Yuletide fic: Four Times Chuck Was a Hero By Being Nerdy (Chuck, gen)
Title: Four Times Chuck Was a Hero By Being Nerdy
Author: dotfic
Rating: Gen, PG (preseries-early season two)
W/C: 2,200
Disclaimer: Belongs to NBC and Wonderland Sound and Vision
a/n: Written for kiarasayre in the Yuletide 2008 challenge, originally posted here. Thank you to amilyn and batyatoon for being the brain trust, and to musesfool for the excellent and speedy beta.
1.
It was show-and-tell day, and his mom said it was okay for Chuck to bring his new lightsaber to school. No one else had one like his, the one with the sound effects. Chuck liked to run around hitting the blade against the furniture so it made the crsshhh sound. It kind of drove his mom crazy, so Ellie pulled Chuck aside and whispered that he should only hit it against things in his room or hers.
However, he was allowed to bring it to school on Monday. The thing wasn't collapsible--it wasn't that kind of lightsaber. Chris Marino had one that folded in on itself and glowed in the dark but that was all it did. It didn't have sound effects. Chuck's lightsaber stuck out of his backpack like a sword, making him feel like David Carradine. He squinted in the sun while the other kids ran past him.
At show-and-tell, Chuck hit the lightsaber on the teacher's desk a few times to show off the sound effects. This weird little kid with shaggy dark hair and big eyes got so excited he climbed up on his desk to see better. He was new in Chuck's school. Susie Gruber in the front row smiled at him and everyone applauded.
At lunch he kept the lightsaber with him because he was worried someone might steal it. Chuck sat cross-legged on the grass and ate his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the lightsaber handle heavy against his knee.
At the edge of the playground, a couple of kids had gathered under a palm tree, their feet kicking up the dry dirt in clouds. Chuck couldn't see what they were doing at first -- some kind of game. He took another big bite of his sandwich. He stopped chewing when Billy Hartman pulled the strap of the weird little kid's lunch bag while Steve Pastor shoved him and the other kids laughed.
"Hey!" Chuck shouted. He grabbed his lightsaber and ran over. "Stop it!"
"Oh, look, it's Bartowski. You gonna beat me up?" Steve folded his arms and laughed. Steve was the biggest kid in the class and he could probably knock Chuck down one-handed.
Steve turned back and shoved the weird little kid to the ground.
Chuck planted his sneakers more firmly in the dirt, gripped his lightsaber, and swung. The lightsaber connected with Steve's thigh and made the crsshhh noise. When Steve yelled in surprise, Billy let go of the lunch bag and lunged at Chuck, but Chuck jabbed him in the stomach with the lightsaber, hard enough that Billy doubled over.
The other kids backed away. Steve looked like he might rush Chuck but Chuck held the lightsaber up again and Steve backed away too.
They all walked off. Steve went last, pointing his finger at Chuck. "You and me later, Bartowski," but then he hurried after the others.
Chuck helped the weird little kid up, started brushing the dirt off his shirt. "You okay?"
The weird little kid coughed, staring at Chuck. "Yeah." He kept staring, and then his round face broke into a big grin. "Man, that was so cool!"
"Really?"
"Yeah!" The weird little kid scuffed his sneakers in the playground dirt. "I'm Morgan."
"I'm Chuck."
*
2.
At 2:15 a.m., Chuck woke up feeling really hungry. He lay on his bed for a few minutes, the glow of the Star Trek screen saver on his computer monitor casting a faint blue light over his bedroom. If he waited, the hungry feeling might go away--he was sleepy and didn't feel like going to the kitchen. There was a box of Cheese Nips on the floor by his bed. Chuck leaned over, picked it up, and shook it--whatever bits of cracker were left rattled around.
His stomach growled.
Chuck rolled out of bed, and headed down the hall. There were a few slices of pepperoni pizza left over, he was pretty sure--he'd seen Ellie wrap them up neatly in foil and put them in the fridge.
