A/N1 Act III begins. I'm trying to crowd us all into Sarah's aching head. But being in there means sharing her pain and confusion, her deep existential disquiet.
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Don't own Chuck.
ACT III
CHAPTER SIX
Kill or Kiss
Near San Diego, Carina's phone rang. Since she was driving, and at high speed, she gestured for Chuck to answer it.
The screen read: Beckman. Carina nodded. Chuck hit the speaker button.
"Carina?" Carina nodded at Chuck; Chuck spoke. "Here, General, Chuck. Both of us. Closing in on San Diego.
"Good. I have decided to come to Burbank. I am on my way to the airport now, in fact. I have info for you that you need. The analysts checking the law enforcement files on Sarah's father and Graham's personal file on Sarah found what you suggested might be there, Chuck." Beckman sounded pleased, hopeful. "When Sarah was in high school in San Diego, her father frequently used a criminal hacker, Rodriguez Santos, for help with cons, con jobs.
"The man owned, and he still owns, a bar in San Ysidro, The Gull. A brilliant man, evidently, but he hides beneath the facade of a slow-witted, unambitious barkeeper. He's been under suspicion for this and that over years, but he's mostly managed to avoid prosecution. Typically, he supplies the information; others do the dirty work. Never turns his white collar blue, so to speak. He gets a payment, a kickback, a percentage.
"But here's the most promising part." Beckman's voice became conspiratorial. "There are two times Sarah used him for information in her years as an agent. The last was a while ago, before Burbank, but still...It seems likely she had known him through her father. Met him that way. There's no other explanation for her knowledge in the file. What do you think?"
Carina looked at Chuck and he squinted his eyes, thinking aloud. "Right. Right. It's the sort of thing I was hoping for. From the little we know, Sarah's steering almost entirely by instinct, gut feelings. But I know my wife," he smiled, worry and affection blending in the expression. "I know the spy she was...is," he slowed, frowned, finished almost in a whisper. But then he went on, his voice steadily gaining conviction.
"Even confused, Sarah will be systematic, and she will go on the initiative, the offensive. She is not one to fight a defensive battle unless she has to. She will take on her lack of memory, her ignorance of herself, head-on. She has her name, a name anyway; Carina gave it to her.
"She'll find someone who she thinks will be able to use it to give her information about herself without exposing her-or exposing her more than necessary. Yeah, General," Carina could tell Chuck was trying to check his growing excitement, "I think this could be it. We'll go straight there now, if you give us the address."
Beckman did. She closed with a cautionary tone. "Chuck, you know that I am out on a limb here, and there are Intersect Committee members filing the teeth of their saws. We need to find your wife and stabilize the situation in the next...44 hours. Fewer now."
Carina swallowed hard and she saw the excitement that had risen in Chuck's face as he talked drain away.
He looked at Carina but answered Beckman, quietly. "I know. We know."
ooOoo
They were on the block of The Gull. Carina turned to Chuck. The car was moving but Chuck has his hand around the door handle.
"I've got to get in there, Carina. Let me out, please."
His voice was low, quiet, but supercharged. She knew he had a tranq gun under his jacket. Still…He shouldn't go in without backup.
"Don't, Chuck. Don't. Give me two minutes to park the car…" The car in front of them slowed and Chuck was out the door, managing to get his feet going fast enough not to stumble as the car pulled away from him. In fact, he hit the ground smoothly. "Dammit, Chuck!" Carina cast around looking for any place to park the car, legal or not. In her rearview mirror, she saw Chuck dart between cars, like a dancer, spinning, and sprinting toward the entrance of The Gull.
Carina saw a space and shot toward it, entering the spot so quickly that she had to slide to a stop, her front bumper gently tapping the rear bumper of the car in the next space. She had her gun shoulder-holstered under her jacket. She opened the door and scanned the street. The door of The Gull was closing, presumably behind Chuck.
"This is why spies don't fall in love," Carina griped under her breath as she ran between cars and across the street, one hand slipping under her jacket as the other reached out for the handle of the bar door.
ooOoo
"Sarah!"
Chuck saw her slumped on the floor. A man was standing over her, his head down, a dirty rag hanging on his shoulder. He was reaching for her. Chuck had the tranq pistol out immediately and fired; it happened so fast he did not know he had done it. The Intersect. The dart lodged in the man's neck and he fell across Sarah's body.
There was an old man at the bar, but he was staring fixedly into his beer, unmoved by the spectacle unfolding around him. For a moment, Chuck thought he might be a cardboard figure, but then he picked up his beer and sipped it.
Chuck reached Sarah and the man. The Intersect clicked over when he moved the man and could see his face clearly. Rodriguez Santos. Chuck did not take the time to think about the fact, but it registered: he'd flashed twice without flashing. There'd been no physical disturbance, none, before, during, or after the flash. As Dr. Smith promised, it was like he had simply remembered Santos. Remembered how to make that shot with the tranq gun.
