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Roses From Hell

x-x-x-x-x

Sarah's waking thought was how horribly wrong she had been last night. In her mock decision-making process, she teased Chuck by telling him that the bed would be more comfortable. After all, the couch really wasn't designed for one person to sleep on it comfortably all night, much less two. So they were currently wedged together so firmly that it was almost impossible to move. Lying beside him was impossible, which meant she was more or less directly on top of them, every square inch of their bodies touching in some way.

Even as she stirred awake, she struggled to find a word to describe the night. 'Odd' wasn't exactly right, but 'magical' fell short, too. They had alternated making-love sessions with giggling sessions so many times that Sarah lost track. And it seemed Chuck was right. He knew her perfectly, what she wanted before even she did. And maybe he still left it up to her to get things started, but once she did, he took the lead and took her to places she never imagined.

It made her wonder if he was always this generous in bed or was he just trying extra hard to impress her? She strongly suspected the former, and if so, that made Sarah Walker-Bartowski the luckiest woman in the world.

But Sarah still wasn't sure which she liked best, because the giggling sessions were every bit as fun. In a different way perhaps, but every single bit as intense. Not that Sarah had much to compare it to after spending her life around agents and conmen with no sense of humor, but Chuck was simply the funniest man she had ever met. Lying beside him and laughing until her side hurt and still not being able to stop was not only a totally new and wonderful experience. It was perhaps the very best feeling of her life.

The small afghan that usually adorned the back of the couch was clearly designed to be more decorative in nature. Chuck said that she had picked it out on a mission about six weeks before they were married, specifically on the same mission where they had witnessed for themselves that the oft rumored romance between Beckman and Roan Montgomery was indeed real. In fact, during one of their giggling sessions he told her that they had once witnessed them in a rather compromising position that Sarah was probably better off not remembering. He also let slip that she had shown off her belly-dancing skills. She wasn't sure if he was teasing about that, because she didn't remember reading about that bit in the mission files, but it could very well explain the bedlah hanging in her closet. Wherever she had bought the stupid afghan, it really wasn't meant to be a blanket. It didn't even come close to covering their feet.

Still, even with the squished bodies and the cold ankles, this was the most comfortable she had ever felt in her life. The heat from his body more than made up for the skimpiness of whatever was covering them. His arms, wrapped gently but firmly around her, not only kept her in place, but surrounded her with warmth. She could feel his chest rise and fall with every breath he took, took comfort in the gentle, rhythmic motion. She had never allowed herself to be in such an intimate position, so close to someone both physically and emotionally. Even better, she could see the contented smile on his face as he slept . . . and knew full well that he felt every bit as great as she did. Fulfilled, happy.

"Good morning, beautiful," he mumbled.

Sarah had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she had missed the fact that his eyes were open. He reached up one of his hands behind her head and kissed her lovingly, one of those kisses that contained the promise of even something more to come.

"How did you sleep?" he asked with a grin, his voice still sleepy.

Not only had she never slept better in her life, but this was the first time Chuck had been the one to initiate a kiss like that, at least in their new life together. The unspoken meaning was clear. He was comfortable with her. Their mini therapy session last night had worked. That made her heart soar to the point of wanting to get up and dance around the room.

She wasn't about to take anything for granted, though. She was still going to make the effort to constantly fawn all over him, but hopefully the immediate crisis had been averted. Maybe someday they could even settle into something like an established married-couple routine, whatever that looked like for them. But right now, Sarah was determined to fully enjoy every single minute of the honeymoon stage they were ensconced in, the one that showed no sign of ending anytime soon.

"I slept great," she responded with a contented sigh. "Who knew that you made such a wonderful mattress and pillow?"

Reluctantly, she rolled off of him and sat on the edge of the couch, still grinning. A bright pink spread over his cheeks, and he averted his eyes from her profile. She chuckled. Surely he was used to seeing her without clothes, right? They had been married for almost a year, had lived together for a year before that, and it was the second night in a row that had featured long, multiple love-making sessions. He certainly never complained last night as she stood there in front of the couch and put on a show for him. Yet here he was, still blushing at the sight of her naked chest. He was obviously much, much more modest about those things than she was. But she had to admit his reaction was more than a little endearing. Maybe it was best that she had resisted that temptation to dance around the room. But this also clearly presented an ongoing opportunity for her to tease him. Maybe a little of that would be in order this morning.

