fic: let's play a spy game [chuck, pg-13]
Title: Let's Play a Spy Game
Fandom: Chuck/White Collar
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairings: Carina, Carina/Bryce!Neal-ish with background canon pairings. (Chuck/Sarah, Bryce/Alex, even some Bryce/Chuck if you want to see it.)
Spoilers/Warnings: WC season 2, all aired episodes of Chuck.
Disclaimer: not mine, or else this would be canon and Carina and Bryce would be making out. A lot.
Summary: She finds him in New York by accident.
Note: Unbetaed, yes, I suck. I also forget if Carina officially knows about the Intersect but in this case she doesn't “officially”.
Let’s Play a Spy Game
She finds him in New York by accident. Last she heard he was dead, and then he was alive before he was dead again so seeing him doesn't surprise her. In fact it intrigues her. People don't really stay dead in their line of work. She's died more than a few times too. Seeing him across her street from where she just picked up the papers she needs for her mission fills her with cautious amusement. It would only make sense that she would run into him by chance in one of the biggest and crowded cities in the world, but also, that thought is followed with, what's he doing here?
It could be a coincidence. But it also could be trouble. So she watches him.
He's standing next to an older man that screams Suit as do the other two hovering nearby in plain clothes. It's almost insulting how they think they're blending in, but it's all in the stance, in the line of the shoulders and the slight bumps that interrupt the clean lines of their clothes. He's clearly undercover too, though she can tell it's a much deeper cover than the other two are playing at. He's become someone else: it's in the clothes, the hat, the way he stands. So natural, so easy, if it wasn't all so perfect and practiced she's believed it. It's too natural to be natural. He's good. She can appreciate it his skill.
It's against every instinct the agency drilled into her to go up to him and just play a little, but she always follows her own instincts more. If he hasn't gotten rusty he'll see her coming when she crosses the street. And if he's smart he'll ignore her completely.
Slicking back her hair, and adjusting her skirt so it's just a few inches shorter than it had been before, Carina grins and makes her way across the street.
--
When she was younger her mother always told her not to play with her food.
Her mother was right.
Playing with people is so much more fun.
--
About two feet away from him neither have acknowledge each other yet. It's about foot away she pretends to stumble on the heels she can run a mile in. Her exclamation of surprise as she falls into him is a practiced art. Her coffee even sloshes a bit on him and the older man next to him catches her elbow with ease. He never breaks and it fills her with glee. She never doubted he would, if she's honest, but the challenge is half the fun. His eyes give away nothing though and the idea of them being strangers is strangely inciting.
The older man helps steady her as she gives her hurried apologies about being late for a casting call and that she's so so so sorry. He brushes the coffee off, frowning at the stain, and flirts with her a bit -- two strangers meet in the big city and one of them has a secret and which one is it? which one is it? -- as the older man admonishes him and continues being a complete gentleman, blushing when she throws him a smile. Married men are so adorable, especially ones who love their wives. She knows this, because those are the ones she tries to not to seduce. It's one of her odd boundaries, one of those un-crossable lines, and she does not think back to a kitchen in the middle of nowhere where a man and a woman used to dance to the radio.
She's quick to be on her way after -- never stay longer than you have to and this encounter is already a too dangerous -- she has somewhere to be, but she got what she wanted. And now she know about how to find him.
Feds are so easy to make.
--
Her mission is simple. Almost boring.
Infiltrate a high society party, charm her way into the private office, subdue the gentleman or lady that helped her get in (it was a lady this time), hack into personalised computer files and make her way out. If possible don't blow anything up.
She manages this all under the two hour mark. This is including the half an hour before she finds her way into the room, and the after deciding to hang around the party for two more drinks before leaving with the knowledge that she did a job well done and that until the second part of her mission is green lit she has some time to waste.
Back at her hotel room, she slips out of the cocktail dress leaving it on the carpeted floor like a forgotten skin and brings up the files she had hacked from the Bureau's data base this afternoon.
It's barely midnight and the night is oh so young. The dress for the party had been an eye-catching blue but what she's planning to do now calls for black.
--
Before she was recruited she did sixteen years of gymnastics and her favourite character in Batman was Catwoman. As she makes her way to a very classy brownstone belonging to a very interesting lady, she finds herself thinking her younger self had it right. The balcony for the top floor penthouse is nice and very spacious. She thinks of the Morgan door back in Burbank and how what she's doing now is not all that different.
Making her way in is easy enough, and she gives the place a good once over -- no bugs, but nice collection of forged art pieces and IDs; good to know she can talk freely though -- as she waits for him to get out of the shower. She's fingering an empty but familiar bottle of wine when the door opens.
He's practiced enough to not be surprised to see her, and makes his way across the room with a casual grace that you wouldn't expect for a half naked man who just had someone from his very messy past break into his home.
"You know it was sloppy, what you pulled in the street today." He goes to a dresser and pulls out a pair of sweats and a top. She frowns playfully as he pulls them on.
"Are we shy now?" She makes herself comfortable on his couch and grins up at him, "And unless your little FBI friends noticed my little play I don't think I was sloppy at all. So Neal... Nice name, is it really what you going by these days? Bryce Larkin had such a ring to it. Though with being dead and buried twice now it must be hard to keep the name relevant."
The look he gives her can only be categorised as veiled annoyance and she remember he was always more fun when Sarah was around. Then again, they weren't really very good friends in the first place, and only played nice because Sarah made them. And the time he asked for help with that Fulcrum job that got him dead, the first time, but Sarah doesn't know about that, so maybe they were better friends than she thought.
"Don't. And yes, it's Neal, now. I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me that other name anymore. It's not who I am." He almost sounds sad, and she figures he must be. She knew Bryce Larkin, of the Connecticut Larkin's, she knew as much of his past has he had ever shared with her and she met his best friend from college. Meeting Chuck counted above everything else she ever learned from Sarah. And out of all the lies she's sure he's told in his life she's positive those last few words make up the biggest one he's ever told himself.
He'll never stopping being Bryce on some level, because (it all leads back to Burbank).
"I take it they don't know." This is not a question.
The silence he gives her in response is enough.
"Well, now that's interesting." She stretches on her couch and watches as he moves around the room, pours himself a glass of wine and downs it. Oh, this is very interesting.
"Carina." He's looking at her now, nervous, and she remembers her training. It's one thing to play to with Sarah and Chuck (and Bryce) to make them see how stupid they're being, it's another to play just for the sake of playing. She has her own rules outside what the government has instilled in her and for all the risks she takes she never leaves anything to chance.
She rolls her eyes. "Don't worry, I won't tell. I did a little background check after I saw you on the street, Neal Caffrey. Interesting little backstory you built for yourself. So sorry about Kate. She was mediocre asset anyw--"
"Hey!" His voice is hard and really, this habit he and Sarah have about getting attached to their assets is more than a little tiring. Not to mention dangerous. At least Chuck was useful.