As he passed Ellie's room, he noticed the line of light showing under her door. Scrubbing his fingers through his hair, Chuck yawned, then rapped his knuckles lightly against the wood. "Ellie, hey Ellie," he said, keeping his voice almost to a whisper, because she might've fallen asleep with the light on, studying, and he didn't want to her wake her up.
At first there was quiet from the other side of the door and then Ellie's voice said thinly, "Come in."
Chuck opened the door. Ellie sat with her back to him at her computer, her dark hair pinned up using chopsticks. The bun looked like it had started neat, but then had progressively unraveled, her hair falling to her shoulders or sticking out in various directions. Over her pajamas she was wearing her terrycloth blue bathrobe, the one Dad gave her for Christmas last year, and fuzzy pink slippers.
"What're you doing?" Chuck asked.
"Oh, finishing up this paper." Ellie turned in her chair. She looked tired. "It's done, mostly, except every time I try to print, my computer freezes up. I've rebooted it six times."
"Well, that sucks." Chuck dropped onto Ellie's neatly made bed and sat cross-legged. "You got any other programs open?"
"No. I mean, I did." Ellie turned back to the computer and clicked the mouse, but the screen stayed frozen. "But when it started crashing I kept it closed. I closed everything but the word processor. The paper's due at 8:30 and it's thirty percent of my grade and I just, I don't...it won't print, no matter what I do..."
There was this terrible moment where Ellie's face scrunched up, right before she burst into tears. Chuck's stomach felt like it had dropped down to his ankles.
"Oh my God. Ellie, no, it's going to be okay. Here." Chuck grabbed the box of tissues and handed them to her.
She blew her nose. "I'm sorry, Chuck. I'm fine. Really."
"Well, no, your computer keeps crashing and it's the middle of the night and you have a deadline. But you will be fine very soon now." He unfolded his legs, then came over to kneel next to her chair. He put his hands on the computer keyboard. "Let me look at it."
Ellie knotted her fingers around the damp tissue and put her hands in her lap.
Chuck click "print" and managed to freeze Windows. He rebooted, and did the same thing all over again.
"See?" Ellie flapped her hand at the computer screen.
"I see. Okay, let me check something."
He ran a few diagnostics, while Ellie slid out of her computer chair so he could sit.
"You need more memory."
"It's two the morning Chuck," Ellie said, her voice very calm. "The paper's due at 8:30."
"And luckily for you, your little brother is a gaming freak who needs lots of power in his PC. I just got sixteen megabytes today, haven't had a chance to install it yet. We have the same computer. I'll pop the hood on yours, snap in the memory, the whole thing'll take me like twenty minutes."
"Seriously?"
He nodded, getting to his feet. "And if that doesn't work, we'll carry your printer into my room, hook it up to my computer, and you can print it from there."
"Thank you, Chuck." She hugged him, smelling of simple shampoo--no floral or fruit scents for Ellie--and a hint of pizza. The terrycloth robe was soft. "Oh, no," she said abruptly, and stepped back.
"What?"
Ellie looked up at him, a frown line forming between her eyes. "You're taller than me. That is just...no. You are not allowed to be taller than me. When did this happen? Stop it right now!" Ellie, her eyes bright, smacked him lightly on the arm.
"Sure," Chuck said, slouching. "No problem. Let's fix your computer." He straightened up, walked towards the door, and stopped. "But, um, you mind if I go grab a slice of the leftover pizza first?"
*
3.
They raced along the corridor, Sarah in the lead. The track lighting made the white floor gleam, and the walls were smooth, unbroken by any doors. Chuck's sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as they turned a corner. The house of computer genius Henry Van Gilbert was at least in the zip code of normal above ground, if your definition of "normal" was something that made Tony Stark's Malibu mansion look bland.
Below ground, not so much. There were several basement levels, each a maze of brightly lit corridors and rooms.
Van Gilbert had the coolest stuff upstairs--lots of Hollywood memorabilia, a guitar that had belonged to the Who, a replica of the Millennium Falcon built to 1/4 scale.
