The Road to Morocco
A/N: Hey guys, hopefully you haven't forgotten this story! I'm sorry it has taken me sooo long to update. I know it's a terrible excuse, but I'm going to have to blame life. So much stuff, so little time! But isn't that always the way? Anyways, I want to take this opportunity to thank, once again, my genius of a beta, BillAtWork, the true brains behind the operation, for all his hard work. It truly is greatly appreciated. And, y'know what? While I'm on a roll, I'd like to thank all you guys also, who read and review. You make it all worth it
After that mammoth of an author's note, here's the chapter, and for me, it's quite a beast. I know I've been teasing you guys with this one for quite a while now, so I hope it lives up to expectations… If anyone had any, that is!
Enjoy!
Chuck awoke peacefully to the late-morning sunshine, so archetypal of the California summer, the activities of the night before keeping him contentedly asleep until the sun had nearly found its zenith. Squinting his eyes at the sun as it streamed through the crack in the curtains, he wasn't sure who had drawn them last night, but he was sure glad they did, Chuck looked down upon a halo of blonde hair splayed haphazardly across his chest, the trademark Bartowski grin coming into full force at the sight.
Last night had blown all his expectations out of the water, and he had been dreaming about this day since he first laid eyes on his angel. It had been beyond incredible; Chuck couldn't really believe it had happened. He kept wanting to lift up the covers, take a sneaky peek, just to check, but his better judgement overcame his childish fantasies. Besides, he had an imagination, he could always visualise. The other reason, and the one that was definitely the most important, was that he didn't want to wake Sarah. The way her head rested on his chest just so, a perfect fit if ever he'd seen one, the tension in her face had disappeared, leaving a childlike innocence in its place, to Chuck, was magical. And, of course, Chuck remembered from the time they were cover dating, Sarah wasn't really a morning person.
He had to laugh at himself. There weren't many times when you could call Agent Sarah Walker innocent - Chuck had seen her take down guys with a pair of chopsticks, seen her reduce huge thugs twice the size of her to whimpering babies - but this was one of them.
Chuck sighed contentedly. If he could stop time and live in this moment forever, he would. But the laws of space-time wouldn't allow him that luxury, and he wasn't Harry Potter, so Chuck made sure he committed to memory every single thing about this moment. The way the curtains were allowing the sun to peak in, the way her soft hair tickled his chest, the feel of her cool silky skin against his…
'Yep', Chuck thought, the smile never leaving his face, 'this must be heaven…'
Sarah couldn't have slept better. In all her time as a spy, she'd never slept as soundly as she had before she'd embarked on the life of mystery and government sanctioned crime. But being in Chuck's arms had made her feel safe, at home. It wasn't just because she was tired out from their… workout… earlier either. She'd been with Bryce in situations not dissimilar to this one and had felt nothing but cold emptiness once he'd had his fill and the adrenaline had worn off. Being with Chuck was the total antithesis. He was warm, a melting furnace to her cold and ice-filled heart - filling her with that warmth and love, so that she never wanted to let go.
A sigh from the person beside made Sarah freeze, not wanting to give away her waking state to her partner and possibly end this perfect moment prematurely. She felt the duvet move slightly over her, being pulled upwards, the movement of a hand, perhaps, being extricated from the depths to seek daylight.
She couldn't believe it. After all the fight and all the half-assed reasons why they shouldn't be together, couldn't, Sarah wasn't sure she wasn't dreaming. Only the warmth beside her and the rhythmic movements of Chuck's surprisingly defined chest let her know that this was reality. In all honesty, she was dying to peel back the covers, peek underneath, but she knew that that was probably a bit childish. She was a spy, for God's sake. She could find a much more subtle and amusing way of making Chuck blush.
Biding her time, enjoying the feeling engulfing her in Chuck's presence, Sarah laid in wait. She had the perfect move, one that would let Chuck know that she had left all her insecurities at the door and, both symbolically and physically, that everything she was, was unequivocally his.
Turning her leg ever so slightly, bringing out years of training in order to keep Chuck oblivious as to her movements, Sarah created what was going to be an anchor for the sheets as she turned from her side and onto her back. The added bonus, although it also increased the risk factor of being caught, was that her leg was currently intertwined with Chuck's, giving her extra purchase on said sheets, allowing her to rip them fully from his person and the majority from her with it being, to the untrained eye, merely a pleasant coincidence.
Just the smallest move from Chuck and…
'Bingo' Sarah grinned to herself as Chuck repositioned the arm she currently had pinned underneath her, whipping the sheets from above them in one fluid motion, feigning a stretch and yawn at the last minute to give the impression of sleep-filled innocence.
"Mm…" Sarah mumbled, her voice thick with sleep and eyes hooded as she once again turned to face Chuck, this time leaving the sheets well and truly behind.
"Good mornin' Chuck."
Sarah couldn't help but let out a small laugh at the expression on Chuck's face. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning, his eyes practically hanging out of their sockets whilst a crimson veil quickly masked itself across his face from neck upwards.
"Buh-ha..?" was the maximum Chuck could reply at this point. Not only had his mind turned to jello at the site of Sarah's perfect…ion, but he suddenly found himself forcibly attached at the lips to said perfection. Not that he minded one bit. He actually was rather enjoying the experience.
"You're an evil woman", Chuck teased after catching his breath, his hands coming to rest on the bare hips of one Sarah Walker, who had managed to lever herself on top of him in the midst of their duel in a move oddly reminiscent of the night before.
"Is that so, Mr Bartowski?" Sarah replied, her voice breathy in his ear as she leaned down provocatively to nip his ear lobe.
Chuck bit down on his lip, trying to quell the feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.
'Two can play that game', Chuck mused, before flipping Sarah onto her back whilst gaining himself the upper hand.
Grinning down at the beautiful figure below him, Chuck couldn't believe how lucky he truly was, and how in tune with each other they were. Okay, so they'd only been together one night, one amazingly spectacular night that will go down in the annals of history as the greatest night of Chuck Bartowski's life to date, but still only one night. Yet it felt like they'd been together for eternity. Old souls, or something like that, brought together through each life, destined to be together again and again. Star-crossed lovers, as Shakespeare would say – and that wasn't a bad thing.
