Sarah vs. Nine Months, Month Five

It was time to say good-bye to the hotel.

When Chuck said that it was time to start looking for a house after learning about the twins on the way, he had been absolutely right. It felt a little weird to Sarah, moving out of a hotel suite she’d been in for two and a half years, but she knew it had to be done.

And so, one Saturday afternoon in late June, she found herself driving to look at houses with Chuck. He had insisted on looking in the Valley, saying that it would be safer than the City and cheaper than the West Side. Sarah had run this past the analysts at the CIA, who had wholeheartedly concurred with the Los Angeles native’s assessment.

They had just taken a left hand turn off of Moorpark Street onto St. Clair Avenue, headed south, to look at a house down by Valleyheart Drive. Chuck was casually looking at the houses on either side, when he saw a house with a FOR SALE sign out front just before Woodbridge Avenue, and stood on his brakes.

The big Dodge station wagon fishtailed to a stop in the middle of the street. “Chuck?” Sarah asked, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer. His mouth was hanging open, as he pulled up to the house with the for sale sign and parked in the driveway.

Sarah got out and assessed the house. It looked nice enough – a ranch house, about fifty years old. The yard could use a little tending, but nice otherwise.

It was the price tag that got Sarah, though. Pulling one of the information sheets out of the tube on the sign post, she read over it.

“Uh, Chuck, 900,000 is a little above what we were aiming for,” Sarah told him.

No response. “Chuck, are you okay?”

Chuck slowly turned to look at her. “Sarah, it’s worth it.”

“Chuck, that’s almost half of what Activision paid you for that last game.”

He fixed her with one of the most intense looks she had ever seen from him. He slowly approached her, and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “Sarah,” he whispered, almost reverently, “this is the house that Ellie and I grew up in.”

Sarah was quiet for a minute. “Okay,” she finally said.

So Chuck called the real estate agent listed on the sign. The agent was elated that somebody was interested in the house, and said he’d be there in just a few minutes – he was right around the corner.

True to his word, the agent was there five minutes later. He opened the house for them, and showed them in.

They entered into the living room. Off the living room to the right was the dining room, with the kitchen and laundry room behind it. Behind the living room was one bedroom; to the left of that bedroom was what was clearly the master bedroom and master bath, another bathroom, and a front bedroom that had been designed more as a sun room.

“This was my bedroom,” Chuck said softly, standing in the middle of the room with his eyes closed. Sarah just watched him, amazed at the subtle change in him since entering the house.

“I think it would be perfect for the twins, with all the natural light,” she said quietly.

He smiled. “I agree completely,” he whispered.

With hardwood floors through most of the house, a deep purple pile carpet in the master bedroom, and a crystal clear pool in the backyard, it just seemed almost too good to be true. Sarah and Chuck agreed to offer 850,000 cash for it. The agent, hardly able to believe what he was hearing, said yes, absolutely.

The deal closed two weeks later, and they started working on the house the next day.

The day after the deal closed, Chuck, Casey, and Devin took a trip to Home Depot. Casey snorted derisively when Chuck picked out an assortment of pastel colors – blue, pink, green and yellow – for the twins’ room, but nodded approvingly when he picked out a forest green and slate combination for his office.

With those paints and a number of others for the rest of the house, along with a 24-pack of beer, Devin and Chuck set to work initially on the living room, while Casey took several cans and disappeared through the door leading to the bedrooms. Four hours later, when neither Devin nor Chuck had seen Casey for quite some time and had, in fact, only heard evidence of his presence through the flushing of the hall toilet, they decided to investigate.

They discovered Casey, in the twins’ bedroom, surrounded by an incredible tableau of pastel designs, rainbows, and psychedelic woodland creatures. “Holy…”

When Casey heard Chuck’s voice, he looked up at the two other men. “I was an art major in college,” he said, with no preamble. “And if either of you two tells anybody that I was responsible for this, I will rip out your colon with my bare hands.”

A few days later, after all the paint had dried and the smells had mostly been ventilated, Chuck took Sarah to the house to see it. Her jaw dropped when they entered the twins’ room. “Oh my God,” she said. “This… is incredible.”

Chuck smiled as he wrapped his arms around her and placed his hands on her ever-growing belly. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but your favorite Neanderthal and mine painted it.”

Sarah turned to Chuck, disbelief evident on her face. “Casey?!”

Chuck nodded. “I wouldn’t have believed it either, except I saw him in action,” he replied.

And so, that Saturday, when Casey arrived at the hotel to help Chuck and Sarah move, when Sarah answered the door, she didn’t say anything – just hugged a very surprised Casey and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

A vicious look quickly crossed his face, momentarily terrifying Chuck, who was standing behind Sarah. But then, Casey’s face softened. “Got somethin’ else for you,” he grumbled.

He stepped out of the doorway, and half a dozen men in dark glasses, jeans, and collared white shirts stepped into the room. Moving swiftly, they began moving boxes from the room, and inside of fifteen minutes, the room was exactly as it had been when Sarah had moved in two and a half years before.

“And where did they take all our stuff, Casey?” Chuck wanted to know.

Casey just inclined his head, and they followed him – outside, downstairs, to the street, where a shiny black moving truck sat by the curb. Chuck looked at the license plate –

And an array of images bombarded him. Mostly of black moving trucks, of the movers dressed like he had just seen them, of a large number of guns loaded into said trucks, and of tiramisu.

Chuck shook his head when the flash ended. Always with the random dessert encodings. “So this is the NSA’s private moving company, then?” he asked.

Casey turned to look at him. “The Intersect, I assume?”

Chuck nodded. “Yeah,” Casey continued. “You know, I figured… well…”

He stiffened and cleared his throat. “At the risk of sounding weak, the two of you have become basically the closest thing I’ve had to family in years, and I wanted to do something for you.”

Chuck and Sarah stood on the sidewalk, speechless. Casey took advantage of their momentary shock to hop up in the cab of the truck, which pulled away from the curb, followed by a black minivan.

“I don’t believe it,” Sarah whispered.

---

By the time Chuck and Sarah had settled accounts with the hotel and driven their two cars to the house in Studio City, there wasn’t much left for them to do at the house. To their astonishment, Casey had had another truck sent to retrieve the remainder of Chuck’s belongings from Ellie and Devin’s apartment, and yet another sent to Ikea and Buy More to retrieve the furniture and “toys” that Chuck and Sarah had ordered for the house.

And the National Security Agency is nothing if not efficient. As a result, the house was almost completely ready to live in – and it had only been an hour and a half since the movers had arrived at the hotel in downtown L.A.

Chuck and Sarah had stood in the front yard with Ellie, Devin, and Morgan and looked on, astonished, as the fifteen NSA employees quickly and efficiently moved the Bartowskis into their new home. As they were working, another man, this one wearing a suit, walked out of the house and handed Chuck a business card.

“Courtesy of Bryce Larkin, sir,” the man said.

Chuck looked at the card. ADT Home Alarm Systems, the card said. On the back was a code – obviously the arm/disarm code – and a note. Keep the family safe, Chuck, in Bryce’s distinct handwriting.

Unfortunately, Morgan had overheard. “Bryce Larkin?” he asked. “Bryce Larkin’s dead!”

Chuck sighed. “Morgan, maybe it’s time for you to know a few things.”

---

Several hours later, Morgan knew a great many things that he was never allowed to share with ANYBODY. He and Chuck had retired to his office, which Sarah had jokingly called “Chuck’s Geek Room”, to which he had indignantly responded, “It’s the NERD CAVE!”

Sarah was relaxing in the living room, happy to spend time in the company of Casey, Ellie, and Devin in her own home, when her cell phone rang. The caller ID said it was Director Graham.

“I need to take this,” she said, excusing herself. Stepping out into the kitchen, she answered the phone. “This is Walker, secure.”

“Graham, secure,” she heard from the other end. “I hear you’re in your new house?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “Major Casey arranged for the NSA to move us, and they had us completely moved in inside of two hours.”

“They might be ruthless, but they sure are efficient,” Graham said with a laugh. “God, Walker, you’re married, you have two kids on the way, and you’re living in your own house. If you tell me that it has a white picket fence –“

“No white picket fence, sir.”

Graham laughed again. “Well, thank God for that. I’d hate to think that the Phantom of Belgrade had become completely domesticated.”

Sarah’s smile faded as she thought about the mission in Serbia, seven years before. “Not completely, sir, but pretty close.”

Graham was quiet for a moment. “Anyway, Walker, the purpose of my call is to tell you that I’m resigning.”

Now THAT was a bit of a shock. “I’ve decided to run for the US Senate,” he continued. “I’m going back home – North Carolina. Richard Burr’s up for re-election this year, and he’s looking pretty weak. I’m a well-respected black Independent with plenty of government experience – I’m pretty sure I can pull it right out from under him.”