"Sorry," she says but she's not. He knows this too. She watches as he moves around the room--easy and comfortable--and frowns, "Wow, they really have you in deep cover here, don't they? Funny thing was that your file while it reads like a criminal's it was surprisingly factual. A few glaring omissions, of course."
He laughs; it's not genuine but he is amused enough with the situation she's not insulted, "Aren't we all just criminals with government badges in the end?"
"No, not all of us." Her mind flashes to Chuck.
(It all leads back to Burbank.)
He nods, looking away towards the New York City skyline in the window she left open, "No, not all of us." For a second or two they don't speak both thinking back to respective pasts they won't share with each other. She thinks she knows who he's thinking about, but what does she really know about Neal Caffrey? And what had she really known about Bryce Larkin? She knew he had loved Sarah in the only way spies can love each other. He had a connection to a charming yet nerdy guy in Burbank that he sacrificed his entire career for, not once but twice, and both these people thought him dead now. Yet here he was, lonely and sad in New York.
It makes her uncomfortable, like she's out of her depth, and she hates this feeling. Pushing herself off the couch, she crosses to the window.
"It was nice meeting you, Neal."
He nods, licking his lips, "Don't tell..."
Draping one leg over the balcony she winks, "Your secret is safe with me."
"Thanks."
"Oh, and by the way, you might want to tell your little fence, Alex, is it?" She wasn't lying when she said she read up on Neal Caffrey and his face is completely worth it. “Tell her that she might want to stay away from French antiquities for the time being. I've got something in play and it wouldn’t do for her to get caught, would it?” Swinging herself of the balcony and into the night she swears she hears his laughter following her.
--
The mission goes off without a hitch and more than a few bruises from a fight with bodyguard that was practically a linebacker. She's done with New York for now. She never considers letting him know that she's leaving and her alias for the mission is burned.
It's half way across the Atlantic, on her way to Istanbul, that she remembers last time she was in New York she broke her wrist. The phantom pain shoots up her arm and she wonders what's broken now.
--
At the tail end of her next mission is when she gets the phone message. She calls Amy and rounds up the C.A.T. Squad and as she gets her connecting flight out of Newark -- she just came via Munich -- she thinks about a penthouse in the city. He would want to know, that much she knows, but when it comes down to it her loyalty will always lie with Sarah first and her flight to California just got called.
Later as she sits with a broken leg in CASTLE teasing Morgan, she thinks about Sarah's bachelorette party. It had been in the early morning, watching the sun rise over South Beach, and Amy has suggested they do breakfast in New York at Pershing Square. She had vetoed it, even though she loves the waffles they have, but it's in Neal Caffrey's two mile radius -- remember she did her homework -- and it was too close to too many secrets from Sarah's past. They decided to get some food in Calle Ocho instead before they made their way back to Burbank and she helped Sarah into her and Chuck's room, snickering as Sarah crawled over Chuck's prone body before collapsing on top of the covers.
When the mission is over and she hugs Sarah and Chuck good-bye she makes sure she keeps heading west. There's too much trouble back east.
This is odd for her because she's normally a fan of trouble.
--
She dreams about white taffeta and gunshots.
She wakes up in the Burmese heat and hopes it's not a premonition. Her mother would always plan her days according to the horoscope and get her cards read. She would tell Carina that there are signs everywhere if only you look. This advice has helped her become a very good spy later in life because it taught it to keep a close eye on everything around her. She doesn't think this is what her mother meant for her to do.
After she pushes the last remnants of the dream away she gets out of her small bed, checks her guns and knives, and then opens her laptop. Twenty minutes later it's confirmed: everyone is alive. Even a ghost in New York. She closes her computer and gets on with her work.
--
After Istanbul (taking out an opium drug ring) it's Brussels (getting information from a very connected banker with a gambling habit) then it's Macau (drug cartel; here she almost runs into her favourite spy couple but she keeps out their way and they keep out of hers) and then she's shot in Prague. She thinks about Casey and boxer shorts as her wound heals and she's told she has three weeks off.
There a few choices on what to do now: home, her real home -- but that's never going to happen any time soon, Paris, vodka, D.C, or... Burbank.
(It all leads back to Burbank.)
It's the pain meds, memories of Casey's boxers, and Sarah's friendship that makes her think of the city but it's the memory of Bryce-now Neal-all alone in New York that has her buying the ticket.
--
Her wounds make it harder to get into the penthouse the same way she did before, but not impossible. Still, she chooses the front door this time around. The woman, June, is the picture of a perfect hostess and reminds her of her grandmother. If her grandmother had married a racketeer back in the day. She gives her tea and biscuits and together they wait for Neal.
His face when he sees her would be priceless but he schools it too fast. June introduces her as Carly, her cover, and tells her that she's over to help June plan her benefit for the neighbour library. He does his bit and charms Carly. Carly lets herself be charmed and when June leaves the room, thanking Neal for help Carly do some planning, she leans in, winks at him, and he sighs. Carina grins because she’s pretty sure that June didn’t buy her ruse as a volunteer, the woman is sharp, but she still lets her play her part and lets Bryce play his.
As soon as June is out of the room he leads her upstairs and narrows his eyes as soon at t he door clicks shut.
"I swear I should kill you."
She smiles, "Can't a girl want to see an old friend?"
"Not when the girl is you. What's the matter, Carina?" He invades her space, his body suddenly taking up all her breathing room and she remembers just how deadly Bryce Larkin used to be. Neal pretends that he isn't, but it's a veil that she can see through. He thinks something happened to Chuck or Sarah and she realises her mistake. How sloppy she was this time. It's not like her but her shoulder hurts and so does her thigh. Wounds make her sentimental, apparently.
Dropping her posture, she lets the illusion of Carly fall and watches as he asses her wounds.
"You're hurt,” he says flatly.
She snorts and walks over to the hard liquor he houses. "I'm healing."
"Fuck it, Carina." He walks over, snatches the bottle and glass out of her hands, and leads her to the couch. She sheds her jacket and seats herself, which is a very loose way of describing how she lets her body slouch on the cushions, her leg elevated, skirt pushed indecently her thigh, hinting at her bandages below.
He shake his head and hands over the drink she never got to pour. "Here you go."
"Don't be so dramatic, Neal. Just two through-and-throughs; needed a place to lay low."
"And you had to do it here?" She watches as he pours himself double what he poured her and closes her eyes, draping her arm over face.
"Only for a few days. I'm flying out to California on Saturday."
She can hear him swallow his drink and his questions. She smiles sadly.
"You got a place to stay?"
It's sweet of him to ask, she thinks. It's very... Chuck. Or is it very Bryce? She still doesn't know him well enough to say such things, but she knows that while she's here she's safe. It's the nature of their jobs. It's the nature of their lives. It may be the wounds but she suddenly feels very tired and all she wants to do is crawl under the covers in an old house that she doesn't think about anymore and sleep until her mother wakes her up.
Wait...
"Fuck," she says and the word feels heavy on her tongue, the vowels elongated themselves and with considerable effort she pulls her arm away from her face. "Did you drug me?"