He pushed the man away so as to free Sarah. He reached down to pick her up. She was still unconscious, but he could see her breathing, Carina came through the door just then, gun out, gripped in both hands. She pointed it at the man staring into his beer. He never looked up. Chuck saw Carina's eyes flick to Sarah: "Is she ok?"
Chuck grunted as he picked her up, working her into a fireman's carry, and then he grabbed her bag from the floor. "She's alive. She's not been shot or injured, at least not recently." He had seen the healing rope burns on her wrists and his stomach was twisting. Carina holstered her gun, finally judging the man at the bar no threat, except perhaps to his beer. "I'll get the car." She was gone out the door.
Chuck got Sarah curbside at the moment Carina pulled up. He gently placed her in the back seat. Carina handed him a pair of cuffs. He looked at her like she was crazy. She pointed at the purple-yellow line of bruising around her neck. Chuck held up Sarah's arm, baring her wrist, showing the burns.
Hurt registered in Carina's eyes-and fear, briefly. "I see Chuck, but she tried to kill me. I would never say this if she were conscious, but she is more than a match for me, and I've always known it. That's why I've always had so much...bravado...around her. Never wanted my knowledge to show. I don't know what the Intersect has done to you, but without it, I know she is more than a match for you too."
Chuck hesitated a beat, then took the cuffs. He locked them as loosely as he could while still sure Sarah could not free her hands. "I hate it, but you're right: she can kick my ass. Maybe not with the Intersect, but even with it, my money's still on her."
He shut the back door and jumped into the passenger seat, dropping Sarah's bag on the floor. As Carina pulled away from the curb, he turned in the seat to brush Sarah's hair tenderly out of her face. "Hey, baby. We found you. We found you." Sarah was still unconscious. But Chuck's relief filled the car, extended beyond it.
ooOoo
Chuck demanded they stop a couple of times so that he could check on Sarah. Carina kept trying to keep him in the front with her. She finally had to just say it: "Sarah tried to kill me. She stopped in time not to do it, but I don't know if that was skill or luck, Chuck. It's not safe for you to be back there. At the very least, give her some distance, some air, so that if she does wake up, she may not go into full panic."
Chuck looked at her, and Carina finished: "We have no idea if she will know you, Chuck."
Carina hated herself for saying it, but it had to be said. The lovesick fool would get himself hurt or killed. And if Sarah came back to herself, and found out that she had...Well, better not to let that even be a possibility. Sarah would understand the need for caution, even where she was concerned, especially where she was concerned.
ooOoo
Sarah regained consciousness slowly, one mincing step at a time, daintily even. At first, she was languid in a dreamy, soft-focus world, and then that world gradually became more fully realized, hard-edged...
She was...in the backseat of a car, supine, her wrists cuffed together in front of her.
The cuffs dug a little into the burns on her wrists, but she made herself use the pain to lever herself into full consciousness. A woman and a man were in the front seat. The woman's voice was sounded vaguely...familiar.
Sarah began to make words out of the sounds. "...We have no idea if she will know you, Chuck."
Chuck.
The name detonated her heart. A bomb, it destroyed her. She disintegrated, scattered. She was shrapnelled by pain.
Her baseline reaction: fear. Overwhelming. She was afraid of that name, afraid of the bearer of that name, afraid of the man who bore that identity. Not afraid in the past. Afraid, now.
He was a threat. He was in the front seat. He was the threat. She had to get away from him.
She looked at him through her lashes, her eyes barely open. His brown eyes, his curly hair-the sight of him like taking a roundhouse to the gut. All the instincts that had kept her alive the last days rebelled against him fiercely. He was their enemy, so her enemy. The assassin in her, the spy in her, rejected him, categorically.
I, assassin, reject you...Chuck.
If she couldn't escape from him, then she needed to turn the tables, make him her prisoner, instead of her his.
Sarah realized that the woman driving was Carina Miller. She was alive, after all. Sarah had not killed her. Some part of her was very glad of that-but Sarah had no discernible voice in Sarah's deafening inner cacophony.
Carina had taken off her jacket as she drove. Sarah could see the straps of her shoulder holster. Sarah braced herself, lunged up out of the rear seat. She circled her arms around Carina's head and seized her pistol. She got her arms up and off Carina before Carina could get a hand off the wheel. In a blink, Sarah was holding Carina's pistol, aiming it at the back of Carina's head.
"Pull over! Now!"
Carina peeked at Sarah in the rearview mirror. She frowned, shaking her head. "Sarah, it's me, Carina. We are friends. We've been friends for years. Please put down the gun."
