A/N: Part Two of the Pilot. All canon. Power is on, but the website is still in French. I must have watched the pilot twenty times just to get the dialogue right. I'm glad the response to this has been so positive. I was worried it could get a little tedious to read...but it is amazingly fun to write!
When I walked into the Buy More the next day, it was far less busy. I saw Chuck immediately, seated behind the Nerd Herd desk. He had his head down on his folded arms, muttering something I couldn't quite hear. He had to have heard me approach, I thought, but he didn't lift his head. I had a fleeting thought that he was somehow injured after the altercation in his apartment the night before. Something inside me twitched when I thought that I could have hurt him. I stopped breathing for a moment when I actually focused on that feeling and what it could mean. Dismissing that as best I could, I just reached beside him and rang the bell.
"Morgan, not now," he groaned, not looking up. He thought I was his friend, his co-worker from yesterday. He grabbed my hand to stop me from ringing it again.
Now, I don't want to sound trite or cliché here. I have been weaving this tale all along, sparing no part of the true darkness of my life, telling things the way they really were, trying to keep things as close to the truth as I know. But there's a famous bit of classical music…I think it might be by Mozart…all violins, furious and fluttering beautifully, then a glorious crash of symbols and trumpets, more violins. I always wished I knew more about classical music, so I could explain more accurately. Of course, I'm not saying that Chuck touched my hand and I heard music. I could see my daughters rolling their eyes if they ever heard me say something like that. But the way that music can make you feel…so vibrantly alive and aware as it can almost resonate in your soul…that is exactly what I felt when he touched me. Like we were vibrating on the same wavelength. Just like a jolt of static electricity, it was there, and then it wasn't. I tried to shake it off.
It was awkward even, if I recall objectively. Chuck's palms always sweat when he's nervous…and his hand was squishy wet when he touched me. I didn't know why (that he had just come from flashing on a demolitions expert in the Large Mart) but it made me suspicious just the same, though strangely not repulsed, as I know I could have been. He was definitely expecting to grab his friend's hand, I know that. My own hand had no petal soft wisp of delicateness either. My skin was smooth, but calloused in places on my palm from frequent use of weapons. My nails were trimmed short and my cuticles were a little dry and rough. But, I still felt different than what he was expecting. He retracted his hand slightly, then squeezed my hand, palpating it as it seemed to dawn on him all at once that I wasn't Morgan.
Almost in slow motion, he lifted his head from his arms to see me standing there, smiling down at him. I had opened my blouse one extra button, just short of exposing my cleavage. He jumped to his feet like lightning, sending the chair he was sitting in flying backwards. Even with that extra enticement, he only ever looked at my face.
"Hi! Hi," he stammered. He seemed dazed for a minute. "Uh…phone trouble again?" he asked. I wasn't surprised that he remembered me, but it was still reassuring that he did, for more reasons than I was willing to admit to myself right then and there.
I turned on my flirty charm to 11 and answered him. "Uh…yeah. I'm not sure I'm able to receive calls," I said, then glanced down. I looked back up at him through my eyelashes and added playfully, "'Cause I never got one from you."
I'd had a lot of different reactions to my flirting over the years, but no one had ever reacted the way Chuck did. He looked shocked and he actually paled. His mouth was hanging open.
"Oh, man! She…" Morgan was muttering as he eavesdropped behind us. Chuck turned quickly and gave him an admonishing glare. Morgan soon retreated, although not far. Chuck looked back at me, pressing his lips together nervously. I chose to talk right away, sensing his awkwardness.
"I'm sorry I left so quickly yesterday. I had an appointment with a realtor. I just moved here," I explained in a slightly higher pitched voice than was normal for me, the voice I hadn't used yesterday.
"Welcome," Chuck blurted, pointing the pen in his hand towards me, then stuffing it nervously into his pants pocket.
"Thanks," I beamed. "And, uh…I don't really know anyone here." I titled my head and batted my eyelashes at him, classic seduction 101. "I was wondering if you would show me around." He just stared, unblinking, unbelieving, and looking somewhat terrified. "That is, if you're free," I added playfully, twisting a long strand of my hair in my fingers to add to it. His terrified expression never changed.
"Oh, he's free, He's got nothing but time on his hands. He is very available. You guys are going to have a great time," Morgan babbled. Was this what it meant to be a wingman? I thought. Somehow, it seemed a bit off, like Morgan shouldn't have made him seem so desperate in front of a beautiful woman the way he just had.
