A/N: Sorry about the long wait. We hope you enjoy this chapter though. Read on!
Five hours after leaving scenic Elyria, they pulled into the unloading lane of their hotel. Chuck had spent a good part of the drive sending her quiet side-looks that made her pretty certain he was aware she was miffed that it had taken so long.
It was his fault they didn't make good time. He insisted they stop and take pictures along the way. They had wanted to get an early start, but Chuck pointed out that if they were going to be road-tripping, they had to document the trip with pictures. He reminded her that this was the whole point of General Beckman's idea–or rather Sarah's idea that she cleverly put into General Beckman's head–that meant the two spies would drive back to Burbank rather than fly in the private plane with Shaw.
Sarah reluctantly agreed, but she was positive her face in the pictures became grumpier and grumpier as they got closer and closer to their destination. She hadn't been prepared for him to take a picture of literally everything. She'd even lost her patience visibly with him, pointing at a cow grazing by itself and asking if he wanted to take a picture of that too…and he'd promptly snapped a picture of it with a big smile on his face. The jerk. The annoyingly amusing jerk.
She was hell-bent on getting them to their next stop, though. And Chuck had said something about it being at a warp factor Gene Roddenberry had never considered existing, as he clutched what an old partner of hers called the "Oh Shit" handle when she'd been their getaway driver after a mission gone awry. She had no idea what Gene Roddenberry was, or warp factor, but what was new?
Chuck got out of the car and stumbled towards a bench, plopping down into the seat and muttering something about wanting to know what it felt like not to be moving.
Sarah ignored him, walked into the hotel, and promptly checked them in.
She used an alias that the CIA had no clue she'd created. There were credit cards, identification, and everything else she'd need for any number of reasons, but mostly so she could disappear if she ever needed to. From everyone.
She hadn't told Chuck about this, not exactly out of distrust. It was just that when they sat down to plan the trip, he put her in charge of their safety. He brought up her stint in the Secret Service and said that if anyone could hide their movements while they drove to Burbank, it was her. While Beckman had told them to work on their cover, what they were doing was off book, and if anyone asked, this was a training exercise.
She came back out to the car to get their bags, and she saw Chuck chatting with the valet. Chuck was laughing with the guy, being his usual self. Seeing people, connecting with them.
She let herself feel the warmth flow through her.
He was an agent. He might still be in training, but the last two missions had shown that he was a full-fledged agent, even if not officially, and a good one at that. No, a great one.
And at the same time, he was the Nerd Herd supervisor who'd helped a stranger the first time she met him, arguably to his own detriment as he'd walked away from a woman showing intrigue if not definite interest in him.
Chuck let out a giggle and high-fived the valet, then turned as she approached and the valet moved on to help the car that pulled in behind theirs.
"Hey!" he chirped. "I took care of our bags. You get our rooms?"
"Rooms?" she asked, a smirk on her face, holding up two key cards to the same room. The nerves she'd felt the night before were gone now. She'd gotten it out of her system when she found a sounding board in Chuck she hadn't been prepared for–though maybe she should've been, all things considered–and that particular insecurity was gone.
As long as it took to get here because of his photography shenanigans, she brushed off the slight annoyance while inside checking into the hotel for the night. She refused to let it linger. It was trivial.
"Two beds?" he asked, a toothy grin on his face.
He had to know the answer.
"One queen size," Sarah replied, bouncing a shoulder. "So like I said before, no spread eagle."
"Are you gonna hog all the covers again?"
"Yes," she said immediately, matter-of-fact.
They laughed together as they headed into the lobby. "You don't get to be annoyed if I get cold and end up cuddling."
"Uh huh. Cuddling because of the cold. Likely story."
They exchanged an amused smirk and she felt almost silly for the pitter-patter sensation in her chest.
"What floor?" he asked as they stopped in front of the elevator doors. She pressed the button to call the elevator.
"Seventh," she told him. The elevator arrived and the doors opened. They both stepped inside, Chuck pausing to let her go first. "I can carry my own bag, ya know," she said, eyeing the load he was carrying as she hit the button for the seventh floor.
"Not necessary," he replied, shaking his head at her. There was a long silence as the elevator moved, and she could almost feel a tension in the air–not a bad one, more like Chuck had something he was holding back for some reason. And then: "Anyway, you're the real cuddler here."
"...You gonna hold that against me?" Sarah asked. She turned to look at him, eyebrows raised, mouth open in a proud grin as she began to laugh at her own pun.
"You're really proud of that one, aren't you?" Chuck said, not cracking a smile. He was teasing her, she knew, his eyes bright with mirth as he shook his head. "If the CIA had any idea how big of a dork they hired…"
"Wow. Take that back or you're sleeping on the ottoman."
The elevator stopped, the doors opened, and Sarah led him down the hall.
She was still mindful of all the exits, if there was anyone in the hallways, anything suspicious lying around, surveillance cameras. And yet, she felt unburdened for the first time in...well...she had no idea. High school? Before that even? When her life still had at least a semblance of normalcy.
She opened their door and Chuck followed in behind her, depositing the bags on the bed. She took a few minutes to check the room for bugs. She might feel unburdened and relaxed, but she wasn't about to be caught off-guard.
