A/N: Thanks to everyone reading the story. Especially thanks to those leaving comments / reviews. They are the flame that lights the fire under me and keeps me writing. Usually around this point in a story, writers start to feel like things are dragging. If they are, please let me know so I can work on the pace. If things are still interesting, that's good to know, too.


Chuck vs The Bodyguard

Chapter 9


Chuck surveyed the motel room as they entered. It was clean and tidy, but old. The walls were a burnt cream color, the paint chipped in some places. The carpet had a mottled orange and brown pattern, worn down in the main walkways. A vanity and sink were just inside the door. The separate bathroom was tiny and the white towels and wash cloths were thin.

They hadn't had enough cash for a room with two beds, so one double bed took up most of the floor space.

Chuck eased his aching body down on the edge of the bed. He didn't remember ever having hurt so much in his life. He started to peel off his coat but stopped and let out a gasp as his shoulder and side screamed in protest.

"Let's take a look," Sarah said as she stepped up to him.

Chuck stared at the blood splattered across her. He shuddered as the realization hit him once again of how close to death they'd come.

"I'm good," he said.

"No, you're not," Sarah said as she began to ease the jacket off his shoulders. Chuck noticed her own grimace of pain as she moved.

"It's okay, Sarah. It hurts, but that's nothing different from the past couple of days."

"What's the one and only thing you need to do?" She asked.

"You know, you can't just keep throwing that at me all the time," Chuck said.

"Yeah, I can," she said. "I'm the bodyguard. You're not." She smirked at him. "Now, humor me."

Chuck huffed out an annoyed breath. "Do what you say."

"Ah ... the abbreviated version. Still, it'll do. See, you can be taught, nerd boy."

"Oh, so now I'm a nerd boy?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "You mean, you're not?"

Chuck ducked his head and tried to hide a smile. "Touché."

At least I'm not just a 'package' anymore.

Chuck gritted his teeth through the pain as they both struggled to get his shirt off. He watched Sarah's face tighten with her own discomfort as she held her breath through the process.

Looking down he saw the half-dollar sized, blood-red bruise the rubber bullet had left over his right pectoral.

"At least the skin's not broken," Sarah said. "We need to ice it to reduce the swelling. There's an ice machine down the hall. I'll be right back." She grabbed a small plastic bucket off the vanity counter by the sink and left the room.

Chuck walked over to look at himself in the vanity's large mirror. He was a disaster. His body was beaten to hell. Dark circles pooled under his eyes and he looked as exhausted as he felt. But more than anything else it was the despair he saw in his own face that startled him. He wasn't sure how he — how they — were going to survive.

Sarah returned with the ice. She also produced two, ten tablet envelops of ibuprofen. She ripped one package open and handed five tablets to Chuck. "Take these."

"Where'd you get them?"

"Vending machine down the hall," she replied, then swallowed her own five tablets with a glass of water.

She wrapped some ice in a hand towel and gave it to him. "Keep this on for twenty minutes."

They stood for a long time, silently watching each other in the mirror. Chuck wondered what would have happened if he'd stood his ground with Beckman and refused a bodyguard. At the thought he saw himself shiver.

"It's gonna be okay, Chuck," Sarah said quietly. "I'll keep you safe."

"How are we going to get out of this?"

"I don't know, yet. But I'll figure it out. I'm pretty good at my job," Sarah said, her reflection giving him a reassuring smile.

He knew she was. He'd seen what she could do, up close and personal. He'd never had to trust anyone with his life before. And in less than a couple of hours Sarah had saved him, twice.

Chuck watched Sarah in the mirror as she tried to remove her blazer. Her teeth gritted and she stopped, letting out a soft gasp of pain. He set the icepack down and turned to her.

"Your turn," he said, giving her a look that said he would accept no resistance. It worked because after a long pause, Sarah nodded.

