(no subject)
Chuck Bartowski was on a mission.
And it wasn't the kind of mission with spies, secret codes, microfilm and chances of dying an extremely painful death. And though there were some times that Chuck kind of missed all the cool stuff that came with being a spy (minus the almost dying part), for once Chuck was happy that he didn't have to deal with any of that.
He was making a hammock. He'd gotten the idea a few weeks ago-- something to spruce up the old homestead, as it were. So he'd gone to the clothes box and gotten a crapload of t-shirts. He was in the process of tearing them and tying them together on the floor of the rec room when he reached into the pile and pulled out a certain shirt.
"Okay, there's no way that's going anywhere." He decided.
And it wasn't the kind of mission with spies, secret codes, microfilm and chances of dying an extremely painful death. And though there were some times that Chuck kind of missed all the cool stuff that came with being a spy (minus the almost dying part), for once Chuck was happy that he didn't have to deal with any of that.
He was making a hammock. He'd gotten the idea a few weeks ago-- something to spruce up the old homestead, as it were. So he'd gone to the clothes box and gotten a crapload of t-shirts. He was in the process of tearing them and tying them together on the floor of the rec room when he reached into the pile and pulled out a certain shirt.
"Okay, there's no way that's going anywhere." He decided.