A shame the guy was a complete nutcase who'd decided that playing both sides against the middle was a good idea, selling his inventions to foreign governments while pretending to work with the NSA.
Sarah skidded to a halt.
Chuck crashed into her. "Dead end."
They stared at the smooth, blank white wall ahead of them.
A hiss of compressed air sounded behind them. They turned as a clear barrier slid down, sealing them in. Chuck felt panic rising in his chest, and took a deep breath. Freaking out was not allowed and he was with Sarah. It would be okay.
"No!" Sarah leapt at the barrier, banged her fists against it, then stepped back and pulled out her gun.
"Wait!" Chuck put his hand on her arm. "I've seen movies like this. It's probably bullet proof."
Sarah paused, fists clenched. She kicked at the barrier. The impact only made her stagger back. "Damn," she whispered. Sarah put her gun away and pulled out her cell phone instead. She looked at it and shook her head. "Can't get a signal. The bastard is blocking it. Casey's probably trapped at the other end of the complex."
"Okay, wait. Van Gilbert likes games, right? I mean, did you see that console in his living room? Anyway, he might've left a way out."
"Maybe." Sarah bit her lower lip.
"Everything he does works on a password system. All we have to do is figure out what will open this barrier."
"The code for everything we've seen him open so far has been notes of music," said Sarah.
"And it was all snatches from movie scores." Chuck walked up to the barrier and put his fingers against the surface. It felt like plastic, only a lot harder. "Science fiction movie scores. For the entry into the sub-levels, he used the main Star Wars theme." Chuck remembered Van Gilbert showing them the detailed model of the Falcon--also the giant poster of Carrie Fisher as Princess Leia hanging just above it.
Chuck whistled a series of notes.
The barrier slid open.
"What was that?" Sarah said, giving Chuck a push ahead of her.
"The Han and Leia love theme from The Empire Strikes Back," Chuck called back over his shoulder as he ran.
"It's pretty," Sarah said, following him. "I like it."
*
4.
Stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, Chuck took his time following Casey down the steps into The Castle, which he'd started calling The Fortress of No Solitude in his head. The Fortress of Solitude was the coolest name Chuck could think of (and he preferred it to Casey and Sarah's NSA and CIA terms for it) but it wasn't exactly a place where anyone could be alone with their thoughts. It was a war room.
"Hey." Casey stopped next to the table, the computer disk gripped in his hand. He turned as Chuck reached the floor. "How'd you know to do that?" His eyes narrowed. Very Clint Eastwood.
"Do what?" Chuck shrugged, keeping his hands in his pockets. The mission had gone almost completely FUBAR, and Chuck wondered if he should be bracing himself for a chewing-out, John Casey style.
"The triple switcheroo you pulled to get the disk back. I'm surprised you knew how to do that kind of maneuver." Casey nodded, sounding curious rather than disapproving.
"Well, I should. That move cost me a game of Assassin back in 2002." As soon as the words were out, Chuck wondered why he'd said that, except he still carried a certain amount of resentment about that particular weekend. Also, his mouth had a tendency to gallop off with the TMI. Anyway, so not relevant or anything John Casey needed to know.
Casey gave Chuck a sharp, sideways glance.
Crap, too late, it was out there.
"Assassin?"
"Uh, never mind. You know, I should probably..." Chuck gave a little hop back towards the stairs, smiled nervously, and hoped that Casey would forget the whole thing.
"Want to explain, Bartowski?"
Chuck had always thought that when Casey was amused he looked a bit shark-like.
"It's...well, it's a LARP."
"What the hell is a LARP?" Casey said, like Chuck had named some exotic African land mammal.
"Live action role playing--"
"Okay, enough. I don't need to hear the nerdy details." The agent shrugged his shoulders as if he were shaking off something distasteful.
When Chuck was halfway up the stairs, Casey spoke again. "Hey, Bartowski!"
