An: Thank you for the reviews as always! I'm glad you guys liked it!
As a note, I changed the title of the story for a reason. I was listening to my IPod and heard Counting Bodies like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums by A Perfect Circle playing and was like, "OMG that's perfect!" So there ya go!
I do not own Chuck or Left 4 Dead. That's NBC and Valve bitches.
R&R
When the first rays of dawn had first begun to seep through the slivers of the bunker's ceiling, Chuck found himself slowly regaining consciousness. The sunlight peaked into the many crevices and settled directly above his face, which had now become a sallow and unhealthy color. The blood that had dried into his clothing began to flake off like sand. What remained of the crimson pool he had slept overnight in, stayed as moist and sticky as before. There was a steady increase of warmth that circulated throughout the room; encouraging the three survivors out of their slumber and into yet another dismal day of living through such unfortunate circumstances.
Now the daylight had eventually illuminated the safe room in its entirety. Chuck's eyes were hooded beneath its lids as he finally came around. Tired and weak, not to mention disorientated, he tried to lift a hand to block out the very annoying and persistent sun. His attempt was lackluster. He found that even his arm felt like it weighed a ton of bricks and refused to cooperate. Chuck sighed and knew his throat was arid from dehydration and and hoarse from screaming. So as he took in his first timid gulp of air and swallowed it, he felt the sensation of a fire burning a trail down to his lungs. He shut his eyes tight when he felt the sudden urge to cry out.
Chuck Bartowski did not anticipate the pain to be so intense. He frankly did not expected to be pain at all. But there was and it was not a mere throb like he would've predicted. He wondered why he felt this way. His mind ached when it tried to process everything that had happened the night before. He could not remember much. This made his headache grow worse; frustration and impatience set his nerves on high alert. Again, he felt like he was on fire. The pain was so deep into his skin that he finally gave up. His brows contorted into an anguished expression while his weathered lips pressed into a tight grimace. Minimal strength allowed him to ball his hands into fists. Color drained from his face and—
He moaned.
Meanwhile, Sarah was still sitting in the chair. Her back had been hunched over in a peculiar way so that she could rest on the table. Blonde hair spilled on the table's surface like a golden halo, shrouding her face which had been hidden beneath her arms. All in all, it didn't seem to be that comfortable. It was actually downright awkward.
Nevertheless, when the distinct sound of a human moan (often sounded like a pitiful whine) filled her ears, the CIA spy reacted at once. At first, she shifted deeper into her seat and emitted an upset groan of her own. Then a long pause occurred. Sarah heard a louder moan this time and it was beginning to get harder to ignore. She stifled a yawn and completely forgot where she was. Her head lifted up very sluggishly and her arms stretched up to the ceiling. Eyes still closed, she smacked her lips and a smile crossed her face.
"Chuck," she mumbled sleepily, "What are you doing up so early, baby?"
She got no response and let one blue eye see beyond its dark veil. This time she did yawn.
"Chuck?" Sarah repeated. Her voice grew slightly worried. The other eye opened and was a cloudy blur.
The moaning became worse to the point that Casey, who was slumped against the barred door with a gun, strapped to his chest, had instinctively fingered the trigger and pulled it by accident. There was a loud bang when the shot was fired. Sarah jumped out of the seat and almost her skin as well. Casey's hand snapped off the weapon when his eyes flew open in shock. The two spies then looked at each other, both with different expressions.
Casey's was an irritated scowl. He cursed, "Son of a bitch! What the hell was that?"
Sarah shot him an unsympathetic look. Her mind was fuzzy and the reason why she was locked up in a bunker rather than curled up in bed beisde Chuck became abundantly clear. She teased,"Didn't I tell you not to bring automatic guns with you to bed?"
"I was on guard duty, Walker," he growled indignantly. The Colonel pushed himself up to his feet, scratching his head. "Anyway, what I want to know is what got me to pull the trigger in the first place."
Sarah pursed her lips together and was about to shrug, but had stopped when another moan echoed in the room. It resembled less of an infected and more of a human being. It sounded frail and injured. It caused both agents to turn around and confront the origin of the noise.
"Sarah!"
Her mouth felt like sand paper. She mouthed his name but it couldn't be vocalized. Chuck?
"Sarah," he screamed again. "Please, Sarah…I need….help!"
Chuck was writhing on the cold tiled floor, surrounded by blood. But instead of laying flat on his back he somehow managed to flip over so that he was now on his hands and knees. His fingers were digging into the ground like he was holding onto it for dear life. What was left of his unruly hair had now fallen over his face, the brown curls obscuring his bloodshot eyes. His shoulder heaved up and down with each laboring breath. He was panting hard.
