Teehee, I'm just trying to have a little fun with this fic :)

What is up with the authors though? There's a ridiculous amount of slash these days (helllo you strangeā€¦strange people...)

Charah needs to strike back! -Very very soon.

Disclaimer: If Chuck was mine, I'd be crazily whacking Jill upside the head with my keyboard by now.

The Glorified Nerd and Sexy Secret Agent

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Guests or footsteps were strange at this time of day. Employees came in exactly 7:30am on the dot and left together at 6:00pm. There was to be no sound, or unnecessary action except lunch at 12:20pm to 12:40pm. It had been like that ever since the birth of the Central Intelligence Agency, nothing had changed the ten years he had been here.

Monotonous typing filled the room.

He noticed things. He was bored. He was probably the only slacker, and his friend, in this level of the CIA government building. Their desks were near the door, exactly facing, the middle of the long line of desks that repeated itself exactly in straight rows from the front to the back of the hall.

There would be no point looking up, since everything was white, except their black ties and black high waisted suit pants, and black shoes, and black print on crisp white A4 sheets.

Whoever it was, they would be reprimanded by the supervisor. Employees being late were not tolerated, although late employees were very rare, and he was sure, positively sure, that today, all the seats had been filled up.

Out of curiosity, since the clacking indicated a female, and females were rare in this air conditioned, stale, width by length by height box that they worked in, that only had one exit, and one entry.

Muffling a yawn, he moved his eyes upwards slowly.

His chin slipped off his palm and hit the desk, his elbow skidded over several sheets of paper, and knocked into his friend's side violently. The other man jerked, and glared at him.

He didn't notice, his own eyes were fixed on a person rapidly approaching. When his annoyed glance was not received, the other man traced his line of sight. He had a spasm, and knocked the cup of pencils to the floor. It crashed, pencils rolled, the noise was unnaturally loud, echoing off the walls. No one looked up. His mouth was open.

They watched the blond bombshell apparition type her code into the clear electronic sliding door. There didn't need to be any more identification, since there was nothing of value in this hall of pencil pushers.

The door slid open, and she seemed to glide. The first man wheezed, clutching his chest. His eyes bulged.

Her striking cobalt eyes briefly glanced coolly over at them, her face was blank.

They sighed as one.

The clacking sound of her stilettos were perfectly measured as they slid carefully over the sterile white floor tiles, the expensively polished sheen signaling high class. This must be one of the unmentionables: the super spies.

They sighed again.

Protocol: There was to be no speaking or unnecessary interaction with the top agents of the agency. Do anything they tell you to, no matter how inane or pointless. Pretend not to notice or remember any actions they execute. Do not hold them up with idle chitchat or other: get out of their way. They were to be treated as gods, and them as lowly servants. They were not to be discussed in any conversations. They were not there. Simply, it was none of their business. They weren't any part of their prestigious group.

Those spies were a strange breed. Cut from the same silky, very exclusive cloth. Tall. Cold. Emotionless. Handsome. Athletic. Intelligent. Dressed perpetually in black and white professional cut outfits.

They sighed again.

They belonged to another world that was ghostly, invisible, elite; offered no room for dorks like them.

He leaned his elbow again against the surface of his desk, propping his chin back on the fist he made with his fingers.

The door closed behind her with a small thud.

She stood there, unmoving as stone, hands clasped neatly behind her back, eyes surveying over their heads, moving from face to face, barely three meters from them.

Her eyes searching for something. Perhaps she was lost?

But they could not think of anything that she could possibly be looking for, or need, in an analyst's huge basement full of four-eyed skinny government employed pasty no-lives facing hundreds of computers linked together in a vast network.

Those four-eyed skinny government employed pasty no-lives had been trained to ignore distractions and get on with work no matter what. The two men were amused to see several wide eyes flicker up to her face briefly.

He pushed his horn rimmed glasses up his nose again with a shaking finger; his oily hair made it slip down more often than he wished.

His partner had averted his attention again, instead picking out miscellaneous parts of his lunch from his braces.

The woman's red perfectly traced lips pouted ever so slightly in a thoughtful manner. Her first movement. There was a barely perceptible crease in her smooth skin above her shaped eyebrow.

Suddenly, she flicked her hair carelessly, the luscious golden waves shimmering and catching the non existent breeze. The two hundred odd square-framed eyes flickered up to follow the slowly descending curve of the long, curly strands before flickering down at their illuminated screens again.

It was so silent. A pin could drop, but only she could probably hear it. Agent senses and all.

Her tall frame walked forward gracefully again, and he could not help but let his eyes wander from her polished heels, stockinged ankle and long....so long, toned and tanned legs that seemed to be of his same height before disappearing into the black skirt that brushed a couple inches above her knees, the wide belt at her midsection, the way her torso filled out her white-ish blouse in all the right places, covered with a woman's tailored suit jacket...


A very delighted masculine voice rang out richly in the warehouse like facility, rolling in between the waves of desks and reaching them.

He held his breath. No one- no one ever dared to speak out in their work times. And definitely NOT to a secret agent. Much less with her first name. God knows how many rules he had just broken with that one word.

Her head whipped across towards the sound so fast he swore he could smell the aroma that wafted from her hair that was sent into the air from her action to where he was.

He waited in anticipation of trouble; of a gunshot; or scream of pain.

As he opened one eye tightly squeezed shut, he noted with confusion the way her eyes lit up, her face glowing, and a heart-stopping beam stretched across her face, exposing her white teeth.

Another heartbeat later, she was swept up in strong olive coloured arms. The events passed so quickly, he could not decipher them. The white of a shirt contrasting against her own attire. Another very tall person. Curly brown hair pressed to her own golden waterfall. And two bodies in a close, tight embrace.