He helped her slip out of her blazer. Sarah pulled the hem of her camisole up under her breasts, exposing her abdomen. Chuck sucked in a breath at the large black and blue bruise that covered the lower part of her right rib cage. It looked as angry as his own bruises.

"Sarah …," he hissed.

"Yeah," she acknowledged. "This is totally messed-up." She pushed gently at the bruise with an index finger, then grunted in pain.

"That's from a rubber bullet?" Chuck asked. "Why does it look so much worse than mine?"

"Yours hit the muscle. I think mine cracked a rib." She started to peel her camisole up over her breasts. "Help me take this off," she said, struggling to raise her arms and pull her top over her head.

Chuck froze as his eyes locked on her body. He had been right this morning. She was toned and fit, with a hint of a six-pack. Her skin was smooth and fair and her cream colored, lace bra cupped perfect breasts. Despite the direness of their situation, he couldn't help the spark of desire that flashed through him. But he tamped it down quickly.

Sarah must have noticed his momentary lapse. Her expression was neutral, her tone matter-of-fact. "You know, a bra's just like a bikini top. Actually, it covers more."

"Maybe," Chuck said, clearing his throat as he felt his cheeks flush. "I … ah … I just hadn't planned on seeing my bodyguard in a bikini anytime soon."

Sarah let out a laugh, then a groan of pain. "Ow. Fuck! Don't make me laugh."

"Sorry."

"Get on with it," Sarah said, tilting her head down toward her camisole.

Chuck swallowed, then gingerly helped Sarah shimmy the top up and pulled it over her head. She let out another grunt of pain as she lowered her arms.

Sarah reached behind her back and pulled her knife from a clip inside her waistband. She handed it to Chuck.

"This is a cotton and elastic fabric blend. We're going to make it into a compression bandage to stabilize my rib."

She instructed Chuck through an elaborate process of cutting up her top. The end result was a long, continuous piece of fabric about ten inches wide.

Chuck stood behind Sarah and wrapped the makeshift bandage around her torso. It was long and stretched enough to go around her three times. As his arms encircled her for each wrap he couldn't avoid the backs of his hands brushing against the underside her breasts. Desire flared again and this time it took a little longer to dampen.

When the wrap was snug they turned and looked at their handiwork in the mirror. Chuck noticed that the cloth pushed Sarah's breasts just a little higher, accentuating her cleavage. He realized he was staring again and jerked his gaze up from her chest to find Sarah watching him in the mirror.

Mortification hit him like a bull dozer. He caught a glimpse of his scarlet face in the mirror as he quickly looked away. He walked to the bed and grabbed his t-shirt. He brought it back and handed it to Sarah, averting his eyes.

"Here," he said. "You can hardly see the bullet hole, so this should work for the time being. After the stare-down the clerk gave your bloody jacket, you probably need to ditch that."

"You're right," Sarah said. "Thanks."

She tried to raise her arms to pull the shirt over her head but stopped in obvious pain. Chuck hesitated, then stepped up to Sarah, locking his eyes with hers to forbid them from wandering. He lifted the shirt up high, slipping it over her head and arms. His shirt was huge on her, dropping over Sarah like a tent and hanging below her knees.

Grabbing his ice pack, Chuck went and sat on the edge of the bed. Sarah sat next to the bed in the small room's single chair.

Chuck looked at the floor. "I'm sorry," he said.

"About what?" Sarah asked.

"About … you know … staring." Chuck rubbed at his knee with his free hand. "I don't want you to think I'm a creep."

"Why, because you copped a peek?"

"Yeah."

"I don't."

"Good."

A moment of silence passed. Then Sarah said, "It was a pretty long peek, though."

Chuck huffed. "Oh, now, there you go. Kick a man when he's down."

Sarah smirked. "I'm just sayin'…"

"Oh no. No, no, no. Not fair," he said quickly. "Any guy with a pulse would do the same exact thing if a drop-dead gorgeous woman walked up to him and pulled her shirt off."

