Trouble

By Steampunk . Chuckster

Summary: Being the youngest heir to the incredibly wealthy aristocratic Bartowskis has made Chuck Bartowski the apple of America's eye after his Purple Heart awarded spy parents perished during World War II. A not-so-chance meeting with a potentially dangerous mystery woman might be just what he needs to battle his malaise. Or...is she just trouble?

A/N: And yet another story. But listen, this idea happened and then I mentioned it to david . carner and he yelled at me to do it. So I couldn't just not do it, ya know? (This is all a giant lie. He didn't yell at me, he just didn't stop me when I told him to. Get you a friend...) Thank you to him sincerely, though, because he has been a big ol' help through this process, all the way to the point of giving me this title. And so! Enjoy ... Trouble.

Disclaimer: I do not own CHUCK, and I do not own any of its characters.

Los Angeles, California — 1943

He felt her stop at his elbow, just behind him. He hadn't heard or seen her, but he could always feel her. She wrapped her hands around his arm and pressed her face against his shoulder affectionately as they stared at their children.

Children…

They weren't children anymore, were they?

Eleanor was twenty-one now, and Charles was seventeen. It was hard to remember they weren't children, that most of Charles' friends went off to become part of Dad's Army. But Charles was a young seventeen. And no matter how much he begged his parents, they told him their hands were tied.

It was selfish. Stephen Bartowski knew he and his wife were being selfish. But because of the work he and his wife had secretly undertaken for the Allies' cause, they let young Charles slip through the draft.

Yes, it was selfish. But the Bartowskis were risking their lives with these European trips, under the guise of their money and prestige as the last of a dying breed in America—monied aristocrats.

He felt at ease with his dangerous mission, his wife beside him, so long as Eleanor and Charles were alive and free.

"Would you mind terribly cleaning up this horrid mess before the Woodcombs arrive, Chuck?" his daughter was saying to his son, her voice starting to get that annoyed tone he recognized as the same one his wife used at times.

"Yes, I would! They should know their son is marrying into a family of bright minds!" Charles shot back. "When I'm finished with this, it will rival even ENIAC. The spirit of Tesla is guiding me. I can feel him in my bones, Ellie."

"Oh, God. Not that again."

"You can't drag me down, Ellie! This won't just calculate numbers. It's going to revolutionize the dictionary business. Put 'em out of business. Why use a dictionary when you can just put a word in here and get the definition?" he exclaimed.

"Quick, Chuck. Give me a word."

"Uh…Um…amphisbaena!"

Ellie gave him a look, then shook her head and went to the bookcase a few feet away, running her fingers over the spines until she came to what she was looking for. She pulled the book out, flicked it open in her arms, turned through a few pages, and stopped, clearing her throat. "Amphisbaena: a mythical serpent with a head at each end. Oh, Chuck. Gross. Really?"

Stephen chuckled, then turned and saw his wife giving him a flat look. He cleared his throat, the chuckle stopped dead in his throat, and fixed his tie, striding into the room. "Now, you two are nearly adults. Must you always get into trivial arguments. You don't think there are more important things happening in the world?"

Eleanor sighed. "I am an adult. I've been one for a few years now. I'm almost engaged. Well, I will be, at least. When this damned war ends."

"I almost want to correct you on your language, but it is a damned war," Mary said, joining them in the room. "Charles, dear. Honestly, this truly is an incredible mess. And the Woodcombs are due for dinner. Do you think you might clean it up just a bit? As a going away gift for your father and I?"

Their son frowned deeply. "Yes, I will, Mother. And for the record, it looks like a mess to you and Ellie, but Dad and I see the order in it. Don't we, Dad?"

"Yes. We do." He sighed resignedly. "But your mother is right. We're trying to make an impression. This is the first time we're meeting the family of this boy your sister is trying to snag—"

"Dad!"

"Sorry." He winced and shrugged. "I'll help you pack it up in boxes and we'll label them. What do you say, Charles?"

"All right. That should work," his son chirped. When Stephen ruffled his curly hair, he got his hand pushed away and a grumpy look. "Dad, please. I'm almost taller than you are and a grown man. You can't do that to my hair. Especially not with important company coming for dinner."

Stephen held his hands up and exchanged an amused look with his wife and his daughter respectively. "You're right, son. Now let's get going on this mess. You two see to it that Sally and Philip have everything in order in the kitchen and dining room. We'll take care of this."

The two Bartowski men spent the next few minutes discussing the younger's invention, and Stephen marveled at the brilliance of his son's mind. He thought perhaps it rivaled his own, if it didn't surpass it completely.

He'd become a brilliant scientist someday.

A man whose brains would be worth more than his parents' collective fortunes. He wouldn't let his son be caught up in the family fortune, trapped within its limitations.

The Bartowskis and the Powells combining through the marriage of Stephen Bartowski and Mary Powell had been the most important event in American society in the nineteen-twenties. The crash had barely made a dent in their combined fortune, and now here they were: secret agents for the Allied powers. Spies working to dismantle Hitler's Third Reich, end this damn horror of a war.

