Chuck vs Guns, On The Run and Big Blast-y Explosions.
Summary: When a mission goes pair-shape, Sarah Walker requires the assistance of a lanky nerd herder to help her put as much distance between her and Echo Park as quickly as possible. Of course things are never that simple.
A/N: Here's chapter 10 - I'm getting quite busy at the moment though on the coming weekend I shall have to the whoooole weekend to write so hopefully I write the next chapter out soonish :)
I would like to thank lucky47 for looking over this chapter and correcting my horrible, truly horrible grammar. :)
All my mistakes are my own, I apologise also for any blunders, or general discrepancies or if things are incorrect.
I hope you like my story
Disclaimer: Still Don't Own Chuck - Decuple Bummer.
Hope you like
Chapter 10
25th September 2007
Motel room
7:38 a.m.
Sarah allowed a split second of shock to immobilize her systems – hadn't she already killed that guy? – before she leapt into action.
Would the universe ever give her a break, she wondered as she rolled of the bed in one seamless motion. She was still reeling from a Chuck-related epiphany after all. Couldn't they at least let her change first? Toss on some lipstick? Maybe do her hair up? Or down depending on how Chuck preferred it. Maybe put on that cute blue top she had seen—
"Agent Walker," he slurred by way of greeting, his voice oily with menace. "Just the person I was looking for."
Apparently not she thought drily as the ghost supporting himself in the doorway stumped into the light, his eyes flashing dark and unmistakable.
She would have to worry about sprucing up later.
The man looked like hell. Burnt and blistered, skin stretched taut and raw. Blood, dried and crusted, had gathered in the folds of his torn and filthy clothes, the marks of an explosion evident in his advances. How the hell had he managed to survive?
Nevertheless Sarah felt a surge of optimism. Perhaps she could get this over and done with quickly.
"Well, looks like you found me," she said nonchalantly, rolling out the kinks in her neck and stretching out her legs. "What can I do for you?"
She could do with a morning workout.
The fear of Fulcrum suddenly at her door, the how's, the whys and the who's weighing her skull down vanished and agent instincts clicked deftly in its place. Her mind became a sudden hive of activity, whirling a mile a minute, analyzing, assessing and gauging. Go for her gun? –No, an unnecessary expenditure of energy as it was tucked in her travel bag and her knives may as well join the lost cause for all the layers of clothing covering them.
She bit a curse.
A quick roll and she would have gone for her old standby of a knife hidden beneath her pillow but she didn't accidentally want to poke Chuck's eye out during the night. She wasn't use to sharing a bed. Her eyes wanted to roll at that glaring lapse in judgment.
Well, it looked like some good old fashion hand-to-hand combat then.
"You can tell me where the intersect is, Agent Walker."
Sarah affected an innocent look. "What's an Intersect?"
"I was hoping you would say that," he said and she glimpsed a cruel malice-filled smirk before the distance between them blurred.
As he flew forward his naked head caught sunlight and sent it spinning in all directions.
Their bodies collided together into an intricate collision of punches, elbows, knees and kicks. Limbs bounced of limbs as they matched each other move for move, fluidly countering each other perfectly like a well choreographed dance. The years of training that she was certain Chuck had kissed out of her came rushing back. The ingrained memory drove her forward, swinging well executed punches, kicks and parrying blows. The pain and the ache and the constant confusion disappeared into a box, shoved off into a darker, shadowy corner of her brain. Agent Sarah Walker came back into full force, like a light switch being turned on.
She brought back her fist.
"It seems unfair that you know my name and I don't know yours."
How she had gone from kissing Chuck—she stamped her foot down on her assailants scuffed shoes, grounding in her heel— to fighting bad guys, she didn't know, but—she deflected a punch easily, batting it away with her hand—she welcomed the change of pace. Too much time spent in her head could only spell bad things.
"It's Vincent, Agent Walker, and you have been a pain in Fulcrum's side for too long."
"The feelings mutual," she bit off.
She dodged a kick and—
A growl rumbled as the previously-thought-to-be-but-soon-will-be dead agent got in a lucky punch beneath her ribs, strong enough to momentarily disable her in her less than stellar state. The breath shot out of her lungs, ensnaring ropes of red-hot fire around her ribcage before she pushed it down ruthlessly and launched a kick in kind.
Vincent.
Hmm.
The name meant little to her, but no doubt collecting it would help in the fight against Fulcrum.
He doubled over, letting out a gasping wheeze. The horrible hacking timbre of it shot cold chills down her spine. She angled her elbow, the moment too good an opportunity to miss, aimed and brought it down hard.