His eyes crinkle and he leans down to pick her up. "Only something to help you sleep. You'll make your flight to California as good as new."
She feels his arms lift her and move her across the room to where she knows his bed is.
"Ass."
He laughs, it rings in her ears and she's sure if she wasn't so annoyed with him for drugging her she's find it charming.
--
She sleeps and heals and eats the pastries that he brings up.
She wakes up in the middle of the night at one point to see him working on something in the main area of the pent house. His shirt is off and she definitely can see what Sarah saw in him. The odd thought to seduce him floats in her mind but she's so tired and her thigh still hurts.
Instead she calls out for something to drink and smirks when he comes up with water and painkillers. His hair is falling across his eyes and her hands itch to brush it away so she curls them into the sheets and teases him about being her nurse maid.
Next time she wakes up it's morning and he's asleep on the couch. She snorts and rolls her eyes, but makes both of them some coffee before hopping into the shower.
--
She does make her flight and she manages to avoid the Feds the four days she uses Neal Caffrey's penthouse as her hotel room. She runs into Mozzie when she comes out of the shower the day she's leaving and his face when he recognises her -- it was job a long time ago and the details are better left unsaid -- is priceless. He checks on her bandages, changes them, and fills her in on "Neal".
Mozzie always did know more than what's good for him and when she leaves she kisses his forehead. He's a good friend, and not a bad conman to have on call.
It's funny, she thinks, how things resemble each other. Chuck and Bryce. Morgan and Mozzie. She's sure all four of them in a room would be something to witness. Something to witness with a lot of alcohol.
--
Burbank's heat is a welcome change from New York's chill. She steps off the tarmac and walks to the sleek black convertible waiting for her. There's an envelope waiting for her on the passengers seat and she takes a moment to read her mission. So much for her three weeks. It has nothing to do with the CASTLE team, but she figures, throwing the car into drive, it never hurts to have backup. She’s still kinda banged up.
With the sun’s glare glinting off the top of the car, she makes her way down the highway towards a familiar address. (Who ever thought Sarah Walker would have a permanent address for more than two years where she actually lives. Oh how things change.)
The apartment is empty when she gets there but she breaks in and waits on the couch. She remembers the first time she was here, hiding in the bushes spying on her friend before breaking into a hotel room and saving a goldfish. She leans back and waits with a glass of pilfered wine (she'll pay Sarah back later) and the same goldfish (in a new bowl and next a hairy guy on the mantel) to keep her company. It's not for her, this life, but she can see its appeal in the pictures and the forgotten shoes in the corner. It's a sense of home. Of permanence.
Yeah, it's not for her.
Her mother used to say: wild is wind, after her favourite Bowie song.
She's definitely one of the two. Sarah was always more of a rock.
--
Chuck squawks, Sarah grins, and Morgan whimpers when they see her. Later, Casey growls and narrows his eyes.
She smiles. It's nice to be missed.
When she outlines the parts of her mission that they can know she can see the interest peek in their eyes. Sarah loves a good knife fight and Casey loves a good gun fight. She can promise both. Morgan stays behind in CASTLE as their tech, and Chuck keeps her company because she needs his brain and believe it or not she's fond of the goof. He's gotten better. He handles a gun easier, even if it is a tanq-gun, and his fighting has improve.
For a second as he disarms one of the men that were looking to them she imagines Bryce's reaction to this new Chuck. She's not sure it would be a pleasant one. There's no time to dwell on the thought as it is, because another of the men throws a sloppy right hook at her and she spends the next two-seconds breaking his nose and sweeping him to the floor. Behind her Chuck is handling two guys and she can hear gun shots in the distance. That'd be Casey.
Sarah is running down the hallway yelling for them.
Time is of the essence it seems. She turns, needing to get to the files, and lets the team finish off the security guards. By the time she's broken into the safe and has what she came for she can hear the banter behind her.
("Whoever hired these guys should get their money back, this barely took five minutes."
"We'll be sure to send them a memo, Bartowski. Get better bad guys."
"Hey, that's not what I meant. I'm just a guy who appreciates a challenge."
"Does that mean you wanna start sparring with me again, Chuck?"
"Oh you know I love sparring with you."
"Ugh, jeez."
Carina keeps her snicker to herself. Sometimes she might miss them too.)
Waving the files, she nods towards the exit but before they can move Chuck's eyes grow wide and it's almost as if she can see his mind working. The team never officially told her about the Intersect and neither did Bryce but after four years of knowing them and only one year of Chuck being able to school his face when he flashes she knows what's going on. She's never mentioned knowing about Chuck and she won't, because it's enough that Sarah knows that Carina figured it out and trusts her with the information and like she said, she's fond of the goof.
Sarah calls out Chuck's name as he blinks. And then he blinks again.
He turns towards her and tilts his head, "Those files are Volkoff."
The name is familiar to her, but not enough for her to know what they're talking about. Casey and Sarah both turn to her with curious looks, waiting for an answer.
Exasperated, she rolls her eyes with sigh. "Mind telling me what’s a Volkoff?"
(It's a person, of course, she's not stupid, but she doesn't know why this person is important to all of them. Her mission was to get the files, get them to DC and get on her way.
She's forgotten the habit this team has of talking about everything and having their fingers in all the big pies.)
Casey huffs and orders them out. She'll get filled in at CASTLE she figures.
On the ride back Chuck and Sarah settle into the backseat, Chuck's arm draped comfortably over Sarah's shoulder and she gets shotgun. Propping her feet on the dash of car she ignores Casey's glare and lets her shoulders drop for a second. Her wounds are more healed than not but they sting and she's so going to chase her painkiller with some vodka later before she crashes on Morgan's old bed.
It's not for her, the life they lead, all comfort and houses and teams and backup and Intersects, but it's always nice to vacation here.
(It all leads back to Burbank.)
--
With her mission's connection to Volkoff and all that means, she's unofficially recruited to gather information about what Vivian Volkoff is planning. She takes on the new mission with a smile and wink. It's going to mean a lot of undercover work in some of the world's most dangerous places. Her favourite kind of work.
But first, she's going to stop in back east.
--
Here's the thing: she has an apartment in Soho. It's leased under an alias and it has a nice little arsenal hidden in it were she ever to need it. It's where the her prep work for her mission will happen, and she knows she could have stayed in it before.
But her mother always told her not to play with her food.
And Playing with people is so much more fun, she found.
She doesn't visit him right away, she's got work to do, but she has ways of keeping tabs on him. That's how she finds out what's going on. One of her contacts got her all the information they could on Neal Caffrey and his work with the FBI. She skims the files while she watches some bad film on her tv and one word sticks out at her.
Music box.
This looks interesting. Then she reads the words Max Adler and she knows:
this is going to be trouble.
She knows of Adler. She knows his reputation and remembers bits and pieces of Bryce's first job long ago. Pieces she's heard from Sarah and pieces she's heard because in her business it's good to know other people's secrets.