"Oh" Sarah smirked, her tone playful and mischievous. "This is so on, Mr!"
Lying in the comforting arms of her Chuck, Sarah rushed to catch her breath, a post-coital glow surrounding her like a divine aura, enveloping not only her person, but Chuck's as well. Chuck was battling a similar lack of breath, the perpetual grin never leaving his face, a permanent feature for the last 14 hours, that despite the length of time it had been displayed, never lost its novelty.
It probably wasn't that good of an idea to squeeze in an encore of the nights festivities, they'd lost precious time on their run from Fulcrum, and that despot Daniel Shaw, but Sarah couldn't much bring herself to care. The experience was too fulfilling, too life affirming to deny, and they didn't know how long they'd be running from Fulcrum. Sure, they'd get Casey on the case as soon as possible, but even then, Casey was just one man. One man against an army.
Sarah sighed, bringing Chuck's arm across her stomach in an act of pseudo protection. She hated the way her mind wouldn't let her just let things be, just stop analysing for one and live in the moment.
'But', she supposed, 'that's probably what's kept me alive so long…'
"We really shouldn't have done that, should we?" Chuck's voice echoed into the vast blanket of silence that had overcome the room.
Sarah turned her body, angling her head to look directly into Chuck's eyes. What she saw there was pure, unadulterated love – or what she believed that looked like, never before having experienced such a thing - tinged with recognition.
She shook her head lightly. Sarah knew exactly what he had meant, she had, after all, been thinking exactly the same thing mere seconds before. No regrets, bar the one that caused them to leave the security of their uncharacteristically comfortable motel bed.
Chuck returned the sigh that had left Sarah's lips just moments before, stroking her arm gently before slipping his feet off the side of the bed, garnering Sarah with a perfect view of his lean and muscular back.
"This whole situation…" Chuck began, his shoulders sagging as Sarah propped herself up onto her elbows.
"I mean, don't get me wrong, I can't be thankful enough at the opportunity that this has provided us with…"
Chuck paused, taking a deep breath to strengthen his resolve and finish his piece.
"It's just… What about everything else? What about Ellie and Awesome? What about Morgan? We're running away from something, and rightly so, but…"
Chuck faltered again, his head falling, looking at the carpet, his shoulders even more slumped than before.
"It's okay, Chuck" Sarah soothed, bringing her hands under his arms and around his chest, meeting just above his heart, simultaneously resting her head softly on his shoulder.
Chuck exhaled a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding, grasping Sarah's hand in his, giving him the reassurance to continue.
"I can't do it to them. Especially Ellie…" Chuck continued, his voice becoming more and more panicked by the second.
Chuck turned his head to face Sarah, wanting to convey to her the importance and the gravity that leaving Ellie without a word would entail.
"You know what happened with my Mom… and then my Dad," Chuck said, his voice descending back to its usual timbre, taking on the softness often associated with, in Sarah's experience, the recall of past events, hell, she'd had to recall the events of Morocco to the company shrink so many times, it was almost second nature to her.
"I can't do that to her, Sarah… Arrgh!" Chuck fumed, running his hand through his hair in frustration, startling Sarah in the process with a noticeable flinch.
"I'm sorry…" Chuck apologised, holding his hand out to Sarah, which she keenly took within her own, linking their fingers as she came to sit beside Chuck.
"I know it's hard, for you, Chuck" Sarah replied, nudging his shoulder slightly. "I can't say I understand, because, well, you know my Dad and all… But once we get out of here, get a pre-paid phone, maybe get to an internet café, we can get back-up, get Casey... This could be all be over before we know it."
Sarah tried to put across a tone of optimism and jollity into her voice, but she was afraid her attempt was futile. She didn't believe any of what she'd just said herself - Fulcrum, for all of their faults, it seemed were an organised enemy, knew at least the basic spy skill set, probably more - so why would Chuck?
The tone of Chuck's eyes reflected his, and her own, scepticism.
"If we only knew what they were after. At least then we'd have something to work towards, y'know? Instead of just running away blindly from God knows what."
Chuck kicked blindly at the carpet in frustration, oblivious to the change in disposition Sarah was currently exhibiting.
"Wait…" Sarah stated, standing from her position on the bed to begin pacing the length of the room in all her naked glory.
"One of them said something… Before, when they were at my hotel room…"
Sarah put her hand to her mouth, biting her knuckles, trying to recollect what exactly Bub had called it, and it was definitely an it whilst Chuck waited patiently, mouth only slightly agape at the nude spy before him, perched on the edge of their now cold bed.
The convex..? The convent..? The Codex… That was it, Chuck! The Codex!
"Chuck!" Sarah shouted hurriedly, ceasing her pacing to turn and face him head on, only to be greeted by the spasmodic and unmistakable site of Chuck mid-flash. Only this one seemed to go on longer than any Sarah had seen him experience before… Much longer.
Chuck continued in flash for what seemed an eternity, losing his balance at one particular, what seemed, intense moment, springing Sarah into action, dutifully holding him upright as he rode out the storm that was this particular flash.
As Sarah knelt, facing Chuck, his face contorting in shapes that were oddly reminiscent of pain, she began to panic.
What if this was some unpredicted effect of the intersect on Chuck's brain? Sarah's hands unconsciously tightened their grip on Chuck, whether for his sake, or hers, was uncertain.
'Come on, Chuck', Sarah pleaded mentally, willing him to make it through this monster of a flash in one piece.
'I need you to get through this…'
As soon as Sarah had hung her head, letting her mind turn to the morbid as it most always did at times like this, Chuck's eyes flew open, a mixture of weariness and clarity swirling within those hazel orbs.
"Chuck…" Sarah whispered, her mouth suddenly becoming extremely dry.
