Chuck Versus the Nerds Rewrite

Muaaahahahahahahahahahahaaaaa! It's the 11th anniversary of the CHUCK pilot premiering on NBC! We couldn't NOT do this.

From the minds of Steampunk . Chuckster and David . Carner comes the fic you didn't even know you wanted, but you're getting anyway...Chuck Versus the Nerds Rewrite. This is just for fun, written and updated when we both have the time. We may or may not follow canon exactly, depending on what we'd like to include, change, revamp, rework to suit our own ideas. Expanding on scenes we wanted to see, adding scenes we would've liked to be in the show. And maybe even taking things out we don't like. Because we're stinkers. We hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: We don't own CHUCK, we don't own the CHUCK characters, and we're making no money off of this, but maybe send help because we're having way too much fun and this is dangerous.

The text had come in the morning. She'd heard her phone beep across the room, and she'd stayed right where she was, in the semi-darkness of the kitchen, blinds drawn as tightly as she could possibly make them. She'd thought about drinking, taking the bottle out from the back of the cupboard and just pounding it. But that was stupid and foolish and it wouldn't change anything. And anyway, she didn't want to forget. She wanted this to stay in her mind forever...yet another reason to leave, to walk away, an example of the utter bullshit the CIA had put her through in the last ten years of her life.

Worse than that, though, she needed to know that no matter where she went or what happened, her choices wouldn't endanger anyone she cared about, her choices wouldn't destroy an innocent child's life. Whether she stayed or left, she wanted to remember what had happened, what she'd done. She wouldn't be upset if she ended up forgetting everything else she'd done in the last decade. But there was no chance in hell that would happen. She was stuck with it. And the blood would stay on her hands no matter what she did to try to forget.

She knew who the text was from. Nobody else even had the number. She'd trashed the phone she'd been using before, and Graham had provided her with a new one when she'd returned to Langley. Now he was texting her. A new mission, no doubt. Already. Not even giving her a chance to get back to breathing. Not that she was sure she even wanted that.

And so she stayed standing there, palms on the countertops, staring down at the swirling patterns of the granite in the dark. What was she even doing? What was this existence? Was it even an existence? Because some days she wondered if she technically even existed. Her badge read Sarah Walker, the colleagues that deigned to speak with her called her Agent Walker, when they weren't whispering "Ice Queen" or "Graham's wildcard enforcer" behind her back. But she felt like a ghost. Or, worse yet, some sort of specter. Like she haunted the hallways of Langley, haunted the Earth in general.

She rolled her eyes at herself and left the kitchen, walking over to grab her phone from the coffee table, passing a room that was sparsely furnished, no decorations, nothing that made this place a home. She had nothing to put up, and she refused to go to one of those World Market type places to buy some too-expensive print of some ocean seascape to hang on the wall. For whom, exactly? No one ever came inside her apartment, and she sure as hell wasn't going to do it for herself.

The text from the unlisted number was short and simple: My office. Noon. LG

Just as she'd thought. Another mission. Graham was well aware of what she'd been through, what she'd had to do, the person she'd had to say goodbye to. And here he was thrusting her right back into it, as though her entire world hadn't been rocked by the last week's events. Maybe he didn't know how bad it had affected her. Maybe she did a good enough job pretending none of this affected her. The Ice Queen.

Whatever.

It would be okay. She'd show up, get her mission, and get on a plane to fly halfway across the world again. It would give her time to really think through all of this. To make decisions. Maybe she would have something to actually say to Director Langston Graham once she got back from her mission, something to explain to him that being here, doing this, was too much now. It had gotten too overwhelming, too...a lot.

Or maybe she wouldn't do that. Because what else was even out there for someone who'd killed as often as she had in the last ten years, the last five especially? Lives she'd ruined, innocent people she'd had to betray...all for the good of the country. That was what her superiors said, and it was in her contract to believe it when they said it. Or at least to pretend. And she had been pretending. For years.

