“Repeat after me: this is just a mission.”
Sarah looked at herself in the mirror, and repeated, “This is just a mission.”
“You will not fraternize with the asset,” her reflection said.
“I will not fraternize with the asset.”
She stood looking at herself in the mirror for a moment. Jeans, inconspicuous green earrings, the blue sweater that Chuck liked –
“STOP IT,” her reflection said. “This is just a mission.”
Sarah breathed deeply. “This is just a mis – oh, who am I kidding. I’m going to have fun, and I’m going to fraternize with the asset. Screw the rules.”
The knock on her door almost made her jump out of her skin. She crossed the room quickly, and with her hand on the butt of her gun, she opened the door.
Just Chuck.
And instantly, her guard dropped, a smile breaking out on her face. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi to you, too,” he replied. “So, tell me again, why exactly are we going to the place where I almost got sent to kingdom come by some insane teenager?”
“There’s been some suspicious activity down by the pier,” Sarah explained. “DEA thinks that a Colombian cartel is smuggling cocaine in there, and so NSA wants you to go down and see if you flash on anything.”
“Accompanied by a CIA agent,” Chuck finished. “So it’ll be interagency fun-day at Pacific Park.”
Sarah tried to suppress a laugh and failed. “That sounds about right.”
“Well then. Let’s go to Santa Monica.”
Even though it was late on a Wednesday afternoon, Sarah and Chuck had agreed that trying to find parking anywhere near the beach would likely be a nightmare. So, here they were, on the 720 Rapid bus, Wilshire Boulevard to the beach. Sarah didn’t look comfortable.
“Are you okay?” Chuck asked her.
“I’ve never been totally comfortable with buses,” she replied. “There’s just something… something ab-“
Something had distracted Sarah. She looked past Chuck, to a teenager sitting a little ways down from them, toward the back of the bus.
She stood up and walked toward him, as he withdrew something from his backpack – a large yellow paint marker. He took off the cap, and turned to mark the window of the bus –
Sarah grabbed his arm with her left hand and slammed it down on the back of the seat. The paint marker fell to the floor.
“What the fuck, bitch!” he exclaimed, shooting up to his feet – and finding himself just as quickly back in his seat, Sarah’s right hand pushing him back down as if he weren’t even there.
“I know over a hundred ways to kill you,” she said softly. “Crime does not pay. Get off this bus at the next stop.”
The teenager looked at her, his eyes full of fear and loathing. He didn’t say anything, just reached up and pulled the stop cord.
When the bus stopped outside of the Veterans’ Hospital, he got off the bus. His backward glance at Sarah was a look of pure hatred.
“I think you may have made yourself an enemy there,” Chuck remarked.
“Like I said, I know over a hundred ways to kill him. I’m not too concerned.”
Chuck was silent for about a mile. Then, he muttered, “Number one: gun.”
Sarah turned and looked at him. “What?”
“Number two: knife.”
She smiled and smacked him playfully in the arm. “Knock it off.”
“Number three: slapped to death.”
“Fine, be that way,” she sniffed, and pretended to pout.
“Number four: silent treatment.”
She did her best not to start giggling, but a little tiny one escaped from between her lips.
“Number five: not breathing.”
The giggles started escaping with more regularity, so she decided it was time for a little revenge. She poked him in the side.
Chuck almost jumped out of his seat. Giving Sarah a mock-baleful look, he sat back down. “Number six: tickling.”
Sarah was all out of cards to play, but fortunately, at that moment, the bus’s automatic announcement system said, “Approaching: Colorado and Ocean. Santa Monica Pier.”
As they were getting off the bus, Chuck went down ahead of Sarah. However, even though she was behind him, she was still able to hear him say, “Number seven: shoved out of a bus.”
As soon as he was on the sidewalk, she said, “Alright, that’s it, mister!” and jumped on his back.
Reflexively, he reached down and grabbed her legs under the knees to keep her from falling. She locked her arms around his chest. As he staggered forward, he shouted out, “Number eight: attacked from behind!”
Sarah stayed on his back as he crossed Ocean Avenue. “Number nine,” he said. “Hit and run!”
“Don’t you dare!” she shrieked.
As soon as Chuck had reached the grassy area that marked the beginning of Pacific Park on the other side of the street, she jumped off his back and tackled him.
“Oooff,” he said, his breath expelling involuntarily as Sarah knocked him to the ground. He hit the deck, the wind knocked out of him, and just lay there for a moment. When he didn’t move, Sarah got a little concerned. She rolled him over. “Chuck, are you okay?”
He just nodded and was still for another moment. Then, he croaked:
“Number ten: bum-rushed by lunatic spy.”
“Oh, shut up,” she laughed, still on her knees. “I am not a luna-WHOA!”
Chuck moved way quicker than she thought he’d be able to, given his breathless condition. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he flipped her over, pinning her back against the ground. She stared up at him as he smiled down at her.
“Number eleven: deceived by nerdy civilian.”
Sarah felt her face grow hot as she took stock of the position she was in. She reached up to Chuck’s chest, and it took all her self-control to push him away rather than grabbing his lapels and pulling him down to her.
Chuck stood up and brushed grass off his shirt front. He reached down to help Sarah up –
And suddenly found himself being thrown to the ground again, landing on his back. Moving like a cat, Sarah landed on top of him, straddling his chest.
“Numbers twelve through one hundred,” she whispered, an evil smile on her face. “Underestimated lunatic spy.”
“My mistake,” Chuck whispered back. His hands moved upward, his right hand landing on her waist. His left hand slipped under the back of her shirt, lightly rubbing against the small of her back. A little moan involuntarily slipped out –
“Oh for Christ’s sake!” snapped the homeless man forty feet to the north of them.