Closing the file she promises herself she's not going to get involve. It's stupid and sloppy and fuck the man can sort out his own mess.
Too bad she's already on her way out the door as she promises this to herself.
--
It's not her job to be Neal Caffrey's guardian angel, except she owes Sarah her life on more than one occasion, and she feels affection (the word is pulled out like an angry root from her mind) towards Chuck. This time she won't break in or get herself invited in. It's has to be like the old days this time.
She marks a piece of mail to him and waits.
They meet in bar with low lights and men in business suits trying to flirt with co-eds who clearly used fake IDs to get in. He slides into place at her right, ordering his drink from the barman while he pretends to check her out. He's checking for weapons and she's checking that he wasn't followed.
"So, what's with the meet? Anything wrong?" His casual manner is lost on her or the way it's all code for: are they okay?
"I heard about your little music box." She grins over her martini, her fingers against his lapel.
He scoffs, "Of course you did." Lifting the olives from her drink he smiles at her glare.
"I also heard Max Adler is looking for it too. Or more importantly what you found in it."
"Carina." It's a warning, the tone, the look, but she's never been one to listen to warnings.
“And I hear that you need someone to get information from Argentina.”
“Don’t think about it.”
“It must be your lucky day because I need a reason to freshen up on my Spanish." Ignoring him, she leans forward, letting her hair fall across her face blocking them, and she knows what it looks it. It's exactly what she wants it to look like. "Come on, Neal, you need someone you can somewhat trust down there and I need an excuse to go."
It's not her Plan A on how to get back into with some of her more underground contacts, but it works. Argentina is lovely this time of year, and much better than Moscow, which where she was planning to head to before she got this news.
He turns into her, hands curling around her hips and squeezes a little too hard--another warning. "Carina, don't be reckless. This isn't a game."
She leans in, dragging one finger nail down his jaw and smiles, "I never play games."
So that’s a lie, but he doesn't need to know that.
They look at each other for long and silent minute--in challenge, in understanding--and he sighs. She's in.
"You have to be careful, Alder's dangerous and not appreciative of people asking questions. Especially about this."
"Of course. Have Mozzie send me the files. You know the email." She stands, pressing herself against his side--you always have to keep the cover in tact--and whispers into his ear.
"They're engaged."
She leaves and doesn't look back to see his reaction.
--
It's in her third week in Argentina she hears the name Adler. Her goal is Volkoff, but for now she'll take Adler. As she investigates both she keeps to her favourite seedy bars and ex-IRA members that have holed up in the city. She likes the city and she loves food, but most of all she likes the hum in her body when she breaks into a warehouse with only her gun and her wits to help her. Her old IRA buddies are happy to see her, she was the best assets to have, and still is. They get her drunk in celebration of her return. Not enough for her feel compromised, but enough for them to think she is.
She's throwing back shots of white tequila with Shawn (explosives expert), when from across the room she hears, "Alder's looking for something for his goddaughter. She needs some guns for her organisation."
One practice twist of her body puts the voice in her line of sight and smiles. It's Conner. Conner Gallagher, a mercenary who has a bit of a crush on her.
Excellent.
She throws back her drink and makes her way across the bar.
--
Stretching from the bed, she looks over at Connor who's just exiting the bathroom. He's wrapping a towel around his waist and looking very satisfied. They've been sleeping together for about two weeks and it feels like the right time.
"So, Con, baby. What's this I hear about some guy named Adler needing some guns?" She sits up from the bed, letting the sheet drop without shame and smiles. "You I love some gun play."
He laughs, full bellied, sexy, and it's a shame that everything about their relationship is circumstantial because she's grown to enjoy him.
"Mavourneen, I knew it was too good to be true." He walks over and drops a kiss on her lips.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." She smirks, picking up some discarded clothes, and slipping them on. The shirt is his, the underwear is not.
"Of course." He winks, "But I'll tell you anyway because you'd be good for the job and I like keeping you close."
That was always the idea.
"So, Con, what's the job?" She slips into the bathroom, leaving the door open.
Connor’s accent sounds thicker than normal through the gathering steam and nothing, not all her years in the espionage game could prepared her for what he says, "Alder's hiring guns for this Brit goddaughter of his, Volkoff. She's taken over her father's arms organisation since the Yanks nabbed him."
For the first time in her career she feels her mask drop and is so very thankful that no one is around to witness it.
--
She needs to get back to the states.
Now.
--
She sleeps with Connor that night and drugs him with sleeping pills so he doesn't hear her sneak out of the apartment. She's on a plane to New York in less than two hours. She needs to warn Bryce--fuck, Neal-fuck, who cares at this point, about Alder's connections and then she needs to head to California.
There's only one reason she tells herself she chooses New York first: he's alone. Sarah has Chuck and Casey. Chuck has Sarah and Casey. He's all alone and she's the only person she's trusting right now in terms of helping him.
--
As it is she gets to New York a little too late, but not late enough. She's just in time to save a few hundred million dollars worth in stolen art, jewels, and gold from burning up. Alder's connection to Vivian Volkoff now makes so much more sense, besides family, because family of all words is a fickle term in their world. Vivian needs capital to run her father's inherited operation and Alder has (well, had, after she’s done with him) in his hands enough money to buy himself a small country. And what’s a few million between family? Especially when that family is one of the more successful international arms dealing operations in the world.
(It all leads back to Burbank.)
Alder was covering his bases. Too bad it all blows up, quite literally, in his face.
From a distance she sees as Neal's team saves him and maybe he's not so alone here. It's good information to have. She watches as he kisses the fence, Alex, and the FBI saves the day. How quaint.
Sadly, for them, they're the FBI and Adler is a moron if he thinks she can't beat him at this game he playing with Neal. It's almost embarrassing how easy it is to steal warehouse full of treasure.
She leaves Neal the note with the address where she stores it and hightails it out of town.
YOU'LL THANK ME.
She's not just talking about the treasure.
--
Her flight to California is spent sleeping and feeling very satisfied with herself.
--
She breaks into their apartment through the Morgan door. They're in bed and Sarah throws a knife about two-seconds after Carina steps in.
The only reason she doesn't have a knife in her shoulder is because Sarah's half asleep and she's pretty fast. After that it doesn't take much to wake Chuck up, who's voice goes up a couple of notches when he sees her on his bed, next to his fiancé. It makes her grins and blow him a kiss. It’s always fun to see Chuck blush. Across from her Sarah rolls her eyes and asks her what she doing here.
Getting comfortable, she licks her lips wondering if what she's doing is the right thing. She thinks about New York, about Bryce now Neal. She thinks about the mourning these two did, and lastly she thinks about what she learned about Vivian Volkoff. How she’s connected to Bryce in the smallest of ways, but how it was this connection of Neal-Adler-Volkoff that brought her here. She thinks about these things and looks at curious faces in front of her.
"I have something to tell the two of you."
Chuck and Sarah share a look and then stare at her.
Man, is she going to blow their minds.