She huffed in frustration with herself and grabbed her coat. If she didn't hurry, she'd miss her appointment. And as disillusioned as she was with...well, everything...she refused to compromise when it came to timeliness.

An hour later, she stood in front of Director Graham's desk as he drummed his fingers on a file. The room was silent, an uncomfortable silence, but she wasn't going to be the first to speak. He'd brought her here, hadn't he? And not the other way around.

That file under his hand was a mission, she knew. What kind of mission, she couldn't know for sure. Assassination? Maybe. She wouldn't put it past the CIA to take an agent who'd just dealt with a traitorous handler and had been forced to massacre a building full of people and thrust her right back into a situation that required her to kill again.

"It's good to have you back, Agent Walker." Graham sat back against his chair and looked at her for a moment. It wasn't what she'd expected to hear. "Sometimes when an agent goes through what you did, we lose 'em."

She said what she thought he might want to hear, knowing he was potentially testing out the water, seeing how she responded to his attempt at softness, understanding. Seeing if she really was still considering leaving. She wouldn't give him anything, though. So she responded quickly.

"Well, you're not gonna lose me, Sir." She paused. "But I am done with handlers." That one she meant with every last part of her.

"Oh, I agree," he said, folding his hands on his desk and looking up at her, that understanding still in his face. "In fact, I think that it's time for you to become one."

That was...unexpected. She could feel the stony mask she'd walked into the room with fall away, surprise on her face instead.

"I have a new assignment for you," he continued, sliding the file over his desk towards her. She lowered her eyes to it, raising her eyebrows in genuine interest. "Something stateside." That was also a perk.

She reached down to pick it up, opening it to the first page. The name was there in bold, printed letters. Charles Bartowski. Above it, they'd clipped a picture of the man. It only took her a moment to get the gist of what she was expected to do. Extraction of information from this Bartowski guy. And by the looks of him-the messy hair, the lack of self-esteem in his closed-mouth smile, like he's just...going through the motions of life-it'd be easier than anything else she'd ever done for the CIA.

So maybe Graham was going a little easy on her, this time.

"Think you can handle it?" he asked, with a tone and a look that told her he knew she could handle it. They both did. She just smirked back at him.

But then she spotted something in his eyes. After ten years of working under him, all the way back to when he'd blackmailed her into the Farm at seventeen years old, she'd secretly picked up on his tells. But she wasn't letting this one go. "Is there a catch?" she asked boldly. "There's a catch, isn't there?"

He glanced to the side and let out a frustrated sigh. "You see too much for your own good."

She disagreed. But she didn't say anything.

"This is top secret, Agent Walker."

"Who am I gonna tell, Sir? My friends?" she asked with a bit of a roll of her eyes. That earned her a look and she straightened her spine a little. "Sorry. What exactly is this?"

"I don't trust that anyone can handle this the way you can. I need it to be fast, painless."

"You want me to kill this guy?"

"No," he said quickly. "At least, I don't think that should be necessary. For all we know, he's an innocent bystander. But just in case he isn't, I need you to be there. I need you to suss Bartowski out. I want to know if he worked with Bryce."

Sarah's head snapped up from the file. "Bryce?" she asked quietly. There was the catch. She thought she'd been finished with all of that.

"Bryce sent him something that we need. It's on his home computer. You need to make contact, find out if this guy could be working with the rogue agent, Bryce Larkin. And if he is, we need to either bring him in or…dispose of him." He looked pained as he finished the statement. But Sarah knew it was an act. She wasn't stupid. And it stung that he was trying it anyway as though he thought she was stupid enough to fall for it.

She knew better than to believe one picture, but she couldn't help but wonder if this Charles guy was simply caught up in this because Bryce was a selfish, conniving asshole who'd dragged him in. He looked...sad. As mean as that sounded. At the most, she could imagine Bryce threatening or blackmailing him to help.

But she just nodded and closed the file. "Yessir."