Sarah's smirk widened. "Gorgeous, huh?"

Chuck felt his jaw tense and his words came out through clenched teeth. "That's not … you know what I mean."

"Drop dead, no less."

Chuck let out an unintelligible grumble of frustration. His earlier embarrassment was nothing compared to this. His foot-in-mouth disease seemed to have relapsed in a big way. He didn't want Sarah Walker to think he was some sleazy rich dude who treated women like objects. He didn't know why that as so important to him. He'd known Sarah for less than a day. But for whatever reason, it mattered.

Sarah must have realized she'd pushed Chuck past his comfort zone because she reached out and put a hand on Chuck's knee. "Hey," she said. "Relax. I'm just giving you a bad time."

Seeing Sarah's hand resting on his leg, feeling its warmth and reassuring pressure, Chuck felt his anxiety drop down a notch. He took in a breath, then shook his head and let out a short laugh.

"Sorry. Kinda stressed. Today's been sorta … unusual," he said.

Sarah pulled her hand away and sat back in her chair. "You can say that again."

The insanity of the day flashed through Chuck's mind and once again he shivered at the close calls they'd just had.

"You saved me back there. Again," Chuck said. "Thank you."

"You're the one who saved us, Chuck. Your quick thinking really pulled our asses out of the fire."

Chuck stared at the floor. They sat in silence for a while.

"How did they find us?" Chuck asked.

"Don't know. They could have tracked one of our phones."

Chuck hesitated, then asked, "What about your boss?"

He was surprised at Sarah's lack of defensiveness.

"I've known Casey for five years," Sarah replied. "He's a straight-arrow. My instincts tell me he's not dirty. But that doesn't mean he hasn't been compromised."

"I don't understand."

"His communications may be tapped. Or someone might be holding a loved-one captive and extorting him for information. There are a lot of ways to leverage someone."

"Who can we trust?"

"Right now, no one involved in this," Sarah said. "We're going dark until I can figure out what's going on and who the players are."

"So, what's the plan?"

Sarah grunted as she shifted uncomfortably her chair. "I know a place where we can go. I'll make a call tomorrow and set it up. We'll be safe there and it will give us a couple of days to figure things out."

Sarah eyed Chuck. "I need you to tell me the specifics about the project — the stuff I wasn't cleared for."

Chuck hesitated. "That's classified."

Sarah frowned. "Chuck, someone's trying to capture you … or kill you. I need to know why. I realize you're the project lead, but that doesn't explain how they'd benefit by taking you out of the equation. And … who are they, anyway." She leaned forward. "I need to know."

Chuck nodded. Sarah's questions zeroed-in to the heart of the matter. He knew the answer to her first question. For security purposes he was the only one who could activate the software system that was - in and of itself - the entire DOD project. As for her second question, he didn't have a clue who'd want him dead.

It took half an hour for Chuck to give Sarah a full briefing about the project. He explained that, along with the US DOD, the other project client was the South Korean government. And finally, he described how he was the proverbial linchpin for the entire project.

"This was helpful," Sarah said. "It gives me some idea of who might be coming after you. Most likely the RGB."

"RGB?" Chuck questioned.

"Reconnaissance General Bureau. North Korea's spy agency."

"But how would they even know about the project?" Chuck asked.

"No way to tell," Sarah replied. "But it's a spy agency. That's what they do. I have a contact in the CIA who might be able to help us. I'll reach out tomorrow and ask her to dig around."

Sarah yawned. "For now, we need to sleep."

She got up, moved the chair to the door and propped the back underneath the door handle. Then she locked the door as well. She turned on the bathroom light so some illumination would filter into the main room and turned off the overhead light. Grabbing an extra blanket and two spare pillows from the room's dresser she walked back to the bed.

"Scoot back," Sarah said as she stacked the extra blanket and pillows against the headboard. "You can lean back on these so you're partially sitting. Not as comfortable as your sofa, but better than nothing."