It missed the bulge of his neck by inches while something drove into her middle.
Sarah flew backwards, her chest igniting in pain. Surprise widened her eyes as her arms flailed out, desperately searching for something to grab onto, but nothing sprang out at her. She crashed heavily into the ground back first, smashing her head into the carpet, the breath whooshing out of her.
Son of a—
Sarah gasped as the reality of her injuries slammed into her. Her head rang like a gong and her limbs snapped together in an involuntary twitch.
Lucky shot, she thought acidly, fiercely willing away the dark spots. If this was a cartoon, little birds would be flapping around her head right about now.
A blurry black silhouette encroached on the edge of her vision. Without so much as a warning it sprang forward.
But Sarah was ready. Adrenalin hit and she shot backwards, her whole body twining in a complicated pattern of moves before she levered herself back onto her feet with a nice neat flip.
She just about dodged the fist meant for her nose, the air whistling past her ear. She retaliated with an open palm to his exposed chest. The heel dug in with a satisfying crunch that locked her muscles tight with the follow through.
Vincent staggered back towards the bed with a strangled gasp and blindly groped for something, anything to ward her off, only for it to go flying out of his hands by a powerful wide sweep of her leg.
Sarah bared her teeth into a grin, a predatory edge attached.
The Fulcrum agent stumbled clear and barely threw his arms in front of his face in time as Sarah launched into a wild flurry of powerful punches and blows, raining down kick after kick with merciless execution. He growled and he held off as much as he could but Sarah felt each new blow she landed, setting Vincent's body on ablaze.
He wasn't going to last for much longer, she sensed. His defenses already rattled by the explosion were starting to crumble further underneath her quick-fisted ministrations. And Sarah wasn't going to back down any time soon; not with the adrenalin pumping through her veins, filling her head with that heady rush of adventure.
She drove her shoulder into his middle.
His back hit the wall with a crash and, perhaps out of well honed agent instinct, ducked. Sarah's fist careened of at the last second and bounced of the wall above him.
It was all the time he needed. Bright eyed fury tangling with the aggravation hardening his features, Vincent tore forward and smashed his upper body into his Sarah's stomach, lifting her off her feet and using the wall to fly off.
Sarah let out a low, startled cry as the floor vanished out from under her and the room blurred out of its permanent stagnant state, a sudden stream of colors.
Air rushed as weightlessness took over, then the gritty texture of the carpet reappeared out of nowhere like a punch to the face. Something glanced off her rib and spilled onto the floor.
This guy was really starting to get on her nerves.
Sarah rolled on impact. Whipping her head around, vision stretched and watery she immediately began to search for anything to gain the tactical advantage. She needed to end this now before Chuck came in and everything got really complicated really fast. The glint of something hopeful amidst a haze of lumpy material had her bursting up with the last vestiges of her strength, fingers outstretched and straining.
The familiar handle of her throwing knife made her vision instantly jar back into focus and restore her faith in the universe. The touch of it immediately infused her body with happy thoughts of knives sailing through tracheas, ribbons of crimson blood arcing through the air and Vincent's surprised face. God, she was a freak. Her feet found the floor again and her bearings instantly kicked in, the room no longer swimming.
But before she could wind her arm back however Vincent lunged drunkenly. And the distance between them once again blurred.
His large hands snatched hers, grappling for control of the knife. Momentum gave him an edge as he hurled the full force of his hefty bulk behind him, levering her from side to side. Sarah however was stronger than she appeared. She hadn't come out on top for looks alone.
The carpet burned beneath her feet. Grimacing with effort, his sweaty fingers tried to pry loose her ironclad grip on the knife handle. With a wordless cry she wrenched her arm upwards and the knife went flying.
A grunt ripped through her throat, as they broke apart.
She crashed to the ground in a crouch, pain slicing through the joint and air hissing out between her teeth. A flare of annoyance rather than panic replaced pain as her eyes tracked the trajectory of the fallen weapon.
It embedded itself upright in the carpet with a resounding twang. Right where Vincent started—she launched into the air.
Over her dead body. Or his. She wasn't really picky at the moment.
Using the bed as a springboard to propel herself forward she flung her lithe frame into the air and delivered a truly vicious kick mid spin. Her outstretched right leg smashed squarely into the chest of her opponent. Just as he stooped over to pluck up the knife, his fingertips grazing the handle.
The knife flew out of her line of sight. Vincent crashed into the wall with a noise akin to a wounded wildebeest.
"You'll regret that Agent," he spat, the threat of his words undercut by his convulsing frame.