Chuck smiled, although it was fake. I knew that because I had seen a real one yesterday when he was with the little girl. He turned that fake, tight smile to Morgan, who darted away mumbling about Xerox machines to some unknown person. Chuck took a deep breath, licked his lips, and turned back to me. He gave me a little self-depreciatory eyebrow lift and replied, "Apparently, my schedule is wide open."
"Great," I replied, beaming a smile at him. He smiled back at me, the real smile…the beautiful smile that lit up his eyes and his face. I was flirting, in full seduction mode, but my cheeks ached in spite of me, brought on by the intensity of the true smile I was letting shine back at him. He could make me smile, I suddenly understood. I didn't know what to do with that knowledge, so I tucked it away, reminding myself that I only had 12 hours to get all the information I needed to get. I had to focus.
I left the Buy More and went back to my hotel to get ready. I showered quickly and blow-dried my hair. I did my hair first, pinning it back into a French twist. Doing my hair took the longest, so getting that out of the way was always easiest. I chose black lingerie, simple but elegant. I was going down my mental checklist, putting on my knife holster around my ankle. I added two hairpins to the twist, the sharp ends dipped in a neurotoxic poison that would make them additional lethal weapons if necessary. Then I put on body armor that I could wear under my clothes, which was a loose fitting blouse with a satin jacket, black leggings, and high-heeled boots.
I used the mental checklist to stay focused, even after every step my rational mind was arguing with my heart. I found myself thinking about Chuck when I was choosing my outfit, even my lingerie set. It reminded me of that shopping trip before Bryce and I went to Cabo, and I almost had to scream those memories out of my head. Then I would remind myself of the mission, and realize I was headed into this fake date like I was headed into war. Nothing about the way Chuck had acted towards me led me to believe that I would be in any danger…that I would need any of the defensive weapons with which I was equipping myself. He was just too innocuous. I told myself to follow my gut, but my head knew I had been recently duped, and I was second-guessing myself again. I wasn't as confident as I wished when it came to my reading of him. I needed to settle myself, bear down instead of this fluttering uncertainty. I just wasn't used to it, and I was a little out of my element.
I was ready and waiting for Chuck. I was on edge, still arguing with myself. I decided to call Graham and update him while I was waiting. I did cut him off rather abruptly earlier, and I wanted to make sure he knew what I was planning. He stressed the fact that I was on my own with no back up, no help available. I had my gun in my hand and was turning back and forth in front of my mirror. I was checking to make sure my weapons and armor were hidden, but I found myself focusing on how my clothes looked too, which was something I couldn't remember doing before.
"I don't know about this guy, Graham," I told him. It was ambiguously stated, but he picked up on my meaning, my hesitation. I didn't know because everything was contradictory, literally everything that I had learned in the past two days. Granted, it had only been about a total of 30 minutes I'd actually spent with Chuck, but normally that was an eternity to figure out what I had needed to do in the past.
"Nice guys aren't sent government secrets," he said in his gravelly voice, trying to ground me, it seemed.
I tucked the gun into the waistband of my pants under the ruffle of the top I was wearing. I heard the gentle knock on the door. "What should I do if he runs?" I asked him as a precaution as I reached for the door to open it. I never checked in the peep hole to see who was knocking, distracted as I was, something dangerous I only thought about much later.
"Kill him," Graham said nonchalantly into my ear at the same moment I saw Chuck. It was nothing new, something he had ordered me to do so many times I no longer kept track. Nevertheless, my blood ran cold as the words echoed in my head. I dropped the phone, much in the same way Chuck had dropped the phone when he'd first seen me. My face was maybe shocked, but Chuck just smiled when I opened the door.
He brought me flowers.
It was very sweet and thoughtful, something normal guys did when they went on normal dates with normal girls. Aside from a single red rose stolen from a street vendor in Mexico, no one in my life had ever given me flowers before, for any reason, even on a mission. I gushed a thank you from him, smiled and took them in my hand as I let him inside briefly. The flowers were yellow and pink, lilies mixed with something else. The scent of the lilies overpowered me for a moment…and then I was in the cemetery, following the map, looking for Sam's grave. Another errant thought about Bryce…where was his body? Would there be another cemetery, another grave…more lilies? I almost stumbled on my feet as the memory assailed me. My eyes misted slightly, and I swallowed down all of that, forcing myself back to neutral.
