A/N: Hey gang, I know it's been a long while but life's been a twister for the last few months. This is a really short chapter, just me stretching my fingers and seeing if an idea I had this morning could be sorta fleshed out and posted within 6 hours…surprise surprise…it can…now, the important question, is it any good? Let me know what you think. Thanks to everyone who's encouraged me by asking for more and I'm really sorry it's taken so long! A big thank you to all of the authors here who keep reminding us that Chuck is still as good as we want him to be. Thanks to everyone who's alerted and/or favorite my scribbles, you're the best. Also, thank you to everyone who's taken the time to review…it really helps. Finally a big thank you to Jim, who got me started and to Tom, who inspired me to keep pecking away at the keyboard. APR and Oldestman…miss your words! Sorry this chapter is so short but I hope to get yall some more…soon! JT
Run For Your life, Chuck Bartowski - Chapter 10
Chuck Bartowski was sure that his head would explode at any moment or, maybe simply detach itself from his neck and float out the back door of the bar, the door which was currently being held open by some drunk who seemed to have forgotten how to let go of the handle. Giving his hat-rest a quick and, thanks to the Jaeger he been sipping for the last three hours, relatively pain free shake, he turned his attention back to the man seated across from him who'd just put the finishing touches on a story about his parents.
He'd been skeptical when Tom had told him that he'd known his parents but the tale that had been spun, while they'd shared several drinks, had left him stunned. At a loss for words as he struggled to grasp the almost fantastical aspects of the story, he slid out of the booth, excusing himself before heading towards the back of the bar. A faint 'take your time' followed him as he pushed through the swinging door, his eyes adjusting quickly to change in brightness as he stepped into the restroom. After a quick check to make sure he was alone, he made his way to the urinal, pondering if he should call his sister and share the story he'd just heard.
After a shake and a zip, he moved to what he was sure was a fake marble counter-top with the intention of washing his hands and maybe, just maybe, splashing some water on his face. He paused as he reached his hand towards the small handles marked 'H' and 'C', surprised to find that the 'antiseptic over toilet funk' odor he'd encountered when he'd walked in didn't seem to extend to the bathroom sink. In fact, the whole area was surprisingly clean looking with a bottle of Purell off to the side that he definitely planned to use.
Feeling refreshed after a thorough hand cleaning and a few splashes of cold water on his face, Chuck stared at his reflection in the spotty mirror and wondered if anyone else would notice the changes that he was sure the knowledge of his parents past had left written on his face. Would Ellie see that their parents had left them because they believed it was the only way to keep them safe? Would Sarah see that an agent loving an analyst wasn't an insurmountable problem?
Shouldering the door open while still meshing his fingers together to spread the last remains of the hand sanitizer, Chuck was halfway to the booth where he'd been sitting with Tom when something kicked him in his 'senses' and he froze, his eyes darting around the bar before settling on the mountain of a man who had somehow crammed himself into the small seat that, until a few minutes before, he'd been occupying. Another quick look around the bar revealed no other obvious agents and no one who seemed to be hanging to close to either the front or back doors.
Everything seemed to freeze and Chuck began making plans to reverse his direction and bolt towards the back door, hoping his sudden push through the exit would catch anyone outside off guard, giving his just the slightest chance to escape. While he was busy calculating the odds of his different escape plans, he took note of the less than happy look on Major John Casey's face. After noting the look, he saw that both of his former team mate's hands were resting, palm up, on top of the table while his drinking companion had one hand beneath the table, one hand wrapped loosely around his drink and a vaguely smug smile on his face.
Before he could choose which of his escape plans to use, he locked eyes with the man who'd just spent three hours telling him the 'epic' love story of Stephen and Mary Bartowski and decided he needed to find out just what the hell was going on. Resuming his forward motion, a few steps found him standing next to the booth, deciding that sitting down wasn't something he felt comfortable doing.
"What's going on, Tom?" he asked, not surprised when his question got an angry growl from the NSA agent who looked anything but happy to see him.
"Well, this young man decided to invite himself to 'our' party and didn't appreciate it when I showed him my party crasher deterrent" he answered, leaning back just enough to let Chuck catch a glimpse of the 1911 Colt that was held just under the table and pointed directly at John Casey's crotch.
"You invited me" Casey growled out.
"You were told to come alone…" Tom shot back, ignoring the look coming his way from the shocked young man standing at the end of the table.
"I did come alone" Casey rumbled back at him.
"…and un-armed" he replied, turning a knowing look in Chuck's direction.
"Hey!" Casey yelped, somehow managing to look hurt and terrifying at the same time. "I only brought 'Sissy' " he answered, nodding towards the snub-nosed 45 that sat, partially concealed by a napkin, on the bench seat next to him.
"Sissy?" Chuck managed to force out, still stunned by the strange turn of events that was threatening to put serious damper on his afternoon. Of course he had questions that were more important but something about the strange appellation the burly agent used for the instrument of death just struck an odd chord in him and he had to have an answer before he could get to the bigger concerns.
"Sissy?" the older man asked at about the same instant as Chuck and for probably a very similar reason.
"What?" Casey asked with a shrug of his massive shoulders, looking like the name he'd given the gun explained it all. "Little girly gun" he added when he noticed the confused looks coming his way.
"Tom" Chuck said after giving his head a quick shake and turning his attention to the man he'd just spent three hours with, "would you mind telling me why Major Casey says you 'invited' him to this 'party'?"
"Well, it was actually Diane's idea" he answered while watching Chuck bend down and gingerly pick up the gun that was sitting on the bench.
"Who's Diane?" Chuck asked while easing himself into the booth opposite the still bristling NSA agent.
"General Beckman, numbnuts" Casey barked out, seeming to take great enjoyment from the dumbstruck look that the answer put on Chuck's face.
"Whu….?" Chuck managed to choke out.
"Yeah, I was gonna bring Walker but a broken nose and two black eyes and a broken collar bone has left her feeling less than pretty." Casey added, obviously enjoying the news he was sharing.
"Sarah got hurt?" Chuck managed to eek out, the confused look slowly slipping towards a catatonic look.
"Yeah, your sister punched her after your new girlfriend tased her" Casey answered, the short barks following the announcement leaving no doubt that Major John Casey was having more fun than he'd had in quite some time.
"Wha…wha…?" Chuck mumbled, clearly believing that he'd somehow fallen into some sort of twilight zone.
"I'm sure Diane can explain" Tom offered before pulling out a small laptop and flipping it open.
A/N:2 Sorry for the brevity…just a little 'stretching' before getting into a fun and frolicking explanation. JT