He let her work in silence, instead inspecting the hotel room the way any normal person would when they were in a new place during a roadtrip. Looking out the window, checking out the bathroom, seeing what was in the drawer beside the bed–he'd held up a phonebook that looked old as hell, grinning at her.
When she finished, she straightened up from where she'd been checking the rim of a table. She nearly asked him what the next phase of the road trip would be, but she froze when she realized this was the first time since they'd left D.C. that it occurred to her to even ask that question.
In literally every other situation, with any other person, she would've needed every last bit of the plan mapped out, with a few extra detours thrown in just in case they had to divert for an emergency, or if they were being followed. She would've needed a Plan A, a Plan B, a Plan C, a Plan D, E, F…and she'd have every one of those plans memorized in case that other person saw fit to betray her.
It dawned on her what this meant: she trusted him. She trusted him without even realizing it had been happening for two whole days. And it was a different kind of trust than it had been before. It was the kind of trust that made it so that she hadn't mapped out the plan herself, hadn't even asked him what he had planned, and she was…going with the flow.
Sarah Walker did not go with the flow.
She felt a nervous tingle in her fingertips, her heart racing. She pushed it away and smirked across the room at him, raising a teasing eyebrow.
"Okay, Mr. Hacker Extraordinaire. Question of the day. Ready?" He crossed his arms and raised his chin expectantly. "Why are we in Chicago, specifically at this hotel?"
"A few reasons," Chuck replied. He cleared his throat and pretended to slip invisible glasses on. "About three blocks that way," he said pointing and then turning a bit to point somewhere else, and then finally shrugging, apparently not sure exactly where it was. "Is Gino's East. They have the best Chicago style pizza in Chicago, and probably anywhere else." She blinked at him. "I'm sure we can get a veggie pizza with no olives." She let out a breath and crossed her arms. "Right, and the most important reason we are here," he paused for dramatic effect. He paused too long and Sarah gave him an impatient look. He cleared his throat and continued. "In the building behind this hotel is Northwestern University." Sarah felt the confusion on her face. They were in the middle of Chicago...downtown Chicago. "Well, part of Northwestern. This is the Chicago campus. The medical program, law, part-time MBA, and other graduate programs are located here. See, this Northwestern campus isn't your typical college campus."
"So you're telling me there is a university smack-dab in the middle of this city?"
"Not just a university, but one with a bunch of very intelligent students, and that will make it much easier for me to hide what I'm doing," Chuck replied. "Obviously some place like MIT would be better, but it wasn't on the way."
"And there wasn't a Gino's East near MIT," Sarah added.
"Well...yeah," he replied. "So here's the thing… When I go into full hack mode, I need to have some hacking juice and if I'm going to do it on their campus that might be hard to pull off. So the question becomes, do I do my thing here, with the juice, or do it over there, sans juice?"
"When you say juice…"
"Chardonnay. Slightly chilled," Chuck replied. Sarah's eyes went wide. "I know, Piranha is a bit of a stilted mid-forties housewife." She smirked at him. "What? It helps me think."
"So your plan is to do this…what, in the student union?" Sarah asked, trying to get the mission back on track.
"Nope. I found a donut and coffee shop near the university. They're supposed to have the best donuts in Chicago. I suspect they might even have other chocolate pastries."
"Going all Agent Carmichael and tempting me with pastries," Sarah said, taking a step towards him. "That's clever spy work. …And I feel like maybe you're trying to seduce me."
"Nope," Chuck replied. "I just know what my girl likes." She ducked her head for a second, looked up at him through her lashes, and pointed at herself. "Mmmhmm," Chuck hummed.
"You know, Chuck, there's something else I like..." She slowly sauntered even closer, lifting her arms to prop her elbows on his shoulders and lazily hugging him around his neck.
"Oh, yeah?" Chuck pursed his lips thoughtfully and narrowed his eyes. "Let me guess, is it in this room?" She nodded. "Is there a bed involved?"
His arms slid around her waist.
"Not necessarily every time."
He made a strangled noise and shook his head, his jaw falling open. "How did you just beat me at my own game? That's not even fair." She giggled at that and he narrowed his eyes, his hands sliding down from her waist, curling his fingers around her hips. "Do I get to call you Agent Walker?"
"Chuck," she muttered, shaking her head, and then she kissed him. She maneuvered him to the bed, and Chuck flapped his arms wildly to the side to push their luggage onto the floor with loud clattering and thump sounds that they both ignored.
"Still," he muttered against her lips. "Haven't," he continued, and she kissed him harder to try to shut him up and force him to focus. "Told me," he kept going in spite of her efforts. "What else it is…you like..."
She pulled away slightly and grinned at him.
"How about I show you who it is?"
"God, I hope it's me."
She nodded. It was. And she showed him.
}o{
"You okay?" she asked.
Chuck shook himself and looked up at her. The fact that he was having a hard time getting the sex they'd just had out of his head was definitely showing in his face in spite of his attempts to temper it. It was hard to temper.
After all of the back and forth about what they could do and what they could not do, being an asset, not being an asset, being spy partners but struggling to hold onto even their friendship, the feelings of betrayal and guilt, finding their way back…
This was a real relationship. They'd worked so hard for this and it would continue to be a lot of hard work and the last few hours were exactly what made it so worth everything they'd gone through, and everything that was coming up ahead, too.