"We'll see about that," Sarah said as she dropped into a defensive stance her breathing slightly elevated. A thought occurred to her. "Hey, how's Tommy these da—"
He caught her by surprise.
An exploding blur, then not on her own volition, her body pitched. Sarah twisted around with a yelp and landed painfully on her back.
The man was freaking relentless.
A groan, hers, filled the room. Moments later, she found herself flipped on her stomach; feeling dizzier than she had any right to be. An arm wound around her neck and jerked. Sarah's hands scrabbled to her throat, trying to unpeel the stiff grip as she gasped for breath. She felt a knee dig into her spine and slowly apply pressure, arching it outwards.
Colored spots danced and shimmered across the eyes before it began to dim, distort and blur.
The room began to fade into blackness. Her head spinning and spinning as impending unconsciousness grew closer and closer. Her fingers began to grow limp, her breaths shallowing.
Then her head ripped upwards. Snatches of his gruff breath shot a hot stream of nonsense through her ear shocking her back to consciousness with a smack.
"—Where is th— intersect?—ere is—ryce Larkin?"
His words eventually registered through a stretching, swerving tunnel, a tinny echo attached. They wobbled and shuddered and acquired a texture of their own in her mind. He jerked her neck at the lack of response and white slapped her in the face. She recoiled at the blinding pain and her nose wrinkled with effort to pull herself together. He wanted the whereabouts of the Intersect. Hell if she new where that bastar- where Bryce was. Bitterness spread. Graham and she had been right then. They were after Chuck and her- or more specifically the phantom knowledge they supposedly possesse—Her eyes flew open.
Chuck!
She couldn't leave Chuck she needed to protect him. With a final burst of energy she didn't know she had, Sarah snapped taut, ramming her feet into the floor and pushed away. Her body flared with a mind of its own.
The Fulcrum operative—Vincent let out a noise of surprise.
Without missing a beat Sarah spun on her heel, her leg carving out a deadly trajectory through the air, eyes slitting. She'd timed it perfectly, her bare foot crushed into the flank of his ribcage as he stumbled back followed by two quick successive jabs to the stomach, which culminated into a almighty head-butt.
Veins popped and his eyes bulged as he tottered back clutching himself, panting and rasping desperately for air.
When would the guy die already?
Sarah dipped her head slightly in smug acknowledgement, bouncing on the balls of her feet, fist curled and ready. Well, the guy was persistent, she'll give him that but she was confident she could end this soon. Her head smarted a little, clinging with beads of sweat, her neck stung like hell and she felt the breath build in her throat making her feel slightly out of sorts but otherwise she felt fine.
Fine enough to kick this guy's ass.
"Fulcrum will make you pay Agent Walker," he snarled out, holding himself up with great difficulty and Sarah fought the urge to roll her eyes. They always wanted to make her pay. He should just do himself a favor and curl up and die. "...You and Chuck Bartowski."
She froze.
What? Her face drained of color. Her mouth fell open wordlessly and her arms dropped limply to her side. You and Chuck Bartowski. Chuck Bartowski. Chuck. The single word flew through her defenses, cut her concentration to ribbons, sapped what little strength she had and replaced it with lead. It echoed loudly in the empty vault of her mind. Everything slammed out of focus as questions came rushing in all at once. How could he possibly know? Did Fulcrum know? Had he managed to make contact, establish some kind of crude connection and alert his superiors? The thought made her sick to the stomach, sending an unbearable weight crashing down her throat and rooting her to the floor with the repercussions that would ripple through Chuck's life if any of that were true.
From where he supported himself on the wall Vincent's face split into a bloody smirk, pleased with the reaction. Strength summoned from god knows where—Did the man eat only energy bars?—he raised his hands and made a show of tightening them into fists.
"Ready for round two, Agent Walker?"
She could barely think straight never mind hope to fight right.
He didn't wait for a response.
As he lunged in absurdly slow motion his fist drawing back, lips gnarling, flecks of blood flying, that fiery determination burning bright in his eyes, something absurd happened.
She lost her mind.
A television – television? – exploded across her vision. Arcing fast, whistling soundlessly, crackling with electricity, filling her eyes and ears before a eternity contained in a split second later it smashed hard and fast into the bald-headed Fulcrum operative, the screen spider-webbing with cracks and fissures on impact. It caught him—them- completely by surprise and sent Vincent crashing headlong into the carpet instantly out-cold. His body unnaturally unraveled in mid-air. The noise came later; several seconds later, registering in the empty space of her mind with a deafening splintering miniature explosion of metal, plastic, glass and flesh filling every inch of the room with thick concrete sound.