Chuck stopped.
"It was good work." Casey turned away and busied himself with the computer console.
Author: dotfic
Rating: Gen, PG (preseries-early season two)
W/C: 2,200
Disclaimer: Belongs to NBC and Wonderland Sound and Vision
a/n: Written for kiarasayre in the Yuletide 2008 challenge, originally posted here. Thank you to amilyn and batyatoon for being the brain trust, and to musesfool for the excellent and speedy beta.
1.
It was show-and-tell day, and his mom said it was okay for Chuck to bring his new lightsaber to school. No one else had one like his, the one with the sound effects. Chuck liked to run around hitting the blade against the furniture so it made the crsshhh sound. It kind of drove his mom crazy, so Ellie pulled Chuck aside and whispered that he should only hit it against things in his room or hers.
However, he was allowed to bring it to school on Monday. The thing wasn't collapsible--it wasn't that kind of lightsaber. Chris Marino had one that folded in on itself and glowed in the dark but that was all it did. It didn't have sound effects. Chuck's lightsaber stuck out of his backpack like a sword, making him feel like David Carradine. He squinted in the sun while the other kids ran past him.
At show-and-tell, Chuck hit the lightsaber on the teacher's desk a few times to show off the sound effects. This weird little kid with shaggy dark hair and big eyes got so excited he climbed up on his desk to see better. He was new in Chuck's school. Susie Gruber in the front row smiled at him and everyone applauded.
At lunch he kept the lightsaber with him because he was worried someone might steal it. Chuck sat cross-legged on the grass and ate his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the lightsaber handle heavy against his knee.
At the edge of the playground, a couple of kids had gathered under a palm tree, their feet kicking up the dry dirt in clouds. Chuck couldn't see what they were doing at first -- some kind of game. He took another big bite of his sandwich. He stopped chewing when Billy Hartman pulled the strap of the weird little kid's lunch bag while Steve Pastor shoved him and the other kids laughed.
"Hey!" Chuck shouted. He grabbed his lightsaber and ran over. "Stop it!"
"Oh, look, it's Bartowski. You gonna beat me up?" Steve folded his arms and laughed. Steve was the biggest kid in the class and he could probably knock Chuck down one-handed.
Steve turned back and shoved the weird little kid to the ground.
Chuck planted his sneakers more firmly in the dirt, gripped his lightsaber, and swung. The lightsaber connected with Steve's thigh and made the crsshhh noise. When Steve yelled in surprise, Billy let go of the lunch bag and lunged at Chuck, but Chuck jabbed him in the stomach with the lightsaber, hard enough that Billy doubled over.
The other kids backed away. Steve looked like he might rush Chuck but Chuck held the lightsaber up again and Steve backed away too.
They all walked off. Steve went last, pointing his finger at Chuck. "You and me later, Bartowski," but then he hurried after the others.
Chuck helped the weird little kid up, started brushing the dirt off his shirt. "You okay?"
The weird little kid coughed, staring at Chuck. "Yeah." He kept staring, and then his round face broke into a big grin. "Man, that was so cool!"
"Really?"
"Yeah!" The weird little kid scuffed his sneakers in the playground dirt. "I'm Morgan."
"I'm Chuck."
*
2.
At 2:15 a.m., Chuck woke up feeling really hungry. He lay on his bed for a few minutes, the glow of the Star Trek screen saver on his computer monitor casting a faint blue light over his bedroom. If he waited, the hungry feeling might go away--he was sleepy and didn't feel like going to the kitchen. There was a box of Cheese Nips on the floor by his bed. Chuck leaned over, picked it up, and shook it--whatever bits of cracker were left rattled around.
His stomach growled.
Chuck rolled out of bed, and headed down the hall. There were a few slices of pepperoni pizza left over, he was pretty sure--he'd seen Ellie wrap them up neatly in foil and put them in the fridge.
