A/N: More story. Our central character comes more into focus as a result of recent events.

Burying Dirt

Chapter Twenty-Five: Diamondize

Sarah. Gun in one hand, steady on Carina, Bumby cradled in the other arm, gentle.

Chuck. Crossed to Sarah. Carina watched. Chuck's towel.

"Sarah, how do we know she didn't bring...back-up, or give us away? Should we leave?"

"No, I don't think so." Waggled gun at Carina. "Empty your pockets."

Carina stood. "You could have Chuck rifle through them…I could hold his towel, just to keep my hands occupied."

"Carina…," low growl, "...now."

Carina emptied her pockets. Slow, bad hand sore, almost useless. Tossed items on the bed. Chuck picked them up, brought them to Sarah. A phone, off. An ID and credit card, alias. A thick fold of cash.

"Really," Carina said sweetly, "I'd be happy to submit to a strip search."

Ellie entered. Devon and Morgan. Black leather bag in one of Ellie's hands, Carina's keys in the other. Devon and Morgan, gawkers, unprepared for the scene. Gun, towel, teddy bear.

"Cuff her to the headboard, Ellie." Ellie opened the bag and took out the cuffs. Carina gave Ellie her left hand and Ellie attached the cuffs to it and the headboard.

"This all seems familiar," Carina noted with a laugh. "Ouch. Ouch." No laugh, glared at Ellie.

"So, Devon, Morgan, this is Carina Miller. My...We used to work together. She's DEA."

Awkward, half-hearted exchange of greetings, the men, the cuffed woman.

Morgan, after a long stare. "Is she...on our side?"

Sarah, eyes on Carina. "She's on her side, if her side overlaps with ours, then, yes, if not, then no."

"Sarah," Carina mock-pouted, "I'm hurt." Smirk.

Handed Bumby to Chuck — Morgan and Devon staring at the teddy bear — and Sarah stepped to the open bag. Rummaged. Found what she wanted. A hand-held tranquilizer. Took it out.

Carina's eyes grew wide, divesting her smirk of its potency..

"No, Sarah, C'mon. No. You know how much I hate that stuff. The headache it gives me."

Without speaking, Sarah tore open the packaging, jabbed the small dart into Carina's shoulder. "All's fair in love and...friendship."

"Shit, Sarah, the hits just...keep…" Carina's eyes glassed over, head lolled. Chin sank to chest. Unconscious.

Sarah turned. Three sets of wide eyes, three open mouths. Not Ellie's.

Self-conscious. "We need to talk without her hearing, and need to sleep — and without her NC-17 commentary."

Four heads nodded.

Chuck. "Can we trust her?" Asked as he tightened his towel. Sarah lifted her eyes from his lower abdomen.

"Probably. I know it doesn't look like it, but I suspect this has been Carina's way of showing contrition. She gave up Graham's address in LA; I'm sure it was right. I...went...by there." Glance at Chuck. "Once she knew we were here, she could have just made a phone call and we'd be buried under agents. Don't think she gave us up. She's here on her own. But she is always playing angles, so…"

"So...do we let her in on what we are doing?" Chuck, again. "If we don't, what do we do with her?"

"There're enough tranqs in the bag to keep her on ice for a couple of days. Probably enough time. We could leave her here, put up a Do Not Disturb sign…"

"But she's good, good at her job, right?" Ellie asked, looking at Carina. Distaste and estimation.

"Yes, she is. Even left-handed, she's a good spy. Despite her recent performance."

Chuck, holding Bumby, hand on Sarah's shoulder. "So we might need her. It's your call, Sarah."

"We tell her what she needs to know in the morning and see what she wants to do. — Let's all get some sleep."

As Ellie passed, she stopped. "So, she's your...friend?"

"Friendships in...my world...are different. Shifty. Sandy. Nothing's...solid."

Ellie glanced at toweled Chuck and the teddy bear, back to Sarah. "I'm sorry, Sarah."

She lead Devon and Morgan out. Morgan asked Devon as the door closed. "So, are all female spies...like...beautiful?..."

ooOoo

Sarah. In the bed. Chuck beside her, asleep. Carina on the foor, opposite side. Cuffed and snoring, drugged slumber.

Not the night I hoped for.

Chuck held her hand before he drifted off. But no more intimate contact. Starved for his body against hers, starving. Desperate to show him how she felt, how precious he was to her, despite the past. Guns and bullets.

But no. Carina. Snoring. Chuck asleep. Sarah awake. Again. Retrieved Bumby from under the covers.

Made herself close her eyes, drifted...

...memory, not sleep. Gauzy, first, then technicolor.

Sixteen. High school.

In one town long enough for some the new of her perennial 'new girl' status to wear off. A couple of girls, smart and funny, who were becoming friends. A boy, sweet and shy, who might become a boyfriend.

Sixteenth birthday. New dress, red, a present from her dad. Dressed. Going to a movie with the girls, the boy supposed to be there. Breathless. Normal. A real girl, a birthday of note, fledgling girlfriends, a maybe-boyfriend.