"Oh my God, Sarah…" Chuck replied after a moment, seemingly catching his breath after such a rigorous mental work-out, his eyes boring straight into hers in such a manner, it made Sarah feel even more naked than she already was.
"I know what it is…"
The images flew through Chuck's mind at what seemed like the speed of light, the density of the information was immense, so heavily compacted, Chuck had never experienced anything quite like it in all his time as the intersect. He couldn't even really see the images, usually there was some sort of visual recall involved in intersect flashes, but this was way too quick. It seemed all that was unnecessary anyways, the data, the nitty gritty of the flash was definitely imprinting itself in his mind, as clear as the sky on a summers day, and as lovely as that was, Chuck wished the majority of its contents wasn't.
Sarah definitely wasn't going to take this well.
Sucking in a breath as soon as the flash finished, what felt like mere milliseconds after it began, Chuck scrunched his eyebrows upon seeing Sarah kneeling before him. Wasn't she halfway across the room when she'd mentioned the Codex?
Shaking off his confusion for the time being, Chuck continued to stare directly into those beautiful, unique cerulean oceans of eyes Sarah possessed, eventually managing to put words into sound.
"Chuck…" Sarah's voice barely met his ears, the sweet nectar a seemingly more potent ambrosia than usual to his now throbbing ears and head.
"Oh my God, Sarah…" Chuck breathed, the realisation of everything he'd just learnt hitting him at that moment.
"I know what it is…"
Chuck squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head in the process to try and alleviate the fuzzy, cotton-filled feeling that had overcome him ever since the flash. That, and trying to shake up the information like a magic number 8 ball, hoping the conclusion would mystically transform into something positive rather than the perpetual and constantly infuriating, 'the future is unclear', or 'something interesting will happen'. Chuck almost scoffed; as if those things didn't happen every day anyways, the majority without the divine intervention of a small black and white ball.
Unsurprisingly, his attempts were nothing but futile, and, if he was frank, not particularly advisable when suffering from what seemed to be the mother of all headaches. He wasn't sure how much Sarah realised he knew about what had occurred on her fateful assignment in Morocco, but Chuck was sure that she really didn't want to relive that whole experience. He'd been in the company long enough to know how spies were with their personal feelings, and how they dealt with them, and, Chuck used this word tentatively, failure. They didn't. Period.
'Well…', Chuck corrected mentally, placing one hand upon Sarah's arm whilst bringing the other to gently rub his temple, 'unless they're ordered to, of course…'
But how could they avoid it now? The information regarding The Codex was too conspicuous, too obvious to be misinterpreted, probably because the guy that invented the piece of shit invention that the most nefarious gang of 5th columnists ever to set foot on US soil was after them for was too much of an egotist to not put his name in practically every single page of intel on the blasted thing. But there was still something missing…
"Fuck." Chuck stated simply, his voice weary and pained.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Why did the name have to be Mark Austin? Of all the 6 billion people scattered across the globe, it all came back to the one point in time that Chuck, and more to the point, Sarah, really wanted to forget. Any other name, and he'd have taken it. Adolf Hitler. Myra Hindley. Emperor Palpatine…
"Chuck?", Sarah asked tentatively, unsure of what to make of this language, so out of character for him.
Chuck couldn't bring himself to look Sarah in the eye. His head felt like someone had haphazardly deposited a tonne pebbles into it, only slightly because of the customary post flash headache. He'd just have to grin and bear it. Put the ball into her court. What she did with it there, that was up to her, and Chuck sure as hell wasn't going to push Sarah into revealing anything she didn't want, or feel comfortable to. Not on this.
Chuck sighed audibly, licking his lips in anticipation for the inevitable shit storm that was going to descend as soon as he uttered those two words.
"It was Austin." Chuck paused, hoping Sarah would be able to piece together his meaning without having to utter another syllable, but the look of confusion on the face of the usually sharp Sarah Walker wasn't going to let him off so easy.
"Mark Austin…"
'And now, if that wasn't hard', Chuck mused, cursing the God that decided the normal range of torture methods wasn't good enough for one Charles Irving Bartowski.
'Time for the punch line…'
"Sarah, he stole the Codex…"
Sarah's face contorted into a myriad of different expressions, much, Chuck would later realise, must be what it looks like to the outside world when he flashes. First there was shock, then anger, which what Chuck was pretty much expecting, but it didn't finish there. Each minute movement of the muscles in Sarah's face, it seemed, garnered her features with a different expression, many of which Chuck had a hard time placing a name to, but the last one… That he did know the name of.
Regret.
Chuck'd spent the better part of the last 2 years stuck in that funk. Actually, it was probably more accurate to say the better part of his life.
Getting to her feet, pulling the sheets from the bed and wrapping them snuggly around her, a safety barrier between herself and the world, and began pacing the room once again, the pace painfully slow, so distant from the agile and vibrant Sarah that Chuck had fallen in love with, Chuck was hard pressed to recognise her.
"Oh…", Sarah breathed, the noise a ghostly whisper that sent chills down the back of Chuck's spine, despite the warm summer sunlight still attempting to break its way into their now not so cosy room.
Chuck let the word hang in the turgid atmosphere, filling the room with a smog so thick, it was almost difficult to breathe. What could he say to make this any easier? Nothing, was the answer. Absolutely, positively jack shit. The best thing he could do for her now was to stay quiet, let Sarah process the information. But damn it if he didn't feel like a jerk for just sitting there uselessly, much like a lemon.
Sarah continued her pacing, halting in her step at random intervals, opening her mouth as if to say something, only to close it again, much like her pet goldfish, and return to her wandering reverie.
She couldn't wrap her mind around it. Sarah had been pretty good at building emotional barriers during her time as a spy, and even before that, when she was with her dad running con after con, never letting the people in one town, one school ever get too close to her real emotions, to the real Sam…
But the walls that she'd put around this, around Morocco and Mark Austin were always a bit shaky. The mortar wasn't quite up to standard, and the laying of the bricks themselves was in dire need of attention from the get go, so much so that the mere mention of that fateful name was enough to bring it crashing down at her feet, forcibly trapping her in the debris rather than keeping everyone else out.