Sarah stared dumbfounded.
In the periphery of her vision she saw with a spasm Chuck brace himself against the rickety table that had once housed the ancient television set, his forehead misted with a light sheen of sweat and his chest heaving.
A thin crinkled crease cut into the space between his eyebrows as he eyed the unconscious body on the floor and then Sarah. His irises sparked with faint recognition.
"Haven't we already killed that guy before?"
Sarah opened her mouth to respond.
But before she could find the right words Chuck made a peculiar noise in the back of his throat and before she could question him, he shot forward and seized her gently, his pupils darting quickly in their socket as he examined her.
Brown eyes landed on her inflamed neck.
He shot a glare over her shoulder at the unconscious lump sprawled on the carpet. "Sarah, are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you nee—"
Sarah blinked with genuine surprise. "What? No, Chuck, I'm fine"
"Are you sure?" He peered intently into her eyes as if trying to detect a lie and Sarah fought hard to not let her bewilderment show.
"Yes, Chuck I'm fine," she said, humoring him, though warmth spread thick and fast to all corners of her body at his reaction. No one had ever cared quite as much before.
"Are you really, really sur—"
She was saved from answering by a loud obnoxious ringing, automatically whipping their heads around to the source emanating from deep within—
Before she could move a finger, Chuck dived.
Catching flashing glimpses of his long fingers, his apologetic and nauseated expression, the flap of a suit lifting up gingerly, Chuck quickly pulled away from the body, staggered upright and snapped the device open.
Sarah jolted from her stupor and began to wave her hands, shaking her head and mouthed furiously; 'don't you dar—
He brought the phone to his ear.
"Hello?" he growled in a poor imitation.
Sarah felt her shoulders sag with a groan.
-0-0-0-0-
25th September 2007
Motel room
8:27 a.m.
"Vincent?" inquired a sleek, powerful voice.
Chuck didn't have a clue what he was doing, but his mind seemed quite adamant on doing it. He ducked as Sarah made a grab for the phone. Her hand whistled right past his ear.
"Speaking," Chuck grunted a bit breathlessly as he quickly scrambled away.
Sarah gaped in stunned disbelief at his audaciousness, the delay giving him more than ample opportunity to dash to the other end of the bed. Feeling brave, with the entire length of the mattress between them, he let the look of triumph shine of his face.
"Chuck. Put. The. Phone. Down. Now," Sarah hissed her arms out like she was ready to rugby tackle him. She feinted right and went left, clambering across the mattress. But either she was getting sloppy or Chuck could suddenly read minds because he instinctively darted around her with a loud squeak, the phone still pressed to his ear.
"What's wrong with your voice?" asked the man on the other end sharply, to the point and professional.
"Nothing," Chuck growled quickly, eyes darting around the room for inspiration "...err cold."
Sarah pulled a face and all but rolled her eyes – then struck. Chuck instantly sprang out of harms way and scrabbled across the mattress on his hands and knees like a deranged mammal, dropping to other side quickly and straightening up.
The only thing she had achieved was switching sides.
He held his hand up in a peace gesture, digging the phone into his shoulder. "Sarah we can get some dirt on Fulcrum's operation"
The nerves floundering in his chest transformed into eager, expectant smile.
"Too risky, put the phone down," her tone brooking no room for argument. Was it him or did she look mildly terrified?
Chuck just shrugged helplessly at that.
She growled—actually growled and Chuck felt his resolve shake a little— and slowly started to edge around the bed, like she was stalking prey, moving with that sinewy grace she had obviously perfected over the years. He felt a gulp build up from somewhere deep inside of him and the thought that he wouldn't be able to run from her forever crossed his mind.
"Chuck-" she drew out warningly with wide unblinking eyes.
He held up one a finger however cutting her off and Sarah's mouth dropped open, scandalized.
"Sorry, what was that?" he said bringing the phone to his ear.
"I said," the voice said irritably on the other end, in a way that indicated it had not been the first time and Chuck cringed slightly, "are the two government agents neutralized?"
Chuck instantly got into character. He could feel Sarah's eyes burn into his skull and shook of the feeling of being roasted alive.
"Of course they're neutralized," Chuck growled out into the phone, pretending to be affronted. "They're dead- deader then dead, six feet under, worm foo—" Sarah cut him off with a incredulous glare. "...They, err, won't be bothering us anymore if you catch my drift," he finished of weakly and on an afterthought added another growl for good measure.
Sarah swore wordlessly and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Excellent." The man sounded pleased. "Did they give up the whereabouts of the intersect?"