"I am," he finally said. He leaned in a bit closer, narrowing his eyes. "See, I have this kick-ass girlfriend who found the perfect spot for me to work on my homework without anyone noticing what I'm actually doing," he muttered slyly. "And I won't be bothered." He felt a foot on the inside of his leg and his eyes widened. "Dirty pool. You know I wasn't referring to that kind of…botherment," he said in a low voice.
She giggled, got up, and moved her chair so that she was sitting right beside him.
"I need to be able to see the whole room, all of the exits, and everyone in here," she said in a very low voice.
"You could just admit you want to be close to me and watch me work because you like it," he teased.
She placed her hand on the back of his neck and stroked it slowly with her thumb, making his eyelids flutter. "While what you say is true, my number one concern right now is protecting you, Chuck."
"God, that's so hot," he muttered, typing and never looking up from what he was doing. She laughed at him.
Sarah reached across the table to snag her coffee, drained the rest of it, and lowered the cup under the table, darting her eyes around the place as he gave her a weirded out look. He heard her rummaging in her bag. And when she sat up, she pushed the cup back at him, a smirk on her face. He raised an eyebrow as he took it, and she gestured at it with a flick of her chin. He took a small sip, and his face lit up. How in the hell had she even done that? "I mean, that's an interesting mixture."
"You don't like your Chardonnay with a tinge of coffee?"
"It's different," he replied, setting it down, and resuming typing. She kept an eye on the door, the employees, and the other customers in the shop, but for the most part, everyone was minding their own business.
He could feel her glance over a few times, but she always quickly turned away again, an amused smile on her face. "I'm glad I'm entertaining you," he finally drawled after a few minutes.
She chuckled. "You know I haven't one clue what you're doing," she began, "but if I mean to do my job properly, I can't watch you doing this."
"Hard to watch two things at once," he agreed. He reached over, grabbed the cup and took a drink. Her eyes had locked on him. He felt it. This felt like the old Sarah, the one who always made him feel like she had something to say but couldn't, because of who they were, what they were supposed to be to one another, or because she didn't like to open up, was protecting herself, or whatever the reasons were. But as he turned to look at her, it was gone.
"There's another reason," she admitted softly. "You know how you get...well, like you do when you find out I have particular skill sets?" The smile she had on her face left no question about how much she enjoyed him malfunctioning every time he learned something new about her.
"Yeah," he replied dreamily, not caring a bit that she knew.
"Um, it's weird, I know, and I definitely didn't expect it, but I guess I get it now. I mean, I'm finding out how it feels for myself. With you," she admitted. "I find it...fascinating." God, the way she said fascinating made him wonder if she meant something entirely different. "And as it turns out, that's a little distracting which could be a problem while we're in the middle of a mission."
"I see," Chuck replied, not trusting himself to say anything else. Her hands curled around his bicep, and she laid her head on his shoulder. They looked like a couple, he knew. Which was her point of doing this. They looked like a boyfriend and girlfriend sitting in a cafe together, and he reminded himself that they actually were that, if you took the fact that this was a mission out of the equation, they really and truly were...just that.
"That all you got? Really?" she muttered, making him chuckle. He kept typing and she straightened up at seeing the site he had just entered. "Shit, you did it. I mean I knew you could, but that quickly?"
"Your boy's good," he replied proudly, tongue-in-cheek.
"Yeah, he is," she said in a low voice, and he felt every worry he had leave him just as quickly as they'd appeared. He kept typing and her hands squeezed his arm as she saw the link to Daniel Shaw's file. "That's it."
"You ready?" Chuck asked, looking at her. He had a grin on his face as his finger hovered over the enter key. She kissed him, turned her head toward the screen, and nodded.
Chuck hit the button, the screen flickered...and images began to flash across his vision.
That was the last thing he remembered.
}o{
Sarah watched the screen, confused as to what she was seeing. Images were everywhere, flashing like crazy, and then just as suddenly as they began, they stopped. Chuck pitched forward in slow motion, Sarah in too much shock to catch him. His head thumped hard into the table, snapping her back to reality. She grabbed him as she looked around quickly. Luckily it seemed like no one had noticed.
She had to get him out of the coffee shop, but she had to get him out of this CIA database first. She noticed the screen had gone back to normal, and Daniel Shaw's file was opened. It looked exactly like the one that Beckman had.
What in the hell was going on?
Sarah quickly went to the internet setting in the computer and disconnected them from the network, praying they weren't traced in her moments of stunned inactivity. She then held the power button down until it turned off. She shut the laptop and hoped that was enough to make sure there was no way they could be tracked. She didn't know if turning off the laptop reactivated the cameras that Chuck had disabled, but she needed to make sure no one could trace where they were. She'd figured out what in the hell just happened after.
She put the laptop in her bag, slung it over her shoulder, stood, and grabbed onto him, trying to get him up. He was still unconscious, and she wasn't sure how she was going to pull this off. He was heavier now that he'd been training with her and Casey. She had to get him out of here, whatever it took. Luckily they weren't far from the hotel. She lifted him up from the chair with her arms slung under his and then hugged him tight, straining.
"Working on his paper for too many straight days, too many Red Bulls, and now he's crashing," she said to the couple sitting a few booths over. She'd spotted them watching with alarm on their faces. They both nodded and went back to their conversation. She imagined this wasn't an anomaly in a place filled with college students who probably showed up like this at establishments around the campus. Thank God Chuck had picked this location, she thought as she practically dragged him out the door and into the cool Chicago evening.