--
It all leads back to Burbank.
~fin
(crossposted)
Fandom: Chuck/White Collar
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairings: Carina, Carina/Bryce!Neal-ish with background canon pairings. (Chuck/Sarah, Bryce/Alex, even some Bryce/Chuck if you want to see it.)
Spoilers/Warnings: WC season 2, all aired episodes of Chuck.
Disclaimer: not mine, or else this would be canon and Carina and Bryce would be making out. A lot.
Summary: She finds him in New York by accident.
Note: Unbetaed, yes, I suck. I also forget if Carina officially knows about the Intersect but in this case she doesn't “officially”.
Let’s Play a Spy Game
She finds him in New York by accident. Last she heard he was dead, and then he was alive before he was dead again so seeing him doesn't surprise her. In fact it intrigues her. People don't really stay dead in their line of work. She's died more than a few times too. Seeing him across her street from where she just picked up the papers she needs for her mission fills her with cautious amusement. It would only make sense that she would run into him by chance in one of the biggest and crowded cities in the world, but also, that thought is followed with, what's he doing here?
It could be a coincidence. But it also could be trouble. So she watches him.
He's standing next to an older man that screams Suit as do the other two hovering nearby in plain clothes. It's almost insulting how they think they're blending in, but it's all in the stance, in the line of the shoulders and the slight bumps that interrupt the clean lines of their clothes. He's clearly undercover too, though she can tell it's a much deeper cover than the other two are playing at. He's become someone else: it's in the clothes, the hat, the way he stands. So natural, so easy, if it wasn't all so perfect and practiced she's believed it. It's too natural to be natural. He's good. She can appreciate it his skill.
It's against every instinct the agency drilled into her to go up to him and just play a little, but she always follows her own instincts more. If he hasn't gotten rusty he'll see her coming when she crosses the street. And if he's smart he'll ignore her completely.
Slicking back her hair, and adjusting her skirt so it's just a few inches shorter than it had been before, Carina grins and makes her way across the street.
--
When she was younger her mother always told her not to play with her food.
Her mother was right.
Playing with people is so much more fun.
--
About two feet away from him neither have acknowledge each other yet. It's about foot away she pretends to stumble on the heels she can run a mile in. Her exclamation of surprise as she falls into him is a practiced art. Her coffee even sloshes a bit on him and the older man next to him catches her elbow with ease. He never breaks and it fills her with glee. She never doubted he would, if she's honest, but the challenge is half the fun. His eyes give away nothing though and the idea of them being strangers is strangely inciting.
The older man helps steady her as she gives her hurried apologies about being late for a casting call and that she's so so so sorry. He brushes the coffee off, frowning at the stain, and flirts with her a bit -- two strangers meet in the big city and one of them has a secret and which one is it? which one is it? -- as the older man admonishes him and continues being a complete gentleman, blushing when she throws him a smile. Married men are so adorable, especially ones who love their wives. She knows this, because those are the ones she tries to not to seduce. It's one of her odd boundaries, one of those un-crossable lines, and she does not think back to a kitchen in the middle of nowhere where a man and a woman used to dance to the radio.
She's quick to be on her way after -- never stay longer than you have to and this encounter is already a too dangerous -- she has somewhere to be, but she got what she wanted. And now she know about how to find him.
Feds are so easy to make.
--
Her mission is simple. Almost boring.
Infiltrate a high society party, charm her way into the private office, subdue the gentleman or lady that helped her get in (it was a lady this time), hack into personalised computer files and make her way out. If possible don't blow anything up.
She manages this all under the two hour mark. This is including the half an hour before she finds her way into the room, and the after deciding to hang around the party for two more drinks before leaving with the knowledge that she did a job well done and that until the second part of her mission is green lit she has some time to waste.
Back at her hotel room, she slips out of the cocktail dress leaving it on the carpeted floor like a forgotten skin and brings up the files she had hacked from the Bureau's data base this afternoon.
It's barely midnight and the night is oh so young. The dress for the party had been an eye-catching blue but what she's planning to do now calls for black.
--
Before she was recruited she did sixteen years of gymnastics and her favourite character in Batman was Catwoman. As she makes her way to a very classy brownstone belonging to a very interesting lady, she finds herself thinking her younger self had it right. The balcony for the top floor penthouse is nice and very spacious. She thinks of the Morgan door back in Burbank and how what she's doing now is not all that different.
Making her way in is easy enough, and she gives the place a good once over -- no bugs, but nice collection of forged art pieces and IDs; good to know she can talk freely though -- as she waits for him to get out of the shower. She's fingering an empty but familiar bottle of wine when the door opens.
He's practiced enough to not be surprised to see her, and makes his way across the room with a casual grace that you wouldn't expect for a half naked man who just had someone from his very messy past break into his home.
"You know it was sloppy, what you pulled in the street today." He goes to a dresser and pulls out a pair of sweats and a top. She frowns playfully as he pulls them on.
"Are we shy now?" She makes herself comfortable on his couch and grins up at him, "And unless your little FBI friends noticed my little play I don't think I was sloppy at all. So Neal... Nice name, is it really what you going by these days? Bryce Larkin had such a ring to it. Though with being dead and buried twice now it must be hard to keep the name relevant."
The look he gives her can only be categorised as veiled annoyance and she remember he was always more fun when Sarah was around. Then again, they weren't really very good friends in the first place, and only played nice because Sarah made them. And the time he asked for help with that Fulcrum job that got him dead, the first time, but Sarah doesn't know about that, so maybe they were better friends than she thought.
"Don't. And yes, it's Neal, now. I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me that other name anymore. It's not who I am." He almost sounds sad, and she figures he must be. She knew Bryce Larkin, of the Connecticut Larkin's, she knew as much of his past has he had ever shared with her and she met his best friend from college. Meeting Chuck counted above everything else she ever learned from Sarah. And out of all the lies she's sure he's told in his life she's positive those last few words make up the biggest one he's ever told himself.
He'll never stopping being Bryce on some level, because (it all leads back to Burbank).
"I take it they don't know." This is not a question.
The silence he gives her in response is enough.
"Well, now that's interesting." She stretches on her couch and watches as he moves around the room, pours himself a glass of wine and downs it. Oh, this is very interesting.
"Carina." He's looking at her now, nervous, and she remembers her training. It's one thing to play to with Sarah and Chuck (and Bryce) to make them see how stupid they're being, it's another to play just for the sake of playing. She has her own rules outside what the government has instilled in her and for all the risks she takes she never leaves anything to chance.
She rolls her eyes. "Don't worry, I won't tell. I did a little background check after I saw you on the street, Neal Caffrey. Interesting little backstory you built for yourself. So sorry about Kate. She was mediocre asset anyw--"
"Hey!" His voice is hard and really, this habit he and Sarah have about getting attached to their assets is more than a little tiring. Not to mention dangerous. At least Chuck was useful.