"Nope, nu-huh they were tough cookies to crack, didn't get a thing."
"Nevertheless, there are other means in which we can obtain the information...good job, Vincent."
Sarah mimed slamming down the phone.
"Thank you. So, erm, what's m-my erm new objective now…" Chuck fished casually picking lint of his shirt as Sarah hissed 'hang up now' through gritted teeth and mimed something else entirely with her hands, "...chief?"
Sarah slapped her forehead.
Chuck waved her away dismissively and pressed the phone harder to his ear, trying to tune her out and focus.
"Your new obje—Vincent surely that explosion didn't short-circuit your brain. We're finalizing our preparations to storm the new intersect compound next Thursday. You need to get back to base now."
"Oh, yeah, of course," Chuck breathed fake laughter, "I knew we were storming the new Intersect compound next Thursday," Chuck said loudly and Sarah stilled, eyes widening, "but I meant do you want me to pick up a couple bagels for you and the guys?"
Pressing the phone to his chest he and Sarah exchanged a series of quick hands gestures and slicing motions, hissing words between clenched teeth in unison until Sarah eyes flashed dangerously and Chuck felt what little resolve he had left disintegrate.
Chuck slammed the phone back to his ear just in time to hear—
"What?"
"Nothing," Chuck countered back like the other man had said something absurd "...so, erm, tell me more about the interse—"
Something—Sarah—tackled him cutting him off mid-stream—He hadn't even seen her move— and his back met the lumpy surface of the bed before he could even process that thought and his breath rushed out of him. The bruises, pains and aches not such a distant enough memory struck him with sadistic glee. And seconds later Sarah face filled his eyes and every point of contact exploded as she landed on top of him, in that now not so unfamiliar position, straddling him and Chuck momentarily forgot how to think, move and breathe. The winning trifecta. Automatically she began to wrestle the phone out of his hand and Chuck responded in kind, twisting away from her even though that could only end badly. At one point he even drove his hand into her forehead keeping her at bay so he could breathlessly slap the phone to his ear.
"Vincent, what the hell is the matter wit—"
"Nothing—nothing just erm—Oh! Look at the time!" he breathed shrilly, writhing more desperately from out under Sarah as she struggled on top of him, grunting and growling in frustration. "Gotta go, byeee—eurggh"
The phone sprang away from his ears and Sarah stabbed the end button with more vehemence than necessary, red in the face and sweating.
"Chuck!" she snapped.
He flashed her his best wheedling grin that could inspire mercy in even the most irate of females.
"Are you trying to get us killed?" she demanded furiously. "Are you trying to get you killed?"
Chuck winced, swing and a miss.
"But, Sarah, did you hear that? They're storming the new Intersect compound next Thursday," Chuck said quickly before she could remember she knew fourteen different ways to remove his head from his body.
He mentally calculated in his head. "That's the fourth," he supplied helpfully when Sarah didn't fill in the silence.
"Chuck what part of this," she waved her hands, "and this," she waved them some more, "means ignore me and carry on what you're doing?"
"But, Sarah, we just foun—"
"Chuck, it doesn't matter. Our orders are to run and not get involved. Graham's got an army of analysts and agents on the job," she jabbed a finger into his chest and Chuck recoiled slightly at the new levels of heat elicited from the tip. "Our whereabouts have been uncovered so we should have been gone ten minutes ago."
He snatched her hand and tangled it in his. He felt her start.
"But we need to contact your superiors right away," Chuck said and shifted beneath her, growing steadily uncomfortable with each passing second.
"Chuck, I'll phone it in, but now what we need to do is move. We don't know the extent of the breach. There could be more Fulcrum operatives around the corner." On that note, she levered herself of him, and Chuck didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed and watched absently as she began to gather discarded trousers and shirts and shove them carelessly into the fallen suitcase.
Chuck didn't move. "But they need to know right away, Sarah. It could change everything—"
He saw her literally pray for patience.
"For goodness sake, Chuc—fine. Pack," she ordered out of the corner of her mouth as she snatched the burn phone from the mess and quickly dialed a number. She was silent for a few seconds. "Walker secure."
Her expression instantly turned professional.
"—Yes, I know, except new developments occurred between that time and now—we should have yes, no not an immediate—" Sarah's professional guise cracked a little "we were held up sir, a Fulcrum agent...found us."
"Tell him about the attack on the intersect compound," Chuck mouthed, leaning on his elbows on the very edge of the bed.
Sarah ignored him and tossed a shirt at his head, giving him a very pointed look.