Sarah's eyes were widening in horror. Just like that, all of her morning delusions had vanished completely and only the harsh realities remained. She felt like time had been suspended and everything was moving in slow motion. She left Casey's side (who was now just recovering from his bout of drowsiness) and immediately rushed towards Chuck. It strongly reminded her of not just a few hours earlier when Chuck had first been attacked. The terror she had felt coursing through her veins, infecting every fiber of her being…she did not think that it could be reciprocated. But it had.
She collapsed to the floor, her sights focused solely on him. She managed to still be able to yell out orders to Casey. "I need pills, John! They're in the cabinet!"
Casey nodded with an affirmative grunt. Sarah heard his thundering footsteps as he ran to find the sedatives. Meanwhile, she was face-to-face with Chuck. He had raised his head slightly, meeting his feeble gaze with her frightened one. His entire face was pale and dripping with cold sweat. Droplets of blood trickled down the corners of his mouth and splattered to the floor like red paint.
He gasped for air like a fish out of water. Then, to Sarah's sheer amazement, he let a small smile work its way into his features.
How can he possibly smile at a time like this? She thought wildly. The surprises kept coming when Chuck began to laugh madly under his breath. There was a disturbed, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Oh no…its happening isn't it? He's dying! He really has been infected and now my Chuck is going to die.
Chuck must've noticed the fear changing in her countenance because the laughter died into a subtle chuckle and then stopped all together. Struggling to get his knees tucked underneath him, Chuck was able to move into a sitting position. He stared at Sarah with deep concern outlining his deathly ill complexion. His head made a slight tilt, like he was confused or curious about something that piqued his interest, and then lifted a hand up to caress Sarah's face.
He cupped her cheek and stroked it with his forefinger. Sarah noted that his right hand had never ceased to tremble. In fact, it had escalated into unstoppable shaking. She wanted desperately to breakdown and cry. Cry for Chuck; cry for herself, and to cry for the world. But she could not do that just yet. Not when she still needed to be strong. Chuck had told her explicitly to be tough, stay strong. Because if she couldn't be strong, who could? And if no one could, than what really was the point to keep on living?
Sarah looked at Chuck and realized just how bright his eyes were. His soft chocolate brown irises were shining witha golden radiance that was unlike anythign she had seen before. They were warm and hopeful and Sarah sought refuge in them. She knew that this was not a sign of death. No, it was of life. There was fight in those eyes. Chuck was still fighting the disease. It hadn't won just yet. There was still time.
"Why are you so upset?" Chuck's question brought her back into the present. It was jarring how thick and rough his voice was. It had to be from all that screaming, she figured.
She tried at a smile but failed miserably. "I—I'm not u—upset," her throat cracked and her lip trembled. She averted her gaze for just a moment and saw that the bandage covering Chuck's neck wound had bled through. The once white material was now stained dark red. Strength left her voice and she resumed in a tiny whisper, "I promise."
Chuck considered what she said for a moment and then shook his head. Only that it appeared like his neck was swaying back and forth like a pendulum, ready to drop out of its alignment. He didn't believe her pitiful excuse. Chuck knew her better than that. He was about to challenge her but the faint return of footsteps interrupted him.
"Look, there aren't any antibiotics left," Casey informed her like a soldier. He sounded bitter and regretful however. "But I did find these…don't know how it'll help much, but maybe they can try and stall whatever is working its way through Bartowski's system?"
Sarah craned her neck and saw Casey holding out three giant needles teeming with a neon green liquid. She glanced at them briefly before grabbing one and presenting it in front of Chuck's quivering eyes.
"Chuck," she began slowly, "This is an adrenaline shot. You know what that is don't you?"
His hand slipped off its place on Sarah's face and fell limply to the tile floor. His doe eyes were as big as saucers. He visibly gulped (shutting his eyes when it apparently stung his throat) and nodded his head.
Chuck replied, "Yes."
Sarah fingered the needle and continued, "Ok, well this stuff is going to really help you. It'll make you feel good as new." She forgot to include that its effects were only a temporary fix. But Chuck didn't need to know that; his muddled brain would most likely listen to everything she said as long as it would abate the pain.
"I don't like needles Sarah," was his weak protest. Even he knew that it was futile by now. The brightness of his eyes had dimmed with resignation.
"I know you don't. But Chuck, you need to take it. You want to feel better, right?"