"Sorry," she says but she's not. He knows this too. She watches as he moves around the room--easy and comfortable--and frowns, "Wow, they really have you in deep cover here, don't they? Funny thing was that your file while it reads like a criminal's it was surprisingly factual. A few glaring omissions, of course."
He laughs; it's not genuine but he is amused enough with the situation she's not insulted, "Aren't we all just criminals with government badges in the end?"
"No, not all of us." Her mind flashes to Chuck.
(It all leads back to Burbank.)
He nods, looking away towards the New York City skyline in the window she left open, "No, not all of us." For a second or two they don't speak both thinking back to respective pasts they won't share with each other. She thinks she knows who he's thinking about, but what does she really know about Neal Caffrey? And what had she really known about Bryce Larkin? She knew he had loved Sarah in the only way spies can love each other. He had a connection to a charming yet nerdy guy in Burbank that he sacrificed his entire career for, not once but twice, and both these people thought him dead now. Yet here he was, lonely and sad in New York.
It makes her uncomfortable, like she's out of her depth, and she hates this feeling. Pushing herself off the couch, she crosses to the window.
"It was nice meeting you, Neal."
He nods, licking his lips, "Don't tell..."
Draping one leg over the balcony she winks, "Your secret is safe with me."
"Thanks."
"Oh, and by the way, you might want to tell your little fence, Alex, is it?" She wasn't lying when she said she read up on Neal Caffrey and his face is completely worth it. “Tell her that she might want to stay away from French antiquities for the time being. I've got something in play and it wouldn’t do for her to get caught, would it?” Swinging herself of the balcony and into the night she swears she hears his laughter following her.
--
The mission goes off without a hitch and more than a few bruises from a fight with bodyguard that was practically a linebacker. She's done with New York for now. She never considers letting him know that she's leaving and her alias for the mission is burned.
It's half way across the Atlantic, on her way to Istanbul, that she remembers last time she was in New York she broke her wrist. The phantom pain shoots up her arm and she wonders what's broken now.
--
At the tail end of her next mission is when she gets the phone message. She calls Amy and rounds up the C.A.T. Squad and as she gets her connecting flight out of Newark -- she just came via Munich -- she thinks about a penthouse in the city. He would want to know, that much she knows, but when it comes down to it her loyalty will always lie with Sarah first and her flight to California just got called.
Later as she sits with a broken leg in CASTLE teasing Morgan, she thinks about Sarah's bachelorette party. It had been in the early morning, watching the sun rise over South Beach, and Amy has suggested they do breakfast in New York at Pershing Square. She had vetoed it, even though she loves the waffles they have, but it's in Neal Caffrey's two mile radius -- remember she did her homework -- and it was too close to too many secrets from Sarah's past. They decided to get some food in Calle Ocho instead before they made their way back to Burbank and she helped Sarah into her and Chuck's room, snickering as Sarah crawled over Chuck's prone body before collapsing on top of the covers.
When the mission is over and she hugs Sarah and Chuck good-bye she makes sure she keeps heading west. There's too much trouble back east.
This is odd for her because she's normally a fan of trouble.
--
She dreams about white taffeta and gunshots.
She wakes up in the Burmese heat and hopes it's not a premonition. Her mother would always plan her days according to the horoscope and get her cards read. She would tell Carina that there are signs everywhere if only you look. This advice has helped her become a very good spy later in life because it taught it to keep a close eye on everything around her. She doesn't think this is what her mother meant for her to do.
After she pushes the last remnants of the dream away she gets out of her small bed, checks her guns and knives, and then opens her laptop. Twenty minutes later it's confirmed: everyone is alive. Even a ghost in New York. She closes her computer and gets on with her work.
--
After Istanbul (taking out an opium drug ring) it's Brussels (getting information from a very connected banker with a gambling habit) then it's Macau (drug cartel; here she almost runs into her favourite spy couple but she keeps out their way and they keep out of hers) and then she's shot in Prague. She thinks about Casey and boxer shorts as her wound heals and she's told she has three weeks off.
There a few choices on what to do now: home, her real home -- but that's never going to happen any time soon, Paris, vodka, D.C, or... Burbank.
(It all leads back to Burbank.)
It's the pain meds, memories of Casey's boxers, and Sarah's friendship that makes her think of the city but it's the memory of Bryce-now Neal-all alone in New York that has her buying the ticket.
--
Her wounds make it harder to get into the penthouse the same way she did before, but not impossible. Still, she chooses the front door this time around. The woman, June, is the picture of a perfect hostess and reminds her of her grandmother. If her grandmother had married a racketeer back in the day. She gives her tea and biscuits and together they wait for Neal.
His face when he sees her would be priceless but he schools it too fast. June introduces her as Carly, her cover, and tells her that she's over to help June plan her benefit for the neighbour library. He does his bit and charms Carly. Carly lets herself be charmed and when June leaves the room, thanking Neal for help Carly do some planning, she leans in, winks at him, and he sighs. Carina grins because she’s pretty sure that June didn’t buy her ruse as a volunteer, the woman is sharp, but she still lets her play her part and lets Bryce play his.
As soon as June is out of the room he leads her upstairs and narrows his eyes as soon at t he door clicks shut.
"I swear I should kill you."
She smiles, "Can't a girl want to see an old friend?"
"Not when the girl is you. What's the matter, Carina?" He invades her space, his body suddenly taking up all her breathing room and she remembers just how deadly Bryce Larkin used to be. Neal pretends that he isn't, but it's a veil that she can see through. He thinks something happened to Chuck or Sarah and she realises her mistake. How sloppy she was this time. It's not like her but her shoulder hurts and so does her thigh. Wounds make her sentimental, apparently.
Dropping her posture, she lets the illusion of Carly fall and watches as he asses her wounds.
"You're hurt,” he says flatly.
She snorts and walks over to the hard liquor he houses. "I'm healing."
"Fuck it, Carina." He walks over, snatches the bottle and glass out of her hands, and leads her to the couch. She sheds her jacket and seats herself, which is a very loose way of describing how she lets her body slouch on the cushions, her leg elevated, skirt pushed indecently her thigh, hinting at her bandages below.
He shake his head and hands over the drink she never got to pour. "Here you go."
"Don't be so dramatic, Neal. Just two through-and-throughs; needed a place to lay low."
"And you had to do it here?" She watches as he pours himself double what he poured her and closes her eyes, draping her arm over face.
"Only for a few days. I'm flying out to California on Saturday."
She can hear him swallow his drink and his questions. She smiles sadly.
"You got a place to stay?"
It's sweet of him to ask, she thinks. It's very... Chuck. Or is it very Bryce? She still doesn't know him well enough to say such things, but she knows that while she's here she's safe. It's the nature of their jobs. It's the nature of their lives. It may be the wounds but she suddenly feels very tired and all she wants to do is crawl under the covers in an old house that she doesn't think about anymore and sleep until her mother wakes her up.
Wait...
"Fuck," she says and the word feels heavy on her tongue, the vowels elongated themselves and with considerable effort she pulls her arm away from her face. "Did you drug me?"