What a life they led, Stephen and Mary Bartowski. And nobody knew about it, not even their children, nor their closest friends.

By the time the Woodcombs arrived, the Bartowski mansion was exactly as it should be, the library without the clutter of the youngest Bartowski's circuits and wires. And he witnessed the immediate warmth between the youngest Woodcomb and his own cherished daughter. They made sense, much in the same way he and Mary had when they'd begun seeing one another over twenty-two years ago.

The Woodcombs were wealthy, though nothing near the sheer opulence of the Bartowskis, but it didn't matter a lick to either Stephen or his wife. Eleanor was happy. He could see it in her. He could see how much she wanted to impress Devon's parents. His wife had told him about the pile of medical books she'd found at their daughter's bedside once she began courting the military physician while he was on leave a year earlier. Now that he'd been promoted to captain, he made it known he would ask for her hand in marriage at the end of the war. Whenever that was.

It was terrifying, watching his daughter yearn for the end of a war that seemed as though…it might never end. She'd once commiserated to him: "It's only been a year, and yet it's felt like twenty."

She was right. A year had felt like twenty. And still it raged on.

That was why he was leaving again in the morning. There was a benefit just outside of Toulouse, one that many German high-level officers would be attending. He'd managed to get himself and his wife invited. There they might acquire some information about the movements of the Waffen-SS—information he might pass on to the Allies on the French front lines.

He just wanted all of this to end. He wanted to live in peace, in the hills over Los Angeles, with his wife and their son. Visit Eleanor and her husband, watch his grandchildren grow up. Teach them the ways of the world in the way only a grandpa could.

He wanted to send Charles to whatever college he wanted to go to, so that he could build his computers and change lives. And Eleanor might go to medical school and become a doctor herself. Both of his children would save lives and he and Mary would get to watch it. Peace would exist in the world again.

It was all he wished for.

And that was why it hurt the next morning, hugging his children goodbye—his grown adults who'd become everything to him, the reason why he went to fight the Axis powers in his own way. Because when he was old and grey, looking at his grandchildren in their faces, telling them about this war, he wanted to be able to tell them their grandpa and grandma were on the right side. The were on the side that wanted to end the genocide, stop the Nazi takeover. And that they'd done everything they could. The Bartowski Family would be on the right side of history. Not standing by and watching as others went to battle.

That was what he wanted. And he knew Mary wanted it, too.

His wife held his hand the entire flight to New York, where they received their orders in a dark basement filled with charts, radios, and military men and women. And she continued to hold his hand all the way into France, as they watched the explosions mushroom up from the ground, the flashes of gunfire.

Their pilot announced they were twenty minutes away from their destination just moments before it happened.

There was a thump at first. Then another. He had a view of the right wing outside of his window, and that was how he saw it sliced right in half, like a knife through butter. The plane tilted without its right wing, fire erupted behind them, Mary screamed. And then there was a ratatatatat ratatatatat…

He unbuckled his seatbelt and found Mary had already done so with her own, grabbing him by his shoulders and pulling him onto the floor between the seats, pushing him down and covering him with her own body.

In spite of his protests, trying to fight to get her underneath him, trying to protect her, that was how they were found when French soldiers stationed in Blagnac rushed the wrecked plane and pulled them out. They were both dead before the pilot crash-landed the plane, the bullets from below piercing through the belly of the aircraft and catching them.

A bright future cut short. Allies lost. Parents lost.

}o{

Saint-Tropez, France — 1953

"Just give me a moment, will ya?"

The pounding on his door was driving him insane and he was entirely regretting his decision to invite his sister and brother-in-law along on this European tour of his.

Or rather…the fifth European tour he'd taken in the last year and a half.

He liked Europe, after all. And the Bartowski fortune just kept growing. Thankfully he'd found something to do with it. Trips to Europe were a perfect supplement to all of the charity work he and Ellie did back in the states.

But damn him for actually inviting her along this time.

Damn him to hell.

He chuckled to himself in amusement as he shut the safe in his suite's bedroom, something he'd had installed specifically when he first stayed here a few years earlier, and he hastened to his bedroom door, sweeping it open.

"Ah! Ellie! I didn't hear you. Next time, you should try to knock a little louder."

"Shut up," she groused, giggling as she shoved his face. "And anyway, you told me to tell you when the parade began and it's begun. Devon's out on the balcony now. We've also got champagne." She wiggled her eyebrows.

"Oh, you two." He smirked. "You know me too well."

"What, the champagne?"

"That, yes."

"The champagne was for me."

Chuck laughed and slung his arm over his older sister's shoulders and going out onto the balcony with her to stop at the railing next to his brother-in-law. "Are there balloons in this one?"

"Of course not. We're in France. They're classier than having balloons," Ellie said, pouring him some champagne and bringing it to him.

"Then what's that?" Chuck asked, pointing down at a balloon teddybear being walked down the road by waving parade participants.