"Why?" He asked her quietly. He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. Fresh blood was smeared into his fingerless glove. He cringed and said again, "Why do I need this?"
Casey made a nervous noise in the back of his throat. His arms were crossed over his chest; the remaining two shots were safely tucked into his bag. He lowered his gaze and looked at Sarah, expecting her to talk. And more importantly: to come clean.
Sarah tried for the simple answer: "You're hurt Chuck."
Chuck gave her a 'no kidding' stare and waited for her to elaborate. Sarah shifted anxiously on the floor and heard the disgusting squishy sound of blood and guts moving beneath her. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and then said, "You don't remember what happened last night, do you?"
The curly-headed spy blinked, perplexed. His utterly blank look gave Sarah even more of a reason to feel guilty of his lack of unawareness.
"Not anything at all?" She contested.
He simply shook his head, saying. "No…should I have?"
Sarah went silent. Chuck's face went slack and whiter if possible.
"What…what happened?" He asked shakily. "What happened to me—" His hand snapped to his injury and lingered there. The red seeped through and wetted his palm. He panicked, "Sarah, tell me what happened? Where did this come from?"
There was an agonizing beat and when Sarah couldn't give Chuck a sufficient answer, Casey spoke up from behind. "You were attacked," he explained straightforwardly. Chuck looked petrified and mouthed something intelligible. Sarah could not distinguish it. Casey let him sort out his thoughts before saying, "It was in here. That crazy jackass that locked himself up in here was infected. We didn't catch him in time and well…" his blue eyes trailed to Chuck's wound.
"He couldn't have bitten me!" Chuck retorted in a matter-of-fact way. "I mean, I'm immune, right you guys?" He looked to his former handlers for confirmation. "Right…?"
"We don't know what exactly happened," replied the hardened Colonel. "All we know is that Hunter bit you and has tainted your blood—"
"What, a Hunter?" Chuck practically shouted. He was chuffing for air. He fixed his scared gaze onto Sarah, who was refusing to make contact the entire time. "Sarah is—is this true? I got bit..."
"By a Hunter, yes," she spoke numbly. Her eyes never once meeting his, "Casey is telling you the truth."
Chuck kept looking at her with a hurt expression. The denial had come and gone and he accepted, as angry and upset, not to mention frightened he was, that what was happening was real. Even so, it still could not keep the grief from appearing on his face when Sarah was trying so hard to avoid his gaze. Was he already so contaminated that Sarah could not even bear to look at him in the eye? Or was she ashamed that she had let him down and got him injured? Either way, it still crushed his heart to see her this way.
"So what happens now?" He asked with a sigh. "Am I going to, you know…" he couldn't finish. He was too tired.
"Not so sure yet," Casey said honestly. "All I know is that we need to get you back to Base and ASAP. If you're immune, then great, but if you're infected…we need to get you the best help that we can."
Chuck let this sink in. He knew he was immune to the virus. He remembered being tested along with Sarah, Casey, his sister and Morgan before entering the base as refugee victims. The military determined he was perfectly fine. They told him that and expected to beleive them. He clenched his jaw in bitterness. He felt sick to his stomach that everything he was told could've been a lie. He didn't even think that the Green Flu was a flu after all. Devon was probabaly right. Chuck felt a stabbing pain in his chest when he reaccounted his awesome brother-in-law's demise. Devon never got the chance to spread the word, nor was he ever going to see his wife give birth to their first child.
I promised Devon I would be there for Ellie if anything bad happened to him, Chuck rationalized. I just can't sit here and accept that I lost. I have to be optimistic...I need to survive. For Ellie, my little unborn nephew, and for Sarah. I just can't roll over and die, I'm not who I used to be. I'm stronger now. I have to be brave. For all of them.
Sarah watched Chuck recover from the news. It seemed like he had gone through every stage of the five steps of grief, and it had only been a few minutes. It was pleasently surprising how well he was actually taking it. She even felt rather foolish for htinking she had the worse end of the entire situation, which she obviously did not. She was healthy and unbitten. There was not a hungry virus eating away at her, turning her into a homicidal beast.
She wasn't becoming a monster.
He was.
"Chuck," she began to whisper. "We want you to…I want you to make out of this alive, more than anything in the world." Now she was making straight eye contact and observed that Chuck's eyes were waging war within itself. She did not know what to think of this. She continued: "So to do that, we need to get you somewhere safe, like Casey said."