Their heads whipped around. “Casey?!” Chuck yelled in surprise.
“Yes!” the vagrant replied. “Good Lord, I don’t give a rat’s ass about my cover, I can’t stand watching the two of you go at it like idiot junior high students!”
Sarah and Chuck both turned bright red as she scrambled off of him and they stood to their feet. “Seriously!” Casey yelled, discarding most of his costume as he stalked toward them, stripping down to just a t-shirt and jeans. “You two are supposed to be here keeping an eye out, not… whatever the hell you were doing!”
“He started it,” Sarah muttered, doing her best not to laugh as she pointed at Chuck and looked at the ground.
“Oh, REAL mature, Walker,” Casey growled. “Now, seriously, are the two of you going to do your job?”
“Yes,” Chuck replied.
“Good,” Casey said. “Now, if the two of you will excuse me, I’m going to go try to find some brain bleach and forget about what I just saw.”
He started to walk away, but then turned back. “Also, I will be shadowing you on the pier, just in case you need back-up, so try to keep from doing anything else that’ll make me nauseous.”
Casey stalked off. Sarah and Chuck just stood, looking after him, but as soon as he was out of earshot, Sarah cracked up.
“I don’t want to call him a loser, but…”
“Come on, Sarah, he’s just doing his job!” Chuck replied sarcastically.
She laughed, and looped her right arm through his left. “Come on, Chuck, let’s go catch bad guys!”
“Sounds like a plan,” he responded.
They walked up and down the pier for nearly an hour. Nothing. Chuck didn’t flash on anything, and while they saw plenty of suspicious goings-on, it was nothing they were looking for.
Finally, Sarah said, “I am just about starving. Dinner?”
“Agreed,” Chuck replied.
They made their way back to the food court area by the roller coaster. Sarah walked up toward the Taco Bell window, and her eyes just about bugged out of her head.
“Seven bucks for three tacos?!” she said in disbelief. “Ridiculous!”
“Well,” Chuck answered, “the other option is we leave the pier and possibly miss whoever it is we’re looking for.”
“That’s a good point,” she allowed. “Alright, well, it’ll be expensed anyway; might as well.”
Fourteen dollars and fifteen minutes later, they were both feeling a bit less peckish. Chuck suggested that they should go for a ride on the roller coaster to kill time.
“I don’t know about that, Chuck,” Sarah hesitated.
“Oh, come on, I love this roller coaster!” Chuck exclaimed. “It’s the best one in Los Angeles!”
“Chuck, seriously…”
“Sarah.” Chuck looked her in the eye. “You can’t say you’ve lived in Los Angeles until you’ve ridden the West Coaster.”
Sarah sighed and rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine, let’s go.”
Twenty minutes later, they had stood in line, and then ridden the coaster. Chuck was pumped – as he always was after riding it – but Sarah was a different story. The motion of the roller coaster was not reacting with the Taco Bell she had introduced to her stomach half an hour earlier.
“I am definitely not feeling well,” she groaned, as they walked back out onto the pier.
“Alright,” Chuck said. “Let’s go stand over by the rail. The fresh air coming off the ocean will help.”
Sarah stood there for a moment, breathing deeply.
“Hey, bitch!”
Chuck and Sarah spun around to see the teenager from the bus, with two of his punkass friends. “A hundred ways to kill me, huh? Don’t look like you could do much right now!”
He reached to his belt, and a knife flashed. “I’m gonna teach you to mess with me!”
The knife flashed upward – and Sarah’s stomach heaved upward.
The teenager stood stock still, practically catatonic, as he suddenly found himself covered in regurgitated tacos and Mountain Dew.
“Aw, that’s gross,” one of his compatriots said.
“That’s disgusting,” moaned the other.
Then, without warning, they were dragged backward a few feet, and their heads were cracked together. “Little shits,” John Casey spat, dropping them to the deck.
He stepped up and looked around the front of the vomit-covered thug. He was still standing there, a look of shock on his face.
“Good work, Walker,” he smirked, grabbing the third punk by the scruff of his neck. He whistled, and two Santa Monica police officers appeared out of the shadows to take them away.
Chuck caught a glimpse of the face of one of the Santa Monica PD officers – and the Intersect went into overdrive. He saw a flash of the officer, then a flash of the entire SMPD narcotics unit, then of several of the officers on a Colombian flagged boat, a stack of packages of cocaine, and a bowl of tiramisu.
“Casey!” he hissed as the police officers dragged the teenagers away. “Casey!”
“What is it, Bartowski?!”
Making sure the police officers were out of earshot, Chuck whispered, “I flashed on one of the police officers. I think their whole narcotics unit is involved!”
“Hell,” Casey breathed. “Alright, I’ll call this in. I don’t want the two of you involved any more – it’s too dangerous for you, and Walker’s clearly in no condition right now.
“Take her home, get her cleaned up. I’ll keep you in the loop on what’s going on.”
Casey started to walk away, then turned back to Chuck. “How’d you two get here?” he asked. “I didn’t track your car or Walker’s coming down.”
“We took the bus.”
“Great,” Casey said. “Well, you can’t take her back on the bus…”
He sighed. “Take my car.”
Chuck raised his eyebrows. “You sure about that?”
“Just don’t blow it up this time, Bartowski!”
By the time Chuck got Sarah back to her building, she was almost asleep. He got her upstairs and made sure she brushed her teeth, so that her mouth wouldn’t taste like death in the morning.
“Sorry I ruined the evening,” she murmured as Chuck led her back to her bed.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a little smile. He hugged her close, and after a brief moment’s thought, kissed her lightly on top of her head. She made a little contented noise, and then sat down on her bed.
“Good night, Sarah,” Chuck said. “Get some sleep.”
“Good night, Chuck.”
