A/N: So this idea came to me while I was writing Chapter 7 (To: Sarah...Love: Chuck) of All the Roads That Lead to You Are Winding (whew! That is a long title!). I was in the process of writing out a scene where Chuck and Carina were planning out a mission, and I thought it would come out better through Carina's POV.
Thanks goes out to mxpw, as usual, for his beta and for his approval of how I write Carina. And thanks to you, the readers for choosing to click this story. I hope you guys like it. If you do, leave a review. If you don't, leave a review! :)
A word from mxpw: Carina is hot. That is all.In all seriousness... My name is mxpw and I approve this Carina. She's awesome and funny and hot and damn entertaining. This is how Carina should be written. Oh yeah, plus she's hot. Wait, I already mentioned that? Well, it bears repeating. Tally makes me rethink how I write Carina in DA, that's how entertained I am by her in this story.
Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck
It's both a blessing and a curse, this condition I have. You see, there are a lot of things that turn me on. Yeah, I'm not going to sugarcoat it, I'm a nymphomaniac. After I completed my training at the Farm, my boss wanted me to see a therapist. They said that my behavior was unhealthy. I don't see it that way. I don't know why people are telling me that I have problems. Some people like to run or eat chocolate to relieve stress—I like to have sex. I don't see anyone giving runners or chocolate lovers any shit about what they do.
Guess what, runners? Fifteen minutes of a good ol' rump in the hay burns way more calories than an hour of running, so suck it. Yeah, I'm talking to you, Walker. You big prude. She never wants to make out with me after missions, which is a total drag.
I'm not really a sex addict, though. It's not like I'll do any guy I see, and it's not like I'm walking around with syphilis. I'm a girl with standards. Here's what I do. I see someone I want, male or female, doesn't matter, really. Then, I take what I want.
So right now, I'm sitting here, on a shitty motel bed, next to some nerd, who is surprisingly ripped (not in the gross, rawr, I'm going to eat you, way either) and he's telling me about some organization with a really stupid name that's hell-bent on causing a global economic collapse. People are stupid. Seriously.
But where was I? Oh, right. Chucky. I didn't really notice it before, but this kid is pretty hot. Look at him, sitting there in his white t-shirt, his brows furrowing together while he looks down at the ridiculous black and green laptop with unnecessary lights all over it. I see his mouth moving, but I can't hear a word that he says. I think he's talking about the mission tomorrow. Technically, it's later tonight, but it's one o'clock in the morning, so whatever. The important thing is, he's kind of turning me on.
I look down at my outfit. It's nothing special. Just a purple tank top and black boy-shorts, but it will do for now. I lean closer to Chuck, and let the strap slip off my shoulder. Even though my face is an inch away from his, he doesn't notice. He's still too busy staring at the laptop and talking to himself. Does he really think that I'm listening?
Come on, Carina, be realistic here. Chuck won't give you the old in and out. He's one of those guys with that thing called a conscience. I can see it now: I make a move, Bartowski screams like a girl, and starts babbling about how Bryce is his "bro" and how he wants Walker.
There's also the fact that Walker will murder me if Chuck and I screw. I'll never say this out loud, but compared to Walker, my fighting skills are shit.
"What do you think I should do?" Chuck asks, looking up at me with a concerned expression.
"What?"
"About the mission tomorrow—I honestly can't think of any way I can get into the basement without getting detected." He huffs out a breath, and rests his chin on his hand with a look of determination.
That's cute. He's so focused. "You're positive that Fulcrum's HQ is at the Prewitt building?"
"Yep."
I nod. "Right. So there's this fat guy named Bernie Ominsky, and he's on top of our wanted list for Fulcrum operatives. He's fat."
Chuck stares at me with a blank expression. At least, I'm sure that he thinks it's a blank expression, but his eyes say it all: "What does Bernie being fat have to do with anything?"
"You know how there are a bunch of restaurants that are known for having those competitions where people eat ten pound hamburgers?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"Well, Bernie holds the most titles. The man eats like there's no tomorrow."