She laughed out loud happily, voice lilting and musical. All traces of her icy business attitude melted away. Her hands were all over the man.

The man spun her around, his own chuckle rumbling in his chest.

She was here for a nerd?

A nerd...

A nerd was involved with a top secret agent of the CIA?

This was possibly a historical landmark.

Granted, this nerd did look better than all of them combined, he thought with grudging annoyance...but he couldn't be THAT much better...

-Except for his height- a head and more above their next tallest employee, his fit build, broad shoulders and lady magnet face.

"There's my dork." She said playfully, reaching up and running her hand through his hair and down his shirt clad chest.

What boldness! He thought with disgust as Chuck cupped the woman's face in his hands tenderly and kissed her full on the lips, both still radiating an aura of joy.

The four-eyed skinny government employed pasty no-lives averted their eyes with embarrassment. Thud. Someone fainted.

"Nerd," 'Chuck' gasped, "I still prefer nerd."

The couple grinned at each other again.

She rested her manicured nails on his chest, tapping her finger, in a low voice that no one was supposed to be privy to, she spoke, "There's a screw missing from my motherboard, it'll short circuit if I don't get a fix from you soon," she murmured.

There was a crash of glass somewhere around the middle of the employees, then the sound of splashing of water on the floor.

Someone stood up abruptly, then started babbling, "There's a spare screw in my locker that I found lying on the floor somewhere, what's your motherboard connected to? Or maybe you should bring it in sometime. I don't think it'll short circuit from a loose screw, but it could happen. Usually analysts like him don't do that kind of repair work. And if you give it to me I can check the wires and everything-"

He was cut off by a snort, and uncontrollable giggles. Sarah lifted her head up from it's place buried in Chuck's chest, her face was red, and her expression looked like she was struggling not to completely lose it. Chuck sighed, shaking his head incredulously and with resignation.

Sarah turned when she gathered herself, and addressed the unfortunate four eyed skinny government employed pasty no-life with bursts of insane laughter in between her words.

"I can assure you," She stated confidently, sliding her hand up to finger the strands of hair at the nape of 'Chuck's' neck, leaning close with her lips near his ear, "Chuck is very capable and very qualified to handle me."

His friend let out a strangled hiccup, looking past the agent and nerd.

Thud. Another down.

Chuck and Sarah turned from each other, to the man, then the electronic doors as a quiet whoosh of air blew in.

A copper haired woman walked forward, a thin smile on her smooth face as she looked at her companions. She picked a speck of dust dramatically from her black tank, and came closer, black slacks swishing with her long strides.

"Ah," She said with a slight accent, "I was wondering where you were, Sarah. Hey Chuck." Carina leaned over after casting a quick glance over him, and kissed him on the cheek under Sarah's close scrutiny. "Looking good."

She leaned her slender body to the side to look around the other two. Her eyes narrowed in confusion.

"What is this place? I didn't know the CIA were keeping their clones...and making them do their dirty work..." Carina walked towards the man closest to her, bending half her torso to peer seriously at him.

His eyes, understandably, were no where near hers.

She flicked his glasses, "They look pretty real."

All three turned sharply at the demented giggling that suddenly started. An employee had gone cross-eyed, spittle flying out through his lips, he muttered to himself. They leaned back cautiously, and eyed him warily.

"He ..." Carina pursued her lips, "...Broke." She glanced back at Chuck, "What were you two doing down here with these...things?"

Sarah grinned, "Oh, this place's a dork factory. I came to pick mine up off the production line today. They can be pre-ordered and specially made." She rested her hand on Chuck's shoulder, nuzzling her nose against him. He drew her against his side.

For a moment, something undecipherable flittered across Carina's hard green eyes.

Then she sighed slightly, rolling her shoulders back to ease the tense muscles. She smiled fondly from one to the other.

After a beat, her soft expression changed into her usual sultry demeanor, like a steel wall slamming closed, and her voice was light and airy again. "Ah, I'm not going to ask. Chuck's always lingered around weird places....the Buy More ring any bells?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Let's go, these 'clones' are creeping me out now, the way they're staring."

"Mmm, yeah, let's go home." Casting a smile at Carina, Sarah steered him out of the door, leaning on him affectionately.

Carina stood there, motionless, a few moments after Chuck and Sarah exited, staring back at the many pairs of glasses that stared back at her. It was unnervingly silent again.

"I gotta get myself a nerd." She murmured thoughtfully, twisting her neck to linger on the couple's retreating backs.

She whipped back to face the hall however, when there was a squeak of standard issue rubber sole on floor.

"Me! Chose me! I'm a nerd!" Squealed a very a boyish nasal voice.

Her reflexes allowed her to step away from the desperate sweaty grab that was aimed at her.

The geek, unbalanced, collapsed to the floor on his face, stunned at the impact.

Carina frowned, using her pointed heel to flip the weedy man over like day-old roadkill. She prodded his side disgustedly.



And from that day on: Chuck Bartowski became the idol, the father-figure, and the 'Emperor' of the CIA nerd population. That day was never forgotten, immortalised in 'Level 6- Generic Analysts' history. It was so incomprehensible and impossible that it transcended many generations of their relatively more normal sibling's families as a legend and myth.

Suffice to say, there was a much larger influx of analyst enrollment the next year.

There wasn't any point in this actually, just wrote it for a laugh really. Hmm, it seems I couldn't quite keep the POV of the man at the beginning through the story...ah well.

Uh oh, I have writers block. If anyone can think of a snapshot for "Photo Album", please PM or somehow tell me about it.

The big shiny pretty green button is like three cm from your eyes, so Please review? :(