"Vincent, sir...upper lev-yes I suspected as much, he's out cold sir, I'm fine thank you. Yes, he is, too." She spared a quick glance in his direction and Chuck made a show of deliberately sweeping a handful of items into the pink travel bag, his eyes following her every movement. "Yes, sir. We also intercepted information about a potential Fulcrum attack on the new intersect compound on Thursday the fourth of Octobe—yes, sir. I understand..."
The rest of the conversation dissolved in a series of hmm's and ah's.
Finally. "Okay sir, consider it done. I'll send co-ordinates as soon as we get a safe distance away— yes sir, as soon as I put the phone down."
A beat and then, "Goodbye, sir,"
"What did he say?" Chuck asked as soon as she hung up, forgoing all pretenses of packing.
"That we should be off grid by now," she said through gritted teeth, then she caught the look on his face and eased up "...they've had reports from a reliable source that the Fulcrum attack will actually occur on a different day at a different location for an entirely different purpose."
"What? But we jus—"
"I know what we just heard, Chuck," Sarah quickly cut in, apologetically, "but the C.I.A has a mole deeply infiltrated within Fulcrum ranks who has more reliable evidence that points to something else entirely. It's not unusual for there to be conflicting data floating around."
"But Sar—"
"Chuck, Graham said he'll investigate our claims, but don't be surprise if it turns out to be a false trail," she said softly and stopped stuffing random objects into their bags long enough to rub a hand from shoulder to wrist once, searing his skin. "I have my orders, Chuck. I need to keep you safe, no matter what, and in order for me to do that we need to get out of here right now."
"Fine," Chuck relented and Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. "But we're talking about this later."
He wasn't going to let it drop that easy. Lives were at stake, along with vital government secrets. He began to match her speed in packing, darting around the room to collect bits and bats, head spinning. Sarah seemed to be on edge, more so than even the current circumstance dictated, like an undercurrent of something was slowly working its way beneath her skin and needling her. In all the hours her had known her, she had always maintained a persevering calm no matter what. And now, he watched her do a hundred things at once, her face cracking at the edges and he narrowed his eyes in contemplation. She was too frenetic.
"Fine," came her muffled reply as she quickly did her hair up, hair band filling her mouth.
"Oka-"
She tore off her sleep shirt, modesty be damned and immediately began to root for the first thing she could get her hands on.
"—kaaay," Chuck quickly averted his eyes blush rising fast and furious. He searched for another thing to occupy his attention and his eyes landed on something. An unconscious something.
"What, err—what are we doing with him?"
From the corner of his eyes, Sarah paused and he swore her eye glittered with mischief.
"I have an idea… or two."
-0-0-0-0-0-
25th September 2007
The interior of a car trunk
8:34 a.m.
A sharp spike of agony drove through his skull.
It exploded on contact and ripped him back into existence.
The flat monotonous hum of the world ruptured his ears with sound and a fresh layer of sweat popped up on his skin, trickling down to mingle with the sticky pools of blood.
The throbbing came in waves. Intense throbbing waves that drummed and echoed in the yawning abyss of his mind, crashing and receding against the curvature of his skull, pushing his brain against the backs of his eyes so hard he could feel the pressure building in his ears, just one wrong movement away from blowing up everything.
Something breathed fire into his burnt and shriveled lungs. It raked all up and down his throat and tried to claw its way out of his mouth but to no avail. It blistered his insides instead and released the torrent of absolute torturous heat throughout the rest of his body.
Vincent felt like dying.
The last thing he remembered was Agent Walker. Stricken, bloodless face staring at him. Then crashing, exploding blackness.
Sensations slowly trickled in.
His limbs were squashed and packed tightly together, raw and immobile, heavy with lethargy. Arms pinned behind him, legs bent back. Burning. And he couldn't open his eyes. The connections between his brain and his muscles had all but withered to dust. He realized belatedly that he was bound and gagged. His breath rasped with renewed desperation against the handful of material jammed down his throat and he jerked his body and was rewarded with ropes searing away the flesh on his ankles and wrist.
What the hell was going on?
A few frantic blinks and details began to spread and paint a bleak picture: sunlight, dust, enclosed humid space. He was shoved in a car trunk and, as if to corroborate that, he could feel the uneven bristle of the carpet rub against him the wrong way. Sweat poured faster now as he became aware of the oppressively thick, muggy heat, like a pressure cooker and the baking metal of the car digging into his spine. And peering over him, sunlight wreathing their upper bodies was C.I.A Agent Sarah Walker and undercover Nerd Herder Chuck Bartowski. He was scowling. She looked smug.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, Vincent," she said brightly and her words were like little sharply whetted knives. He scrunched his face in agony. White sparking at the edge of his vision, his head buzzing louder then ever.