He just stood there, watching me, not saying anything. A normal girl would have grabbed a vase and put them in water. I didn't have a vase, but, to be fair, I wasn't thinking about a vase at all. I tossed the entire bouquet, paper and all, onto my bed before I told him we could leave. He looked a little curious, maybe even a little upset if I really examined the moment, but he recovered quickly.
He asked me if I liked Mexican food. I just lived in Mexico for two years, I said to myself, biting down on the words so I didn't say them. I was playing a role…something I had always done. Needing to keep telling myself that was like a person needing to remember to blink or breathe. It was unsettling. I told him yes, and he mentioned the name of a local restaurant he said his sister had eaten at before and recommended. His file had said he rarely socialized, so the advice from the sister made sense. He hadn't been here on a date in the recent past. It was called El Compadre.
He was nervous…like juggling live grenades nervous. He was genuinely embarrassed by his car, his Nerd Herder, explaining rather honestly to me that it was because of his job that he had it, but that he was allowed to use it for personal matters. It was a compact car, and he was very tall. The driver's seat was pushed back as far as it could go so he could fit behind the wheel. I needed to put him at ease, I told myself. The conversation in the car was all about generic things, like L.A. traffic and asking if the realtor had shown me anything promising…bland conversation, but still relevant, because he remembered everything phony I had said to him and was following up, like he was genuinely interested. He had listened to me. It was a spy craft technique, but somehow that never occurred to me at the moment.
He parked the car and hurried around the car to open the door for me. He held the door of the restaurant and let me enter first. The inside was quaint. There was a mariachi band playing. Warm lighting and rustic décor set the ambiance. It wasn't terribly crowded, which was a relief. I didn't want to stand around waiting with him, thinking talking would be much easier if we were eating and drinking. The booth was cozy and the seats were covered in brown leather. The tablecloth was red and we were surrounded by fake floral arrangements. The waitress was there almost immediately. She asked about drinks, and we ordered margaritas. She brought the drinks almost right away and took our order. We both ordered tacos–Chuck ordered chicken and mine was beef. The waitress left us with chips and salsa while we waited.
He dove for his margarita right away, taking a large swish through his straw. Nerves, again, I realized. He could have been nervous if he was working with Bryce, but the kind of nervous he was didn't fit. He wasn't shifty-eyed, situationally nervous, like most marks I had observed. He was self-consciously nervous, like a normal guy would be on a first date. Although I think in retrospect, Chuck was more nervous than a regular guy would have been–partly because of the lack of self-confidence he had been battling for five years, partly because he was still not really sure why I had asked him out.
I had to start the conversation again, so I started to ask him more personal questions. The entire time, I was trying to find out if he knew something secret…something he would tell me as a way to maybe impress me. That's what spies did...insinuate themselves into someone's life until that someone trusted them. I was only half a spy that night. I was blind to it then, especially while we were eating, but I had let myself relax with him. I was asking him questions…things I just wanted to know, rather than things that may or may not help me figure out where the Intersect was.
He told me he lived with his sister and her boyfriend, telling me his nickname, which was Captain Awesome, short for Devon. It really was funny and it made me laugh. I was being flirty too. He had relaxed a little bit as we talked, and just added a line there…Wait til you meet him. Chuck thought nothing of that, never even flinched or got embarrassed. I could have interjected here…about how presumptuous that statement was, that this date could progress to a point where I would be meeting his family. It was just a naturally warm thing to say, so I made sure I didn't react oddly and call attention to it. I felt a little ping of warmth inside my chest when he said that, but I convinced myself it was just the alcohol burning on its way down.
He made me laugh again, and I told him how funny he was. That was the truth. My cheeks were achy here again, now for the third time.
"What can I say? I'm a funny guy," he laughed.
"Clearly," I added. "Which is good 'cause I am not funny," I admitted. This was also the truth, but it worked. The Ice Queen inside me barely knew how to laugh herself, never mind knowing how to make anyone else laugh.
"Is that your big secret, by the way? 'Cause I've been sitting here trying to figure out what's wrong with you," he said, teasing slightly.
"Oh, plenty, believe me," I was quick to add. Again, nothing but truth. My stomach fluttered in apprehension when I thought about what he thought…and what was actually the truth about me.