Chuck nodded in understanding. An end came to the inner turmoil and he became oddly calm. He reached a hand out and stole the green-filled needle before Sarah could react quick enough. He held it in his hand and studied it with mild dread. Anyone who knew Chuck for a minute or so knew of his outrageous phobia of needles. But he had the point of the needle aimed for his bicep; he leveled his gaze back to Sarah. He looked ready.
"I don't really feel like dying anytime soon," he said plainly. A spark of life beheld in his gaze. He offered a famous Bartowski grin. "So if I have to stab myself with the super long needle to give me the energy I need to make it back alive, then so be it." Chuck jabbed the two-inch long needle into his flesh and pushed hard enough so that the chemical drained into his bloodstream. He shut his eyes and let out a pained sigh. Once the shot was empty, he casted it aside.
A moment passed and the sun had made its way finally into the center of the sky. Sarah and Casey watched Chuck with marveling apprehension, waiting for what would happen next.
Sarah was not keen on the silence and asked, "Chuck? Are you ok?"
One eye cracked open. It was alive with new vigor. The other one was sure to follow, and the pair of brown opals matched the brilliant grin that enveloped Chuck's face. He bounded to his feet and stretched out his arms to their fullest extent.
"I feel awesome!" Chuck exclaimed. He was practically bouncing on his heels. Sarah and Casey exchanged funny looks. It was almost a repeat of when Chuck first informed them he knew Kung Fu. "I mean, needle or not, and I freaking hate needles, this stuff….Wow! This stuff is just—"
"The best, huh?" Casey finished, looking thoroughly amused by the younger man's reaction to the medicine.
Chuck lit up. "Exactly! It's without a doubt the best stuff EVER!" His fast speech halted to a sudden end when his mouth snapped shut and his arms wrapped themselves over his body. He began to shake insistently, his teeth were even chattering. "Is it cold in here, or is it just me?" He rubbed his shoulders and quipped, "It's probably just me…"
Casey looked from Chuck to Sarah. He said from the corner of his mouth, "The shot gave him a boost of energy but it still isn't cutting it. He's gonna feel all the symptoms soon enough. Isn't the chills one of them?"
"Yes," Sarah agreed sadly. She was happy that Chuck had some of his energy back (even if it did make him a little unstable), but to see that he was slowly being consumed by the Green Flu…it was killing her. "He's already experiencing some of the physical symptoms: pale skin, cold sweat, nausea, excruciating pain…"
"So in a few hours should we expect him to start exhibiting some of the nastier stuff?" Casey inquired. "There are psychological symptoms, right?"
"No one has gotten close enough to a victim during their transformation to account for those kinds of symptoms…" As she spoke she sounded gravely hollow.
Casey grunted, "Well I guess we'll be the first, huh?"
Sarah didn't answer. The Colonel gave her a brief pat on the shoulder and murmured, "Hang in there, Wa—Sarah," and then walked away to gather supplies.
This left Sarah alone with Chuck. He was still shaking like he was outside during a blizzard. He hacked a fit of coughs which made Sarah wince. When Chuck controlled himself, his sniffed his nose and looked miserable.
"This sucks," he choked meekly.
"I know," Sarah replied. There was gooseflesh rising across all of Chuck's exposed skin. An idea suddenly struck her and she held up a finger, "But hold on a sec. I think I have something that can help a bit."
Chuck gave her his best effort of a smile and watched Sarah whirl around and head towards the lockers. With the stainless steel blade she magically pulled out of her combat gear, she used the weapon to dig and break the locker combo open. Satisfied, she swung it open and saw a rack of clothes hanging on the hanger. There was a pair of pants, boots, a shirt, and then her eyes caught what she was looking for.
"This should make you feel a little less like you're freezing to death," Sarah held up the article of clothing and the tossed it to Chuck. "Here!"
Chuck caught the garb. "A sweatshirt, how ironic," he said with a twist of an amused smirk. He slid his arms through each hole and shrugged the rest of it on his shoulders. Taking the zipper in his hand, he zipped it up until only a some of his Kevlar vest was showing. He raised his arms and waved them to Sarah, who was happy to see he was not shaking nearly as bad as he had been before.
"So," he began, "how does it look?"
Sarah looked at Chuck's latest addition of apparel and nodded with strong approval. It was a blue and red striped hoodie. For some reason it fitted Chuck just right. It almost seemed to have been made exclusively for tall, moderately built men.
"Looks great," she said.
Chuck sent her a wolfish grin and flipped the hood over his head, covering his eyes completely. Sarah felt her stomach lurch when he laughed and playfully remarked, "See, I'm a Hunter already!"