"I hope it's not too uncomfortable for you in there," she carried on as if she was discussing something mundane like the weather. "I wouldn't get to used to it, though."
She paused and shared a look with her partner, who remained stoically silent next to her.
"I have some friends from the C.I.A coming down here to pick you up, they have a couple of burning question they really want to ask you…" she trailed off with a smirk, letting the words hang.
The word burning triggered something inside of Vincent and he began to struggle and writhe against his bindings, his muffled protests filling his ears.
A shadow fell across his face and he blinked against the brightness and saw Agent Walker casually grab the trunk lid.
"It'll probably be in your best interest to oblige them," She gave a pert shrug. "Well, anyway, hope it doesn't get too hot."
And Vincent's eyes bulged wide as the sunlight began to shrink and he thrashed more desperately until—
Black.
The rusty slam echoed through his ears and heat pressed tight into every corner of the boot.
-0-0-0-0-0-
25th September 2007
On the Road.
11:12 a.m.
He was staring at her.
Only he was trying to make it look he wasn't. In the past twenty minutes alone, his gaze had alternated from his intense study of her profile, to his hands, to the window, to the dash, to his feet but then like clockwork his eyes covertly slid back and continued his scrutiny of her, the colored hue of cautious concern flickering in his quickly darting eyes. On some occasions his chin would tilt slightly so he could appraise her while pretending to stretch the kink out in his neck or he would yawn so wide—she was surprised his jaw didn't crack— and his head would give an involuntary spasm in her direction. The man was clearly no born spy. Once he even pretended to look at his watch casually. He had no watch.
It unnerved her.
It made things like driving or thinking straight an impossibility. Made planning out their next move in her once analytical mind a fruitless aspiration. Made her skin itch under the odd intensity, made her stomach lighten at the oddly tentative and sweet gesture and made sweat slide between her shoulder blades, greasy and unwelcoming.
Strangely, though, a small part of her didn't want him to stop.
It was hard to believe that only a mere five or six hours had passed since she and Chuck had first kissed, just like it was difficult to believe they had only met yesterday and not even a full 24 hours had lapsed yet. The inflamed throbbing in her joints from the fight had stiffened during the car trip and she'd yet to stop and stretch them out. They had driven non-stop since slamming the trunk lid shut on Vincent, having hotwired the closest car available and taken off down the highway leaving nothing behind but a trail of suffocating dust in their wake. They hadn't spoken a word to each other since, the music quietly drifting through the ancient radio substituting for conversation. The silence however, both completely comfortable and bubbling with an underlying current of tension at the same time, sat like a third passenger in the car.
They just needed to get as far away from here as quick as humanly possible. And to the safe house where she could finally relax- or near enough. And more importantly where Chuck Bartowski could vanish without a trace for one or two weeks and wouldn't be hunted for by name.
And thankfully Chuck had been clever enough to deduce that she was dangerously close to some sort of breaking point and remained mercifully quiet, content for the moment to study her carefully. And she couldn't be more grateful for the reprieve. It was probably hard not to miss the tension twisting her shoulders into tight complicated knots rising above her ears or the way in which her bloodless white knuckles curled into a vice like grip around the steering wheel, showing no signs of relaxing anytime soon, and the fact she hadn't looked over in his direction once in last three or so hours, more intent on doggedly eating up the distance of the road stretched out in front of them.
She was still processing.
From the moment Chuck Bartowski had slipped from Vincent's mouth something deep inside of her had snapped. A fear like she had never known in her lifetime flooded her midsection, ice cold and paralyzing, wrapping around all of her internal organs in one fellow swoop and refusing to let go. The inside of her mind was a bloody mess and her hands deviated from strumming on the wheel to tensing so tight it hurt. Never before had she been so frighten for someone else's life before, not even her own. That in itself frightened her more. And what's more she could feel it, inch closer and closer up her throat, ready to spill out in the open.
And that didn't even begin to cover the ever-present fear of Chuck himself. And the real fear of what his lips, eyes and perpetual concern for her well-being could do her and her mental health. How the hell was she supposed to protect them from Fulcrum if she couldn't even protect herself from Chuck? How could she concentrate ever again?
And she still smarted over the little stunt he had pulled with the phone. Didn't he know he was putting his life in danger by getting himself involved? More involved. She shifted in her seat, the movement only slightly perceptible and glanced at him askance through the loose blonde hair that framed her activities.