“Well, sir, just say the word, and I’m sure that Chuck or I would be happy to help you out however we can.”

“I appreciate that, Agent Walker. And I appreciate your fairly loyal and devoted service over the last eight years.”

“’Fairly’ loyal, sir?” she asked with a laugh.

“Well, there was a certain incident in Utah,” Graham replied. “I seem to recall getting locked in a broom closet?”

Sarah reddened at the memory of Chuck’s rescue from the secure facility in Moab, Utah. “Sorry about that, sir.”

He chuckled. “No hard feelings. Anyway, I should let you get back to your family. Say hello to your husband for me, and to Colonel Casey.”

“Major Casey, sir.”

“No, he got promoted a week ago.”

When Sarah got off the phone, she grabbed Chuck and Morgan from the Nerd Cave, and dragged them out to the living room. “I think John has something to tell us all,” she said, looking him square in the eyes.

He looked right back at her, and his jaw dropped. “How the hell…”

She smiled. “I may be a five months’ pregnant CIA analyst, but once upon a time, I was the best of the best when it came to spies, Johnny boy.”

Sarah vs. Nine Months, Month Four

For the first trimester of her pregnancy, Sarah Walker Bartowski had been fairly lucky – at least, that’s what other women thought. It seemed that the only outward sign of her pregnancy was the fact that “her funbags have a little more boom-boom to them,” a very drunken Jeff had explained to Chuck right before Chuck had to be physically restrained by Casey and Devin from punching Jeff out.

That had been one week before. But over the past week, Sarah had gone from no-show to very-much-show. In fact, in that week, she had developed more of a belly than Ellie Woodcomb – a fact which concerned Chuck’s sister just a bit.

“I’m worried about Sarah,” Ellie said to Devin one night as they were getting ready for bed.

“Babe! What’s the worry? The Chuckster’s a more than awesome husband – you saw him at the release party for his game, he was more than ready to take down that douchebag Jeff.”

“No, it doesn’t have anything to do with Chuck,” Ellie replied. “It’s just that she’s already bigger than I am, and she’s a full month behind me.”

Devin looked at her. “You don’t think there’s a problem, do you?”

“I don’t know, Devin. There could be any number of factors. It could be something as simple as just extra weight, but it could be something really bad, like a tumor.”

“It could also be twins, babe.”

“Devin, there is, that I know of, absolutely no history of multiple childbirths in the Bartowski family.”

“Yeah, but what about Sarah’s family? I mean, think about it, Ellie. We know nothing about her past. We don’t even know her real name.”

“That’s true,” Ellie admitted, considering the secrecy that Sarah still had to maintain about herself, even though she hadn’t been a field operative in over a year. “Still, though, I can’t help but worry, since she’s my friend, and my sister-in-law.”

“And that, my dear Eleanor, is why they don’t let us practice medicine on our family members.”

Ellie smiled. “But Dr. Woodcomb, I think I need a thorough examination.”

Devin didn’t have to be asked twice.

---

Sarah had an ultrasound scheduled for June 14th. “Are you kidding?” she had asked in disbelief. “That’s my birthday!”

Well, it wasn’t really, but it was the day she’d celebrated her birthday for the last eight years.

“I’m sorry, Agent Walker, but that’s the only day I can get you in,” Dr. Zinn replied. “You have to realize, you come to Cedars-Sinai, there’s a long line of pregnant celebrities in front of you. For every hot-shit deep-cover Sarah Walker operative that comes through my door, there’s five Angelina Jolies and Jessica Albas waiting to be examined.

“You might be protecting them and securing their future, but they’re celebrities. I’m sorry.”

And so, with great annoyance, Sarah had scheduled the ultrasound for June 14th. She told Chuck, who told Ellie, who called Sarah and asked if she could accompany her to the ultrasound.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Sarah had said, puzzled. “I mean, we are family…”

“Of course,” Ellie replied. “And I do want to see what my brother’s offspring looks like!”

Ellie did not voice her concerns to Sarah, figuring that the younger woman had enough on her plate already as it was. But nonetheless, there they remained, in the back of her head.

On the morning of the 14th, Ellie picked Sarah up from the downtown hotel. The drive down Beverly Boulevard really wasn’t that bad, although any drive from downtown Los Angeles to West Hollywood is always going to be somewhat of a nightmare. This just wasn’t that much of one.

And so as Sarah lay on the bed in the exam room, she found that she was experiencing butterflies in her stomach. “This is ridiculous,” she breathed quietly.

Despite how quiet Sarah was, Ellie still heard her. “What’s that, Sarah? What’s ridiculous?”

Sarah propped her up on her elbows. “I’m nervous,” she replied. “I mean, here I am. I used to be one of the CIA’s best agents. I’ve killed people, been chased around the world by terrorists, orchestrated the downfall of a government – and I’m nervous about getting an ultrasound.”

She stopped. “You can’t repeat any of that,” she told Ellie.

Ellie smiled. “I understand. Let me give you a little bit from my end of things – the doctor’s perspective. Bedside manner, if you will.”

Sarah laughed. “It is perfectly normal to be nervous about something like this, even for a big bad CIA agent such as yourself,” Ellie continued. “You’re about to see, for the first time, a little piece of life that you and Chuck have created. It’s another human being, growing inside you – you’re responsible for it, you’re giving it life.”

Sarah didn’t realize it, but her face had taken on a huge smile as Ellie had spoken those words. “I know,” she said quietly. “I guess… I guess, I just can’t wait, that’s all.”

Ellie smiled back. “Neither can I,” she replied. “I’ve done so many ultrasounds in the last few years, but none compares to your own. Well, I guess seeing my sister-in-law’s will come pretty close.”

That’s when the ultrasound tech entered the room. “Good morning, ladies,” she said, a little too brightly for the two women who had both been told to swear off coffee. “My name is Janet, and you must be Sarah!”

“That’s me,” Sarah confirmed. Before Janet could say anything else, though, Ellie had stood.

“Can I speak to you for a moment, Janet?” she asked.

Janet frowned, but accompanied Ellie outside. “I’m sorry to drag you out of there. My name’s Ellie Woodcomb. I’m a doctor at City of Angels, and Sarah Bartowski is my sister-in-law. I’m a little concerned about her pregnancy, because she has gotten, well, abnormally large for only being four months along.”

It was all Janet could do not to roll her eyes. Another patient’s overly-concerned relative with an MD. God save her from the doctoral medical community.

“Dr. Woodcomb,” Janet said, trying to sound sincere, “I’m sure your sister-in-law is fine, and even if we do find anything wrong, she’s in good hands – Dr. Zinn is one of the best.”

Ellie nodded, still not convinced. Janet decided to just press on. Turning around, she went back into the exam room. Ellie followed.

Janet spread a rather uncomfortably cold gel on Sarah’s stomach, and then, rather than using the sensor that Sarah had seen on E.R. and Scrubs, she placed what looked for all the world like a hairnet on Sarah’s stomach. “What exactly is that?” Sarah asked.

“It’s a next-generation ultrasound scanner,” Janet explained. “It’s based on sonar technology that was developed for use on submarines. It provides a high definition picture of what it scans – more like a video than a traditional ultrasound.”

Ellie looked at Sarah. “No fair,” the doctor whined. “I had an old ultrasound.”

“That’s City of Angels versus Cedars-Sinai, ma’am.”

She turned the device on. Sarah felt small vibrations against her belly as the device sent out tiny, barely detectable pulses of sound. They returned rapidly to the computer, and within a moment began to develop a video image on the screen.

Despite the clarity and the high definition, Sarah really wasn’t quite sure what she was seeing on the screen. “So… somebody explain this to me?”

Ellie’s eyes had gone wide, and then an enormous smile appeared on her face. “Oh my goodness,” she whispered.

She turned to face Sarah. “Sarah, I was a little concerned beforehand, because you had gotten so big so quickly – I thought there was a possibility that something might be wrong. But nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all.”

Sarah still didn’t understand, and she was beginning to get a little exasperated. “What are you talking about, Ellie?”

But before Ellie could answer, she looked back over at the screen – just in time for there to be a little movement, and for it to become very clear to Sarah that she was carrying not one small child-to-be… but two.

Her eyes widened, and then filled with tears, as an expression of pure joy appeared on her face. “Twins?” she whispered.

Ellie just nodded, with a huge smile. “Congratulations, Mrs. Bartowski,” the ultrasound tech said, unable to keep from smiling a little bit herself.

---

Chuck had gotten a call as he was leaving work, telling him to go to Ellie and Devin’s apartment. Upon arriving there, he found his wife and his sister, both looking very happy.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “You both look like you just swallowed canaries.”