"Why am I your prisoner? Pull to the side of the road, now. I won't ask again." Her voice was iced-over, artic. Carina winced slightly and she pulled over. Outside, cars whipped by, making their car rock slightly.
Sarah had kept Chuck in view as she pointed the pistol at Carina. His look of surprise and sorrow…
"Sarah…" Her name, his voice. Explosions inside her. Blitzkrieg. Ruination.
Her voice in her head: "Don't listen to him. Don't listen to him." But her name in his voice. How could anything sound so terrifying and so wonderful? Her head began to hurt again, blackness flickered at the edges of her vision.
"Sarah," he spoke her name again, softly. "We put cuffs on you because you have lost your memory, because you...attacked Carina. We are taking you to get help."
Chuck had his hands up. Sarah noticed the wedding ring on his hand. Mr. Anderson? The ring looked familiar...Why did it make her head hurt so bad? Why was her heart hurting too?
She turned her attention toward him, locking the hurt away. She realized then that she had for many years (how many? forever?) been the warden of her own pain. She did it the first night at the hotel. She was doing it now. It was a practice, practiced.
Lock the pain away. Lock everything away.
Feelings mean nothing. Psychological flotsam and jetsam. Letting yourself feel them is a mistake. Attending to them is a worse mistake. Feelings mean nothing. Do not have them. If you do, ignore them. The mission. There is only the mission. Anything else...and you are dead! The mission. There is only the mission. Kill.
Killer.
"Key!" She pointed the gun at Chuck. The look on his face registered in her chest. A feeling, so deep, so strong, a torrent…
"Key!" she shouted it at him like a condemnation. He took the key from his pocket and handed it to her. She realized then that she could not effectively keep the gun on them and unlock the cuffs. She held the key out to Chuck. "You do it. Get me out of these cuffs."
He took the key and put his hand gently-so gently-Why so gentle?-around her arm, careful of her sore wrist-so careful-Why so careful?-and unlocked the cuffs. She snuck a look at his hair, the brown curls short, but still there. She could smell him. He had the scent of...home.
Home?
Home.
She was losing her mind. She'd never had a home. Not really. None. A suitcase.
A suitcase. A pocket inside. Pocket protector. Herder. Baggage Handler. A pocket inside. A photograph. Safety.
The black flames at the edges of her vision flickered more violently. Her was head was heavy. She could hardly keep it up. She had a headache all the way to her feet. She pointed the gun back at Carina. The cuffs were now attached only to her gun hand, dangling. "Get out!"
Carina looked alarmed-and hurt. "Sarah, girl, you know me. We know each other. Rio? London? Rome? Sarah?"
All of that felt vaguely like it meant something to Sarah. But what? Carina might be using her history against her. Maybe she had been to those places? But with Carina? Sarah took herself to have operated mostly by herself. That's what felt...natural. Didn't it?
Choose to be alone. Then the only person who can betray you is you. Trust is weakness. Doubt is strength. Do not trust anyone. Never allow anyone to trust you. Trust creates trust. It is a trap. Doubt keeps you alive. Trust gets you dead. There is only the mission.
"I said to get out." The pain in Sarah's head would not go away. It got worse as she became more and more aware of Chuck. She couldn't keep her eyes off him, but each time her gaze touched him it intensified her pain. She could still smell him. It seemed his scent suffused her.
Carina looked at Chuck. He nodded. She opened the door and got out of the car. Sarah waved the pistol horizontally, telling Chuck to get into the driver's seat. It took him a moment. Sarah realized how tall he was. So tall. Even in her pain, something in her abdomen stretched itself out, curled itself into a comfortable ball, and purred. But the purring then intensified the pain too.
Her head was killing her. It demanded her full attention. She made herself ignore everything but the pain, and the return of the lecturing, hectoring voice in her head.
A hostage is always an encumbrance. Never take one unless absolutely necessary. Rid yourself of the encumbrance as soon as possible. The longer a hostage is with you, the more he or she learns about you. Remember that. If they learn too much...By definition, our definition anyway, hostages are expendable.
Sarah knew she should make Chuck get out of the car too. If she kept him, she'd end up having to kill him.
Kill him.
Or kiss him.
What?
She ordered him to drive.
ooOoo
Carina watched the car re-enter traffic and head away.
"Shit. Twice."
She put out a thumb. She wasn't worried. She'd get a ride; getting picked up was never a challenge for Carina. The next time she saw Sarah, memory or not, she was going to even the score. Somehow. Carina just hoped she would see her again.
She looked at her watch. 42 hours, more or less.
"Good luck, Chuckles. You are going to need it."
A/N2 Carina as a prophet? More next time in Chapter 7 "Time and Thought Are Mutually Entangled". See you then.