His lanky frame had retreated ever deeper into the passenger seat every second the drive stretched on, his face now clouded with thought. Sarah knew in that moment he was thinking about Fulcrum, about the Intersect and from the nervous concerned side-glances in her direction, her. She could see the arguments form in his smart brain. The stubbornness set in and she knew it would be only be a matter of time before she was roped in on some crazy plan to save the universe. She hoped she had will power enough to stop him before he gained more steam but she knew it was a useless gesture. He would want to help, want to offer whatever he could. He probably couldn't bear the idea of sitting still for two weeks knowing there was a dark organization lurking out there, ready to strike and take over the world, knowing his family was a part of that collective of innocence's minding their own business and he now had a responsibility. She wanted to hit something. Or him for his damn nobility.
A curve broke through the monotony of the road and her hand shifted mechanically to the gear stick.
Tentative warmth curled around her hand both soothing and comforting, It shot a straight line of electricity through her muscles, scattering her thought process to the wind and shattering her decorum entirely.
Sarah jerked in surprise and slammed her foot down on the break simultaneously, the answering bite of the seat belt reverberating through her as the car skidded violently on the road.
That surprised a yelp from him when they slammed back into their seats on impact. Bright spots collided with their corneas as he shot her a stunned look.
"Sarah what the hel—"
"Rules," she managed to gasp out and he stared at her like she was a crazy person. Like that was news. "If you're going to insist on doing t-that."
And she stared accusingly at his hand.
"What, holding your hand is a crime now?" He strained his body around in his seat, the same breathless bafflement persisting.
"Chuck, I can barely focus as it is without you doing tha-that with your damn hands or anything else for that matter," and once again she shot them a accusing look before she snapped her eyes front, heat curling up her neck. God, she was a raving lunatic.
"B-but all I did was hold your hand," he said, confusion pitching his voice higher.
A groan began to build in her throat. "Rule one, no hand holding while I'm operating heavy machinery,"
Chuck stared at her dumbfounded.
"Or kissing," she added quickly, taking advantage of his stunned-stupid silence. "Or anything else on the same lines as that,"
"B-but—" he began to splutter.
"Rule two," she cut over him loudly, "no being sweet or caring when I need to focus."
"Sarah, you realize you sound like a crazy person."
She couldn't be sure, because she had never in her life felt so flustered but she thought affection may have crept into his voice.
"Rule three," she carried on unperturbed and she twisted around in her seat, to pin him down with her strictest glare, "no staring at me. You're not as discreet as you think you are."
A blush rushed to the forefront of his face and Sarah became momentarily distracted by his adorably, abashed expression.
Her insides instantly liquidated.
"And you can't look at m-me like that with your face like that and your eyes..." and Chuck's puzzled frown gave way to the last thing she expected; a smile. "Or smile!" she conjured quickly hoping to stop him before it reached its full potency.
"But, Sarah, this is my face." The amusement rang unmistakable this time, and she could imagine the parentheses like dimples cut into said face and suddenly she lost all will.
"Well, change it," came her muffled response. Her face flattened into the steering wheel in defeat, where she fought down the urge to murder him.
Too much paperwork.
A firm but soft hand gently peeled her away and wheeled her around until she had no choice but to meet his warm brown eyes. A fourth rule came to mind, but on second thought she stuffed it back where it belonged as she had reached her crazy quota for the day.
"Sarah," he said, making his face purposely blank and his voice monotonous. But he couldn't quite dampen the sparkle in his eyes. "I promise to try and control myself, if you promise to relax a little...we're gonna be fine."
He stared pointedly at her until she gave in.
"Okay," she grumbled and she felt like a child. By sheer force of will she resisted slapping rule two in his face. The words spy and Sarah Walker failed to connect in her mind now.
"Okay, then," he said bracingly, slapping his knees. "Off to the safe house it is then..."
He trailed off. He hadn't even asked where this safe house was, Sarah thought, slightly less flustered now she had gotten that out of the way. That was either faith or foolishness and it slid another needle of pressure beneath her ribs. Shaking her head, Sarah reached over to twist the key in ignition. At the last second however she felt her head whorl and suddenly they were kissing.
They broke away several seconds later, breathing ragged and faces flushed. Sarah stared at him in incredulity.
Chuck stared right back. A grin stretched. "What? You're not operating heavy machinery right this minute."
She resisted the urge to whimper.
Whoooo chapter 10 double digits :)
A/N: Hope you liked the 10th chapter!
Any suggestions or cool ideas PM me or review me with some stuff... remember virtual open arms ;)
See you soon.
Dontfreakout