He continued with the teasing. "And I was thinking either she's a cannibal or she's really not that funny, and I was pulling for cannibal, 'cause I've never met one before." His smile was so sweet, so innocent, it amazed me.
"Uh, not a cannibal," I teased back. "But I did just come out of a long relationship, so I may come with baggage," I added, staying closer to the truth than I realized.
"I could be your very own baggage handler," he said with that same sweet smile, probably realizing after he said it how awkward his words could have been. I gave him this look out of the corner of my eye and he flinched, looking away quickly as the awkwardness intensified.
I was supposed to be insinuating myself into his life…but he was charming me, despite myself. It was hard to recognize here…because no one, not even Bryce, had ever done that to me before.
Chuck recovered quickly, very quickly for a guy who was so down on himself. "Uh, so the guy, the ex, the guy…the ex is the reason you moved here from…" he prompted.
"Uh, D.C.," I told him. There was no reason to make up something more elaborate, although again, I was almost looking for ways to tell him truthful things, even in the midst of all of my lies.
"Right," he replied.
"Yeah, after I realized that all my friends were his friends and that everything about Washington reminded me of…Bruce," I added, doing a quick alteration of Bryce's name, interjecting more of the truth behind the lies. "I needed a change. A big one."
"Bruce…yeah," he teased. "You give me crap for being Chuck and you went out with a Bruce?" he joked. I had to restrain my laughter, again something entirely new. "That's nice. That's real good," he continued in mock indignation.
He was very relaxed. I took my chance. "So, so what about you? What skeletons do you have in your closet? Any secrets? Any women?" He looked bewildered.
"Uh…yeah, yeah," he stuttered, reluctantly. He looked down at the table briefly. Something flashed in his eyes, almost so quickly I missed it…this sad cloud that seemed to settle on his features, that he literally blinked away. He was still looking at the table and not me when he continued, "Uh, actually, well, back in college there was someone…" He looked up at me then, lifting his eyebrows, communicating the poor quality of that interaction without being specific. He recovered quickly again. "Actually, that's all over with now and her restraining orders are very specific."
We laughed together. Not only did my cheeks ache, my ribs were a little sore. I used my muscles for so many different sets of circumstances, but almost never to laugh as much as I had in the couple of hours we sat in the restaurant. "I like you, Chuck," I beamed at him. Just one more instance of truth embedded in a premise of lies. That evoked another genuinely beautiful smile from him. I liked that smile, too.
We ate our food in companionable silence, interspersed randomly with bits of conversation. I tried in several different ways to extract more information from him, to get him to explain anything that could potentially have to do with Bryce and the Intersect. By the time we left the restaurant, I was certain Chuck was not a willing accomplice of Bryce's. He was not a bad actor in cahoots with a rogue agent. The mystery deepened, and my time to solve it was running out. If he wasn't working with Bryce, then what? None of what I was told was conjecture. Bryce and Chuck had known each other in the past. Bryce had stolen the Intersect and sent it to Chuck.
When we left the restaurant, Chuck asked me if I would like to take a brief walk. It was strange, since his car was in the restaurant parking lot. I found out as we were walking that he suggested that because he didn't have a definite plan for the rest of the date. He wanted to get to know me a little…add something else to the date that interested me. Like I said, I had never been on a real date before this night, but this fact seemed extraordinary. His thoughtfulness.
He was asking me about what kind of music I liked. I couldn't even fake an answer, my knowledge of anything like that was so limited. My knowledge of music was limited to Slim Whitman and Johnny Cash records my grandmother used to play…or early 1980s pop music I had heard on my father's am radio in his car. I could dance…but I knew nothing about music. He was shocked by this, and we joked about what an awful date I was. We were walking across an overpass when Chuck flashed again, although he still had no idea what was happening, and neither did I.
And to be clear here–I had been briefed about the Intersect, and I had first-hand knowledge of it from the past. It was never meant to do what it did once Chuck saw it. I didn't understand until later that somehow Chuck had absorbed all of that information from the email into his brain before it was destroyed with the computer when it crashed on his floor. All I noticed was him, stopping and staring down at the road below while a motorcade was passing, zoning out and seeming to lose his place in time for a few moments. He picked right back up when he shook it off, teasing me again at my lack of musical knowledge. He touched my arm.