"That looks like a balloon," Devon chimed in, mimicking putting a monocle up to his eye. "Why yes, yes I do believe it is a balloon, good chap," he teased in a bad English accent. He'd fought beside the English in the war, some of his greatest friends were Englishmen now, and still the man couldn't do a proper accent. For shame.

"That doesn't count," Ellie argued. "It's much smaller than the monstrosities in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade."

"What kind of a patriot are you, you snob?" Chuck knocked back his champagne and thrust the glass out for more.

His sister eyed him dubiously, but still poured it. "That's not how you're supposed to drink champagne, dear brother."

"I'm on vacation. Fill 'er up."

"You're always on vacation."

And there it was again. He rolled his eyes and moved away from her, going back inside.

"Heeey, I'm not trying to annoy you. I know it annoys you when I get on your case. It's just that you don't really…do anything, you know?"

"I'm doing something right now."

"You're on vacation, spending your days out by the water, on other people's yachts, reading comic books in bed, and then going out to the casinos of Saint-Tropez all hours of the night." She huffed. "I know you aren't much of a gambler, so I don't entirely know what you do when you're out at night."

"I drink and talk with the locals, Ellie. I'm picking up local color, practicing my French, talking to artists. I'm learning about society and history and people. I've told you a million times. I don't keep secrets from you, El, and you know that."

"I know. I know, I know. And I believe you. But back home you're…"

"Worth millions upon millions upon millions of dollars."

"You're worth more than just that."

"Ehhhh. We're just short of a cool billion, sis. And the money keeps comin'. Thanks, mom and pops." He gave a quick point upwards. He knew immediately that he'd gotten too trivial about the subject, and he regretted it immediately when Ellie's face hardened.

"Great. That was lovely, Chuck. Congratulations. You've effectively smart-assed your way into being a complete bastard about Mom and Dad. You know what they did for us. And it has little to do with the fortune they left behind."

Chuck let out a long breath and nodded. "I know. I'm sorry, sis. I got too tongue-in-cheek for my own good. I'm grateful to them. Not just for what they did for us, giving us a happy childhood, wanting for nothing, including their affection, but for what they did for our country, the war efforts. They're heroes, and I know that, I just wish they hadn't…" His voice trailed off.

"Me, too," Ellie said quietly, walking up to him and hugging him tightly. "I wish they hadn't. But they did. And you and me? We've done all right these last ten years, haven't we?"

"We've done all right. We always will, s'long as we stick together."

"Awwww, guuuuys! Me, toooo!" Devon bear-hugged both of them tightly, earning laughs from the brother and sister. "I'm not goin' anywhere, either! You both got me!"

"Thanks, brother," Chuck squeaked out, before he was able to break away and chuckle, straightening his dinner jacket.

He smiled at the only family he had left, then waved them to go back out on the balcony. "Go on, enjoy the parade. I'll be right out. Just have to make a quick phone call. I'm going to make sure everything's all right back home. And check on how Morgan's doing with booking my appearances in New England next month."

Ellie gave him a look, but she nodded, walking arm in arm with her husband back outside.

As Chuck went to the phone, he stopped and eyed his sister and brother-in-law again.

He remembered the day they'd found out about their parents. He'd had too many nightmares reliving it to forget.

Devon had already shipped back out to Salerno a few days earlier. Chuck and Ellie were at home, playing cards out on the patio. Ellie had just won again and was rubbing it in when the soldiers arrived. They'd come out of the French doors leading onto the patio, having been led through the house by the Bartowski family's maid, Sally.

He remembered the somber looks on their faces, tasked with a terrible job—the worst job. He remembered feeling sorry for them, which was silly, ridiculous even. Not just because they had to deliver the news of his and Ellie's parents' deaths, but because they then had to go back to the frontline and possibly die themselves.

And then, after crying and holding Ellie, Sally and the family butler Philip standing over them mourning and protecting them all at once, Chuck had been struck with a wave of anger. He'd tried to enlist right there on the spot, begging the men to take him with them. He'd wanted to find a Nazi and give them a slow, lingering death, make them suffer.

But then he'd remembered Ellie. And he'd relented. He wasn't leaving his sister alone, especially not with Devon still out there.

His parents were sent back home through ways of Paris and London, and eventually Washington, D.C. where their children were both flown by the president himself to meet them. Eleanor and Charles received their possessions they'd died with, as well as the medals of honor granted them for the work they'd done, work nobody had known they were doing, including Eleanor and Charles themselves. That had been a shock, and a number of other complicated, difficult emotions had plagued him, on top of grieving their loss.

It had been a secret ceremony, but word had still leaked to the press.

The Bartowskis were wartime heroes, spies for the good side. And Eleanor and Charles became the rich heir darlings of the country. They were the Bartowski living legacy.

Thank God a good bit of that had faded in the last ten years, but he still received certain looks of pride every so often from the people he met. Charles Bartowski, the Bartowski son. Son of heroes.

He loved his parents, he was grateful to them, and he was prouder than words could say. But there was some resentment sometimes—not towards them or the cause they took up, but towards the fact that he'd been left without them. That Ellie hadn't had them at her wedding a year after the war ended. And there were always the people who meant well, but said things about how he might not have their physical presence anymore, what what a lasting legacy of heroism they left, and at least he could hang onto that. As though that was a proper replacement for his mother and father.