"We need to know why Bryce sent this program with highly sensitive material on it to a civilian, and why this civilian in particular. Get to know him. I'll leave that part to your discretion. Ask him questions. Feel him out. And we're going to need you to get that hard drive from his apartment. Bring it back to Langley and we'll figure out just how much of that program Bryce sent."

Frustration and annoyance was in his face, and as much as she hated Bryce for going rogue, for betraying her, for betraying the CIA, a part of her envied him for having the guts to do something that pissed Graham off this bad. She'd never want to be in Bryce's shoes, but God, sometimes she wanted to snap at this man sitting behind his desk, handing off files that would change the trajectory of people's lives if not end them altogether like it was nothing more than a homework assignment in a seventh grade pre-algebra class.

"Understood, Sir."

"You have one hour to pack. Everything will be taken care of by the time you arrive in Burbank. Like I said, Agent Walker...Sarah…" She nearly winced. "Get this done quickly. Three days max. You might even have some vacation time awaiting you when you get back."

She wouldn't even give him the satisfaction of acknowledging that. Instead, she gathered the folder under her arm. "Is that all, Sir?"

"Yes, Agent. You're dismissed. And...good luck." He didn't have to say Don't let me down because it was in his face, behind the wan smile he'd plastered there.

"Thank you, Sir."

She made quick work of getting out of his office, walking down the hallway, needing to get out of the building altogether.

Get to know him. I'll leave that part to your discretion.

Sarah's eyes slipped shut as she stopped around the corner, leaning back against the wall. Her discretion. Did that mean she could kidnap him, take him to a warehouse, tie him to a chair, and ask him what he had to do with all of this with the tip of her knife pressed to his jugular? No, most likely not. Especially if the CIA wanted this to be "painless" like Graham had said. And so, she knew what was expected of her, something she'd done a handful of times before. A quick, chance, fly-by-night encounter, a date maybe to get him comfortable and talking, a few hours of time spent with him so that she could observe, pick apart his person, discover any hidden identity, any motives that might align him with Bryce. Was he sincere, or a liar? And if he was a liar, was he simply just like everyone else-the guy who lied about trivial things to impress people, or to get out of going to a birthday party he didn't want to go to? Or was he specifically the type of liar who worked with traitors and turncoats, rogue spies?

Either way, she'd get the information she needed, steal his hard drive, and get out. Just like always, she wouldn't give him even an inkling of a chance to look at her sideways or lay a hand on her.

She was on the plane an hour later, watching things whiz past her window as it took off, and then she sat back against her seat and wondered if she had the courage to make this her last mission. That was if, and only if, she was even allowed to make that kind of a decision. She hadn't joined the CIA by choice. And there were times it still felt like...something of a prison. What would Graham say if she stood at his desk and told him she wanted to leave the CIA? Would he laugh and shake his head? Would he be angry? Call her ungrateful? Remind her of what her life might've been like if he hadn't given her a chance to be on the side of the "good guys"? Prison maybe, like her father. Or worse.

But could she keep doing this? A three day mission, easy in and easy out, would be nothing at all. But these weren't the types of missions she'd be sent on if she didn't leave.

And she knew she'd done enough to keep them safe, whether she had to leave the CIA or not. She'd meant what she said when she looked at her mom with that baby in her arms. She couldn't come back. Ever. That wasn't going to change whether she tried to start a new life outside of the agency or not. Too much was at stake.

She brushed aside the tear that made its way down her cheek.

}o{

One week earlier...

She stood there, staring at her Mom and the little baby. Emma had a pleading look on her face. "This is your home, too. It doesn't have to be this way."

She played with her fingers, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. Part of her had been afraid, leaving this little girl at her mom's doorstep, wondering if it would be the right fit for the child, for her mom. But they looked right. Her mom holding this baby...it looked so natural, and she was relieved, but there was also an ache in her that threatened to leave her reeling.

But she couldn't. And she wouldn't. No matter how many regrets were flooding through her at seeing her mom again.