He literally just put his hand on my right triceps when he turned back from staring down at the street. Chuck had been a perfect gentleman all evening, opening doors for me and the like. This was the first time he touched me at all. It flustered me, only because I felt the warmth from his hand long after he'd pulled it away, and as much as I was trying to work to figure things out, I was distracted by the thought of my desire for him to put his hand back where it had been, even if just for a moment.
He told me he had an idea and we walked back to his car. He knew of this club where there was live music, which was obviously something he really enjoyed. He had given me the option to choose something, but decided music was still a good choice. As we were walking into the club, he elaborated on something he had said earlier, about not dating that much. He seemed embarrassed, but he told me since college, he had only been on a handful of dates. I knew from his file that the span of time was over four years. I remember thinking that was a long time to be alone, not even referencing my own experience at the same time. Four years was nothing compared to me when I look back now, but I felt that strange twitch again inside at those thoughts as we walked. He stayed close to me, but not touching me. I had to look up into his face as he stood above me, which was nicer than I had guessed it would be on the plane. It was nice not worrying about my height in the slightest.
He paid the cover at the door of the club and we checked our jackets. It was very crowded and the band was playing downstairs in the club. He took my triceps in his hand again to direct me, so we weren't separated in the throngs of people. His hand on my skin was electric in the heat created by so many people crammed into a small space. Once we were through, he pulled his hand away, almost like he was apologizing. Silly, he slid down the railing on the stairs like a little kid. I was laughing again.
We went to the bar. He shouted over the music and the crowd to ask me what I wanted. I told him a vodka martini. He bought himself a beer. We found a seat. I sat first, but he sat very close to me, although making a conscious effort to not brush against my leg or my shoulder. I was beaming at him, having a good time in the moment, telling myself it was too loud in the club to try and ask him anything else. We could just sit here together and enjoy the music. My time was running out…but it didn't matter just then. Almost nothing mattered but the way he was smiling at me.
We weren't there for very long before I noticed more than one improperly dressed man in the crowd. Dark suits and ties on middle-aged men in this club stood out like sore thumbs. One, then another. NSA, just like Graham had told me earlier. I was on my own…because the NSA sent Casey. I panicked, trying to think quickly.
"Let's dance!" I shouted in a hurry, grabbing him by his wrist and pulling him to his feet. He looked worried, even as he was protesting, telling me he didn't really dance all that well.
He was quite awkward and self-conscious when he was dancing. I did my best to distract him from the surroundings with my exaggerated dance moves, utilizing my arms and my hips. I made sure he was looking at me, and only at me. I twirled around him, all the while I was throwing knives at those NSA agents who were slowly closing in on us from both directions. I danced very close to him, close enough that I could smell his cologne, which he wore very subtly. He looked amazed and bewildered, like he literally couldn't believe what was happening right in front of him.
I pulled out my poisoned hairpins and tossed them away to take out more agents. To keep the distractions going, especially as the men encroached, I got a little handsy with Chuck, feigning sexy dance moves. I ran my hands down his back and literally down his butt. He was lanky, but his muscles, and his ass to be blunt, were firm, taught, much more than I had anticipated through the loose clothing he was wearing. I slid all the way to the floor and stabbed one of the agents at close range, kicking him across the face to get him out of the way. I slid on the ground under Chuck's legs and raised my hands for him to lift me. He never noticed anything that had happened while we were dancing.
It was when I was on my feet again that I saw John Casey at the bottom of the stairs. That feeling from before–the need to protect Chuck from Casey, screamed inside my head. I didn't wait. I pulled him by his arm and ran back up the stairs. It was good that he was still a little shell-shocked from that provocative dancing, because he didn't say anything until I rushed into the coat room past the attendant and emerged with our jackets. We ran and dressed at the same time, although he was following my frantic pace, just befuddled and confused.
We were out on the street when I heard him ask me where the fire was. I ran straight for his car. If this was going to turn into a car chase, I needed to be driving. Chuck was an innocent civilian. I was the CIA agent. That was the first time, with that sentence like that emblazoned across my brain, that I understood that no matter what else I was going to find out, Chuck was an innocent, somehow caught up in Bryce's deception unbeknownst to him whatsoever. That acknowledgement changed my mission and my mind, and changed the course of action for the night from that moment on. I had to keep him safe. I was the only one who could keep him safe.
So I did.