They wouldn't be at his wedding, either. If it happened. Eventually. Maybe.

It had almost happened, twice, but damn if he hadn't always picked the wrong women—women who were a 'good fit', from wealthy families, 'well-bred', of a congenial disposition, whatever the hell that meant. He felt like he was just going through the motions, and he knew it, and let those relationships last too long. Much, much too long. He was done with that nonsense now. Though he knew that he'd made the same promise to himself enough times and just didn't care enough to stop.

He shook himself and decided not to call home after all. Sally and Philip were more than capable of keeping things in order. Instead, he picked up the phone and dialed another number. The front desk answered after a few rings.

"Sir, it seems Mr. Grimes is out at the moment. Would you like for us to take a message? He'll receive it upon his arrival back to the hotel."

Chuck sighed. "No, no. That's all right. It isn't important. Thank you."

"Yessir. Let us know if we can do anything else."

"I will."

He hung up and stuck his hands in his pockets. His old friend and personal assistant Morgan Grimes was already out and about and it wasn't even dinner time yet, the rascal.

Wandering back outside onto the balcony, he sidled up to the railing beside Ellie and leaned his elbows on it. "Listen, I've not seen enough of you two lovebirds during the last week we've been here…"

"Hey, you said we'd get a romantic trip. It's less romantic if you're around, little brother," Devon joked, reaching around his wife to nudge Chuck with a closed fist.

"Devon, oh my God…" Ellie breathed.

"Wellll, that's horrible. Thank you for that."

"I hate you both," Ellie murmured, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"And feel free to disappear any time you like, but I was actually just saying that to preface an invite. How would you like to join your little brother for dinner tonight?"

"Dinner?" Ellie exclaimed. "With you? Devon, did you hear that? Chuck wants to eat dinner. In public. With us."

"I'm shocked, baby."

"I'm really going to have to get all gussied up," she continued. "My finest jewelry. This is such a momentous occasion…"

"My tie will actually have to match my suit. And I'll have to wear cufflinks."

"Are you both done?"

They laughed at him.

"We'd love to, Chuck," Ellie said, putting a hand on his bicep and squeezing sincerely. "You know, I've loved spending all this time with you this week, as much as we all tease when the three of us are together. I love you."

"I love you, too, El. When we get back to Los Angeles after this whole exciting European romp of ours, we need to see each other more often. I know you two have a lot on your plates, with the medical school grant you've started and all of your stuffy heart surgery talks you do around the country, Captain Awesome."

"Ohhhhh, no. Chuck, don't."

"But, El, I love it. I love when he calls me that. It gets me goin'. You'd do well to use it every so often, ya know?"

"Annnnd never using it again." Chuck pointed at them. "That's done. And also I'm throwing myself off of this balcony."

The married couple laughed as he chuckled and turned to lean back against the railing, eyeing the room inside. "Hey, El. No foolin', why don't you wear Mom's charm bracelet tonight?"

He felt his sister's mirth die, her body going a bit tense next to his. "What?"

"Mom's charm bracelet. Why don't you wear it to dinner? In fact, I'll loan it to you this whole trip. You can wear it tonight, tomorrow, all the rest of the days we're in Saint-Tropez. It looks amazing on you and, um, I dunno. It's Mom's."

"Chuck, you—Did you bring that here? Why?"

"Why not? I thought you'd like to wear it."

"Chuck, that's not for me. Mom left it to you in her will specifically. She wants you to save it for the woman you marry."

"Yeaaaah, yeah. I know. But if it's mine, why can't I let her daughter wear it a few times before I find someone to marry? You deserve it more than anyone else, more than me even."

That got him a flat look. "Chuck. You shouldn't have brought it here. With how much it's worth, you should've left it in the vault in Los Angeles."

"It's wasting away in there. Ellie, just take the nice brotherly gesture and enjoy the bracelet for a while. I want you to. It'd make me happy. And you told me years ago the thing you want most in the world is for me to be happy."

"Yes, well…that was because some viper of a woman broke your heart and I was threatening to strangle her to death with my stocking in front of a crowd of partygoers."

"That was when I knew I'd married the right woman," Devon piped up with a big grin.

Chuck laughed as Ellie gave her husband a long look. "Really? That was when?"

"Um."

The youngest of the three stepped in quickly, deciding to rescue his brother-in-law a bit. "Ellie, maybe if you walk around flaunting it on your wrist, it'll attract women to us and one of them will be my future wife who will get to wear it when we're married. Mom's wish coming to fruition. Full circle. Or something."

"That is ridiculous logic. I'm appalled at how stupid that sounded."

Chuck laughed. "Thank you. Wear it."

"God, fine. I'll wear it. But only because it'll be much safer on my wrist than under your bed, which is where I'm terrified you might have put it."

"I put it in the safe in my bedroom, Ellie," he enunciated slowly, almost offended. "Why would I put that under my bed?"