Chuck was starting to stir, his feet planting on the sidewalk so that he was actually holding himself up instead of Sarah having to support all of his weight. They finally got across the street, Chuck still leaning on her heavily.
"Boyfriend drank too much?" She glanced to the side at the valet Chuck had given a high five to when they'd arrived earlier that afternoon. Chuck spoke up before she could say anything.
"Or maybe you can mind your own business."
Sarah's eyebrows just about disappeared into her hairline.
The valet reared back and looked embarrassed. "Uh, s-sorry, sir. L-Let me just get the door for you."
He hastened to grab the door, pulling it open, looking like a kicked puppy. "Thank you," she said. "Sorry, he-he didn't mean that. He's—"
"Oh, yes I did," Chuck interrupted. "People need to learn how to mind their business. You don't know me, kid," he threw over his shoulder as they went inside.
Sarah frowned deeply as they made their way to the elevator, Chuck starting to walk a bit more normally. But she kept her arms around him just in case. She waited until they got to the elevators and were alone before she hissed, "Hey, what was that? He didn't do anything wrong."
"You didn't hear that?" he asked, his eyes unfocused. "He talked sideways at me."
"He didn't. He was joking. You guys were pals earlier. What's going on?"
"Nothing, just...head's splitting. What the hell happened?" He looked groggy, drunk, and in pain, all at once. His hand was on his head, his arm around her, and she felt most of his weight leaning against her still. She knew if she let go, he'd probably tip over. His complexion was very pale, and she wondered if he was going to pass out again.
"I have no idea," she told him as she got him on the elevator.
"There were a bunch of flashing images and the next thing I knew that jerk was asking me if I had a drinking problem."
"He didn't ask if you had a drinking problem, Chuck. He asked if you drank too much. It was teasing but also a legit question, especially given the fact that I was practically carrying you past him," Sarah pointed out. He was in obvious pain, his face contorted in anguish. "Chuck? Did you hear what I said? …Are you okay?"
"I need some sleep," he muttered. "M'head is killing me."
"Okay," she replied. "We'll get you to bed."
She wasn't sure that was the best idea considering how hard he'd thunked his head on the table in the cafe, but on the other hand, she had no idea what was going on. She had no experience with having a super computer in her brain, either. He did. And she had to trust he knew how to handle this.
She would let him rest and she'd keep watch. If there were any signs of problems she'd call Ellie and figure out what to do from there.
She got him out of the elevator and into the room with no problem. And then she walked him to the bed and he crawled inside. She took his shoes off, and then his pants, and left him like he was, hoodie and boxers and all.
Finally, she plopped down into a nearby chair and just watched him. That had been an unsettling ten minutes and she still had no idea what had happened. The images, the way it had knocked him out so suddenly, his obvious pain, and his strangely intense reaction to the valet's teasing had her on edge.
Maybe he just needed sleep, like he'd said.
She heard the muffled ringing of a phone, and she recognized the sound as her burner phone, not the one she used in her daily life.
Only four people had that number.
She walked over to her suitcase, pulled it out, and felt a mess of bad feelings go through her. Of all the times for him to be calling.
She thought about not answering it, but he'd keep calling until she answered, she knew, and that might disturb Chuck's sleep. And she also couldn't help being curious. So she hit the talk button.
"Hello, Bryce."
}o{
Twenty minutes earlier
Bryce looked out the window of his nondescript apartment.
It had been his base of operations since all those months ago when he left Burbank behind.
In that time, he had been giving the Ring the run around, luring them into traps, baiting them, making them think he was the Intersect. And whenever he caught wind of an impending Ring operation, he made sure to crash the party before disappearing into thin air again.
He was good at crashing parties. And he was good at disappearing.
It was why he was such an effective agent, and a part of him hated himself for it.
Since leaving Burbank he'd come to understand something, at least to a certain point. He knew he'd changed Chuck's life, and depending on where you stood, he'd probably done the guy wrong. There was a good argument for that side of things, he knew.
But there was one thing he was sure of. He'd acted like an asshole as far as Agent Sarah Walker was concerned.
He'd absolutely done her wrong. He should've fixed it before he left, but he hadn't gotten a chance to see her or talk to her and he'd had to move out quickly. Disappear. Without Sarah. Which he should have expected, really.
And even if Chuck hadn't come into play, even if he hadn't sent the Intersect to his old college buddy and change the guy's life forever, disappearing himself to keep from getting nabbed by his own employer… Agent Sarah Walker still would never have been his. She would've figured it out eventually, or he would've. They both would've. Whatever it was that existed between them wouldn't have lasted much longer.
That was beside the point.
Even if he thought about it a lot. Too much.
He got up and ambled back to his laptop, thumbing through his video files, picking out what he'd delete and what he would forward to Langley analysts. They had dossiers going on certain members of the Ring he'd come across now, and warrants for arrest were being put through the appropriate channels and processed.
Director Graham had sent him on this op, deep undercover, but what Graham hadn't known was that Bryce had begun receiving messages from an enigmatic ghost of sorts, someone operating outside of the CIA's jurisdiction. It was easy to do, especially now, considering there still wasn't a CIA director assigned to replace Langston Graham. Yet another thing that was pissing the young agent off about his agency, the lack of guidance and leadership. No solidity. None of the steadiness he'd come to expect from them.