She'd told herself a million times over that if she could do it all over again, she'd do it differently, do it better. But Sarah knew that it was all a lie, an attempt to placate the part of her that refused to fail and the small part of her that was still in denial over the whole... Incident… She'd done everything as she'd been told, by the book so to speak, exactly as spelt out to her by the Director.
"I never intended things to go the way they did. Never." Sarah sighed, her arms coming to cross in front of her stomach, her eyes intent upon them.
"But, I guess, there are some things in life that you just can't control…"
"Sarah, you don't have to explain, I…" Chuck interrupted, the sincerity in his voice perfectly echoed in his eyes and body language as he moved to push himself off the bed and to Sarah's side.
"No, Chuck", Sarah interrupted forcefully, her eyes like ice, directing a stare of cool intensity upon him. She'd carried this around with her for too long, it was time to clear the air, get everything out in the open, much like Chuck had described it earlier. Only this wasn't something she wanted to do. This was something she had to do.
"I have to do this." Sarah repeated verbally, nodding her head slightly in confirmation before returning to her seat next to Chuck on the bed.
"I got this assignment the same day I left Burbank… I was on my way back to Washington, still on the plane, when the Director briefed me… I remember he looked more rugged than usual, less put together, which was a relief because I probably looked the same way, although the Director didn't have bloodshot eyes and mascara tracks…"
"Agent Walker, I hope you're debrief regarding reassignment from The Intersect Project by General Beckman went smoothly"
"Yes Sir" Sarah nodded, an involuntary sniff escaping from her, evading the tenuous grasp of her spidery fingers as they attempted to pull it back in.
The Director paused in his studies of the paperwork littering his usually immaculate desk, glasses perched on his nose, to draw his scrutinising attention directly upon the heartbroken agent.
"Is everything alright, Agent? You look… Well, to be frank, like shit."
'Yeah…' , Sarah thought with as much amusement as she could, at this point, muster, 'right back at ya.'
"I'm perfectly well Director." Sarah lied knowing full well nothing about her at this moment was that mythical thing of 'perfect'.
"Everything is fine. Just a little tired." Sarah added, just in an attempt to divert suspicion from the real reason for her puffy panda eyes.
"Yes, yes… Very well", the Director replied sceptically, pushing the glasses that were now almost hanging off his face back up his nose.
"Under your seat you'll find the details of your next assignment. It's in Morocco and is regarding a very… how should I say..? Sensitive piece of intelligence that may become imperative to the safety, not only of the United States, but of her allies also."
"Understood, Director" Sarah replied nonchalantly, leaning down to retrieve the papers that had been hidden in their customary, yet awkward place. It wasn't exactly like this was her first rodeo, the intersect project was pretty much the most highly classified project in the whole of the country. Eyes only kind of stuff. This was probably child's play in comparison.
"Good. This asset has been troublesome in the past, hence the passing of responsibility of handler to you, Agent Walker. I want you to make sure he gets everything he wants, Walker. Everything."
Sarah's head snapped up from the file of one Mark Austin she currently had lying gently upon her knees. Everything?
'Fuck…' Sarah thought, a small sadistic smile playing on her lips at the irony of her choice of words. It wasn't as if she hadn't done these kinds of things before. She'd actually done it quite a bit, as most female agents seem to, in the early days, something her male counterparts referred to as something sufficiently sexist like 'earning your stripes' or some shit. All those times she hadn't given it much of a second look. Her country was bigger than her self-pride and self-worth, so the decision hadn't really been all that hard. But now? This soon after Chuck? Sarah didn't know if she could stomach it, if things went that far, didn't know if she could put on a convincing performance for the audience of one.
"Agent Walker?" The Director asked, once again fixing her with a bewildered look, tinged with curiosity. "Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
"Yes Sir…" Sarah replied tentatively, the need to lick her lips becoming unbearably comfortable that she had to pause in her small sentence.
"I understand."
"Excellent. All the information you need should be in the file provided. Are there any questions, Agent Walker?"
Sarah flicked through the papers on her knees, most of the intel was redacted, useless, especially that regarding the device she was supposed to be there to help protect.
"Umm… Sir?", Sarah began tentatively, the Director's finger hovering ominously over that unseen button to end the conference call.
"Yes, Agent Walker? What is it?"
"This file has no information on the device that I'm being assigned to protect. No name, no information on its capabilities, not even what the thing looks like."
"That is correct, Agent Walker."
"But Sir, how can I…"
"All the information that is pertinent to your task is in that folder, Agent. Your primary task is to ensure the co-operation and safety of Mr Austin. All other concerns are secondary to that, do you understand?" The Director dismissed ,perhaps slightly more harshly than he intended, which he regretted.
"Yes Sir, but…"
"Good. I'm glad we understand each other."
"Good luck in Morocco, Walker. I've heard the tagine is spectacular."
And with that, the director was gone, the screen that once depicted his strangely intimidating disembodied, it almost seemed, head, suddenly silent and dark where it had once been so vibrant.
'Great', Sarah fumed, throwing the useless file onto the chair across from her, sheets of loose paper billowing out of it only to come floating, not unlike the snowflakes of the Swiss Alps, frustratingly serenely to the ground, adding their small, yet significant piece to the ever increasing entropy of Sarah Walker's life.
Sarah Walker had never been to Morocco before. Of course she'd heard the tales of Europe meets Africa, of east meets west, that most of the Maghreb countries boasted, but in her experience, despite how much research you do on a country, how many words on a page you assimilate, nothing ever comes close to actually being there.
The smells that hit Sarah's nostrils as she sped past the market stalls that littered Marrakech were a sensory bombardment of rich, pungent and aromatic flavours that reminded Sarah faintly of one of those boutique-y, Paper Street Soap Company-esque, soap stores mixed with the spice and scent of London's Brick Lane curry houses, reminding her of a particularly interesting mission involving the creative use of poppadums, Sarah knew Chuck would just love…
Except he wasn't here. And she was alone. Again.