Forget her real unreal life of conning. For a few hours, at least.

About to go out. Her Dad came home. She went to show him the dress. Knew the look in his eyes. Hunted. "Some folks from the last town found me here. We've got to go. Gather your things. Not much time."

In her room, dress off, folded, never to be worn. Into a cardboard box. Bumby on an otherwise bare shelf in her bare room. Hugged him, put him in the worn box with the dress, other little items. Closed it.

When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child...but I put away childish things.

Bumby boxed. Buried. So long ago. No new friends, no sweet shy boy. No childhood comforts.

Grow up, Sarah!

New town, new con. Old life. Same old life. Always the same, always the same goddamn sameness.

First mission with Carina. Finished. Drinks at a club. Friends, maybe.

Carina leaned to Sarah's ear, too loud for normal talk. "So what do you do to unwind after missions?"

Shrug. Leaned to Carina. "Prepare for the next mission."

Carina gave her a shocked look. "A joke?"

"No, that's the truth."

Carina squinted as if Sarah had spoken in a foreign language. "Really?"

"Yes."

"What exactly do you do for the CIA, for Graham, normally, when you aren't on loan, like our mission?"

"This and that."

"No, Sarah, really."

Carina. Friend, maybe. Forced out the words. "I work pretty exclusively on termination missions."

Carina leaned back immediately. "No!?" Couldn't hear the word but read her lips.

"Yes." A shout but lost in the din.

A moment of silence in the deafening music. Carina's eyes, widened, returned to normal and wandered to the dance floor.

Leaned in. "Those two guys there, the blonde and the dark-haired one. They've been staring at us for a while. I think you need to do what I do after missions, bed a stranger, hard, repeatedly. Clear your head. The dark-haired one seems to like you. What do you say to some missionary — or whatever does it for you — after the mission?"

Sarah leaned back immediately. Involuntary shudder. "No, absolutely not."

No body against hers. No body. Onset of Rigor mortis. Corpse, a body. Her body. Lifeless and deathless. Nothing. Zero.

Empty.

This body of death.

No.

Carina squinted again, leaned. "Really? But, bed, sometimes, right?"

Long ago. Gave it up. Swore it off. No more.

No answer. Sarah gathered her things, turned her glass up, emptied it.

Empty.

Have to be empty. Stay empty. Can only run on empty. Don't think outside the mission. Don't feel, period. Keep my distance — from everyone, from me.

"Got to go. See you when I see you, Carina."

"Sarah?"

No answer. Sarah left, walked away.

"Sarah?"

Gone.

Hospital. Woozy. Druggy. Gut aching. Side on fire.

Graham by her bed. Standing, staring, impassive. Took her to be still asleep. His look at her wholly objective, like he was assessing a car, broken-down, side of the road. Lumberjack facing a dulled axe.

Doctor entered. Graham: "So, how long, how long until she's ready to be back in the field?"

"Weeks, maybe a couple of months. But the gunshot's not the only problem."

"What do you mean?"

Clinical tone, chart in hand, lifting papers. "We had a hard time getting her under, keeping her under during the operation. Dreams or memories or dark fantasies. Violent. Broke a nurse's hand. Screams. Words in many languages. Disjoined, fragmented. Like the devil speaking in tongues. The shattered pieces of a nightmare...

"She's been under pressure that would diamondize coal, sir. For years. She can't go on like this. A wholly abnormal life for a human being. And the injury, the trauma, the blood loss, they may make it worse, have serious after-shocks. Decommission her. Put her behind a desk." His voice dropped, conspiratorial. "Finish her. Like this, she'll snap, irrevocably, in another year or two. And that could be a nightmare for you."

Doctor exited.

Graham walked around the bed. Thinking. Pursed his lips. "A year or two. We can do a lot for the Greater Good over another year or two, eh, Sarah? After all," — pause, exhale — "all salt eventually loses its savor..."

And then, good for nothing. Cast out. Trodden underfoot.

Drugged. Woozy. Asleep again.

Sarah opened her eyes.

She had not recalled her Unsweet Sixteen in years. Or that first after-mission with Carina.

Buried them.

She had never recalled the hospital scene before. Buried itself.

Now, she knew it had been lodged in her mind like Morgan's breakfast toast in his throat.

Burnt. Choking her.

Finally regurgitated, soaked in bile.

Blinked at the ceiling, warm tears spilled from the corners of her eyes cold when they pooled in her ears. Bumby in one arm, she rolled to Chuck and put her other arm around him.

Normal. Normally. Abnormal.

Not Norman Rockwell, but normal. Good, wholesome.

Carina snored softly. Chuck's chest rose, fell.

Not normal.

Sarah finally slept.

A/N: Tune in next time as Sarah leads the group underground, Chapter Twenty-Six: "In the Dust". (Some of you will have recognized it already, given the title of the third arc, but Sandburg's poem "Cool Tombs" has exerted considerable influence on this tale.)

Thoughts?

This may be the last chapter for a while, maybe a long while. Enthusiasm flagging.