And he knew for a fact there were other agents out there in the middle of missions of their own, just dangling there and waiting for direction from a Director that was no longer there.
Either way, director or no director, whoever this ghost was, they were interested in protecting the Intersect as much as Bryce was. And without that direction from the CIA, he'd found a certain steadiness in this person, their correspondence like clockwork, the surprising amounts of knowledge they had.
He'd just finished sending a few pertinent videos along to his analyst contacts when he heard his phone ring.
He frowned and turned to look down at it on the table. He crossed to it slowly, approaching it as though it were a bomb, and then he slowly lifted it into his hand and answered it. "Anderson speaking."
"What's wrong with Bartowski?" The voice on the other end of the receiver had the same recognizable warble he'd grown to know well the last two months.
"You're the one monitoring him, not me," Bryce replied. All he got in response was silence.
Bryce had done something else problematic, even if it had been for Chuck's own good… Not even Sarah had known about it—or maybe especially Sarah hadn't known. But the watch she had given Chuck in the courtyard after he had joined the NSA had a tracker in it. A specific tracker his ghost friend had built and slipped into it. Bryce had made the switch without Sarah knowing, thanks to his co-conspirator helping him sneak through Castle's security measures.
"Well?" he prompted.
"I-I can't tell what happened exactly. I think he uploaded an Intersect or something like an Intersect, and then he lost consciousness. He was on his laptop when it happened. Do you know what site he was on?"
"You managed to see this happen to him but you couldn't crack his encryption?" Bryce asked, amused.
"He missed a camera across the street. Understandable mistake," the voice explained. "I had to fiddle with the angle on the camera to see him. That doesn't matter though," they said impatiently. "I need to know what he was doing when this happened, or I won't be able to figure out what in the hell happened to him."
Bryce could hear the stress in the warbled voice.
"If I do this, I'll be exposed. I'll be in danger. It could even wreck my cover. You get that, right?" Bryce asked, feeling a prickle of nerves go up his spine. This ghost never got nervous, he never seemed stressed. If something had happened to Chuck and it had been on his laptop, if he'd somehow managed to download an Intersect nobody knew about, that could mean anything, and unfortunately, all of it was bad.
"If you don't do it and this is what I'm afraid it is, it won't matter if you're exposed because we'll lose him," the voice stressed. The nerves immediately turned to dread. Bryce felt himself go cold. "I hope I'm wrong, but if I can see the source code, I can find out for sure…"
"Okay, okay," Bryce replied. "You're putting us in a hell of a spot, you know that? She has no reason to trust me."
"Of course not. But you're a spy, aren't you? You're a bunch of expert manipulators." Bryce lifted an eyebrow at that. "Find a reason, convince her. She isn't the only one who gives a shit about him," the voice said and the line went dead. Bryce stared at the phone and shook his head. He had no idea how the ghost knew about the conflicting emotions in his chest: the care and guilt, but also the bitterness that he was blamed and hated for all of this as much as he was. By Chuck most likely, and definitely by Sarah. He put it down, walked to the bedroom, and opened a drawer.
He stared at the burner he'd hidden there when he first moved into this place and he took a deep breath.
"Well? Here goes."
}o{
"Sarah," Bryce replied. "I know Chuck's not okay."
Sarah glanced over at Chuck who was asleep and then turned to look out the window. How the hell had Bryce known? She wasn't even sure she knew.
"He's fine, thanks for asking. I'm sure he'll appreciate you looking out for him," Sarah replied, keeping her voice cheerful, as if she were talking to an old friend.
"He collapsed after doing something on his laptop, Sarah," Bryce said, and she heard that cool and collected mien of his faltering. It made her blood run cold. "Listen, I know you have no reason to trust me on this, but if you believe even one thing about me, please believe that he's my friend… My-my only friend," he added quietly. "I'm really going out on a limb here trying to keep him safe this time. Sarah, I need you to tell me what he was looking at when it happened. Before he lost consciousness."
"I really don't know what you mean, Bryce. Sorry. Chuck is just fine, sitting right here, watching...a, um, comic book cartoon." She rolled her eyes at herself.
"Did he have the same response this time that he did when he first uploaded the Intersect?" He was obviously ignoring her obstinate lying and trying to cut to the chase anyway. It was effective, because she didn't quite know how to fight back against it.
The question just hung there. And finally, she snapped, "I wasn't there when that happened."
"And I wasn't either. I was dead at the time," he deadpanned. "Sarah, damn it, I know what you're doing, I know what you're thinking, but… Okay, I'm going to give you something, but it can't go any further than this conversation. And I guess Chuck."
"What makes you think I'd tell Chuck?"
There was silence for a second and she heard him sigh.
"He's your partner in a way I never was, and we both know it. You trust him." He didn't say anything for a long moment and she wasn't sure how to respond.
"I've been in contact with one of the creators of the Intersect." Sarah's mouth dropped open. Well, that was unexpected.
"He contacted me. He is not in touch with the CIA, or the NSA. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I'm the one he reached out to. So you're kinda stuck." She thought she heard smugness in his tone and she wanted to reach through the phone and punch him for it. "He planted some type of tracker in the watch you gave Chuck."