As he passed Ellie's room, he noticed the line of light showing under her door. Scrubbing his fingers through his hair, Chuck yawned, then rapped his knuckles lightly against the wood. "Ellie, hey Ellie," he said, keeping his voice almost to a whisper, because she might've fallen asleep with the light on, studying, and he didn't want to her wake her up.
At first there was quiet from the other side of the door and then Ellie's voice said thinly, "Come in."
Chuck opened the door. Ellie sat with her back to him at her computer, her dark hair pinned up using chopsticks. The bun looked like it had started neat, but then had progressively unraveled, her hair falling to her shoulders or sticking out in various directions. Over her pajamas she was wearing her terrycloth blue bathrobe, the one Dad gave her for Christmas last year, and fuzzy pink slippers.
"What're you doing?" Chuck asked.
"Oh, finishing up this paper." Ellie turned in her chair. She looked tired. "It's done, mostly, except every time I try to print, my computer freezes up. I've rebooted it six times."
"Well, that sucks." Chuck dropped onto Ellie's neatly made bed and sat cross-legged. "You got any other programs open?"
"No. I mean, I did." Ellie turned back to the computer and clicked the mouse, but the screen stayed frozen. "But when it started crashing I kept it closed. I closed everything but the word processor. The paper's due at 8:30 and it's thirty percent of my grade and I just, I don't...it won't print, no matter what I do..."
There was this terrible moment where Ellie's face scrunched up, right before she burst into tears. Chuck's stomach felt like it had dropped down to his ankles.
"Oh my God. Ellie, no, it's going to be okay. Here." Chuck grabbed the box of tissues and handed them to her.
She blew her nose. "I'm sorry, Chuck. I'm fine. Really."
"Well, no, your computer keeps crashing and it's the middle of the night and you have a deadline. But you will be fine very soon now." He unfolded his legs, then came over to kneel next to her chair. He put his hands on the computer keyboard. "Let me look at it."
Ellie knotted her fingers around the damp tissue and put her hands in her lap.
Chuck click "print" and managed to freeze Windows. He rebooted, and did the same thing all over again.
"See?" Ellie flapped her hand at the computer screen.
"I see. Okay, let me check something."
He ran a few diagnostics, while Ellie slid out of her computer chair so he could sit.
"You need more memory."
"It's two the morning Chuck," Ellie said, her voice very calm. "The paper's due at 8:30."
"And luckily for you, your little brother is a gaming freak who needs lots of power in his PC. I just got sixteen megabytes today, haven't had a chance to install it yet. We have the same computer. I'll pop the hood on yours, snap in the memory, the whole thing'll take me like twenty minutes."
"Seriously?"
He nodded, getting to his feet. "And if that doesn't work, we'll carry your printer into my room, hook it up to my computer, and you can print it from there."
"Thank you, Chuck." She hugged him, smelling of simple shampoo--no floral or fruit scents for Ellie--and a hint of pizza. The terrycloth robe was soft. "Oh, no," she said abruptly, and stepped back.
"What?"
Ellie looked up at him, a frown line forming between her eyes. "You're taller than me. That is just...no. You are not allowed to be taller than me. When did this happen? Stop it right now!" Ellie, her eyes bright, smacked him lightly on the arm.
"Sure," Chuck said, slouching. "No problem. Let's fix your computer." He straightened up, walked towards the door, and stopped. "But, um, you mind if I go grab a slice of the leftover pizza first?"
*
3.
They raced along the corridor, Sarah in the lead. The track lighting made the white floor gleam, and the walls were smooth, unbroken by any doors. Chuck's sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as they turned a corner. The house of computer genius Henry Van Gilbert was at least in the zip code of normal above ground, if your definition of "normal" was something that made Tony Stark's Malibu mansion look bland.
Below ground, not so much. There were several basement levels, each a maze of brightly lit corridors and rooms.
Van Gilbert had the coolest stuff upstairs--lots of Hollywood memorabilia, a guitar that had belonged to the Who, a replica of the Millennium Falcon built to 1/4 scale.
