A/N1 Take a breath. And on we go.
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Don't own Chuck.
ACT II
CHAPTER THREE
Corpse
A little boy knelt in the motel hallway. He had a naked Barbie doll in one hand, a naked Ken doll in the other. Both dolls had seen better days. The dolls' faces had both worn partially away: Barbie looked bewildered; Ken looked depressed.
The little boy's mother was pushing her maid's cart into the hallway, exiting the motel's rat-trap service elevator. She worked the late night shift and normally could not find a sitter for little Roger. That meant he spent nights with her in the motel, mostly trailing silently behind her, but on occasion, like tonight, surging ahead. He knew the motel inside and out, having practically grown up in it. His mother, Rosy, had her gaze fixed on the top of the maid's cart. She had a tray of small soaps riding unsteadily there, and she did not want to spill them and have to pick them up.
"Momma! Look! A dead lady, right here in the hallway! Her neck looks funny." Roger piped this with excitement.
Rosy was still focused on the soap tray; she did not look toward him. "Right, Roger. Now pick up your Barbies and bring them with us. We have empty rooms to check, beds to make, towels to launder."
She shook her head. More and more often, rooms were being rented for an hour or two, and then abandoned, deeds done. The owner, instead of fighting the trend, was hoping to make extra money from it, and so he had Rose come in at night to clean any of the 'hour rentals' as the owner liked to call them. The work wasn't usually hard. More often than not, all that needed attention in the room, or, at any rate, all the owner instructed her to attend to-was the bedding, the bathroom and the trash cans. If things had happened on the desks or floors...well, she wasn't instructed to do anymore.
Rosy had persistent nightmares about what a blacklight in the motel rooms would reveal. "Probably more spatter than the St. Valentine's Day Massacre," she muttered aloud to no one, not even herself.
"No, momma, there really is a dead lady." Roger's high voice was insistent.
Rosy lifted her eyes to look down the hall at Roger, only to see him dangling his naked Barbie over the face of a corpse...a dead woman, her red hair spread out on the floor...
Oh, goddamn. Rosy screamed.
ooOoo
Carina's eyes snapped open. When they had shut, it had been with Sarah's intent and yet lost countenance over her, no recognition in her clouded blue eyes. Sarah's strong, hard hands had been...strangling her.
Now, Carina's eyes open, she was staring into the plastic blue gaze of a naked Barbie doll. Carina tried to shriek, but her throat was swollen, and the sound was more like a bubbling hiss. Carina then heard a shriek, but it was not her. The Barbie was suddenly dropped prone across Carina's face.
"Roger, c'mere, right now." Carina turned her head (God, her neck!) and saw two pudgy legs running up the hallway, and a cleaning cart in the distance. Carina sat up and began to look and feel around her, trying to find her gun.
"Blondie." She spat the word like a choked curse. "She took my gun." Carina got up, looked around some more, then pushed angrily on the door of Sarah's room. The door swung open, its hinges sprung, keeping it from latching. She walked through the room, scanning it, then she realized: "And my purse. Shit!"
What is wrong with you, Sarah. You nearly killed me. Maybe you even tried. But you didn't. Thank God. For both of us.
Carina felt herself growing angrier. She fought the response back, made herself breathe, calm down. She knew Sarah, had known her for years. Sarah had saved Carina's life more times than Carina could count, probably more times than Carina knew.
Something was seriously wrong with Blondie.
Carina heard tentative footsteps. The motel maid was creeping closer to her, the little boy clutching a Ken doll peeking at Carina from behind the woman.
"Are you ok, lady?" The woman asked.
Carina nodded. "Long story. I'm fine. Cute kid."
She bent down and picked up the shoelace from the floor. The maid looked at her, puzzled. Carina waved the string in the air. "Souvenir." Bending down once more, she picked up the naked Barbie. She looked at it and shivered involuntarily.
Carina tossed the doll to the woman, who caught it smoothly. "Nice catch." She turned and walked to the elevator she had ridden up.
Downstairs, she demanded the use of a phone from the night clerk. The drowsy man handed her his out-of-date cell, and Carina dialed Beckman's number.