Sarah spun, eyes wide, and looked for it on Chuck's wrist. It was there. Tracking him. Them. This whole time.
"He's been watching out for Chuck, tracking him, making sure he's okay. And because of that, he knows something's wrong with our guy. We think the Intersect has somehow been…impacted." Sarah swallowed, fear grabbing her chest. "Is he acting weird?"
The fear that had been grabbing her chest exploded through her whole body. "He snapped at the valet at our hotel for no reason," she muttered. That's when she realized what she had just said. She dropped all pretenses that any of this was normal, that she hadn't been frightened that something was very wrong ever since she'd watched him snap at a freaking teenager.
"For anyone else that would be nothing, Sarah, but for Chuck…We both know..." Bryce let that hang there. She knew. "What was he doing? Did he–Did he go to a special website?" Sarah didn't respond, her mind racing to find the best way to protect Chuck. "I know what you're doing," he said softly. "You're thinking about tossing that watch, your phone, and running." He was right. "If I'm right, and that thing is hurting him, what are you going to do to help him? How do you save him from this, Sarah? You have a plan for everything, I know, but do you have a plan for that?"
She didn't.
She couldn't fix it this time. She could fight anyone for him, she would fight anyone for him. She would storm a castle, a country, whatever it took. But if there was something wrong with the Intersect, if something was happening in his head there was nothing she could do to protect him from that.
She was so far out of her wheelhouse.
And then it clicked in her brain.
"Shaw," she said softly. "He's been a worry since they assigned him to our team so we were doing some digging and we pulled up the file on him in the CIA's database."
"How did you get into..." She could hear his brain working as he paused. "Know what? I'm not even gonna ask. The important thing is I don't trust this Shaw guy either. Listen, I'm going to have this contact of mine check it out, but please don't run. Don't go where we can't find you, where my ghost can't find you. You can trust him. Believe me. Please don't disappear. You're good at it, Sarah, almost as good as me, maybe better than me. But don't. This guy's the only one who can help Chuck, okay?"
She paused. If she disappeared with Chuck, she had no expertise here. Bryce was right. She wouldn't be able to help him out there.
"I won't," she replied. "But if I get even an inkling of doubt about this ghost or whatever, or if you even think about betraying us—"
"You'll ditch and disappear, and I'll wake up with a knife to my throat or...not wake up at all, I know," Bryce replied. "Keep an eye on him and if he gets worse, call me."
"I'm not calling you, Bryce," Sarah told him. "I'm not."
"I hope you don't have to." And with that, he hung up.
}o{
She hung up the phone and stared out the window into the Chicago night. She didn't have the best view, but what she could see was a hustling, bustling city. One that never seemed to rest, never take a break.
She related.
She'd been so ready for this road trip, just two agents driving across the country for a cover. And if that was the full truth of it, that would even be a break this job had never afforded her before. But this was supposed to be more than that. After that night and morning in her D.C. apartment, an apartment that had never afforded her unbridled joy before, this trip had so much more meaning. She was going on a journey of discovery, not just of the country as they drove through its states, but of Chuck, of this, this relationship that had finally been realized after so long.
She'd been planning on getting to know him, enjoying him, enjoying herself.
And instead, she was standing here lost and terrified.
She thought back again to that morning in her dark apartment and how she had been so ready to drink. She had been ready to leave the CIA and this life behind. And just like that, everything had been flipped on its head. No, not just like that. Chuck had fought for this. He'd fought for her in a way that nobody in her life ever had. He'd been a constant at her side, proving himself over and over again to be stronger than the spy life, strong enough not to fall into its trap. He'd changed everything, she'd let him in.
And then right after she'd let him in, just when she thought things might start to click, that she might be allowed some semblance of, God, freaking happiness, someone had attacked him. And they attacked him in the only way that would ensure she could do nothing to stop it.
She looked over at him now, almost dizzy with hopelessness.
He shifted, his brow furrowing in pain, even in sleep, and she pulled her lips between her teeth, trying to stop them from quivering.
Chuck Bartowski had shown up at her D.C. apartment those nights ago, and she'd been fuming, feeling so vulnerable and raw and susceptible to the most intense emotions that she'd always been so good at suppressing before. There'd just been this snap between them, and she wouldn't have been able to stop herself even if she'd wanted to. She wondered if it would scare him if he knew just how intense her need had been that night. The need to understand what it felt like to drown herself in someone else, to get so lost in him that everything else faded and he was the only thing that existed.
Both of them, together. And nothing else.
And it had happened in the place where she'd always felt so empty. She'd never drowned there in any way, not even in loneliness. That hadn't even been a part of her existence until she met Chuck Bartowski. She hadn't been lonely until she'd watched him through grainy CIA surveillance footage as he sat alone in his computer chair in his bedroom, back in those early days. She'd suddenly known such aching loneliness. It had terrified her.
And she was feeling that emptiness again. The fear that she was out of depth with Chuck, but in a completely different way this time. She had him now, he was here, they were here together, actually together in every way, finally...but he was in danger. And she didn't know what it would mean for him. For them. That ache was back, and it was painful.
Chuck Bartowski had this annoying knack of making her do things she'd never done before, things she never thought she could or would do. It scared her to think of what she might be capable of to protect the man currently lying in pain on their hotel bed.