Ellie didn’t say anything, except “Sit,” as she pointed at the couch.

Chuck was confused, but he sat. Sarah walked across the room, put a DVD in the DVD player, and turned on the Woodcomb’s huge hi-def TV that Morgan had sold them two years prior.

Chuck had no idea what he was watching for a moment, but then the words “Cedars-Sinai Hospital” appeared at the bottom of the screen. “This is your ultrasound, isn’t it?” he asked Sarah, his eyes full of curiosity.

“Yes,” she said, nodding. Then she pointed back to the screen.

Chuck watched for a moment, and then, his eyes widened too, just as Sarah’s had, as the two fetuses moved apart and he realized just how many children were going to be added to his family.

He didn’t say anything for a few minutes. When he finally spoke, he said, “Well, I guess it’s time to start looking for a house.”

Sarah and Ellie both stared at him. “What?!” Sarah said, incredulous. “You find out that we’re going to have twins, and your first thought is that we’re going to need a house?”

“Unless you want to raise our children in a hotel room,” Chuck said, a perfectly serious expression on his face. “Of course, this means you’re going to have to start driving the Magnum, too. No way two carseats will fit in the Porsche.”

Sarah’s jaw dropped. “I don’t believe you –“

Chuck couldn’t hold back anymore, and he started laughing. “I’m sorry,” he gasped between laughs. “Are you kidding? I’m absolutely ecstatic.”

And he stood up, literally picked Sarah up, and spun her around. “I can’t believe we’re going to have twins,” he said. “It’s absolutely amazing.”

That’s when an evil gleam appeared in his eyes. “I just wanted to mess with your mind a little.”

Twenty minutes worth of lecture from his wife and sister later, Chuck decided that he would never, ever mess with a pregnant woman’s mind again. But despite messing with his wife's mind, there was one thing that hadn't slipped his.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he surrendered, holding up his hands. "But, if I may..."

He reached into his messenger bag - he still carried around a Buy More messenger bag, to the bewilderment of all - and pulled out a package wrapped in glossy black paper. "I did not forget my wife's birthday."

That pleased Sarah greatly, especially since she had somewhat forgotten about it herself, with all the excitement of the day. She took the package from Chuck, and unwrapped it.

It was a still from the ultrasound. The capture of the two babies, facing each other - the one from which Sarah had realized that she was having twins. It was framed in a sterling silver frame with little etchings of baby footprints and handprints all around it.

She turned to look at Chuck. "Not even I am that good a spy," she said. "How?"

Chuck had an admission to make. "Devin knows some people at Cedars, and he managed to get me the ultrasound tape. So yes, I had seen it before now."

Sarah didn't care. "I can't imagine anything better."

Sarah vs. Nine Months, Month Three

Sarah Walker stared at the small pink strip in her hand in disbelief.

There was no way. It was impossible. And yet, there it was – that little plus sign, sitting there on the strip, not going anywhere.

She needed a second opinion. So she went out and got another kit – different brand, same result. Same thing on the third kit – yet another brand, but the same result.

A part of her brain seemed to mock her. “You’ve known for quite a while now, Agent Walker,” it said. And she really had.

She had ballooned from a C to a D cup. Her emotions had gone completely around the bend at various times. She found herself in what felt like a constant state of sexual arousal – not that her husband was complaining about that. She had regularly been sick in the mornings for three weeks.

But the final proof was when she missed her period for the second month in a row. There was no getting around that. And yet, part of her mind still denied it.

Sarah chopped the three test strips up into tiny little pieces and flushed them. She burned the boxes and the instruction manuals – if Chuck happened to see one little piece of a pregnancy test kit, he would probably freak out. Or pass out. Or both.

After completely clearing the house of anything suspicious, she called Cedars-Sinai Hospital. Dr. Ronald Zinn, one of the OB/GYNs, was actually on the CIA’s payroll. He was commonly called upon to treat injuries ranging from sprained ankles to full-on surgery for national security assets in Los Angeles.

Right at the moment, though, Sarah needed to speak with him regarding his area of specialty. He had a half hour available at 11:00 AM, because a patient had cancelled. Sarah promised him she’d be there.

“So, what brings you to my humble place of work today, Agent Walker?” Dr. Zinn asked when she entered his office.

“Right, Cedars-Sinai is humble,” Sarah cracked. “The Beverly Center on one side, West Hollywood on another, Beverly Hills on the third. SO humble.”

“Would you perhaps rather go to St. Vincent?” Dr. Zinn asked drily. “Because I’m sure it can be arranged.”

“Alright,” Sarah replied. “I’m here because I think I might be pregnant. Which is impossible.”

“Agent Walker,” Zinn said, “given your line of work, you should know that nothing is impossible. But… I must ask, why do you say it’s impossible.”

Sarah shrugged. “When I was certified as a deep cover agent in 2003, I received a Norplant implant. That’s supposed to prevent pregnancy, right?”

Zinn raised his right eyebrow. “For five years, Agent Walker. It would’ve worn out in 2008. Did you have it replaced?”

“No,” Sarah breathed, the realization striking hard. “But… still, my husband always wears a condom!”

Then she remembered. Valentine’s Day. “No, wait, he doesn’t,” she said softly.

Dr. Zinn nodded and smiled knowingly. “What symptoms have you had, Agent Walker?”

She was rather clinical in listing them off. “Increased breast size and soreness, unstable emotions, high level of sexual arousal, morning sickness, and I haven’t had a period since the beginning of February.”

“And here it is May 2nd, Agent Walker,” he replied. “Now, I need to do a pelvic exam to be sure, but I would say you’re almost certainly pregnant.”

“Oh, happiness,” she said. “A pelvic exam.”

Fortunately, it was relatively short. “You are definitely pregnant, Agent Walker. A little shy of three months, I’d say.”

Sarah closed her eyes. A rush of emotions hit her all at once – disappointment and frustration at yet another limitation on her job, mixed with a feeling of overwhelming joy.

“Do you remember a particular day around early or mid February when your husband didn’t use a condom?” Dr. Zinn asked. “It’s a long shot, I know…”

“I remember exactly,” Sarah replied, rolling her eyes at how utterly clichéd her answer was going to be. “Valentine’s Day.”

“Alright,” Dr. Zinn said, wisely choosing not to remark on the conception date. “Then, we figure forty weeks out from Valentine’s Day, and we can safely forecast a due date of… November 25th.”

“I… see.”

---

Sarah wasn’t quite sure how to break the news to Chuck. She was quite certain that he was going to have a little freak out session when she told him. Of course, after that, she was quite certain that he’d be overjoyed and likely be an incredible father, but it was the initial part that concerned her.

Chuck ended up helping Sarah delay telling him. He was on the phone when he arrived home, arguing with Morgan about something. The two together had used the funds from his sale of his video game to form a little start-up – Nerd Cave Video Games. They rented a tiny office space in Van Nuys, but they were working on a video game that Activision was apparently interested in paying in the neighborhood of two million dollars for.

So Chuck wanted everything to be perfect. He didn’t want to give Activision a beta release – he wanted them to receive a gold release. Morgan, on the other hand, apparently thought that the beta version was good enough to send to Activision.

Sarah smiled to herself. Betas were not that great, which the NSA and CIA had realized when the beta Intersect had come online and didn’t work nearly as quickly as Chuck did. Sure, they still used the machine, but its inefficiency had been enough to convince the two agencies to make the termination order for Chuck go quietly into the night.

By the time Chuck got off the phone, he had to get in the shower. He and Sarah were expected at Ellie and Devin’s that night for dinner – apparently Ellie had some news to share with them. I wonder, thought Sarah.

She was unable to resist joining Chuck in the shower. She considered mentioning it to him then, but found herself… otherwise occupied.

They arrived at the apartment in Echo Park just before seven. “At some point, I do need to finish moving my stuff out of this apartment,” Chuck remarked.

“Yes, yes you do,” Sarah agreed, not adding, But you might want to wait a month or two.

Devin outdid himself for dinner. It was a simple meal of steak, baked potatoes, and spinach salad, but he somehow did it all in a truly, well, awesome fashion.

However, when Devin offered Sarah a glass of wine, she turned it down. Despite the fact that she’d been assured that a glass of wine here and there would be okay, she was still a little paranoid. Fetal alcohol syndrome was not something she even wanted to tempt.

Devin gave her a strange look. “It’s a 1985 cabernet, Sarah,” he said. “You usually drink this stuff like water!”

Sarah gave him a dirty look. Chuck tried to conceal a laugh and failed. For his troubles, he got a kick under the table.

“None for you, right, Ellie?” Devin asked his wife. She nodded her confirmation.