"That's where you used to stick comic books Sally didn't like you reading. Those big bosomed cartoon women in their super suits."

"That's such an exaggeration and I never want to hear you say 'bosom' or any derivative of it ever again. Are we clear?"

His sister laughed as she followed him inside, neither of them noticing someone else had wandered out onto the next balcony…listening intently to their conversation.

}o{

Chuck laughed as he watched his brother-in-law put his hands on Ellie's shoulders and force her towards the craps table.

"I don't want to!"

"Ellie, please? You're my lady luck!"

"No one is your lady luck, Mr. Woodcomb. You're absolutely dismal at gambling."

"Yes, well…You should have seen me in the trenches at Salerno."

"Did you win a lot of money?" Chuck asked, sticking the hand not holding a martini in his pocket and following behind them.

"Huh?" Devon looked over his shoulder at him. "Oh, no. Not at all. I nearly lost everything down to my underpants." Chuck guffawed as Ellie groused at her husband. "They felt bad for me and gave my things back. Good fellows, all of 'em."

He was still laughing as they sidled up to the table, other gamblers shifting to make room.

"We'll do one game thingy and then you're dancing with me," Ellie told Devon. "Just one."

Chuck watched as they played, deciding to throw in some dough, too. If only the one time. He wouldn't make a habit of it or anything.

After his parents died, Philip had become the biggest male influence in his life, though the man had kept up the appearance of an employer and employee relationship in front of others. He'd taught him things Philip thought Stephen might have wanted his son to know. About right and wrong. About women, though Chuck had managed to avoid most of those conversations. And he'd also made him promise to never engage in gambling. It was easy to lose not just his entire fortune, but his mind. He'd seen his father's friends do it, and he trusted Philip's insistence in the matter.

Granted, that hadn't stopped him from playing here and there. But it held no real power over him. And it wasn't enjoyable. He knew there were better uses for his family's money—things that might actually help people.

And though it wasn't the only reason he did it, it helped that those were the only times he felt like he had some worth—seeing how his family's money could be used to save lives, lift folks up.

Ellie ended up actually being lucky for her husband, and after they won through a round, the couple took their winnings and backed away, headed for the dance floor. Chuck stayed at the table, bobbing a bit to the jazz band and smiling as he continued to play. One of the players rolled then and got a perfect seven.

Everyone playing at the table clapped, including Chuck, and as he raised his eyes to look at her, he immediately felt the air leave his lungs. His hands stopped mid-clap and he just stared.

She was looking right back at him and her eyes were very blue. Incredibly blue. Was there even a word in the English dictionary for how blue they were?

"Lady, yer the luckiest thing wut's come ta this table all night," a middle aged fellow in a white suit and cowboy hat said, pulling his cigar out of his mouth. "If you don't mind continuin' to throw the dice, I'd be much obliged."

The woman broke Chuck's gaze and smiled over at the other man, nodding in thanks, amused. "Unfortunately, that, uh…isn't how the game works."

"Then throw my dice! I'd not mind it a bit!"

She laughed with a shrug, picking the dice up again as everyone finished their bets and rolling once more.

"She's an angel!" the Texan cried out when she rolled exactly what everyone needed.

As the dice eventually moved on from the blue-eyed blond-haired "angel", Chuck found he simply couldn't. She was jaw-droppingly stunning. And the thing that had him gasping for breath more than the strapless black silk gown that clung to her figure, adorned with glittering gems at the top, the matching black gloves that went up just above her elbows, the way her blond hair seemed to almost shimmer in the room's romantic lighting… was how expressive, and more important, intelligent those eyes were. Not to mention the way her lips, and mouth in general, had a certain witty amusement in the way they twitched, tilted upwards…She was calm, outwardly, reassuringly so. But then underneath that, there was something…exciting. Or maybe he was just crazy.

But he'd seen plenty of gorgeous women before.

When she turned to him as he was finally handed the dice again, those eyes and that mouth almost seemed to be sharing some inside joke with him. It sent a thrill through his entire body and he sought to ignore it and focus on the dice.

"So what does everyone suggest? Blowing on 'em?" he asked, earning a few groans.

"Man, jes' throw 'em. We don't got all night," the Texan complained.

"You want me to roll well, don't you, friend?" he asked, earning a snide look.

He picked his two dice from the five, then blew on them in his hand. "C'mon," he murmured as he threw them against the wall.

"Eight," the dealer announced. Chuck shrugged as everyone set their bets. He kept his chips on the pass line, then rolled again. And again. And again. Until finally, he rolled an eight again."

Everyone at the table cheered as Chuck threw his arms up over his head. "Well, now you just feel foolish, don't you, sir?" he shot at that Texan, who just chuckled and kept munching on his cigar.

"You can keep bein' a smart ass to me, son, so long as you keep rollin' like that."

"Deal!" he said, laughing.

He meant to leave the table a few times, but he stayed, and it was mostly because she stayed. Until finally, he felt like perhaps he was getting to the point where it might become a problem. Even though he knew it was her he was becoming addicted to and not the gambling.