The euphoria of this vibrant and lively place, personified in the colours the chatter of the gathering crowds around the stalls in this more traditional, old fashioned and forgotten part of the city, oozed out of Sarah, remaining in the market whilst she sped into the distance, down the road, and into the never-ending emptiness that supposedly led to her destination. Sarah's melancholy was reflected in her thoughts; she was fully prepared to see a pair of giant legs protruding from the landscape, the most inner circle of hell, yet the only way out.
'Why this is hell, nor am I out of it.' Sarah mused, shrugging off the criminal mismatch of literary works she'd just committed as she descended into the darkness.
It seemed mere moments later that Sarah finally reached her destination, a small Berber town called Asni, just outside the metropolis of Marrakech in the shadow of the Jbet Troubkat Mountain, which by local standards, she understood, was renowned for its multitude of con-men and hustlers.
'Just like growing up', Sarah thought as she stepped out of her ostentatiously out of place Aston Martin DB9 into the dirt that comprised the road. Another great piece of work by the CIA at remaining incognito, it seemed, in fact, Sarah would have pegged this more for the NSA than CIA, so maybe it wasn't all that bad after all.
Sarah sighed, slamming the door of the DB9 behind her, glancing up and down at the worn down carpet store that stood before her. The place was a mess. The paint work looked as though it had been completed in the 1800's and then never tended to again, the sign was falling off, the shop now being called 'he maic carpe' rather than its original name of, from what Sarah could make out, 'The Magic Carpet'.
'Now this', Sarah said to herself as she opened the creaky door, the bell over the doorway chiming her entrance, 'is more like it.'
The inside of the 'shop' was in complete juxtaposition to the outward façade. The place was immaculately clean; carpets hanging from the walls and rolled in neat rows were precisely hung and placed, much more in the style of a US government substation. Obviously they'd picked a more experienced team than the one that'd decided to give her an Aston Martin in the middle of donkey-ville, but… You win some, you lose some, even when it comes to the CIA.
Walking further into the substation, the evidence of bugs and audio/video devices beyond the usual spectrum for a place like this began to show themselves; to the trained eye that is. A GL5000 placed covertly on one of the hangings, only being visible to the naked eye at a particular angle, an FR700 on one of the display cabinets. The sound of shuffling bought Sarah's attention snapping in front of her, towards the back of the store, where a shadowed figure now stood.
A male, tall, around 6'2" if Sarah had to estimate. He was lanky, most definitely not muscular, but not stick thin either. As the sun was released from its cloud guarded prison, the light it gave shone brilliantly into the small windows of the store, lifting the atmosphere, and gifting Sarah a view of the person who stood between her and the unassuming entrance to the CIA bunker at the back of the store.
Sarah gasped. Blinking her eyes to dispel this tortuous illusion, the person in front of her becoming ever clearer to her, although whether that was a good or bad thing was debatable.
"Hi", the figure said, stepping forward ever so slightly, bringing himself further into the light whilst holding out his hand in greeting.
"I'm Mark. You must be Agent Walker."
The hair, the eyes, the physique… No amount of blinking on Sarah's part would change the uncanny similarity between this man and the one she'd left at home… No, damn it, in Burbank.
"Yes, that would be correct. It's a pleasure to meet you Mark", Sarah replied stoically after a pregnant pause, which, luckily, this Mark Austin seemed to have missed. They say that the more things change, the more they stay the same. In this case, Sarah was inclined to agree, the resemblance of this Mark to Chuck was uncanny.
Closing the distance between them to shake the proffered hand, Sarah took a furtive glance at her new asset's face. Now she was up close, the features that looked so much like Chuck's from a distance, were easily distinguishable from that of the Human Intersect's.
His eyes, for example. Sarah noticed that they were dark, almost to the point of being completely black, whilst Chuck's were always more of a chocolate brown, hinting on the edge of green that never failed to leave her drowning in their vast oceans.
And his smile. That had nothing on that grin that always lit up Chuck's face whenever she failed to understand one of his and Morgan's many Star Wars references, or even just when he came to have the ever delectable home cooked, Sarah Walker's Wienerlicious corn dogs, 9 times out of 10 burnt to a crisp. Sarah would be the first to admit that she wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, the world's greatest chef. But Chuck always seemed more than happy to eat the offending articles. Even, on what they'd jointly termed a 'black day', in honour of the nicely charcoaled crust of the wieners - he'd smile the same way on a 'golden day', but those were few and far between, much more rare. Compared to that, this imitation Chuck's attempt at a smile was feeble. In fact, Sarah wasn't sure whether it was even sincere.
"Wait." Chuck breathed gently, surprise etched in Picasso, cubist style across his face. "You like my smile? I always thought it was kind of on the cusp of dorky nerd slash creepy pervert."
Sarah couldn't help but chuckle. Of course that was the first thing he'd pick out. And how could anyone think his smile was anything but adorable, not forgetting frustratingly infectious to boot.
"Yes, Chuck", Sarah replied in mock exasperation, "I like your smile. In fact, I find it kinda sexy…"
Sarah turned her attention towards Chuck, the offending smile just coming to full bear, a glint in her eye that Chuck hadn't seen since their escapades the night before.
"Aaand…", Chuck drawled, pulling out the vowels in an overly theatrical, sports commentator style, "I've got a doppelganger, awesome!"
As soon as Chuck finished his sentence, Sarah's face fell into that all familiar empty closed off look Chuck'd been fighting since day one. Why'd he have to be such an idiot and open his big trap? This was another one of those Delorean moments that seemed to keep cropping up with alarming frequency. It wasn't as though he didn't know the story, know the tragedy of it all, he was just an idiot with a Stanford degree, it seemed. Go figure.
"Sarah, I'm so sorry, I…" Chuck began to ramble, before being cut off by the woman now sitting dejectedly by his side.