And that’s when Sarah knew that Ellie’s news was exactly what she had suspected earlier. She looked up and made eye contact with the older woman, the question evident in her eyes. Ellie nodded, and when she did, Sarah nodded too, causing a huge smile to break out on Ellie’s face.

Devin’s eyes went wide. He looked at Ellie, then at Sarah. “No WAY,” he uttered.

Chuck, for his vaunted Intersect-enabling powers of observation, was surprisingly oblivious. “What?” he asked.

Devin raised an eyebrow. “Uh, Chuck, I think there’s a good chance that our family is about to get a bit more, uh, AWESOME, even more so than I was already expecting.”

Chuck turned to look at his sister. “Ellie, are you…” His voice trailed off, his mouth hanging open.

“When, Ellie?” Sarah asked.

“October 29th,” Ellie replied. “What about you?”

“November 25th.” Sarah couldn’t help but smile as she broke the news.

Chuck’s head very slowly swiveled back around toward his wife. Sarah could almost see the pieces clicking into place in his mind as he finally realized what was going on.

That’s when his eyes rolled back in his head. At first, Sarah thought he was having a flash, though God knew what of. Then, however, he slid out of his chair and slumped to the floor.

He had passed out.

Devin quickly rounded the table. He picked Chuck up under his armpits and set him back in his chair. He gently smacked Chuck on his left cheek, waking him up.

“Dude, you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Chuck replied weakly. “Sarah… did you just tell us all that you’re pregnant?”

She smiled again. “Yes, I am,” she said. “I’m due November 25th.”

Chuck’s face slowly went from an expression of shock to an enormous smile. “I’m gonna be a father,” he whispered.

He stood up from his chair, and lifted Sarah from hers. As he embraced her, a tear slowly slid down her cheek – but it was a tear of happiness. “We’re gonna have a kid,” he said softly.

“Yes we are,” she replied happily.

Chuck vs. the Spiked Punch, Chapter 6: "Chuck vs. the LSD"

- and as his eyes slowly cracked open, the overwhelming brightness filled them.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s all right, she moves in mysterious ways!”

Chuck squeezed his eyes back shut, and then, very carefully, with a hand shading them, opened them again.

He was in Sarah’s hotel room. The clock radio was playing U2’s “Mysterious Ways”. Chuck slowly turned his head to look over at the clock.

Two thirty in the afternoon?!

“Fuck,” he breathed.

He pulled off the blanket. Yep, he was naked. Not good. And so was Sarah. Well, maybe it was good.

He slowly moved again, looking for his clothes. Every movement hurt. That’s when he spotted the note on the nightstand.

Bartowski, it said. Take one of these pills when you wake up, and give one to Walker as well. You’ll feel better, trust me. Once you’re back up to speed, come in to the Buy More. There’s some stuff you need to see. – Casey

Chuck swallowed the pill, and staggered to the bathroom. Bracing himself against the wall, he climbed into the shower and turned it on. A moment later, though, there was a banging on the bathroom door.

“What the hell?” he grumbled, stepping out. He wrapped a towel around himself and opened the door –

To admit a buck naked Sarah Walker, who dove for the toilet and started puking her guts out.

Chuck shook his already dizzy head. “That’s so disgusting,” he said.

When she finished, he helped her to her feet. “What the hell happened last night?” she whispered weakly.

“I have no idea,” he replied. “But I’m getting cleaned up, because Casey needs me to come into the Buy More to talk to me about something.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Can I shower with you?”

“Sarah, I really don’t have the energy…”

“Neither do I,” she replied. “I’m just afraid I’ll fall over if I shower alone.”

---

Forty minutes later, the Herder pulled into the Buy More parking lot. Sarah was dressed all in black, and Chuck was thanking God that he kept a spare Nerd Herd outfit at her place. They both had on very large, very dark sunglasses.

Chuck walked slowly and purposefully into the Buy More, Sarah holding onto his arm for support. Casey intercepted them almost as soon as they walked in the door.

“Follow me,” he instructed them.

He led them into the home theatre lounge, shut the doors, and drew the curtains. In the dimmed light, both Chuck and Sarah finally felt okay to take off their sunglasses.

“So, here’s the deal,” Casey began. “Turns out that Morgan spiked the punch last night at Sarah’s birthday party.”

“Wait, what?!” Chuck protested. “I was watching him all night!”

Casey shook his head. “When you took Walker back to your bedroom to give her her birthday present…”

Sarah felt for it, and there it was. The small cross around her neck.

“Morgan was unsupervised for about five minutes,” Casey finished. “That’s when he did it.”

“But he’s spiked the punch before, and I’ve NEVER felt like this!” Chuck said. “I mean, for God’s sake, Casey, I was having dreams that I was in a bunch of movies! Serenity, The Matrix, Gone in Sixty Seconds, Back to the Future, Star Wars – I mean, I was IN ALL OF THEM!”

Casey smiled. “That’s because Morgan spiked it with lysergic acid diethylamide.”

Chuck narrowed his eyes, and Sarah’s jaw dropped. “You mean that little bastard gave us all LSD?!” she asked, astonished.

Casey nodded. “I wasn’t affected because I didn’t have any. But when I noticed how the two of you were acting, I figured I better test it.”

“Wait,” Chuck interrupted him. “The ‘way we were acting’?”

Casey smiled. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember WHAT, Casey?”

“Talking Walker into stripping down to her lingerie and then doing a body shot off of her…”

Chuck buried his face in his hands, and Sarah just leaned her head back. “No…”

“Well, fortunately for you, I’m the only person who’ll remember it, and it’s such a disturbing image that I think I’ll be pretty successful in blocking it from my brain,” Casey said with a little shudder. “Morgan, Anna, Ellie, and Devin were all in just as bad shape as you guys this morning.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Chuck muttered.

“Yeah, well, there’s more,” Casey replied. He handed Chuck a thick envelope. “I don’t know what got into the two of you, but after I pulled the surveillance footage from the Bartowski apartment, then I had to go and pull a bunch of surveillance footage from the Wienerlicious and from here.”

“What?!” Sarah practically shouted.

“I guess you guys thought that just one place wasn’t quite good enough,” Casey said with a lecherous smile. “So, you decided you had to christen the service counter at the Wienerlicious, and Big Mike’s desk…”

Chuck held up a hand. “Enough!”

Then Casey turned serious. “Unfortunately, there was one piece of footage that I was not able to recover,” he stated.

“What exactly are you talking about, Casey?”

Casey reached into the envelope and pulled out a DVD labeled “Buy More 6/15/08 0200-0600”. “Watch this around the 3:30 AM mark,” Casey replied. “I’ll be outside.”

After the door shut, Chuck slipped the disc into the DVD player. He fast forwarded to 3:28 AM, and then hit play.

Chuck and Sarah watched in shock and horror at the scene unfolding before them, but it was like a bad car wreck – neither of them could look away.

“You know what we should do?” Chuck asked onscreen.

“What’s that?” Sarah said, giggling.

“We should video ourselves having sex and then post it on the Internet!”

“Oh, God, no,” Chuck groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Sarah was frozen as she watched herself from eleven hours earlier. “Okay! That sounds like fun!”

And they watched, in horror and dismay, as they did exactly that – set up not one, not two, but three cameras, and proceeded to get frisky all over the Nerd Herd counter. By the time they were done, Chuck was watching from between his fingers, moaning in disgust as his onscreen counterpart sat down at the Nerd Herd desk, edited the video together, and UPLOADED IT TO A PORN SITE.

“I’m done,” Chuck said weakly. “I will never hear the end of this.”

He looked over at Sarah – and saw that she was actually smiling.

“What the hell is so funny about this?!”

She just shook her head. “The thought of us making a home sex video…” Her voice trailed off. “It just seems ludicrous.”

“There’s the proof,” Chuck replied, pointing at the screen. “And knowing my perverted staff, I’m sure they’ve all seen it by now.”

He looked on the verge of breaking down. “So now what do we do?”

Sarah took his hand in hers. “We walk out the door, we ignore the world around us. We go back to my place and get some worthwhile sleep, and then when we’re feeling better…”

Her smile took on a wicked undertone. “We make a sequel.”

That was enough to make Chuck laugh – which he instantly regretted, because his head was still killing him. Nonetheless, he squeezed her hand, and they walked out the door of the home theatre lounge –

To the applause of the Buy More staff. They both turned bright red, and bolted for the door.

“NICE TECHNIQUE!” Chuck heard Jeff yell at him as they ran.

Once they were outside, they slowed to a walk – and then Sarah’s phone rang.

“Walker,” she said. “Yes, sir. Yes, I’m aware, sir. Yes, sir, that is actually me. No, sir. I was drunk, sir. Yes, sir. I apologize, sir.”