Chuck raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Good for him, but why does that matter?"
What is this—twenty questions? I try hard not to roll my eyes. "There's this Mexican restaurant in downtown Richmond called Taco Don Juan. They're famous for having seven pound breakfast burritos. I can tell Graham that we went there for breakfast, and that I saw Bernie. I'll say that I tailed him, saw him go into the Prewitt building, and yeah."
"You think Graham will buy that?" He sounds doubtful.
"He'll buy it," I say. Yes, Graham and I have a history. A very brief history, but a history all the same.
I begin to tell him that I can organize a tactical team, and I tell him that I have an office in Richmond for whenever I'm waiting for a new mission. I hate that office. It's boring, and it makes me feel all cooped up and trapped.
"I'll tell Graham that you'll be safe in my office, and if you give me your costume—"
"It's body armor."
"I'll keep it hidden in my office. There's an escape hatch in the corner that I'll unlock for you and it'll lead you outside," I finish, ignoring Chuck's interruption.
"Is your office building in walking distance of Fulcrum's base?"
"I'll leave you a harness outside. Just strap yourself to the bottom of our van, and you'll be fine," I say, adding in an undertone, "as long as we don't go over fifty."
Chuck doesn't hear me. "Okay, so I go with you guys, but what happens if Bernie isn't there? I mean, I don't want you to get in trouble, you know? It's bad enough that you can get hurt when you go in there with all those Fulcrum guards." He's looking at me with concern in his eyes, and I realize that this is the first time that any guy has worried about me. Bryce never did that. He was always confident that he could get me out of any pickle. And he did, but this is different. Chuck is actually concerned for my wellbeing. His eyes light up. "Oh! I can make you a copy of the data! That way, if Bernie isn't there, at least you'll have something that the CIA can use."
He smiles at me, and wiggles his eyebrows slightly, looking proud. Sweet Jesus, he's cute. Whoa, Hansen, you just described Chucky as being cute twice in the last five minutes. What the hell is wrong with you?
I shake my head, and I look away from the nerd. I'm Carina "Nipple Biter" Hansen, damn it! I don't do nerds.
"Yeah, you should do that," I say, looking down at his open suitcase and his tranq pistols. I point to them. "You're going to have to take real guns with you."
"What—why?" he asks, frowning.
"Damn it, Chuck," I say with a groan. I don't care if he's hot, if he "what—why's" me one more time, I'm going to bite his other nipple. "Just think about it for a minute. You ask too many questions when you can answer them for yourself. It's annoying."
For a second, he gives me a hurt expression, and then his eyebrows burrow together. He looks at his tranq pistols, and then back to me. I can see the cogs working in his head as he puts the pieces together. "Because your team's going to be carrying real guns," he says.
I grin. "There you go," I say, patting his shoulder. "So yeah, I'll leave you a couple pistols—you like Sigs? I'll leave you two of those and some extra magazines."
"Yeah, about that," he says, and his unease is written all over his face. "I don't really do the whole killing people thing. I'm not kosher with that."
"Don't be such a pussy, Chucky," I say, realizing too late how harsh it sounds. I drop my voice back to its normal tone. "People die all the time." I pause for a second. "Just then? Hundreds of people just died."
"There's a difference between dying and killing, Carina," he retorts. "I'm not going to carry any guns."
Damn, this boy's stubborn. But as I open my mouth to argue, I see something in him that I rarely see from other people. There's innocence behind his warm, brown eyes. Most people in this world lose that innocent sparkle when they're kids, but Chuck still has it. And I realize, in this moment, what Walker sees in him other than his hotness.
"Take your tranqs," I tell him. "There are going to be guards waiting for you down on the basement floor. Try to lead them up the flight of stairs, and tranq them there. I'll take care of them." Chuck opens his mouth, but I hold a hand up to stop him. "I won't kill them. I'll wait for you above—probably on the fifth floor, maybe higher—and I'll toss a grenade down. I'll hold it long enough so that it will detonate before it reaches the basement. It'll look like the force of the blast and rubble knocked those guards out."