"Mom, I've thought a lot about this and I can't stay. Because for both of you to be safe, well, I can never see you again." It hurt even worse to say it out loud, as much as it had hurt her to think, over and over and over again while she made the journey to her mom's house. She'd solidified it in her mind, she was resolved, and now she'd said it and it felt so unfair. Necessary. And unfair.

Emma simply looked away, fighting back tears. As though she had known what her daughter would say.

She took a deep breath and continued. Because this was the part that really mattered. This was the part that had made the decision for her. "When the CIA recruited me, I was on the run with Dad. We changed identities so much they never knew you existed. And we can't let them find out about you now."

"When you were a little girl, all I ever wanted for you was a normal life. But you went off with your father, and he was never one to..." She sighed heavily, looking away, her voice breaking. Unlike what she remembered experiencing when she was a child, the frustration in her mom's tone when she talked about how irresponsible her father was, instead, Sarah just saw regret. Regret for the life Sarah'd missed out on. "You just-You never got to go trick-or-treating or play on the soccer team or get to go to prom or homecoming. I just wish I could have given you at least some of that."

Sarah nodded once, blinking back tears. Because what could she really say? That she'd wanted that too? It was done. Too late for her now. She felt the weight of Molly's rattle in her back pocket and she quickly grabbed it, thrusting it in front of her. "Um...Don't forget this." She handed the rattle to Emma. "Um, yeah, she likes to be wrapped up in a blanket." She rushed on, talking nervously, making more hand gestures than she ever remembered. "It helps her sleep. And the sound of the rain, she likes the sound of the rain. And I've noticed-"

Emma cut her off, knowing what Sarah was doing. "It's okay, honey." Sarah just stared at Emma, heartbroken. "I'll take good care of her."

Sarah bit back tears and spoke softly. "Yeah, I know. I know." She turned to leave, went halfway down the stairs, and stopped. She had to. She needed to make sure this was the right thing. That she'd not only saved this child, but that she was giving her a life that was so much better than hers had been. For so many reasons. Her mom's long trips away from home as a traveling nurse, the amount of times she had to sit quietly and watch TV with her grandma who babysat her, the unrivaled joy of her dad showing up at the door to take her on another adventure, and everything else that had led to this moment. She didn't want that kind of life for this little girl. She needed to know her mom wouldn't do this again.

She turned and looked up, her fingers tapping on the porch railing. "Mom?"

"Yes?"

She struggled with what to say, because she didn't want her mom to feel guilty. She didn't want her mom drowning in regrets and thinking what had happened to her was her fault. It was the past and it wouldn't help anyone to dwell on all of that. She had to say this the right way, without bitterness or regret.

"Going to prom and soccer games and, uh...and all those normal things that you wanted for me…?" Her voice was full of emotion. She fought back tears. "Will you just make sure that she gets them?"

Emma nodded, tears pooled in her eyes. "Of course I will."

Sarah believed her. With everything in her, she believed her mom. She'd done the right thing bringing that baby here. And this, all of this, was the right thing to do. Leaving and not looking back. In spite of the secret conversations she'd begun having in the last year or two with her mom, late night phone calls, never able to mention anything about her missions, but hearing about her mom's nurse work, the garden she was planting...small but normal things that settled Sarah. That was finished now. For her mom's safety, for the baby's safety. And it hurt, but it was right.

They both knew beyond all doubt that it was too late for Sarah to get any of that normalcy back. Her life was laid out in front of her now. Her mom wasn't pushing more than she already had when she first arrived with the baby in her arms.

"Thank you." Sarah wasn't sure if her mom understood just how deep that 'thank you' was, just how many things she was thanking her for. For everything. But she turned and left quickly, forcing herself not to turn back.

A/N: Just a taste, just a taste...Until next time, Chucksters! Enjoy the rest of the anniversary... Maybe watch the pilot. (wink!)

-SC and DC