Beckman answered after one ring. "Who is this?"
"Carina."
"Thank God. How is she, Carina?"
"Homicidal."
"What?"
ooOoo
Chuck was sitting next to the fountain outside his-and Sarah's-apartment. He could not sleep in the empty bed. It seemed so empty that he was unsure he was in it. Worry would not allow sleep to come. In his hand, he held the picture he'd sketched for Sarah, a drawing of the two of them and a little person, a baby, outside Sarah's dream home. His dream home.
He'd drawn it so that she wouldn't forget. Had she? They'd started trying to realize that dream. His mind swept through memories of caresses and gasps shared on the bullet train in Japan. Chuck and Sarah and trains. It seemed now like he had never touched her; it seemed now like it had been forever since he touched her; it seemed now like he could still smell her on his skin.
Chuck felt like the life was draining from his body the longer she was gone. Soon, he'd be only a corpse.
He looked down at his unlaced Chucks, laces dangling. He'd been having trouble breathing. Now his heart was having trouble beating. As he sat, feeling like he had to will each breath, each beat, he saw the lights go on downstairs in his sister's place.
Who was up at this hour?
ooOoo
Earlier...
Carina knew Sarah's room number, Beckman had told her, so she entered the motel and walked past the front desk without pause. The balding clerk looked up at her, grinned knowingly, and looked back down. He was working a crossword puzzle.
As she went up the elevator, Carina debated how to approach Sarah. They had a longstanding tradition of trying to sneak up on each other as the first step of reunions, but that was not a good idea now. If Sarah were having problems, the best thing would just be the straightforward approach. Knock. Ask to come in.
That was her plan until the elevator door opened. She saw a man in the hallway. She was unsure if he had been standing there a moment before but he was walking away from Sarah's door. He did not look back. Perhaps he was just another guest, up late, sleepless. But seeing him rattled Carina a bit. Beckman had said nothing to suggest Sarah was in immediate danger. Beckman's obvious worry, never voiced but understood by Carina, was that Sarah might be running-but from what or to what Carina could not understand. Damn Beckman and her secrets. Carina pulled her pistol out from beneath the light jacket she had on. She kept it against her body, out of sight, but ready.
She knocked softly on the door.
ooOoo
Carina huffed before she answered Beckman's question. "She tried to kill me…" Carina fished in her pocket and retrieved the string, looked closely at it, "with a shoelace. I'm ok, though. Unconscious for a few minutes, I guess. Neck's sore. Never really been on the serious receiving end from the Ice Queen before. Not a place I ever want to be again." Carina was rubbing her neck.
"My God, Carina, I never imagined you would be in danger from Sarah. I'm sorry." Beckman sincerity, guilt was evident on the phone. "But you...have her?"
"No, in fact, she has my gun, my badge, my phone and my car." Carina kept her voice low so that the crossword clerk would not hear-but it was hard: she wanted to yell.
"That's...not good. And she said nothing to you? Offered no explanation?"
Carina replayed the moments again. "No. But here's the thing. I swear to God she did not know who I was. Her eyes. I was a stranger, and she thought she was in danger. And I made a mistake, General. I had my gun out still when she opened the door."
"Out? Still?" Beckman was a beat behind.
"There was a man in the hallway. He might have been standing in front of Sarah's door when the elevator opened. He walked away, but it gave me the tingles. I pay attention to my tingles." Carina was unapologetic.
"And you should. We have to take seriously the possibility that someone else is trying to find her-maybe worse-as well as us. I will send someone for you, take you to an NSA safe house for the night. By morning, I will have another gun, car, and phone for you.
"As of now, I am detaching you from the operation in Mexico. I need your help. I think Sarah needs your help." Carina could hear Beckman reaching a decision. "I will read you in later, Agent Miller. You have my word. I am sincerely sorry. But right now I have another call coming, one I must take."
"Thanks, General. I'm worried. I'm...worried."