Chuck looked at her as she hung up the phone. “Graham’s seen the video, has he?”

Sarah nodded. “Not much I can do about it now.”

Chuck scratched his head as he opened Sarah’s car door for her. “Just imagine if we ever have kids,” he said. “This would make a hell of a story to tell.”

Sarah gave him a look. “Chuck Bartowski,” she said. “If you and I ever have kids, they will NEVER hear about this incident.”

Chuck nodded. “Fair enough,” he said.

“And, we should probably tell them to stay far, far away from Uncle Morgan’s Kool-Aid.”

---

Author's note: this is what happens when I get really bored on Friday and then get really silly on allergy medicine. And to think that it all started with me thinking that Casey should say, "Shiny. Let's be bad guys!" in a fanfic.

I hope you all enjoyed this. It greatly entertained me to write it.

And just in case you're curious, I threw in the brief little reference to Sarah's birthday party in Chapter 7 of "Chuck vs. the Bright Side of Life" to indicate that, as bizarre as this story is, it takes place in the same AU as "Seduction of Sarah Walker", "Star Spangled Intersect", and "Bright Side of Life."

Chuck vs. the Spiked Punch, Chapter 5: "Chuck vs. Darth Walker"

- and with a glare of white light, the Millennium Falcon’s hyperdrive engines cut out, dropping the freighter into the Alderaan approach path.

But rather than seeing Alderaan, they were headed straight into an asteroid field.

“Crap!” uttered Captain Awesome. “We came out of hyperspace right into a meteor shower! Morgan, is this on any of the charts?”

“No way, Captain,” Morgan replied. “We’ve got nothing.”

“Look at that!” Chuck shouted, as a TIE Fighter flashed overhead.

“Where in the hell did that come from?” Awesome asked.

“Did it follow us?”

“No,” Casey-Wan Kenobi said. “That’s a short range fighter. They’re not equipped with hyperdrive.”

Chuck pointed. “Maybe it came from that small moon.”

And sure enough, the TIE Fighter seemed to be headed that direction. But Casey-Wan sensed that something was wrong.

“That’s no moon,” he whispered. “That’s a space station!”

Captain Awesome whirled around to look at him. “That’s impossible. The construction required would be on an absolutely awesome scale.”

“And yet,” Casey-Wan said, “I believe, there it is. I have a very bad feeling about this.”

“Yeah, me too,” Morgan said. “CA, I think we need to get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Captain Awesome concurred. “Morgan, lock in the auxiliary and put us in full reverse.”

A moment passed, and nothing happened. “Morgan, lock in the auxiliary and put us in full reverse!”

“I did!” shouted Morgan. “It’s not having any effect!”

“Crap!” Captain Awesome said. “They’ve got us in a tractor beam. This is decidedly NOT AWESOME!”

“What do we do?” Chuck asked in consternation. “If the Empire finds me…”

“We hide,” Awesome said. “Round up those two droids of yours –“

“What, Jeff-3P0 and R2-Lester?”

“Yeah, whatever. Get them down here. Do whatever you need to to get them to shut up – turn them off, whatever. They’ll have to be completely quiet.”

---

Grand Moff Larkin stood on the bridge overlooking the shuttle bay as the Falcon was dragged in by the tractor beams. Then he noticed that his second in command seemed ill at ease.

“Is there a problem?” he inquired.

Darth Walker looked back at him. “I feel… I feel a presence I have not felt in a very long time,” she replied. “The presence of… my former master.”

Larkin snorted. “Casey-Wan Kenobi? He’s long since dead.”

Darth Walker shook her head, her blonde hair swishing slightly. “Never underestimate the power of the Force.”

Grand Moff Larkin rolled his eyes. “Fine. Take care of whatever you need to do, Walker.”

And with that, Darth Walker strode off the bridge, cape flowing behind her as she went.

---

When the Imperial Stormtroopers boarded the Millennium Falcon, they initially found nobody. But as they were exiting – well, there was a barrier between them and the exit.

A moment later, two stormtroopers, two men, and two droids came sneaking out of the freighter. “I’ll go find the power source for the tractor beam and disable it,” Casey-Wan said. “Meanwhile, the rest of you find Princess Eleanor and break her out.”

“Hey, old man, all good and well,” Captain Awesome shot back, “but when am I getting paid?”

“All in due time,” Casey-Wan replied. “All in due time.”

And he swept out of the room quickly, leaving the other five standing there.

“Hey, Chuck!” R2-Lester called from the side of the shuttle bay. “I think I found your princess, man!”

Jeff-3P0 laughed. “You wouldn’t know a princess from a crescent wrench,” the droid burbled drunkenly.

“Hey, Jeff, I don’t know any crescent wrenches named Eleanor,” Lester shot back, “and besides which, I’m not the one who drank a whole case of 10W-30 on the trip here.”

Jeff-3P0 tried to formulate a comeback, but failed utterly.

“Where is she?” Chuck asked.

“Cell block 4A72,” R2-Lester replied. “I don’t know how you guys are gonna get in there, though. You’re pretty much hosed on that one.”

“No, I’ve got an idea,” Chuck said. Reaching behind him, he detached a pair of cuffs that were attached to the stormtrooper uniform belt. “We put these on Morgan…”

“Hey, hey, hey, why me?!” Morgan asked.

“Never mess with a Wookie,” Captain Awesome advised.

“Okay, dude,” Morgan said, a note of aggravation in his voice. “Just because I am covered in hair does not make me a Wookie.”

“Seriously, could the two of you just shut up and let me put these cuffs on Morgan?” Chuck asked impatiently.

Morgan rolled his eyes and held out his hands. Chuck snapped the cuffs on.

Then he turned to the droids. “Jeff, Lester, I want you two to find a closet somewhere and lock yourselves in it.”

“Oh, the hell,” R2-Lester replied. “I’m not locking myself in a closet with this drunken bastard.”

“Hey, then we can come out of the closet together,” Jeff-3P0 laughed.

Lester did not look amused.

“Guys, I don’t care,” Chuck said in exasperation. “If you get found, we’re all screwed.”

“Fine,” Lester grumbled. He rolled off, tossing a few choice beeps and whistles over his shoulder at Chuck.

Chuck and Captain Awesome guided Morgan to an elevator. They got on board, and were in the elevator for what seemed like forever. Finally, it opened to the cell block they were supposed to be at.

A short Asian man with a bitter look on his face stood in their paths. “What the hell is this?!” he snapped as soon as the door opened. “Where are you taking this… thing?”

“Dude!” Morgan complained. “I’m not a THING!”

Chuck looked at the Asian man. He had on a bright yellow polo shirt that was embroidered “Imperial Death Star” over one breast and “Commander Harry Tang” over the other.

“Commander Tang,” he said. “My apologies, this is a prisoner transfer from cell block 1138.”

Tang narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t advised of this. I’ll have to check in on it.”

“Oh, screw this,” Captain Awesome grumbled. He raised his blaster and shot Harry Tang in the back.

“Anybody else want a piece of me?” he asked. The rest of the jail block staff, all dressed in green polos with the “Imperial Death Star” logo on them, shook their heads.

As Chuck was herding them all into a cell, a radio console started speaking. “What’s going on down there?” somebody demanded. “We heard weapons fire!”

“Uh, accidental weapons discharge,” CA said into the microphone. “But… everything’s good now… uh, how are you?”

“Who is this?! What’s your authorization code?”

“Not awesome!” he shot back, and then blasted the radio.

“CHUCK!” he called down the hallway, as Chuck looked for Princess Eleanor’s room. “HURRY UP! We’re gonna have company!”

Finally, Chuck found it. He opened the door. A brunette woman lay on the bunk, sleeping, but the sound of the door woke her.

She looked at Chuck curiously. “Aren’t you a little short for a Stormtrooper?”

“The hell?” Chuck shot back. He pulled off the helmet. “I’m six-foot-three, for God’s sake!”

“Sorry…” Princess Eleanor said. “My bad.”

“Anyway, I’m Chuck Bartowski. I’m here to rescue you.”

“All by yourself?”

Suddenly, there was an exchange of weapons fire outside. Captain Awesome and Morgan both dove into the cell with them.

“Captain Awesome,” CA breathlessly introduced himself.

“Seriously?” Princess Eleanor asked. “Captain Awesome is your name?”

“Is that a problem?” he asked, giving her a look.

Morgan stepped between them. “Morgan Grimes,” he introduced himself. “And may I just say, you’re absolutely beautiful.”

“And you look like a Wookie,” she replied. “How are we getting out of here?”

“No idea whatsoever!” CA said.

Princess Eleanor looked stunned, and then just shook her head. “Mr. Bartowski,” she said, “may I borrow your blaster?”