The two sat, their bodies statues in the silence, for what seemed, to Chuck as comparable to the length of time it'd taken Morgan to finally finish Mass Effect 2. And that was a very long time. It was Chuck's turn to attempt a goldfish impression, his mouth opening and closing again repeatedly, failing to find the words to make everything okay again. But seeing as it was his big mouth that had gotten him into this mess in the first place, maybe his lack of words was for the best.
Sarah knew that Chuck hadn't said what he had with the intention of hurting her. In fact, it was the complete opposite, he was trying to diffuse the tension, make this all easier for her to tell, she understood that, and was, in the most part, thankful for that. Chuck wouldn't be Chuck if he didn't do those little things that most people overlooked or purposely ignored. So why did his words hurt so much?
A gentle rubbing of her knee brought Sarah out of her thoughts, focussing instead on the hand that was inviting her to grasp it, and never let go, offering itself as her anchor to reality, reaffirming to her that this was all real, and that he was here, and as bad as it sounds… That he wasn't that person in Morocco and that this was all retrospect.
Snatching up Chuck's hand with her own, feeling the warmth of his skin filling her with a renewed strength, Sarah turned, once again to face her interrogator, her lover, her confidante.
"I did exactly as I was told. Exactly what Graham told me to, Chuck." Sarah mumbled, her fingers tracing absent circles into Chuck's palm as she resumed her narrative, the breath in Chuck's throat hitching as wonderful shocks of electricity tingled their way throughout his hand.
"Do you understand what I'm saying?"
The intensity in Sarah's eyes expelled any doubts as to the meaning of her words that Chuck might have had. Not that he did. Nodding, so as to avoid the inevitable verbal faux pas he would commit, Chuck stilled Sarah's wandering fingers, gently intertwining them with his.
"But it was empty. It was a means of getting complete co-operation, there was no feeling in it… It was just… Empty…"
"Agent Walker…" Mark's voice emanated breathily from the adjacent room, what Sarah now knew to be the bedroom of her one and only asset.
Sarah paused mid-step, the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention as she cringed internally. She'd heard that tone of voice before, many times, although it didn't take a genius to figure that out in this case.
Standing completely still in the small hallway that attached itself to the bathroom, two small bedrooms, a larger study/base of operations that once made up the kitchen, and the carpet store frontage, Sarah fought to find an answer to Mark's call that was sufficiently obvious as to her lack of intentions, but polite enough to ensure that the boss didn't get any reports of her 'failing her duties'.
"Uh, Yes, Mark? Are you alright?" Sarah shouted from where she was standing, afraid that moving closer, or in fact into the bedroom would only confirm, what where only at the moment, suspicions.
Satisfied that her answer was adequately non-committal, Sarah began a quick walk towards the bathroom, feigning the need to freshen up, have, perhaps a bath, even if it was just for 30 minutes, might be just long enough to give her new asset second thoughts.
"Sarah. Could you come here for a moment?" Mark breathed to her once again, the smile on his face audible in his words.
"I could really use your… Umm... Ass-istance…"
Sarah cringed once again, her hand stilling on the bathroom door handle, prepped as it was to pull her into the relative safety of the restroom.
'Bollocks', Sarah whispered to herself, her eyes closing slowly as she inhaled a long, hard breath, a sadistic part of her almost bursting from the innuendo her mind had created regarding the simple and vital process of breathing.
"I'll be there in a sec, just gotta go use the facilities, okay?" Sarah blurted, suddenly finding herself in the room in question, the door slamming to a close behind her.
But the time alone, the solitude of those precious few moments, wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. The gleam in the brand new, floor to ceiling, white bathroom tiles, reflected her guilt 1700 different ways, guilt at an act that she hadn't even performed yet, but one that she knew, unequivocally, that she'd never forgive herself for.
Sliding her back down the closed door, Sarah brought her knees up to her chest, her arms hugging them as if life depended on it. What choice did she have? Graham had been as clear as her reflection in the tiles was now, she was to do whatever it took. In a world that was full of grey areas, of shades of colour blurring the lines, in this, there were none.
She wanted to scream in frustration, but knew the effort would be futile, and only serve to notify Mark that things were getting to her, that she wasn't the unflappable agent that she used to be. Instead, Sarah used the towel rail as an impromptu punching bag, the hollow crack of knuckle on metal failing to provide that satisfying weight and 'poof' that was she so much associated with a punching bag.
Sarah swept her way out of the bathroom, her feet and demeanour betraying none of the hesitation and guilt bubbling beneath the surface of her carefully constructed façade. She never let her legs falter, knowing that stopping now would leave her legs stuck in metaphorical quick sand, the brain would make the neurones fire, sending that tiny electrical impulse shooting down towards her quads, hamstrings, calves… But they wouldn't answer. Refused. Insufficient funds, they would reply. And so her step was strong, rhythmic, mesmerising, bringing her swiftly to the doorway, to her asset, and into whatever fantasies he might have, because she had to do whatever it took.
"Mark?" Sarah called, reaching the doorway only to find, much to her relief, that the bed, and the room, it seemed, was empty – the sheets on the bed betraying no evidence of foul play or tampering.
"Mark?" Sarah called again, her guard being roused as she entered the room slowly, each foot passing just in front of the other, hands poised to retrieve her favourite Smith & Wesson from its home at the small of her back.
"Where are you?"
"Agent Walker…" The voice came from behind her, causing her to pivot instantly on her heels, gun coming to bear just as she locked eyes with the presence behind her.
"Sarah." The voice, her asset, Mark, continued huskily, un-phased by the large hand gun currently pointing itself directly at the man's heart, the barrel literally centimetres from his, what Sarah now realised, much to her dismay, was bare skin.
'So much for hoping he needed help changing a light bulb', Sarah thought to herself, wishing that on this occasion, her gut hadn't been right.
Uncocking and returning her gun to its rightful place, Sarah took a step backwards, maintaining the polite amount of personal space required by common etiquette for a person, exactly like Mark, that you'd just met.