He thanked the dealers, cashed out, nodded across the table to the woman with the intelligent gaze, and split.

Part of him felt supremely foolish, walking away from a woman like that, but he was at least one hundred and fifty dollars up and that felt as good a place as any to call it quits. Not only that, but women as of late had only proven to bring him pain. God, it wasn't even pain really. He didn't care enough for pain. It was more like…frustration. He had other things to focus on. It wasn't even all women, he knew. But the ones he'd gotten caught up with had done enough of a number on him that he needed a break.

And boy, did that woman seem like trouble…

The way she'd made him feel in just those twenty-five minutes he stood across from her was evidence enough that he needed to walk away. Probably. He actually wasn't sure, now that he was really thinking about it. Maybe he was too mixed up for that sort of thing anyway. Best for everyone involved if he just…didn't.

He took stock of where his family was, saw they were enjoying themselves on the dance floor, and disappeared into the men's room for a few minutes. He splashed water on his face, willing that woman out of his mind, hoping the cold shock of the water might help.

It did. A bit.

And he thought another drink would be the perfect addition to the cold water to the face.

As he got up to the bar, he ordered whiskey on the rocks this time and waited, drumming his fingers against the bar.

"Now why'd you abandon the table just when it was getting hot? That's what I'd like to know."

He jumped a bit, then turned around to see that the woman from the craps table was sitting on the barstool he'd ended up next to. How hadn't he seen her there? She was coyly sipping a martini, playing with the olive at the end of the toothpick as she set it down again.

"Uh, I…"

Chuck cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry?" she asked.

"Oh. No, I—I'm not much of a gambler. Those lucky rolls were just that: luck. And that's rare, so I thought I'd duck away before my luck turned. Like it…always does." He gave her a crooked smile, thanking the bartender and sliding money to him as he put his drink down for him. "Trust me, that wouldn't have been good for you, either. Any of you."

"Even the Texan who called you a smart ass?"

"He can lose all of his damn oil wells and I wouldn't bat an eyelash about it." He winced. "Sorry. Language."

She snorted. "You think he's in oil?" she asked, apparently choosing to ignore his bad language.

"Well…that accent. You read Giant yet? Great book. Texans, oil. Um…I'm making assumptions, is what it is. Stereotyping."

The woman took another sip of her martini. "I pegged him as more of a banker. Men with oil tend to have more of a swagger about them. New money and all that. Bankers, much less so. There wasn't much swagger there. Just…loudness."

Chuck laughed. "He was very loud."

"Mhmmm." She raised her eyebrows, then giggled a bit. "You, on the other hand…"

"Do I have a swagger to me?" He stood up a bit taller, sipping his whiskey. The ice in the glass got stuck for a moment, and then unstuck…making it fall into his nose and spilling a bit of whiskey down his chin. "Sh—Oh." He snagged a napkin as she made an amused choking sound, and he dabbed at his face, checking to make sure no whiskey ended up on his nice tuxedo. "Well, that answers that."

She laughed with him. "No, you don't. You seem very much like old money. Secure. Confident."

Chuck glanced over his shoulder as though she was talking to someone else, making her giggle. "Secure? Me? Confident?" He snorted. "Are you looking at me or at someone else?"

"You," she said plainly, smiling. "You must have a lot."

"A…lot?"

"Of money." She sipped her martini again, then lifted the olive, trapped it between her teeth, and slowly pulled the toothpick out of it, before closing her lips around it and chewing, never once taking her gaze from his.

"I…might," he breathed, swallowing hard. His tie was a little tight. Was his tie a little tight? It was. It was a little tight. He should fix that. He did. He reached up and tugged at the knot, doing absolutely nothing apparently, because it still felt hard to breathe.

"It's all right, so do I."

"Oh. I…Really?"

"Yes. Does that scare you?"

"No, why would it? I'm not…pfft no."

"Then would you like to dance with me, Mr. Lucky Eight?"

"I…er…" He threw back the rest of his whiskey and winced a bit. That was some good whiskey. "I warn you, I'm not terribly good at it. Miss Lucky Seven." Because he was a gentleman, he'd sneakily caught a look at her left hand. There was a ring on her index finger, but not on that finger.

"I think you're lying to me. Old money? Surely you had to learn how to dance growing up. Some sort of cotillion for young rich boys."

He scoffed. "This isn't the eighteen hundreds. I didn't learn horse riding or fencing, either."

She raised her eyebrows and snorted, seemingly shocked he'd just come back at her like that. She finished her martini and gestured towards the dance floor. "Just for that, I'm forcing you to dance with me. I have quick feet. You won't step on them."

"Ha!" He thrust his arm out for her to take and she took it, both hands around his bicep, and the way she squeezed his arm as he led her out to the edge of the floor made him feel almost giddy. A grown twenty-seven year old man…giddy.

But then he turned to take her in his arms, folding one of her gloved hands up in his and putting his other hand on her hip, and he thought he could give himself a pass, maybe. Because she truly was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his entire life. He knew beauty, too.