“Uh, sure,” he replied.

She lifted the blaster and shot out a grate across the way. “In,” she said, pointing.

“What?!” all three men replied at once.

“You first,” she snapped, pointing at Captain Awesome.

“I have no idea what’s down there!”

“Tough. Go NOW!”

She shoved him out into the hallway, and he had no choice but to dive down the shaft to avoid the blaster fire coming his way. Morgan ran screaming after him. Chuck took a headlong dive into the shaft, and Princess Eleanor brought up the rear, firing Chuck’s blaster down the hall as she went.

---

Casey-Wan had found the tractor beam power source and disabled it easily – mostly because whoever had designed the station had decided it would be a good idea to label it the “Tractor Beam Power Source.”

He shook his head at the lunacy, though he did have to give them credit for making the only access to it a foot-wide ledge over a drop thousands of feet deep. Pretty slick method of keeping saboteurs out – unless the saboteur was a Jedi Master.

Master Casey-Wan Kenobi was quietly making his way back to the docking bay where the Millennium Falcon was when he felt her. He felt her presence before he ever saw her.

He turned to see her. “Grand Moff Larkin didn’t believe me when I said you were here,” she said.

Casey-Wan studied her. She didn’t look a day older. Still had the flawless alabaster skin, the golden tresses, the ice-blue eyes, and if her black body armor was any indicator, she still had the smokin’ body, too.

“Darth Walker,” he said. “So, Larkin’s still alive. And here I thought I killed him.”

“He was… revived,” she replied. “And here I thought you too had been killed… Casey-Wan Kenobi.”

---

“HOW COULD YOU LEAD US DOWN A TRASH CHUTE?!”

“You would maybe prefer to go back and take your chances with the Imperial Stormtroopers?” Princess Eleanor asked angrily.

Captain Awesome had no answer. He just crossed his arms and looked grumpy.

“Hey, it could be worse,” Chuck said, trying to keep the mood light.

That was when the walls of the trash compactor started moving.

“It’s worse,” Captain Awesome said in dread.

Chuck’s eyes widened. Pulling out his commlink, he started yelling for Jeff. “Jeff-3P0!” he shouted. “Jeff-3P0! Come in!”

“Yo,” came the slurred voice of the oiloholic robot over the commlink. “WASSSSSSSUP!!”

“Not now, Jeff!” Chuck shouted. “Tell Lester to shut down all the trash compactors on Level 37!”

He could hear Lester in the background. “Which ones? Which level?”

“JUST SHUT THEM ALL DOWN!”

---

“You’re too old, Casey-Wan,” Darth Walker said scornfully. “You’re past your prime, a burnout.”

“And what exactly are you?” Casey-Wan asked. “You’re a Sith bitch in body armor. I hear that the only reason you got as high as you did is because you’re boning Grand Moff Larkin.”

Her eyes lit up with fury. “HOW DARE YOU!”

And without warning, her lightsaber flew into her hands and ignited. She struck a downward stroke toward Casey-Wan –

But his lightsaber was waiting for the stroke. The two clashed together, throwing off sparks.

“I am the master now, Casey-Wan! You are no match for me!”

Casey-Wan looked back at Darth Walker. “Walker, if you strike me down, I will become more powerful than you could ever imagine.”

---

Chuck dragged himself out of the trash compactor, smelly and filthy. Behind him, Awesome and Eleanor were arguing about what had just happened, blaming each other for the mess. Morgan walked up to him. “Dude, I think I need a new best friend,” he complained. “You want to fill in?”

Chuck shrugged. “Sure, why not. All my friends are probably going to end up dead while flying X-Wings anyway.”

They made their way back to the shuttle bay with no interference – because, they found, there was an epic duel going on between Casey-Wan Kenobi and Darth Walker just outside the shuttle bay, and they’d attracted a huge audience.

“Casey-Wan!” Chuck shouted when he saw what was going on. Casey-Wan looked up.

“Good job, kid!” he shouted, and then shut off his lightsaber. As Chuck watched in horror, Darth Walker struck Casey-Wan’s torso with her lightsaber – and he disappeared.

“NOOOO!” Chuck screamed. He began firing his blaster indiscriminately, not caring who he hit. He ended up taking out a few stormtroopers in the process.

“Come on, kid, let’s go!” Captain Awesome shouted.

Morgan and Princess Eleanor dragged Chuck onboard the ship. Behind him, R2-Lester rolled in as fast as his wheels would carry him, while Jeff-3P0 staggered in and drunkenly fell down on the ramp. It closed, locking him safely inside.

As the ship moved into hyperspace, Chuck sat glumly in the galley. “I can’t believe Casey-Wan’s dead,” he muttered.

“It’s okay,” Princess Eleanor said to him. “Really. It’s alright.”

“I wish I could believe that,” he replied.

She nodded. “It’s alright. It’s alright.”

Chuck narrowed his eyes, looking at her. “Are you okay?”

“She moves in mysterious ways,” Eleanor said.

Chuck closed his eyes, rubbing them. “What are you talking about?”

He opened his eyes –

To be continued…

Chuck vs. the Spiked Punch, Chapter 4: "Chuck vs. 88 Miles Per Hour"

- and Chuck snapped back to wakefulness

Huey Lewis’ “The Power of Love” was playing on his clock radio. He looked at the time – just after 8:00 AM.

Chuck stumbled out of his bedroom, down the hallway toward the kitchen. He crossed into the dining room – and stopped dead.

He looked incredulously at the sight before him. His sister and brother-in-law, both dressed professionally, eating breakfast.

“What the hell is this?” he asked.

Devin looked up at him. “This… would be breakfast.”

“Since when does breakfast get eaten in this house?”

Ellie stood up and put a hand on Chuck’s forehead. “Chuck, are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “I just had some weird dream… that I was on a spaceship… and then, I was in some computer simulation, and then I was stealing a classic Mustang…”

Devin snorted. “’Classic’ and ‘Mustang’ in the same sentence?”

“Yeah,” Chuck said. “And, it all seemed to take place in the future.”

Ellie looked at him with a tolerant smile. “Chuck, it’s 1985, Ronald Reagan is the President, and you’re in Hill Valley, California.”

“I know, I know,” he grumbled. “It just all seemed so real.”

That was when the screen door opened, and two people walked in. Chuck turned to his right – to see his parents.

He practically fell over. “Holy crap!”

“Chuck?” his mother asked. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I already asked him,” Ellie said. “He was apparently having weird dreams about the future.”

“Dreams about the future?” his mother asked worriedly.

“Don’t worry, Mom,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“So, Chuck, tonight’s the night, right?” his father asked.

“Yeah, Chuckster!” Devin interjected. “The night of awesomeness?”

Chuck looked at them both. “What are you talking about?”

His mother looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “You and Sarah… going up to Big Bear Lake tonight…”

How did they find out about it?! he raged inwardly. “Yeah, um, it’s no big deal… and besides, the car’s wrecked, isn’t it?”

“WHAT?!” his father interjected.

“Not awesome!” Devin said, jumping up from the table. The two men ran outside –

“Car’s fine, Chuck,” his father said.

Chuck went to the front door – and sure enough, there was a gleaming black BMW 5 series in the driveway, being washed and waxed.

“Now, don’t forget, Jeff,” Chuck’s father called. “TWO coats of wax.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Bartowski, sir!”

Chuck thought his head was going to explode. Something seemed distinctly not right here. At first, he thought it was the fact that his father was driving a BMW.

But on second thought, he thought that something far bigger than that was wrong. Like, for some reason he was having these thoughts that he was four years old in 1985.

He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. It had to be an after effect from traveling back from 1955 the night before. That had to be it.

Chuck was sitting at the breakfast table, still incredulous that there was breakfast to be had, when Jeff came running inside with a FedEx box. “It’s your book, Mr. Bartowski!” he said excitedly, handing the box to Chuck’s dad.

The older Bartowski opened the box, and pulled out the book. He looked at it, and proudly held it up for all to see.

Chuck vs. the Computer, the title read. Mr. Bartowski had made it very clear that he wanted to name the main character after his own son. “It’ll be a book about a guy who accidentally gets a computer stuck in his head!”

So far, bookstores were grabbing as many advance copies as they could get their hands on. But Chuck had an actual published copy of the book thrust into his hands by his own father.

He opened the cover. What happens to man when he becomes a computer? the dust jacket asked. When Charles Carmichael gets millions of government secrets embedded in his head, he becomes the government’s number one intelligence asset.

Chuck looked at the title page. Fulcrum Publishing House, it said.

And there it was again, those thoughts that something was wrong. He shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts. Nothing was wrong, and if Doc Casey was here, he’d tell him he was just suffering the after-effects of temporal displacement.