"Please don't say that…"
His grin faded as he saw Sarah frowning. He lifted the hood with his thumb, revealing one apologetic eye. "I'm sorry Sarah, I didn't think that would upset that much."
She crossed her arms over her breast, feeling a cool December breeze hit her body. "It's ok, Chuck, really. I just thought that well," she chuckled darkly under her breath and shook her head, "never mind."
"No, what were you going to say?"
Chuck was now standing before her, the hood back to being cascaded over his face. She didn't know if he was staring directly at her, but felt his sweaty palms grab a hold of hers. He reeled her into his embrace; arms snaked around her back, holding her still.
"Chuck, it doesn't matter alright? At least not to you," Sarah added as an afterthought. She regretted it immediately.
"What are you talking about?"
She felt his hands tremble furiously as they tried to remain steady. She sighed, lifting her arms and settling a hand on each shoulder.
"It just seems that you're not taking this seriously." Chuck looked affronted but she continued, "Look. We just told you that you were probably infected and you had your little freak out but…"
"But, what?" He countered. "Am I supposed to still be freaking out that I might become a monster?" He scoffed. "From what I've learned these last couple of years is that freaking out gets your nowhere. You gotta keep a level head. Be cool, calm, and collected. You taught me that, remember?"
Sarah was speechless. She began to fiddle with the drawstrings of Chuck's new jacket. He however was waiting for a response.
"You're right," she finally replied. "You shouldn't be freaking out. I was wrong. But are you already accepting your fate, Chuck?"
"Hmm?" he looked at her with questioning eyes.
She brought a hand to the hood of his jacket and gave it a soft tug. Chuck's brows raised and he understood. "I was just playing around, Sarah. It was a joke. Remember jokes?"
Ah, jokes. Oh she remembered jokes alright. Jokes were funny. They made her laugh. Even Chuck's corny one-liners held a special place in her heart for a good chuckle or two. But this was not a joke. It was far from one. It was the future. It was Chuck's future and her future. And it was a dark one at that.
Sarah was still hanging on to the hood's fabric. Her hand clenched it tightly until she finally pulled it off of Chuck's head. He looked at her with genuine surprise. His unruly hair was pressed against his dampened forehead. There were already purple blemishes bruising underneath his eyelids which made him look like an insomniac.
"If you love me, then don't joke about what matters to me most," she said seriously.
"And what's that?" he asked.
"You, Chuck," she cupped his face in her hands. He leaned into them, seeking warmth, "you and your mind:your life. That's all that matters to me. It's all I care about."
"I love you Sarah and I swear to you that I will never get left behind," he was searching her eyes and saw that they were watering. "I won't die, and this will not beat me. I promise that it won't, ok? It won't."
She smiled soulfully, "I love you too Chuck. And I won't let it beat you either."
"Good," Chuck smiled back at her.
She echoed him, "Good."
Then she leaned forward and pressed her lips onto his. She felt them and they were cold to the touch. It was like a hard slab of ice. Shivers trailed up her spine but she ignored them and only reveled in the kiss. Once they parted, she saw that Chuck looked a lot healthier. There was even some color in his cheeks.
"Hey, love birds!"
The two tore their dreamy gazes off each other and turned to see Casey standing by the door. He was wearing his combat gear and holding a backpack over his shoulder along with several new weapons. He was wearing a grin.
"Let's get this show on the road. But, Walker you should dress Bartowski's wound before we head out."
They both nodded and Chuck gave the gruff man a mock salute: "Yes sir, Colonel, sir!"
Sarah giggled. It felt like a foreign thing to do. But it was amazing. It made her feel light and bubbly and just plain nice.
"I'll get the medical tape and patch you up," she told Chuck.
He gave her a cheeky grin. "Whatever you say, Dr. Walker MD."
Sarah blushed at his remark.
Casey took one last look at the two other members of Team Bartowski. They were laughing and smiling without a care in the world, just like the good ole days. He allowed his lips to turn upwards into a faint but real smile. Shaking his head, he leaned up against the barred door.
He grunted in sheer disbelief, "Morons."
AN: Sooooo, how was that?
Leave a review and tell me exactly how you feel! I won't bite! I promise! Sort of.
Also, sorry if it was confusing in anyway. I wrote this from 11:00PM to 3:30 AM and it may have (will have) mistakes. So sorry! I'll correct them later when I feel like it.
NOTE: Corrected it and added some new dialouge and the like. Enjoy :)