"Is everything okay? You said you needed help?" Sarah asked as politely and innocently as she could, hoping that this Chuck look-a-like didn't just look like Chuck, but also had the same degree of chivalry and awkwardness around women that Sarah couldn't help but find adorable.
"No, Sarah. Is it okay if I call you Sarah, Sarah? Everything is not okay." Mark replied, sharp and to the point, with a hint of lust that was reinforced by the movement of his tongue sliding slowly across his bottom lip. His eyes were too dark to read, Sarah had decided. Not at all like Chuck's, so open and vulnerable, kind and forgiving… With Mark, she'd have to take every cue from his body language.
'Not that that', Sarah mused to herself, glancing down at the growing protuberance in her assets pants, artfully masking a retch as a hiccup, 'was any problem at the moment'.
Mark closed the distance, his fingers ghosting over the buttons of her blouse, toying with them as he spoke into her ear, his voice a mixture of smug satisfaction and arousal.
"Isn't it amazing how far the US government is prepared to let its Agents, its faithful defenders, just for a piece of technology, hmm?"
Sarah stood stock still, eyes closed, the cool breeze now hitting her chest like water released from the dam indicating to her the fact that her blouse was, indeed, being removed.
"If I'd known just how… Committed US intelligence agents were before… Well… Let's just say I'd have defected much earlier, if you know what I mean…"
Sarah wanted to be sick. Whatever illusion she could have made for herself to make this whole ordeal bearable had just been shattered. This Mark was nothing like Chuck. Not one bit. Mark had pretty much told her that she wasn't going to get away with anything less than the whole 9 yards tonight, and though it made her physically ill to think about it, it all came back down to that one question.
What other choice did she have? It was just them, there was no other female agent, no Carina to come and save the day, to protect her honour and enjoy herself doing it.
So, she'd give him what he wanted. She may be a bit of 2x4 in the process, but Mark would get what he wanted, Graham would get what he wanted and the whole world would be ecstatic and grateful.
"Why the reluctance, Agent Walker?" Mark asked, a glint in his eye making Sarah no less uneasy with the current situation, his rough, coarse fingers all the while working their way down her blouse.
"Something on your mind? Don't worry," he laughed, bringing his face level with Sarah's, his lips ghosting hers as he spoke, "I'll make it so you forget all of your troubles."
'Yeah, right', Sarah thought, sarcasm lacing them like arsenic spiked wine as the blouse was pulled forcibly from her and she was propelled backwards onto the plush cushions and sheets of Mark's king-sized bed.
Never had Sarah thought that the particular war-time saying that was currently running rampant in her head was more apt. If she was English, that is.
'Lean back and think of England', Sarah scoffed.
'Lean back and think of England indeed.'
Chuck didn't know what to do, what to think, what to say to make sure that Sarah totally understood how he felt, where he was coming from. Okay, so he was angry that she'd do something so… intimate with this person she hardly knew, with her asset, what he had been for so long and yet she'd never given an inch.
Not that he could really complain about that now, Chuck supposed. He got it.
Kinda.
She'd had orders, the way she spoke about what had happened, which Chuck was eternally grateful to her for, she could have, of course, neglected to tell him anything… extra-curricular, so to say, about their relationship. She was a spy, her life was cocooned in a web of lies and misdirection, so for Sarah to tell him this, was big. He got it. He might not like it, but he got it.
This realisation, however, did nothing to help his current predicament. Sarah could read him like a book, she probably already knew, better than himself, what he was feeling, and talking really wasn't going to help his cause. He'd screwed up, recently, on that front, and another self-inflicted wound was the last thing Chuck wanted at the moment. He'd got enough of those, at various stages of repair, already.
But saying nothing? Was that really the answer? It wasn't being supportive. Or was it? Chuck wanted to tell her so much how he understood, that these things, in her line of work, came with the territory, that, despite the pain it caused him, and as horrible as this sounded, this was nothing worse than what she'd already done to him. In his life, there was one person to whom Chuck could attribute the most painful and the most beautiful moments of his life to. That person, for better or for worse, was the tired, uncharacteristically weathered looking beauty before him.
Looking upon her now, Chuck knew that any argument as to his feelings towards Sarah, towards what she had done, were juvenile and futile. As much as he may want to, and as much as other people may tell him if they knew, he couldn't just turn off his feelings for the one and only Sarah Walker. She was his life, and without her, he was nothing. Nothing but a computer nerd living with his sister in Burbank, when the rest of his class had made it big, gotten careers, made something of themselves. No, not even that. He was empty. She was Han to his Chewbacca, creating an almost symbiotic relationship, which was stronger, more versatile than the mortal coil.
The thought brought a small smile to Chuck's lips, his eyes glistening in the light of true realisation.
Now, finally, he actually got it. The facts had been processed, the data analysed, and Chuck had reached the following conclusion: That whatever Sarah did, whatever obstacles may be thrown their way, he'd be there. Hadn't that been what he'd been doing for the last two years anyway?
Chuck locked eyes with the anxious pair scrutinising his every silent movement. He wanted to express all that he'd finally understood, everything that couldn't be said, because words lacked the eloquence, the necessary finesse to articulate, in his eyes. The same way her eyes were the portals into the mind, the thoughts and feelings of Sarah, he wanted her to understand. And, not to be scared of what he might think, because she never had to be scared again. He'd never let anything happen to her, ever again.
Sarah couldn't bear to continue, the guilt, the pain that was coursing through her body almost made it physically impossible for her to form and expel the words waiting on her tongue, waiting to cause more pain to the one person who'd ever waited for her, the one person who'd never hurt her. The one person who'd she'd hurt more than anyone else in her life.
So why was he grinning like that? Not a grimace, like Sarah had imagined, but a genuine smile. One of contentment, of peace…
What the hell?
She'd just told him that she'd slept with another man, one that she hadn't even known for twenty four hours, one that was in the same situation as they had been in when she'd pushed him away… And all he did was grin? In silence?
"Chuck…" Sarah began tentatively, her curiosity at his ease getting the better of her, despite the apprehension that was still flitting through her body.