Chuck grins gratefully, and puts a hand on my bare shoulder. I want to shrug it off, but I let it rest there.
"And since there are most likely going to be guards watching the database," I continue, "Just tranq them too. I'll tell my team that I'm going to check out the basement first, and I'll tell them that I left those guards alive for interrogation. You said you had twilight tranqs, right?"
"Jill modified them a bit, so that the victim will be unconscious for about an hour."
"That's good. Yeah…this can work." I say it more to myself than Chuck. It will work.
"Cool," he says, still grinning. I'm glad that he doesn't express his doubt, if he has any, about me being able to take on a group of guards. Instead, he gives my shoulder a squeeze. "Apart from you biting my nipple, I'm glad you're here."
"Yeah?" I ask, unable to stop a smile from forming.
"Definitely," he replies. "I'd say we had a very productive day. You joined my team, which is a huge relief, because I didn't know how much longer I'd be able to evade you guys; especially after Wally. Then we had a kind of depressing chat about Bryce." He nods to himself, and bumps his shoulder into mine. "I can see us becoming pretty good friends."
Friends…
For some reason my heart sinks (I didn't even know that it could do that) at the word. It sinks deeper when I think about Bryce. He's a good guy, he really is, but he's always been cocky, and selfish. He probably thinks that he was being selfless by not letting me quit so that he could attempt to kill himself, but that kind of hurts. It's like, what, me being there for him isn't good enough?
And Chuck…he's this billionaire who's hot, down to earth, and charming. One of the things I like most about him is that he's confident but not cocky. Guys like Chuck are rare. He's a genuinely nice guy, and he doesn't expect to get anything in return. The guys I meet on missions are nice, but they're obviously only nice to me because they want in my pants.
On top of everything that Chuck is, he also runs around in a mask and can kick some serious ass. The way he handled me earlier? My God…that was…wow!
Wait—why the hell am I even thinking about this?
"You said you were hungry, right?" Chuck asks. "Want me to get you anything from the vending machines?"
My stomach speaks for me, grumbling softly in reply. I look up at him. "Does that answer your question for you?"
He chuckles, and gets off the bed. "So what do you want?"
"What do they have?"
"I don't know," he says, shrugging. "Want to come take a look with me?"
"Yeah, sure." I get off the bed, and begin to make my way out the door, but Chuck grabs my wrist.
"Wait a sec." I look around to see him hunching over his suitcase. When he straightens up, he's holding a black suit jacket, and he tosses it to me. "I don't want you to catch a cold," he says, eyeing my outfit.
"Chucky, it's fine," I say, trying to shove the jacket back into his hand.
He frowns. "It's chilly out," he insists, taking the jacket, and wrapping it around my shoulders. "Come on. Let's get some eats."
Without another word, Chuck walks over to the door, pulls it open, and steps outside. He's right, I think to myself as I follow him. It is chilly out.
A/N: Hmm...I guess now would be a good time to tell you that Roads is a Charina story.
Totally kidding! Or am I...? *cue ominous music*
Oh, and I think a lot of people are thinking that the next chapter of Roads is going to be angsty. Well, I'll let you be the judge. Here's a little snippet:
"It's been a long morning," she said, holding out her hand. "Walk around the track with me?"
After pretending to ponder, Chuck shrugged and took her hand. "I guess I can do that." He took her hand. In a deep, dramatic, British accent, he said, "Let us embark on a dangerous journey around the mystical air track. Who knows what dangers we may face?"
"Nobody does." Sarah played along, imitating Chuck's accent. "We may come across track trolls, and track goblins…or the evil ogre who goes by the name of Casey," she added when they walked past the weight room, pointing to Casey while he was doing a set of squats.
Yeah, it's going to be a total angst-fest, chapter 8. :) Thank you guys for reading!
I forgot! Pretty sure Chapter 8 will be posted on Sunday! It's in the process of being beta'ed right now