His eyes crinkle and he leans down to pick her up. "Only something to help you sleep. You'll make your flight to California as good as new."
She feels his arms lift her and move her across the room to where she knows his bed is.
"Ass."
He laughs, it rings in her ears and she's sure if she wasn't so annoyed with him for drugging her she's find it charming.
--
She sleeps and heals and eats the pastries that he brings up.
She wakes up in the middle of the night at one point to see him working on something in the main area of the pent house. His shirt is off and she definitely can see what Sarah saw in him. The odd thought to seduce him floats in her mind but she's so tired and her thigh still hurts.
Instead she calls out for something to drink and smirks when he comes up with water and painkillers. His hair is falling across his eyes and her hands itch to brush it away so she curls them into the sheets and teases him about being her nurse maid.
Next time she wakes up it's morning and he's asleep on the couch. She snorts and rolls her eyes, but makes both of them some coffee before hopping into the shower.
--
She does make her flight and she manages to avoid the Feds the four days she uses Neal Caffrey's penthouse as her hotel room. She runs into Mozzie when she comes out of the shower the day she's leaving and his face when he recognises her -- it was job a long time ago and the details are better left unsaid -- is priceless. He checks on her bandages, changes them, and fills her in on "Neal".
Mozzie always did know more than what's good for him and when she leaves she kisses his forehead. He's a good friend, and not a bad conman to have on call.
It's funny, she thinks, how things resemble each other. Chuck and Bryce. Morgan and Mozzie. She's sure all four of them in a room would be something to witness. Something to witness with a lot of alcohol.
--
Burbank's heat is a welcome change from New York's chill. She steps off the tarmac and walks to the sleek black convertible waiting for her. There's an envelope waiting for her on the passengers seat and she takes a moment to read her mission. So much for her three weeks. It has nothing to do with the CASTLE team, but she figures, throwing the car into drive, it never hurts to have backup. She’s still kinda banged up.
With the sun’s glare glinting off the top of the car, she makes her way down the highway towards a familiar address. (Who ever thought Sarah Walker would have a permanent address for more than two years where she actually lives. Oh how things change.)
The apartment is empty when she gets there but she breaks in and waits on the couch. She remembers the first time she was here, hiding in the bushes spying on her friend before breaking into a hotel room and saving a goldfish. She leans back and waits with a glass of pilfered wine (she'll pay Sarah back later) and the same goldfish (in a new bowl and next a hairy guy on the mantel) to keep her company. It's not for her, this life, but she can see its appeal in the pictures and the forgotten shoes in the corner. It's a sense of home. Of permanence.
Yeah, it's not for her.
Her mother used to say: wild is wind, after her favourite Bowie song.
She's definitely one of the two. Sarah was always more of a rock.
--
Chuck squawks, Sarah grins, and Morgan whimpers when they see her. Later, Casey growls and narrows his eyes.
She smiles. It's nice to be missed.
When she outlines the parts of her mission that they can know she can see the interest peek in their eyes. Sarah loves a good knife fight and Casey loves a good gun fight. She can promise both. Morgan stays behind in CASTLE as their tech, and Chuck keeps her company because she needs his brain and believe it or not she's fond of the goof. He's gotten better. He handles a gun easier, even if it is a tanq-gun, and his fighting has improve.
For a second as he disarms one of the men that were looking to them she imagines Bryce's reaction to this new Chuck. She's not sure it would be a pleasant one. There's no time to dwell on the thought as it is, because another of the men throws a sloppy right hook at her and she spends the next two-seconds breaking his nose and sweeping him to the floor. Behind her Chuck is handling two guys and she can hear gun shots in the distance. That'd be Casey.
Sarah is running down the hallway yelling for them.
Time is of the essence it seems. She turns, needing to get to the files, and lets the team finish off the security guards. By the time she's broken into the safe and has what she came for she can hear the banter behind her.
("Whoever hired these guys should get their money back, this barely took five minutes."
"We'll be sure to send them a memo, Bartowski. Get better bad guys."
"Hey, that's not what I meant. I'm just a guy who appreciates a challenge."
"Does that mean you wanna start sparring with me again, Chuck?"
"Oh you know I love sparring with you."
"Ugh, jeez."
Carina keeps her snicker to herself. Sometimes she might miss them too.)
Waving the files, she nods towards the exit but before they can move Chuck's eyes grow wide and it's almost as if she can see his mind working. The team never officially told her about the Intersect and neither did Bryce but after four years of knowing them and only one year of Chuck being able to school his face when he flashes she knows what's going on. She's never mentioned knowing about Chuck and she won't, because it's enough that Sarah knows that Carina figured it out and trusts her with the information and like she said, she's fond of the goof.
Sarah calls out Chuck's name as he blinks. And then he blinks again.
He turns towards her and tilts his head, "Those files are Volkoff."
The name is familiar to her, but not enough for her to know what they're talking about. Casey and Sarah both turn to her with curious looks, waiting for an answer.
Exasperated, she rolls her eyes with sigh. "Mind telling me what’s a Volkoff?"
(It's a person, of course, she's not stupid, but she doesn't know why this person is important to all of them. Her mission was to get the files, get them to DC and get on her way.
She's forgotten the habit this team has of talking about everything and having their fingers in all the big pies.)
Casey huffs and orders them out. She'll get filled in at CASTLE she figures.
On the ride back Chuck and Sarah settle into the backseat, Chuck's arm draped comfortably over Sarah's shoulder and she gets shotgun. Propping her feet on the dash of car she ignores Casey's glare and lets her shoulders drop for a second. Her wounds are more healed than not but they sting and she's so going to chase her painkiller with some vodka later before she crashes on Morgan's old bed.
It's not for her, the life they lead, all comfort and houses and teams and backup and Intersects, but it's always nice to vacation here.
(It all leads back to Burbank.)
--
With her mission's connection to Volkoff and all that means, she's unofficially recruited to gather information about what Vivian Volkoff is planning. She takes on the new mission with a smile and wink. It's going to mean a lot of undercover work in some of the world's most dangerous places. Her favourite kind of work.
But first, she's going to stop in back east.
--
Here's the thing: she has an apartment in Soho. It's leased under an alias and it has a nice little arsenal hidden in it were she ever to need it. It's where the her prep work for her mission will happen, and she knows she could have stayed in it before.
But her mother always told her not to play with her food.
And Playing with people is so much more fun, she found.
She doesn't visit him right away, she's got work to do, but she has ways of keeping tabs on him. That's how she finds out what's going on. One of her contacts got her all the information they could on Neal Caffrey and his work with the FBI. She skims the files while she watches some bad film on her tv and one word sticks out at her.
Music box.
This looks interesting. Then she reads the words Max Adler and she knows:
this is going to be trouble.
She knows of Adler. She knows his reputation and remembers bits and pieces of Bryce's first job long ago. Pieces she's heard from Sarah and pieces she's heard because in her business it's good to know other people's secrets.