She knew she had it within her to protect him physically, with her last God damn breath. But if whatever was in Shaw's file was eating away at him—at what was inside of him, what made him him—she had no idea what she could do. She just had to keep watch over him, and hope that he didn't snap the way he had at the valet earlier.
Chuck had been targeted. The attack had met its mark. And now she had to watch and wonder what it might do to him. She had to trust Bryce fucking Larkin and some…"ghost" who'd created the thing that had caused Chuck so much pain, that had changed his life so completely, in the first place. Sarah had been in the CIA for long enough to know what intelligence agents were capable of. She feared this was just the beginning. The reality of that was churning in her gut in the worst way.
And not for the first time, she felt her own fate becoming intertwined with, twisted up in, Chuck Bartowski's fate. They soared together, and if someone meant to take him down, she would go down with him.
But she would fight the whole damn way.
}o{
She had planned on watching him all night, but as the night dragged on, she became tired. She'd eventually crawled into bed beside him to watch from much closer, curling her fingers around his and squeezing, accidentally falling asleep that way.
And when she woke up a few hours later, blinking her eyes open, she immediately saw that he was already awake, staring up at the ceiling unblinkingly. He must've felt her awaken, because he turned his head to look at her, and he smiled slowly, that slow smile she knew and loved. "Oh, hey. Morning," he muttered.
She ignored that, instead pushing herself up onto her elbow and hovering over him, cupping his face and looking at his pupils. "Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm fine," he said quietly, his hand coming up to cup her elbow and squeeze. It was such a comfort she nearly crumbled at his touch. "I don't know what happened, but I'm okay." She let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. "Come on, Sarah…They can't get us, we're an unbeatable team."
"Yeah," she said, still worried. "Will you be all right if I take a shower real quick?"
"I think I'll be able to handle things here while you take a shower, yes," he muttered, snorting teasingly. She didn't see any trace of the pain she'd seen in his face the night before. But she did get a weary look. "You know, Casey gets freaking shot and you don't hover like this with him."
"Well, Chuck, John Casey and I have a bit of a different relationship than the one I have with you," she reminded him.
"Um. That's fair," he mumbled, smirking.
"I warned you when we agreed to actually do this for real that I was going to get even more protective. You signed up for this with both eyes wide open," she said with a responding smirk, winking at him as she sat up and looked down at him over her shoulder.
"I did, I did," he agreed, sighing dramatically. "Woe is me, having the world's greatest spy looking out for me." He paused then, his expression changing, his eyes softening and his lips a thin line. "I'm guessing I gave you a hell of a scare?" She nodded. He took her hand in his, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Just don't take all the hot water."
"We both know that you are the one who does that," she replied with a pointed look. He chuckled as she grabbed her things and walked into the bathroom. She closed the door, dropped her stuff, and placed her hands on the sink, staring at the mirror. Everything was fine. He was fine. She kept telling herself that, but she wasn't letting her guard down. She was going to keep her eye on him.
}o{
Later on that morning, they went to a restaurant that specialized in eggs. Chuck and Sarah both ordered frittatas.
"Not that this food isn't delicious, but are you prepared for the ramifications of making me eat this much amazing food for every single meal the last few days?" she asked, smiling through her eyelashes at him. He furrowed his brow in question. "Well, usually I only have coffee for breakfast, not stacks of pancakes or giant three-egg frittatas. I might start dragging you out for expensive, rich breakfasts when we're back in LA…" she trailed off, giggling at the look on his face.
"You tease, but you've seen me eat. That sounds amazing." She snorted. "I do, however, have a nice day planned if you're up to it," Chuck replied. Sarah arched an eyebrow at him. "Well, I know you, always on the move. …Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
Sarah stared at him for a second. "Wait, I should know this, shouldn't I?" Chuck gave her a pained look. "It's a movie?" Chuck nodded. "We've seen it?" He nodded again. "Uh…" She snapped her fingers then. "Ferris Bueller's Day Off?"
"Yes!" Chuck replied. "Come on, we're in Chicago. I had to quote Ferris."
She gave him an amused and affectionate sideways look, going back to her coffee cake she'd gotten as a starter.
He seemed more and more like Chuck as the day went on. Maybe last night he was just in a hell of a lot of pain and it had wrecked his disposition. She knew in the back of her mind that she was reaching for good, even when she knew Chuck Bartowski wouldn't snap like that even when he was in the worst pain.
"So, if you're interested, we could walk down to the Navy Pier."
"I know you and piers," Sarah said, watching a guilty look cross his face. "Won't that be cheating on your pier in Santa Monica?"
"We aren't mutually exclusive," Chuck replied, shrugging, making her laugh. "You know? I was right earlier this morning." The frittatas were served, making his eyes light up. He took a bite and moaned quietly.
She took a bite of her own and understood the sentiment. "What were you right about?"
"Us," he said, motioning back and forth between them. "They ought to be happy we're," he looked around and in a quieter voice continued, "the good guys," he said out of the side of his mouth. "With this," he said pointing to his head. "My skills and yours together…? Nobody would ever be able to stop Team Carmichael and Walker."
Sarah almost snorted, but then the entirety of what he said settled and her fork stilled against her plate. She slowly finished chewing and swallowed, not looking at him as she nonchalantly said, "Nobody would ever be able to stop us, you're right. We are the good guys, though. And nothing's ever gonna change that while Agent Carmichael leads the team."