A shame the guy was a complete nutcase who'd decided that playing both sides against the middle was a good idea, selling his inventions to foreign governments while pretending to work with the NSA.
Sarah skidded to a halt.
Chuck crashed into her. "Dead end."
They stared at the smooth, blank white wall ahead of them.
A hiss of compressed air sounded behind them. They turned as a clear barrier slid down, sealing them in. Chuck felt panic rising in his chest, and took a deep breath. Freaking out was not allowed and he was with Sarah. It would be okay.
"No!" Sarah leapt at the barrier, banged her fists against it, then stepped back and pulled out her gun.
"Wait!" Chuck put his hand on her arm. "I've seen movies like this. It's probably bullet proof."
Sarah paused, fists clenched. She kicked at the barrier. The impact only made her stagger back. "Damn," she whispered. Sarah put her gun away and pulled out her cell phone instead. She looked at it and shook her head. "Can't get a signal. The bastard is blocking it. Casey's probably trapped at the other end of the complex."
"Okay, wait. Van Gilbert likes games, right? I mean, did you see that console in his living room? Anyway, he might've left a way out."
"Maybe." Sarah bit her lower lip.
"Everything he does works on a password system. All we have to do is figure out what will open this barrier."
"The code for everything we've seen him open so far has been notes of music," said Sarah.
"And it was all snatches from movie scores." Chuck walked up to the barrier and put his fingers against the surface. It felt like plastic, only a lot harder. "Science fiction movie scores. For the entry into the sub-levels, he used the main Star Wars theme." Chuck remembered Van Gilbert showing them the detailed model of the Falcon--also the giant poster of Carrie Fisher as Princess Leia hanging just above it.
Chuck whistled a series of notes.
The barrier slid open.
"What was that?" Sarah said, giving Chuck a push ahead of her.
"The Han and Leia love theme from The Empire Strikes Back," Chuck called back over his shoulder as he ran.
"It's pretty," Sarah said, following him. "I like it."
*
4.
Stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, Chuck took his time following Casey down the steps into The Castle, which he'd started calling The Fortress of No Solitude in his head. The Fortress of Solitude was the coolest name Chuck could think of (and he preferred it to Casey and Sarah's NSA and CIA terms for it) but it wasn't exactly a place where anyone could be alone with their thoughts. It was a war room.
"Hey." Casey stopped next to the table, the computer disk gripped in his hand. He turned as Chuck reached the floor. "How'd you know to do that?" His eyes narrowed. Very Clint Eastwood.
"Do what?" Chuck shrugged, keeping his hands in his pockets. The mission had gone almost completely FUBAR, and Chuck wondered if he should be bracing himself for a chewing-out, John Casey style.
"The triple switcheroo you pulled to get the disk back. I'm surprised you knew how to do that kind of maneuver." Casey nodded, sounding curious rather than disapproving.
"Well, I should. That move cost me a game of Assassin back in 2002." As soon as the words were out, Chuck wondered why he'd said that, except he still carried a certain amount of resentment about that particular weekend. Also, his mouth had a tendency to gallop off with the TMI. Anyway, so not relevant or anything John Casey needed to know.
Casey gave Chuck a sharp, sideways glance.
Crap, too late, it was out there.
"Assassin?"
"Uh, never mind. You know, I should probably..." Chuck gave a little hop back towards the stairs, smiled nervously, and hoped that Casey would forget the whole thing.
"Want to explain, Bartowski?"
Chuck had always thought that when Casey was amused he looked a bit shark-like.
"It's...well, it's a LARP."
"What the hell is a LARP?" Casey said, like Chuck had named some exotic African land mammal.
"Live action role playing--"
"Okay, enough. I don't need to hear the nerdy details." The agent shrugged his shoulders as if he were shaking off something distasteful.
When Chuck was halfway up the stairs, Casey spoke again. "Hey, Bartowski!"
Chuck stopped.
"It was good work." Casey turned away and busied himself with the computer console.