Chuck gave her a grateful look. "Thank you," he said as he carefully positioned himself against the pillows. The ibuprofen had brought the pain down from a raging inferno to a dull roar and it felt good to lie back. He felt himself fading fast although he wasn't sure his anxiety would let him sleep. Well, if he couldn't sleep, he could rest. That was good enough.

Chuck watched as Sarah positioned the other two pillows and stretched out gingerly, lying her left side down which put her injured side up. She was on the left side of the bed so she was facing Chuck. The bed was small and their hips rested against each other. Sarah pulled the bedspread up over them both and rested her head on a pillow. She looked up at him.

"You okay with this?" she asked.

"As long as you respect me in the morning, Detective."


After a while Sarah heard Chuck's breathing grow steady and deep. She felt his body relax next to hers. He was finally asleep.

Sarah, on the other hand, wasn't.

The scene in Chuck's loft where he threw himself in front of the shooter kept replaying in her mind. She'd realized the ammo was non-lethal when she'd been hit. As she'd struggled to stay on her knees, incapacitated by the agony in her side and the inability to breathe, she'd watched the shooter coming for her. She'd known he'd go for a headshot. He wanted Chuck and she was in the way. Chuck had jumped in front of the bastard and taken what would have been a lethal shot for her. If the shot had hit Chuck in the head it would have killed him. And as far as Chuck had known, he was jumping in front of a full metal jacketed assault round. Still, he hadn't hesitated. In a split second he'd made the decision to sacrifice himself for her.

And as hard as she tried, she couldn't figure out why.

It wasn't every day that you watched someone — right in front of you — willingly lay down their life to save yours. How the hell did you deal with something like that? Especially when you both survived. Why would someone make that choice — for her? Why would anyone think her life was worth more than their own? Sarah couldn't even guess at the answers and it made her feel powerless, fragile and out of control.

Not being in control scared Sarah Walker. As a bodyguard, or a cop, you had to be in control at all times. Being in control meant you held the power. Power to assess the situation, to take necessary action, to shape your immediate circumstance and, ultimately, to keep people safe. Being in control meant survival. It was her job to be in control.

Exhaustion weighed on her, heavy and thick, breaking down the last resistance that had kept tears at bay. Water pooled in Sarah's eyes as emotions battled inside her. Guilt that Chuck had placed himself in harm's way because of her. Loathing of herself for being lazy which had made them more vulnerable. Fear that she could still loose Chuck like she'd lost Shaw.

No. She wouldn't lose Chuck. She wouldn't allow fate to take him. She wouldn't give the responsibility of keeping him alive to someone else. But that wasn't an issue any longer. Which suited Sarah just fine. To hell with being compromised. She owed Chuck. And she liked Chuck. He deserved to live, way more than the dozens of self-absorbed diplomatic and political pricks she'd protected in the past. He was different. He was special. She'd never met anyone like him and probably never would again. He deserved a happy life and she was going to get him out of this.

Her mind rebounded back to the scene in the loft and she watched herself recoil in fear as the bullet took Chuck in the chest. She'd known the rubber bullets meant they'd come to take him, not kill him. It was Beirut happening all over again. A white-hot rage had engulfed her and she'd lost all control until she'd held the shooter in her hands and stared into his lifeless eyes.

And the irony wasn't lost on Sarah. Chuck had thanked her for saving him. God, she could just slap the nerd for being so dense. He couldn't see that it was he who'd saved her - twice. She was alive because of him. She was alive because Chuck Bartowski had been willing to sacrifice his life to save hers.

She blinked and the tears finally spilled down her cheeks.

Sarah remembered Chuck's anger when he'd told her that each person made their own choice about what or who was worth sacrificing their life for.

Casey had told her Chuck wasn't worth it.

Sarah tilted her head up to look at Chuck's face.

Casey was wrong.

"I'll keep you safe, Chuck," Sarah whispered. "I promise."