"Sarah", Chuck breathed in response, the smile never leaving his face as he sat, without a care in the world, it seemed, beside her.
"Are you okay? I… I'm so sorry, I know what I did was… I'm not going to defend it, I know, at the end of the day, it was my choice, I didn't have to let him do what he did… I could have stopped it… I could…" Sarah babbled, matching Chuck's lack of verbal eloquence.
"No." Chuck stated, the strength that Sarah had shown so many times before manifesting itself, for once, within him.
"No, you didn't. You did what you had to do. I never want to you to feel like you need to apologise to me for anything that isn't your fault, Sarah. Graham sent you there, he told you to give this Mark what he wanted, whatever he wanted. If it's anyone's fault, Sarah, it's his."
Sarah didn't know if she could have ever dreamt a better response to what was one of the biggest regrets of her life from the one, and only, man she'd ever loved. He truly was too good to be true, although she knew that Chuck was probably still being his usual self, looking out for her feelings before taking care of his own, letting those niggles eat away at him until they finally came spilling out in a Vesuvian eruption of emotion. If he was going to take care of her, then she sure as hell was going to do the same thing for him, even if she had no clue where to start.
"Chuck…" Sarah repeated again, her voice soft as she reached her hand to his cheek, the unshaven, morning stubble greeting her hand with tiny, exquisite electric shocks at each follicle.
"It's okay to be angry, to be hurt. It's okay."
Looking back into his eyes, Sarah saw little sign of the pain she'd accused him of hiding. There was something. At the very back, a small corner of his eye that wasn't quite… Wasn't quite as alive as the rest. Rather than reflecting the light that gave Chuck that aura of perpetual jollity, they absorbed it – a lone quasar in the midst of a nebula – and Sarah couldn't help but feel she was the one responsible for it.
"Sarah. I love you. What do you want me to say?" Chuck said, his tone matching Sarah's note for note.
"Maybe I don't particularly like what you had to do. Maybe you are right, maybe things could have occurred differently. But they didn't. I can't live in the past anymore, Sarah, I did that for two years, it was many things, but healthy, it was not. And I don't want you to either. We don't live in a perfect world, I understand that. Perhaps thing are easier for 'normal' people, but, Sarah, I don't know how to get you to understand this. For me, you are it. I… Don't want normal, don't want things to be easy, because the things you fight for are the things worth keeping, the things that truly matter. This…" Chuck stated, using his hands to gesticulate slowly around himself.
"This is what matters, Sarah. I'm not going to let one silly little thing, which wasn't even your fault, and which is obviously making you feel like shit, ruin this. I love you, Sarah. Always."
"Chuck…" Sarah repeated once again, an impressive imitation of a record that had seemingly become broken within the past 5 minutes, evidence of tears beginning to pool in the side of her eyes, her hands still holding his face in a gentle embrace.
"I love you too. But…" Sarah drawled, the tears trailing salty tracks down her porcelain cheeks being accompanied by the classic sniff-chuckle combo.
"You have to promise me that in this thing that we have, this relationship, you take the lead. That you'll be in charge, because, Chuck, if you haven't already guessed, I suck at relationships. Seriously suck."
Chuck's face lit up almost literally at Sarah's use of the word relationship. Never had she seen such an extreme reaction to one singular, pretty passive word. But then again, when Chuck did something, he never did it by halves.
"Are you sure? Cos, y'know…" Chuck began, his hands coming to rest upon Sarah's hips, rotating her gently so he could better appreciate the love of his life.
"My sister once told me this thing, this little saying. She said: set a bird free, if it doesn't return to you, it was never yours to begin with. If it returns to you, it's yours, forever. Forever, Sarah, and everything that goes with that."
Chuck made sure he emphasised just how serious he was, repeating to a woman who lived in terms of days and weeks, never of months or years, let alone lifetimes, the one word that was of utmost import.
Forever.
"Forever…" Sarah whispered contemplatively, rolling the word around on her tongue, getting a taste for it.
It tasted sweet, like honey, irresistible and moreish. The word forever had never tasted so good, in fact, before, it had never tasted good at all, but rotten and decaying. Sarah hadn't really thought in terms of forever before mainly for that fact, and, of course, you never really knew where tomorrow was going to take you as an agent of the US government. But things were different now. She felt, for the first time in her life, that she actually had a purpose, beyond being a disposable doll for the government or being used in her father's schemes and cons. This was something that was important, a matter of life and death, and it was something that she had control over. Something, for once, that filled that gaping hollow space in her chest that actually made her happy.
Yes, she'd put on an act of defiance of unwilling when Chuck had mentioned the word 'children'. Sarah'd never pictured her life being anything apart from the current mission and the next until she got too old to be effective and got sat behind a desk, or she had a good old meeting with the Grim Reaper. But Chuck just had this way of changing everything you thought you ever wanted, and showing you something so much better than you could ever have dreamed.
With Chuck, her dreams had, indeed, changed, Sarah had ceased being greeted in repose by dreams of that glorious capture, of the best way to take down a particular target, rising through the ranks of the CIA singlehandedly. They'd become a different beast completely. The capture was replaced by a pair of glimmering, glistening rings on her left ring finger, the target had transformed into a man, tall, dark and terminally handsome. And rising through the ranks? Well that didn't really figure in the agenda anymore. Not with how many…
Sarah drank in the features of the man before her, her angel in the life of hell on earth she had so far led, his presence promising to change all that, just like he'd managed to change everything else. Forever. Now the only challenge would be to make him believe that she truly meant it... Now even more than he did.
"I kinda like the idea of that…"
Planting a soft kiss to Chuck's perfect lips, Sarah mulled the most important word she'd come across so far in her life over in her head. Damn it sounded good.
"Forever."
A/N 2: So… What did you guys think? A taster of the mystery that is Morocco (of which there will be more, don't worry!). Good, bad, disappointing? Lol! Any and all reviews are more than welcome and appreciated! Oh yeah, and don't forget not to work too hard, and make sure to have a great day you guys! You deserve it :D