He needed some fresh air. While he knew that that was pretty much a lost cause anywhere in metropolitan Los Angeles, he figured it couldn’t hurt to go outside.

And so outside he went – and Jeff walked up to him. “Here are your keys, Chuck.”

Chuck took the keys, looking at Jeff strangely. “To what?”

Jeff looked back at him, even more strangely. “To that…”

Chuck followed where Jeff’s finger was pointing… to the four-by-four Toyota pickup parked in the garage.

“Holy crap,” he uttered.

“It’s all waxed up and ready to go!” Jeff said enthusiastically.

Chuck ignored him. He actually had the truck!

He walked into the garage, almost reverently looking at it. He ran his fingers over the truck –

And an image briefly flashed before his eyes, of doing the same thing over the flank of a Mustang –

But he banished the image quickly, instead focusing on the truck in front of him.

“Hey, mister, can a girl get a ride? Or would the two of you like some time alone?”

He turned, and there she was. An angelic vision in blonde, her golden tresses falling on her shoulders, her blue eyes piercing into him.

“Sarah,” he whispered. He rapidly closed the distance between them, embraced her, and then kissed her passionately.

“Wow,” she said softly when they broke. “Chuck, you’re acting like you haven’t seen me in a week!”

“I haven’t,” he replied quietly.

He was just about to kiss her again when a sonic boom rolled through the neighborhood. Out of nowhere, a DeLorean DMC-12 appeared on the street, skidding to a stop in Chuck’s driveway, and knocking over a garbage can.

The gullwing door swung upward, and out popped resident mad scientist Doctor John Casey. Casey had, at one time, worked for the National Security Agency, but they had decided that he was a looney-tune and banished him.

So he built a time machine. Chuck knew that it worked – he’d been back to 1955 in it, and just returned the night before. And now, here it was, having just reappeared from God-knew-where.

Casey ran to the garbage can he had just knocked over, and started collecting various detritus. “Casey, what the hell are you doing?” Chuck asked.

“I need fuel!” Casey replied, knocking open something on the back of the DeLorean that looked for all the world like a coffee maker. Mr. Fusion, the label on the side said.

Casey dumped in a carton of bad eggs, a banana peel, and emptied a beer can into it, before throwing the beer can itself in. Then, he turned to Chuck and said, “Chuck, you’ve gotta come back to the future with me.”

“Wait, no,” Chuck protested. “Come on, Doc, I just got back! I was looking forward to spending some time with Sarah!”

“Bring her too!” Casey yelled. “It involves both of you!”

“What are you talking about?” Chuck asked. “Do we turn into a couple of assholes or something?”

Casey shook his head. “No, no, no. It’s your kids! Something’s gotta be done about your kids!”

Chuck and Sarah looked at each other wide-eyed. Our kids?! she mouthed.

Throwing his hands up in defeat, Chuck said, “Fine, we’re coming,” and climbed into the passenger seat of the DeLorean.

Sarah climbed in too, but there wasn’t a middle seat, so she and Chuck had to kind of share the shotgun seat. “Hmmm, cozy quarters here,” she said playfully, stroking Chuck’s ear.

“Careful there, Agent Walker,” he said unconsciously.

“What?”

He looked up at her. “What?”

“Why did you just call me Agent Walker?”

He had no idea what she was talking about. “I really have no idea,” he breathed.

Chuck was trying to figure out what was going on, when Casey climbed back into the DeLorean. “Alright!” Casey said. “To the year 2015!”

He backed the DeLorean out of the driveway, and began rolling down the street.

“Casey,” Chuck said concernedly, “I don’t think you’ve got enough road to get up to eighty-eight miles per hour.”

Casey looked over at him, grinned, and flipped down his sunglasses. “Roads, Chuck?” he said. “Where we’re going… we don’t need roads.”

And with that, the DeLorean lifted off from the street, turned around in mid-air, and rocketed forward.

In a heartbeat, they had reached eighty-eight miles per hour. The time circuits activated, and everything disappeared into a glare of bright white light –

To be continued…

Chuck vs. the Spiked Punch, Chapter 3: "Chuck vs. Eleanor"

“We’re here, Chuck.”

- and his eyes came back open.

He was sitting in the shotgun seat of a Ford Windstar, on a street that passed beneath a large skyscraper.

“Are you ready?” Sarah asked, looking at him with concern.

He nodded. “It’s go time.”

She leaned across the center console and kissed him. “Be careful, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, and opened the door of the van.

Chuck quickly jogged off the street into the parking garage – and there she was.

Eleanor. The 1967 Shelby Mustang GT 500. She had eluded him so many times, but not this time.

“We’re gonna have a nice, smooth ride, right girl?” he asked as she approached.

He could swear she was looking back at him, the elongated brake lights like narrowed eyes. He lovingly ran a hand along the Mustang’s side as he approached the driver’s door. Reaching into his leather jacket, Chuck pulled a door jimmy out of his pocket.

Gently sliding it into the door, he popped the lock up, and opened the door. Settling into the driver’s seat, he reached under the steering column. He carefully popped out the ignition lock, and inserting a narrow flathead screwdriver, turned the ignition cylinder.

The Mustang’s 289 cubic inches of V-8 engine roared to life, echoing off the walls of the parking garage – quieter than usual at 6:55 on a Friday morning.

Chuck carefully backed the Mustang out of its parking spot, and then shifted her into first, squealing the tires a little bit as he pulled forward. He turned right out of the driveway onto the street –

Just as a black BMW M3 turned left toward him a block away, Detective Casey driving and Detective Awesome riding shotgun.

“Shit,” Chuck breathed as the police lights on the M3 went on. He cranked the wheel over hard to the left and floored it.

In the M3, Casey was yelling at Chuck. “Easy way or the hard way, Chuck! Easy way or the hard way!”

He pressed the M3’s accelerator to the floor to pursue the Mustang – but had to stand on his brakes just as fast, as Sarah Walker pulled out in front of him in her Windstar. The M3 came to a stop just inches from its side.

“I think he’s going with the hard way,” Awesome intoned.

Casey backed the M3 up just far enough, and then put it back into drive, whipping around the end of the Windstar. “Stupid bitch,” he growled as he sped past Sarah.

Chuck flew out onto Ocean Boulevard, cranking his wheel hard right. The Mustang fishtailed as he shifted gears, the raw torque producing a little more power than the car could handle. He took another hard right onto Atlantic, Casey and Awesome hard on his tail in the M3.

When they got a little too close behind him, Chuck said, “Yeah, let’s see what you think of this,” and took another hard right onto Alta Way – blowing right through a “Do Not Enter” sign.

Casey followed him. “That sign said ‘Do not enter,” Awesome pointed out anxiously.

“Keep your shorts on,” Casey grumbled.

“This is not awesome,” Awesome muttered. Picking up the radio, he said, “All units, this is One-Baker-Eleven… we are in pursuit of a 1967 Ford Mustang, grey, eastbound on Alta Way… correction, we are now northbound on Lime.”

The Mustang pulled around into northbound traffic. Chuck was looking for a way to escape the M3 on his tail, and so he took a hard right down an alley. He was probably going fifty-five when the garbage truck pulled out in front of him.

Chuck stood on the Mustang’s brake and clutch simultaneously, sliding to a stop bare inches from the big Peterbilt front-loader. Dropping the Mustang into reverse, he backed up. Behind him, he could see the M3 whip around into the alley.

“Oh, you do NOT want to play with me, Chuck!” Casey shouted as the Mustang grew larger and larger in his windshield. When the Mustang was maybe two seconds from impacting the M3’s front end, Chuck whipped the wheel to the left, causing the rear end of the Mustang to drift around to the left, entering an underground parking area.

Chuck was staring anxiously out the back window as he approached Alamitos Avenue. He saw a brief break in traffic, and gunned the engine. The Mustang flew out into southbound traffic, nose to nose with a cement truck.

“Whoa!” Awesome shouted as Casey stomped on the M3’s brakes. That gave the Mustang a brief time advantage. Chuck accelerated away from the truck, and then stood on the brakes. The driver of the cement truck did the same, and as it slid to a stop, Chuck put the Mustang back in first and pulled away.

Driving northbound on Alamitos Avenue, Chuck closed his eyes briefly. Come on, Intersect, he thought. Tell me where to go.

And there it was. He just had to get there first.

That wasn’t going to be easy, he discovered as a Long Beach police officer pulled up next to him and forced him to take a hard left onto Fifth Street. Chuck flew down the back street, the police officer behind him, and watched anxiously as he approached Atlantic Avenue.

There it was – another break in traffic. He gunned the Mustang’s engine, and shot between a Suburban and a Mercedes going opposite directions on Atlantic, flying to the other side of the street.