Closing the file she promises herself she's not going to get involve. It's stupid and sloppy and fuck the man can sort out his own mess.
Too bad she's already on her way out the door as she promises this to herself.
--
It's not her job to be Neal Caffrey's guardian angel, except she owes Sarah her life on more than one occasion, and she feels affection (the word is pulled out like an angry root from her mind) towards Chuck. This time she won't break in or get herself invited in. It's has to be like the old days this time.
She marks a piece of mail to him and waits.
They meet in bar with low lights and men in business suits trying to flirt with co-eds who clearly used fake IDs to get in. He slides into place at her right, ordering his drink from the barman while he pretends to check her out. He's checking for weapons and she's checking that he wasn't followed.
"So, what's with the meet? Anything wrong?" His casual manner is lost on her or the way it's all code for: are they okay?
"I heard about your little music box." She grins over her martini, her fingers against his lapel.
He scoffs, "Of course you did." Lifting the olives from her drink he smiles at her glare.
"I also heard Max Adler is looking for it too. Or more importantly what you found in it."
"Carina." It's a warning, the tone, the look, but she's never been one to listen to warnings.
“And I hear that you need someone to get information from Argentina.”
“Don’t think about it.”
“It must be your lucky day because I need a reason to freshen up on my Spanish." Ignoring him, she leans forward, letting her hair fall across her face blocking them, and she knows what it looks it. It's exactly what she wants it to look like. "Come on, Neal, you need someone you can somewhat trust down there and I need an excuse to go."
It's not her Plan A on how to get back into with some of her more underground contacts, but it works. Argentina is lovely this time of year, and much better than Moscow, which where she was planning to head to before she got this news.
He turns into her, hands curling around her hips and squeezes a little too hard--another warning. "Carina, don't be reckless. This isn't a game."
She leans in, dragging one finger nail down his jaw and smiles, "I never play games."
So that’s a lie, but he doesn't need to know that.
They look at each other for long and silent minute--in challenge, in understanding--and he sighs. She's in.
"You have to be careful, Alder's dangerous and not appreciative of people asking questions. Especially about this."
"Of course. Have Mozzie send me the files. You know the email." She stands, pressing herself against his side--you always have to keep the cover in tact--and whispers into his ear.
"They're engaged."
She leaves and doesn't look back to see his reaction.
--
It's in her third week in Argentina she hears the name Adler. Her goal is Volkoff, but for now she'll take Adler. As she investigates both she keeps to her favourite seedy bars and ex-IRA members that have holed up in the city. She likes the city and she loves food, but most of all she likes the hum in her body when she breaks into a warehouse with only her gun and her wits to help her. Her old IRA buddies are happy to see her, she was the best assets to have, and still is. They get her drunk in celebration of her return. Not enough for her feel compromised, but enough for them to think she is.
She's throwing back shots of white tequila with Shawn (explosives expert), when from across the room she hears, "Alder's looking for something for his goddaughter. She needs some guns for her organisation."
One practice twist of her body puts the voice in her line of sight and smiles. It's Conner. Conner Gallagher, a mercenary who has a bit of a crush on her.
Excellent.
She throws back her drink and makes her way across the bar.
--
Stretching from the bed, she looks over at Connor who's just exiting the bathroom. He's wrapping a towel around his waist and looking very satisfied. They've been sleeping together for about two weeks and it feels like the right time.
"So, Con, baby. What's this I hear about some guy named Adler needing some guns?" She sits up from the bed, letting the sheet drop without shame and smiles. "You I love some gun play."
He laughs, full bellied, sexy, and it's a shame that everything about their relationship is circumstantial because she's grown to enjoy him.
"Mavourneen, I knew it was too good to be true." He walks over and drops a kiss on her lips.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." She smirks, picking up some discarded clothes, and slipping them on. The shirt is his, the underwear is not.
"Of course." He winks, "But I'll tell you anyway because you'd be good for the job and I like keeping you close."
That was always the idea.
"So, Con, what's the job?" She slips into the bathroom, leaving the door open.
Connor’s accent sounds thicker than normal through the gathering steam and nothing, not all her years in the espionage game could prepared her for what he says, "Alder's hiring guns for this Brit goddaughter of his, Volkoff. She's taken over her father's arms organisation since the Yanks nabbed him."
For the first time in her career she feels her mask drop and is so very thankful that no one is around to witness it.
--
She needs to get back to the states.
Now.
--
She sleeps with Connor that night and drugs him with sleeping pills so he doesn't hear her sneak out of the apartment. She's on a plane to New York in less than two hours. She needs to warn Bryce--fuck, Neal-fuck, who cares at this point, about Alder's connections and then she needs to head to California.
There's only one reason she tells herself she chooses New York first: he's alone. Sarah has Chuck and Casey. Chuck has Sarah and Casey. He's all alone and she's the only person she's trusting right now in terms of helping him.
--
As it is she gets to New York a little too late, but not late enough. She's just in time to save a few hundred million dollars worth in stolen art, jewels, and gold from burning up. Alder's connection to Vivian Volkoff now makes so much more sense, besides family, because family of all words is a fickle term in their world. Vivian needs capital to run her father's inherited operation and Alder has (well, had, after she’s done with him) in his hands enough money to buy himself a small country. And what’s a few million between family? Especially when that family is one of the more successful international arms dealing operations in the world.
(It all leads back to Burbank.)
Alder was covering his bases. Too bad it all blows up, quite literally, in his face.
From a distance she sees as Neal's team saves him and maybe he's not so alone here. It's good information to have. She watches as he kisses the fence, Alex, and the FBI saves the day. How quaint.
Sadly, for them, they're the FBI and Adler is a moron if he thinks she can't beat him at this game he playing with Neal. It's almost embarrassing how easy it is to steal warehouse full of treasure.
She leaves Neal the note with the address where she stores it and hightails it out of town.
YOU'LL THANK ME.
She's not just talking about the treasure.
--
Her flight to California is spent sleeping and feeling very satisfied with herself.
--
She breaks into their apartment through the Morgan door. They're in bed and Sarah throws a knife about two-seconds after Carina steps in.
The only reason she doesn't have a knife in her shoulder is because Sarah's half asleep and she's pretty fast. After that it doesn't take much to wake Chuck up, who's voice goes up a couple of notches when he sees her on his bed, next to his fiancé. It makes her grins and blow him a kiss. It’s always fun to see Chuck blush. Across from her Sarah rolls her eyes and asks her what she doing here.
Getting comfortable, she licks her lips wondering if what she's doing is the right thing. She thinks about New York, about Bryce now Neal. She thinks about the mourning these two did, and lastly she thinks about what she learned about Vivian Volkoff. How she’s connected to Bryce in the smallest of ways, but how it was this connection of Neal-Adler-Volkoff that brought her here. She thinks about these things and looks at curious faces in front of her.
"I have something to tell the two of you."
Chuck and Sarah share a look and then stare at her.
Man, is she going to blow their minds.
--
It all leads back to Burbank.
~fin
(crossposted)