"True, true. Yes," he said, nodding. He shoveled more food in his mouth and talked around it, smacking his lips. Verging on impolite. "But if we weren't, we'd be unstoppable. I mean, when you're the good guys there are rules, you have bosses, and protocols and for the most part, laws to abide by." He chewed a second and finally swallowed, taking a long drink and letting out a gasp of satisfaction. "And when you're not the good guys, you can sidestep all that. Nobody to tell you who to be or where to go. But you're right, we're totally not the bad guys."
"No, we're not," she said. She paused, watching him closely. She didn't want to bring it up, but she had an uneasy feeling in her gut that was making her appetite dull. "Think about how hard things were for you when we turned in Manoosh," she said, lowering her voice. She slid her hand over his and squeezed. "There's a reason we're the good guys. Stuff like that is...hard for you, because you're...good, Chuck."
She watched as he paused thoughtfully. "Sure, yeah. It's hard. But…" He stopped, narrowing his eyes.
Sarah put her fork down altogether and sat up straighter. "But?"
"I'm just thinking about how long you've been at this and the things you've done. Things you told me you aren't proud of, but you still did them." She felt a little sick suddenly. "Not that you aren't still a good person, but...good people can do this stuff for years and still be...okay. You're proof." She slid her mask over her face just in case, right as his brown eyes swept up to hers. He ate more, smacking his lips again, a bit of egg falling out onto his plate as he made an oops sound. "Just, you know, having one of those philosophical ponderings. Just thinkin'."
"Right. Philosophical ponderings," she mumbled, staring at him. She wasn't entirely sure what was happening. She'd given him aspirin, he'd had water, and he'd slept. This wasn't the snapping Chuck from the night before. But all the way down to the way he was eating, hunched over his plate, talking with his mouth full. It wasn't his norm.
Worse than that, his "philosophical ponderings" sounded like he was wondering what it might be like to be...on the wrong side. And it was creeping her out. This was nothing like the philosophical discussions she'd heard Chuck and Morgan have about the crimes they committed while playing that Grand Thief Car video game. He sounded…serious.
"Besides, let's be honest, Sarah. Life's not a fuggin' comic book, as much as I'd like it to be. In real life, the good guys don't get jack squat. It gets you nowhere. You just have to do it...because...you have to do it. No reward. If anything, you get kicked in the face, right? Over and over again."
She gaped a little, her mask slipping. And she quickly smoothed it back over her features again.
"I mean, I've got you now. Which is reward enough." She was his reward? What…? "But before I got you, my life was shitstorm after shitstorm, because I refused to stand up for myself. Always gotta do the riiiiight thing, Chuuuuck," he drawled, rolling his eyes and giving her a goofy look that would've been purely Chuck if it weren't for the words he was saying. "I let everyone else steamroll over me. My ex cheated on me, Bryce framed me, I was stuck in the Buy More, picking up after people, saving everyone else's job for them, getting fucked over and over. Always doing the right thing while everyone else did whatever they wanted." He put his fork down and crossed his arms, sitting back against his chair. "Being the 'good guy' has gotten me nowhere, Sarah." He paused. "I mean, I'm not saying I'm about to go full criminal or anything, but...what has everything good that I've done ever given back to me?" He shrugged then, as if what he'd said wasn't that big of a deal, going back to his food. "I'm just sayin'."
Sarah licked her lips slowly, her mind going about a mile a minute. "Chuck, it...isn't about what it gets you. You do the right thing because it's the right thing. That's...who you are. It's what drew me to you so...intensely. It's just...you."
"That's what I'm saying, I've been like this for so long, you know? Maybe I'm gonna look after me now. We should be putting us first," he said, waving his fork between the two of them. "We're finally together, we're doing this, and we have to hide it. I get why, don't get me wrong. I do. But at the same time, what the fuck kind of life is that? Letting someone else dictate what we do as a couple, and when we do it, and how we do it. Because we don't want Shaw to know?" He scoffed. "Who cares if that bastard knows? Let's rub it in his stupid face. He's alone, and we are not." He finished his breakfast and pushed at the plate, scraping it loudly against the table, before grabbing his coffee in frustration. Sarah was quiet, observing him, taking in his behavior, the things he was saying with such shameless nonchalance. "Whatever, I'm just tired of it. Tired of hiding how I feel. I wanna be with you. You wanna be with me too, right?"
His eyes swept up to meet hers, expectant, waiting for her response. She jumped a bit. "Of course I do." She could feel how tentative her smile was, the way it strained her lips, made her face feel tight. She was sure he was going to say something, call her out, spot that something was wrong. But he just grinned back at her, satisfied. And that worried her more than anything.
"Good." He clapped his hands together, giving her a silly excited shoulder wiggle. "We've got a pier to get to. Whadda ya say?"
Sarah looked down at her frittata, a third of it gone, potatoes still stacked on the plate, coffee still up to the brim of her mug. She could almost hear Chuck's voice. You didn't eat. You okay?
But the voice didn't come.
Smiling again, she nodded and climbed up from the table. Something was very wrong with Chuck Bartowski, and she was going to have to find a time to call Bryce.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review, we appreciate them a lot!
-SC and DC