to understand."
So her family was dysfunctional. At least she'd said that much out loud finally. Dysfunctional enough that she never spoke of them, never seemed to contact any of them, at least never in front of him, and he spent a lot of time with her, as much as he could at least considering how busy they both were in their respective careers.
"Sarah, you aren't the only person on the planet with a dysfunctional family." He winced as she turned a hard gaze on him. At least she'd finally looked at him? Yikes. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just… I don't get why it's something you refuse to talk about. To talk to me about."
"It isn't about you, maybe," she said immediately. "Maybe not everything is about you, Chuck. Maybe this time it's about me, protecting me, myself, my own self. For once." He widened his eyes, looking straight ahead, puffing his cheeks and blowing out a breath. "Don't do that. Like I'm being irrationally testy with you or something."
"I didn't do anything!" he exclaimed, thrusting a hand out in a semi-shrug, a breathy laugh of shock coming out of him. He hadn't meant to, but oof that was the wrong thing to do.
"That. Right there. It's the same thing. I'm the bad guy here because I'm not telling everyone everything about myself. Maybe I just don't want to. And maybe you need to be okay with that. I tell you everything all the time, Chuck. I'm just not telling you this…one thing."
"It's kind of a big thing, though, Sarah, isn't it? I mean, it's your family."
"Maybe family isn't that important for some people," she said, her voice getting a little louder now. He knew she was getting angry, and he also felt the barriers going up. The anger was part of the barrier. She insulated herself with anger. He'd seen it a few times before. And the more he pushed, the worse it would get, the more she would push him away. But he was getting frustrated and, frankly, hurt too. "I mean, maybe a person's particular family doesn't have to be the biggest thing in their life. I have you now. And Ellie and Devon. Morgan. Your dad. Your mom is…really mean and hates my guts."
"She doesn't hate your guts and she isn't mean all the time, Sarah. You're exaggerating."
"Oh, now you're sticking up for your mom? Come on, Chuck, she thinks I'm a gold digging whore who slipped you into my pocket by using my body."
"What?! She's never implied you're a whore—"
"But the gold digger part hit the nail on the head. The rest of it absolutely is implied. I flashed my blue eyes and flipped my hair in your direction, and now I have access to your whole financial empire."
He realized what she was doing suddenly. Clever. But he could be clever too. Chuck shook himself and cut his hand through the air. "No, no, no. No. I see you, Sarah Walker, P.I., changing the subject." She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Pout if you want, but I know you. We're not talking about my problematic mother. And she is problematic. But that's not what this conversation is about. Whether your family is still important to you and your life now, it's still a part of where you came from. I love you more than anything and part of that is that I wanna know more about you. And I wanna know where you came from."
"New York City. There. Want more detail? A little neighborhood in Brooklyn. The house had a brown stone-front, grey steps, green railing leading up to the front door. A white front door. The paint was always chipping on the railing and nobody ever did anything about it. No matter how many times he was told to do it…" Her voice faded off and she hugged herself, vulnerability cascading through her face. "Chuck, I don't like this."
"What? We're having a conversation. Like adults do. Like people who are in a relationship do."
"No, you're needling me for information I obviously don't want to give. Information that's personal to me."
"Because we're dating. Because we love each other."
"It's personal information that nobody gets, okay? Nobody. It's mine. It's mine to keep. And I don't like that you keep pushing me." She gestured to the interior of his car around them. "And you basically trapped me in here. Waiting to do this 'til we're in your car and I can't go anywhere without diving into moving LA traffic. That's crap."
"I didn't do it on purpose! I just want to talk to you. I want you to be okay." And that first part wasn't exactly true. The fact that she was trapped in here with him, forced to talk to him, did occur to him. Whoops…
"I am okay!" she snapped. "I'm fine!"
"Sure seems like it," he sassed accidentally.
"Oh, that's rich. Thanks. Thanks so much for this lovely interlude in my day that was already pretty lovely, Chuck." And he pulled up into a parking spot just outside of her building. Sarah grabbed her bag from the floor by her feet as he moved to turn off the car. But she held out a hand towards him. "You know what? I'm actually kind of pissed at you right now. So I'm gonna go up alone this time. I need a second."
Chuck took his hand away from the key and put both of them on the steering wheel. "Seriously? Sarah, I—"
"Please, Chuck. Please." She swallowed hard. "Let me be alone for a bit."
He nodded, looking straight ahead, his chest constricting. "Yeah, okay. You can be alone."
And she got out of the car, swinging her bag onto her shoulder. "I'll talk to you later," were her parting words before she shut the door and walked in through the side gate, her head down, shoulders tense.
Chuck sat there, properly chastised, smarting, suddenly very aware that Sarah Walker had what some people called a "hot button", and when it was pressed, she let you know. But he was also very aware of the fact that there was a hole in their relationship, a blank space, an area they apparently couldn't go to. And it felt like a big thing, her secret about her background, her family. It suddenly felt like a pretty big thing.
And he feared it stemmed from a lack of trust. In him.
Worry needling at him, he pulled away from the curb and drove home.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
A/N: Please review. Thanks so much!
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