She stepped in close and smiled a little, those eyes burning intelligently again as they looked up into his.

"So…what is your actual name?" he finally asked. "Since I'm relatively sure it isn't Lucky Seven."

Her smile turned into a smirk, and she gave him a bit of a side-glance. "I don't think I'll tell you."

"What? Why not?"

"I read something in Vanity Fair about enigmatic women."

"Did you?"

"Mm. Yes. Apparently, they're more fascinating. And I like the idea of being fascinating."

"I think you'd still be incredibly fascinating if your name was…" He squinted at her, thinking. "Elizabeth?"

"No."

"Madeline?"

"No."

"Vera."

"No."

"You're Rose."

"I'm not."

"Thorn."

She laughed, throwing her head back.

"Sorry, it's just that this not-giving-me-your-name thing is rather a thorn. In my side." He grinned at her, swaying back and forth to the music, stepping one…two, stepping again one…two…

She laughed again. "I'm afraid I can't help you with that."

"Yes, you can!" he exclaimed, chuckling as she beamed, her tongue between her teeth. "All you have to do is tell me that your name is…Lana."

"All right, my name is Lana."

He stopped them. "Is it really?"

"No."

"Damn it," he said through his teeth, making her laugh again as he swept her back up and began dancing again. "You're insufferable."

"Oh, no, that's my middle name."

This time, he laughed. "Why won't you just tell me? A first name even."

"That's less fun."

He thought about it. "I suppose you've got me there. What do I tell my sister later when I say I've met the most fascinating woman, and she asks me what your name is?"

"Tell her the truth…"

"Which is?"

"That I wouldn't give it to you."

"Damn." She giggled. "Damn, you keep doing this to me."

"Gosh, I am sorry."

"You aren't a bit sorry."

"No." She giggled again, shaking her head.

The song ended and they stepped away to turn towards the band and clap for them. The conductor bowed to the room, then turned back and started another song. Chuck turned back to take his partner into his arms again, but she was gone. "H-Hey…"

He spun on his heel, looking around for her, any flash of a black, strapless gown…blond hair piled on top of her head…the slope of her shoulders…anything. But as he pushed back through the crowd and wandered the room, he couldn't find her anywhere.

"What on…Earth?" he murmured to himself as he made the rounds through the whole place and came up empty-handed.

She'd vanished.

Was she really an angel?

That was ridiculous. Of course she wasn't.

But how did she get away so fast? Why?

"Chuck."

He spun on his heel to see Ellie and Devon approaching, and there was a confused look on his sister's face. "Ellie. Devon. Have you seen a-a woman—?"

"I've seen plenty," Devon announced, earning a look from his wife. "Oh. But none as gorgeous as—I'm done."

Ellie rolled her eyes and turned back. "What are you talking about, Chuck?"

"There was this amazing…" He huffed and shook his head. "Nothing. Never mind. Let's go back into the night and find some ice cream or crepes or something. I need some sugar."

Devon shrugged. "That sounds…good. You all right?"

"I'm fine. All is well."

He led them out of the place, helping his sister into her wrap, taking Devon's hat and his own from the coat check, smiling as he tipped the woman there, and swept out onto the street.

The jolly threesome walked arm in arm down the sidewalk, bantering happily, completely unaware of the pair of blue eyes watching them from the alley across the street.

}o{

It had been a struggle, but Chuck managed to get his sister to agree to wear the charm bracelet again as they went out for brunch and walked down to the pier to enjoy the midday sun. She had tried to say that the charm bracelet was too fine to go with her lace capri pants and light blue button-up, but he'd given her his particular look that let her know he wasn't having it and she relented.

"If I lose this, that's hundreds of thousands of dollars and one of the last things Mom gave us of hers that wasn't part of her actual fortune. And it's going to be your fault, not mine," Ellie said for what must have been the seventeenth time that day.

Chuck rolled his eyes as they crossed the street. "That bracelet is heavy enough that I think you'll be able to tell if it's suddenly not there anymore, dear sister."

"That's what you'd think, dear brother, and yet…"

She stuck her tongue out at him and he blanched. "Honestly. You're almost thirty-two years old, Eleanor."

"Mmm yes, and I'm not ashamed of myself a bit."

Chuck bought them all ice cream at a small parlor along the beach, and they enjoyed it as they strolled down the busy coastline street. It became warm enough during the mid-afternoon that Chuck had to fan himself with his own hat halfway through their leisurely stroll, taking his suit jacket off and draping it over his arm, leaving him in just his button-up shirt, his tie loose.

"Wait!"

They stopped at Devon's exclamation after an hour of walking through the coastal city's streets and buying things, shopping, pointing out exciting knick knacks and items of clothing through shop windows. Chuck bought a new hat, specifically for the beach. It was the same color as the sand, with a navy blue band around the base of the hat. It was his new "beach hat", he decided, putting it on instead of his hat he'd left the hotel wearing, feeling like he fit in much better, even if it didn't altogether match the suit he'd chosen.

"What is it?" Ellie asked, fixing her sunglasses.