The police officer wasn’t so lucky. As his cruiser pulled out onto Atlantic, an LA County Metro bus t-boned him, pushing his car fifty feet down the road.

Casey pulled out into Atlantic Avenue in the M3, sighed, and came to a stop. Opening the door and getting out, he heard Awesome pick up the radio and say, “Unit 22 has been in a T/A at Atlantic and Fifth.”

---

Ten minutes later, Chuck was on De Forest Avenue, heading north, when he heard the sirens. Somehow they’d found him again.

But too late. He cackled in glee as he turned left into the flood control drive, barreling down the gravel path toward the mostly-dry concrete bed of the Los Angeles River.

Of course, he hadn’t been counting on the helicopter. Looking up, he saw a McDonnell Douglas H-Star helicopter coming up on his rear end – quickly.

Casey had just pulled on to the 710 freeway, headed north, when the call came in. “One-Baker-Eleven, this is air unit… we have the Mustang in the Los Angeles River, adjacent to the 710 freeway.”

“HAH!” Casey shouted. “I got you now, Bartowski! I GOT your ass!”

And Chuck was starting to feel like that might be the case. He had a helicopter above him, a dozen LAPD and LBPD units on his tail, and the Mustang could only go so fast.

Desperately, he started looking around for something – anything! – to help him escape… and there it was.

A red switch, next to a red button that said, “Go Baby Go!”

Chuck pumped a fist in victory, and then hit the switch. Giving the nitrous a second to cycle in, he pushed the button – and his body hit the seat as the Mustang violently accelerated.

“Speed’s up to 100!” the helicopter reported. “110!”

“Don’t lose him!” Casey screamed into the radio.

“This is an H-Star, sir, not an Apache… 120, 130, 140… he’s gone.”

“God dammit!” Casey shouted, throwing the radio handset down.

“Man, this guy is awesome!” Detective Awesome breathed.

“What? WHAT?!”

“It’s probably mostly the car.”

---

Chuck had lost the police, but the nitrous had made Eleanor’s engine come dangerously close to overheating, so he pulled into a residential neighborhood just south of Willow St. to let her rest for a moment.

As he parallel parked the Mustang, he came a little too close to a truck and knocked her passenger side mirror off. “Aw, crap,” he muttered, reaching out the window. The mirror was dangling by its control cables.

That’s when the engine started stuttering. “No, no, no,” he said. “Come on, not now!”

And the 289 died. Just then, Chuck saw a Los Angeles police cruiser pull into the field of vision in his rear-view mirror. “Come on, baby,” he whispered, cranking the engine. No such luck.

The police cruiser began to turn. “I’m freakin’ out, Eleanor!” he said, pumping the gas and cranking the engine again. The big Ford V-8 roared to life, and he squealed out onto the street.

The LAPD officer immediately took notice and followed. “One-Baker-Eleven, I have the Mustang at Caspian and Burnett!” he shouted.

Casey and Awesome locked eyes. They were less than two blocks away.

A moment later, the Mustang blew past them, going the other direction, onto the 710 freeway. Casey flipped the M3 around to follow.

Chuck wove Eleanor in and out of traffic on the 710, creating havoc. He was making it very difficult for the officers driving Crown Vics to follow, and Casey had to grudgingly admit that this guy was a pretty good driver.

But not too good to lose a BMW M3. Casey stayed right on Chuck’s tail as he came flying off the 710 onto Pico Avenue. “Ain’t nothin’ at the end of this street but the ocean, Chuck!” Casey exclaimed as Pico turned into Pier G Avenue.

And Chuck seemed to realize that. He began to feel trapped. Keeping the accelerator to the floor, he reached the end of the pier. “Shit,” he breathed. “SHIT!”

He flipped the Mustang around, passing the cop cars going the other direction yet again. He flew through a gate and knocked over a stand, causing a group of pier workers to almost lose their grip on a huge compression tank.

When the police reached the gate, they found themselves blocked off by the workers desperately keeping a grip on the ropes holding up the tank. “MOVE!” Casey yelled. “MOVE!”

They didn’t. “Screw this,” he said, swinging the M3 around and going through a section of fence. The falling fence brushed a dock worker, causing him to let go of his rope. The tank came crashing to the ground, and punctured. It shot upward, through the cab of a truck, and flew down Pier G Avenue.

Chuck saw this all transpire in his rear view mirror, watching with some satisfaction as the tank disabled three, then four, then five police cars. Then he looked ahead.

A wrecking ball was swinging toward the wall ahead of him, and a San Pedro Police Jeep had just pulled in behind him. Nowhere to go. So he hit the gas.

The Mustang shot forward again, going past the wrecking ball just in time to miss it. The ball instead hit the Jeep, pushing it directly through the wall – and slamming it into the side of Casey’s M3.

Casey brought the M3 to a quick stop and Awesome jumped out. “Are you okay?” he asked the San Pedro police officer.

“Yeah, I think so,” the officer said.

“Are you sure?” Awesome asked, concerned. “’Cause, you just went through a wall.”

---

Chuck turned left out of the yard onto Ocean Boulevard, the police struggling to catch up. He had twelve minutes to get the car to the dock, or he was dead.

As he flew down Ocean, though, a little black dot in his rear view mirror got larger and larger – Casey’s BMW. The front end was mangled, but the car was practically unstoppable.

When he reached the toll booths onto the Vincent Thomas Bridge, Chuck blew right past them, practically causing a CalTrans truck to roll. The police followed, hot on his tail.

Chuck was about a quarter mile onto the bridge when the left lane suddenly closed off. Ignoring the cones, he blasted past – and then saw the cause.

A multiple vehicle traffic accident, right in the center of the bridge. Ambulances, fire units, and a tow-truck with its ramp down, ready to receive a car.

“Crap,” Chuck muttered, putting Eleanor into reverse. He began to back up – and came to a stop, as the police pulled up right behind him.

He slammed on the brakes. Behind Eleanor, Casey jumped out of his M3, gun up. “Chuck, get out of the car!” he yelled.

“That’s a change from the usual,” Chuck thought wryly.

He looked back up the road – and then his eyes rolled back in his head. Images appeared before him – a government car, speeding down the road, tests using a similar tow truck as the one before him, and the test results. “Forty percent chance of fatal injury,” the report said.

Chuck’s eyes snapped back open. “I’ll take those odds,” he muttered.

He shifted the Mustang’s transmission back into first, and hit the gas. “CHUCK!” Casey yelled behind him.

But Chuck was gone. Fifty, sixty, seventy… he hit the ramp of the tow truck at eighty-two miles per hour and blasted off into the air.

“Holy shit!” he breathed as the Mustang flew over the wreck, starting to angle nose down as it came toward clear freeway.

He felt the rear bumper clip the edge of an ambulance parked under him, and then the front end impacted the surface of the road. The hood crumpled a little, and he could hear the car howling in distress. He swerved left, then right, and then, miraculously, brought the steering wheel back to center.

The car under control, he accelerated off down the road.

At 8:07, he pulled into the dock at the end of Signal Street. Lester came jogging up to the driver’s window.

“Sorry, Chuck, we’re done here,” he informed him.

“Wait, what?!” Chuck said, incredulously.

“Deadline was eight o’clock,” Lester replied. “It’s 8:07.”

“You’re gonna argue with me over seven minutes?” Chuck exclaimed.

“Take it up with the boss,” Lester said.

Chuck growled as he drove the Mustang, now ejecting steam, out of the dockyard. Five minutes later, he pulled into Fulcrum Salvage and Steel, rolling to a stop in front of the office.

Opening the driver’s door, he stepped out of the car. Bryce Larkin came strolling out of the office.

He looked at the Mustang with disbelief on his face. “I said fifty cars, Chuck, not forty nine and a half!”

“Forty-nine – come on, Bryce! I’ve been up ALL night stealing cars! I’m exhausted, and I think the least you could do is show me a little appreciation!”

Bryce just stared at him, inscrutable. “Look,” Chuck said. “The damage isn’t that bad. A little fiberglass, some body work, she’ll be good as new. You figure a ’67 Shelby’s worth, what, sixty, seventy, maybe eighty grand? So, we take eighty grand from the two hundred I’m supposed to get, you give me one twenty, and we’re done.”

Bryce stared back at him, then nodded almost imperceptibly. “Alright,” he said.

Chuck couldn’t believe his ears. “Alright, then,” he said, almost smiling. “And this thing with Morgan, it’s done?”

“Done,” Bryce replied. And that was when his fist flashed out from behind his back.

As Chuck collapsed to the ground, he saw Bryce slip off a pair of brass knuckles. And then everything went black –

To be continued…