"So I am, Carina. So am I."
ooOoo
Clara had a nightmare. Ellie had gotten up to comfort her. (It had been Devon's turn last time, so it was Ellie's this time.) The little girl had gone right back to sleep. But Ellie had not. She hadn't really been asleep any way. Worry about Sarah and Chuck had kept her tossing and turning. She padded around in the darkened apartment for a minute, then noticed her phone's signal light flashing. A text. She picked up the phone. The text was from General Beckman. Ellie hit a button to return the call, and as she waited for an answer, she turned on the lights in the living room.
ooOoo
Sarah was driving aimlessly. She had been for a long time. That might make her hard to find, but it also meant that she had no plan. She found herself in the suburbs after making a series of random turns.
The black outside was turning grey, forecasting dawn. In the half-light, Sarah looked around herself, at the largely similar homes.
She was standing in front of a suburban house. A car was pulling out of the driveway. She was waving. The light reflected on the windshield hid the driver from view, but she felt a drenching of affection, but affection colored by frustration and sadness.
The image was gone as quickly as it came but it left a strong aftertaste of affection and frustration and sadness.
Was that Mr. Anderson leaving? Who was driving that car? Was I...in love with him? What was wrong between us?
Sarah forced herself back into the present. She began to think tactically. Her body was hurting all over and she still needed rest. Maybe she could find a house that was unoccupied. She began to look more closely at the houses when…
She was younger. Driving a convertible. Music playing. God, did I listen to that? She felt overwhelming panic. She was looking at a house...The house I just passed...and there were law enforcement officers all around it. Her dad! Her dad? He was being arrested. But they had a plan. She drove on past the house, hardly able to see, tears distorting her vision…
She pulled over and stopped the car. She was weeping. She was at sea in loss.
Wiping her eyes, she realized that she had not been making random turns. No, some old habit had taken over; at some point, she'd started driving a route that she remembered, but did not remember that she remembered. She'd driven...home? No, yes, no...sort of. She and her father had lived in the house down the street. But it was never home.
She had knowledge she could not explain. That day had been one of the most decisive of her life. Evidently, she had been on the wrong side of the law for a long time. Try as she might, she could not force any more memories. But she knew that the day had been another day of affection and frustration and sadness. And she knew one more thing: that particular mix of emotions-its relative proportions shifting-was distressingly familiar to her. What has my life been like?
She started driving again. After a few minutes, she spotted a house with a For Sale sign in front and several newspapers in the yard. Sarah drove around the block and parked in a line of other cars. She walked back to the house she had spotted. It was still gray out. No one was stirring yet.
She walked up the driveway and around to the back door of the house. She had been scrutinizing it as she walked. She looked more carefully once she was in the back of the house. No sign of an alarm system. She dug in the DEA agent's purse and found a couple of stray bobby pins in the bottom. She picked the lock and was inside before it dawned on her that she could pick a lock. She was becoming more and more frightened of finding out all of which she was capable.
The house was set up for prospective buyers. Everything looked staged. Sarah walked through the house, memorizing its layout, without knowing or wondering why. She was pleased to find a bedroom on the ground floor. She went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. There were numerous bottles of water and a sealed, half-empty container of chocolate chip cookies. Sarah got a bottle of water and three of the cookies. She went into the first-floor bedroom, the master, and, seated on the bed, she ate in the thin dawn light. She washed the cookies down with water.
She leaned against the headboard of the bed. She made herself take a breath, relax.
Rest is a weapon. She relaxed slowly and began to drift into sleep.
She was feeding a beautiful girl, a toddler, a piece of cookie from her hand. The little girl smiled at her, a chocolate-smeared smile.
Sarah sat up. My child? No. Maybe. No.
Sarah did not know what to make of the memory, except to note that it too came with affection, but this time not mixed with frustration and sadness. This time, it had been mixed with...hope.
She fell asleep on top of the made bed.
ooOoo
Chuck expected the light to go out. The light in Ellie's apartment stayed on, however. It would be dawn soon.
Chuck pulled his phone from the pocket of the hoodie he had thrown over his pajamas. He texted Ellie:
Are you awake? I am outside by the fountain.
He put the phone down and waited.
A/N2 Darkest before dawn? So they say, so they say. Tune in for Chapter 4 "The Push and Shove of Being".