"That's the Saint-Tropez Chellequin jewelry store. That's top of the line, rare gems…We don't have one in America. They have one other Chellequin in Paris and that's it. This is the original store."

"Are you sure?" Chuck asked.

He'd never heard of the Chellequin. Not that he was a jewelry connoisseur by any means. But the jewelry store's meticulously drawn decal on the window was the only thing that looked particularly fancy about it. There was a revolving door, which he supposed made it fancier. But the building didn't have that Saint-Tropez old, pristine look to it that their most expensive, oldest restaurants, hotels, and other establishments in the city center had.

"Of course I'm sure. I've seen pictures of the outside in magazines."

"What magazines are you reading?" he asked.

"Whatever magazines Ellie leaves lying around the house, honestly. I don't know. They're interesting. It sounds like a real blast, though. Let's go in."

"I'm not buying anyone any jewelry," Chuck promised, holding a hand clutching bags up. "I've reached my limit."

Ellie snorted. "Don't worry, Chuck. Nobody expects you to buy anything. But let's go in. I'd like to see what it's like in the original Chellequin."

Biting back a put upon sigh, Chuck Bartowski nodded, gesturing for his sister and her husband to lead the way to the shop. He didn't understand the appeal. Diamonds looked like fancy glass. And while he found colorful gems and stones more beautiful than diamonds, throwing thousands of dollars at it seemed ridiculous. Was it because people found them pretty? Or was it just status? Perhaps a little of both.

As Devon held the door for them both to sweep inside, Chuck felt a gust of cool air. It felt like Heaven inside, and it looked like Heaven, too.

The Chellequin was decorated to look like La Belle Époque, complete with opulent gigantic chandeliers, gold filagree covering everything, mirrors everywhere. Stands stood in the corners with feminine hats from that era, covered in gigantic colored feathers. Lights shone down from the ceiling onto the cases with incredibly large stones trapped on rings, necklaces, earrings…

"Oh, this is magical," Ellie breathed, covering her mouth as though she hadn't been in places that looked similar to this too many times to count in her life. They'd both been born with silver spoons in their mouths—silver spoons decorated with heinously large diamonds and other rare gems, to be more accurate.

Though he had to admit, there was a particular warmth to this place, even while he felt a sensation go through him…something like reverence…upon seeing the pieces of jewelry. They were displayed like art, with such singularity and intensity.

It made him almost nervous.

"Oh, look at this one," Ellie said, going to the main case and pointing down at an elephant pendant that was the size of a silver dollar. "Is that…mother of pearl?"

"I…don't know," Chuck and Devon said at the same time, and in the same tone.

"Yes, mademoiselle. Zis is nacre," a salesman sidled up to the other side of the case. "Nacre in ze center zere. And ze elephant's trunk is lined with blende gems. You are Americans?" he asked.

"Yes, we are."

"Ah, zen you would call zis ze sphalerite, I believe? It's not as hard, zis stone. But ze orange and red mixture is fascinating, no?"

"It's beautiful."

"Shall I take it out of ze case so you can see it better?" he asked.

Devon sent Chuck a look that clearly said, Oh, no…

"Lovely, thank you."

Chuck held back a wince as the man beamed and went into the case, unlocking it with a key and sliding it open. "The sphalerite is rare?" he asked the older man.

"Oh, yes, sir. Well, no…let me rephrase. Ze stone itself in general? Not as rare, no. But zese stones are. It's all in ze way zey are cut. You see ze patterns here. How ze cleavage is." He held the elephant pendant up for Ellie to see, letting it dangle between his fingers delicately. "Ze chain is pure silver. And here ze eyes are actual diamonds. Would you like to hold it, Miss…?"

"Mrs," she corrected with a smile. "Mrs. Eleanor Bartowski-Woodcomb."

The man blanched. "Bartowski?"

"Yes, we're those Bartowskis," Chuck murmured. "Please, I'm begging you, though, don't—"

"Oh, Mrs. Bartowski…Woodcomb, pardon me. I had no idea we—that you—I beg your pardon. Please, if zere is anyzing else I can help you wiz…"

"That's all right. And I don't need to hold it. You can put it back if you'd like. It's rather too large for me. I feel like it might weigh me down a bit."

The man smiled and nodded at her, starting to put it back, but a voice cut in from behind them.

"No, please. Keep it out. As a matter of fact, I'll take everything you have, if you don't mind."

Chuck thought he recognized the voice from somewhere…

And as he slowly turned to look, he heard the other people in the shop gasp, one woman screaming.

The same woman from last night stood before them, her thick blond hair down and spilling to her shoulders in elegant waves with some of it pulled back in diamond encrusted barrettes, her tall slim body clad in an ocean blue dress that flared out at her knees and was cinched at the waist by a thin white belt that matched her white heels.

This time, however, her intelligent blue eyes were flashing, her lips widened in a disingenuous smile.

Oh, and she was holding a gun.

…Oh.

A/N: Oh. OH.

Hehehehehehe. Until next time! Please leave a review! They're nice (even if I'm not).

-Evil Steampunk . Chuckster