"I'll have to think of some innovative way to thank you for your service as my mattress," she said playfully, "but it's going to have to wait until after breakfast. My stomach's growling."

It was true. They hadn't eaten since dinner, and they'd just gone through quite a physical night. Her stomach was kicking up a fuss.

A sparkle in her eyes, she grabbed his hand and guided it toward her stomach. "Feel that?" she asked.

Chuck cleared his throat, his eyes widening slightly as he felt the gurgling. "I'm so sorry. You must be starving. I'll go see if we have anything in the house for breakfast. I don't think we do."

She tried to meet his eyes, but he kept his gaze averted as he made to get up. "That's so sad," she said, still teasing. "It has my heart racing in disappointment." Smiling wickedly, she took his hand and dragged it up towards her heart. "See if you can feel that."

He pulled his hand free from her grasp and laughed. "Very funny. Nice try."

"What?" she said with feigned innocence, joining in his laughter. "You don't want to feel my heart beating?"

"Yeah, I don't think so. I'm on to you, missy." He sat up, making sure the blanket still covered him, and said, "I'll just run out and pick us up something for breakfast."

"Want me to come with you?" she asked quietly. She wasn't teasing now, because simply the thought of letting him go for even a moment or two sent a sting through her. Is this what it felt like? Did being in love mean never wanting to leave this blissful bubble, never let anyone in on their paradise? If so, she found herself surprisingly okay with that.

Chuck, the blanket wrapped around himself, fished around the room for his clothes. "That's okay," he mumbled, pulling on his shirt. "I have a couple of quick errands to run. You'll probably want to shower anyways. I'll be back before you realize I'm gone."

x-x-x-x-x

The shower was more than refreshing. It was heavenly. The night had been exhausting in the best way possible, but still exhausting, and the steam water rejuvenated her senses.

As she stepped out and dried off, she was half-tempted to keep teasing him by staying mostly undressed, or at least by wearing something very revealing. But she finally decided to get dressed . . . for now, anyway. There was no doubt that Chuck was beginning to get the general idea that she was more than willing to parade around in front of him in various stages of undress as well as poke good-natured fun at him over his embarrassment about it. Maybe that was a weapon she should keep in her holster until a time when it would really come in handy.

Her decision to get fully dressed turned out to be a good one when the doorbell rang. There could be no one else it could be this early, and it wouldn't do to give Morgan any visuals he didn't need. And she didn't want to scar poor Alex if she happened to be with him.

It wasn't Morgan, though. When Sarah opened the door, a delivery man was standing there with two dozen stunning, long-stemmed roses.

"You Sarah Walker?" he asked gruffly.

She nodded, signed, and took the flowers, hardly noticing his departure as she held them up to her nose and took a hearty sniff. They smelled wonderful, like summer Sundays and sunshine. She already knew the perfect place for them. As she placed the vase on the bedside table, she swore she could see Chuck's face as he woke up to their scent and beauty the next morning.

It was so sweet of him to send flowers, but as she sank onto the edge of the bed, she found herself fighting a sigh. What woman wouldn't love to receive such beautiful roses? Her lips twisted in a frown as she stared at the blood-red petals. After their past few days together, she'd come to expect a sort of perfection out of Chuck. Roses were . . . cliché. Besides, after knowing things even she didn't know about herself, it wasn't too much to expect him to know her favorite flower. Was it? Not to mention that he'd sent them to Sarah Walker. They'd have to have a little chat about that later. Without the business to protect, she was fully comfortable with taking his name for good. It was the mark of a new life, a new beginning, a new family. The hyphen was history.

Still, the whole gesture was sweet, which was the best adjective to describe Chuck, and there was no sense in making him feel badly when he was honestly trying to do something nice.

Hearing him at the door, she straightened, got up, and poked her head out into the hallway, looking forward to the promised breakfast.

"Breakfast!" he called from the kitchen.

"Be there in a sec!" she called back, running a brush through her hair one last time. "Thanks for the flowers!"

"Um . . ." he began, his voice a little off, "you're welcome." She paused. Had that been a question? But she shook it off as he continued, "I figured it's not right for you to do all the fawning. Maybe I could romance you a little, too."

"Well, they're really beautiful," she called, injecting a bit more enthusiasm into her voice.

"Okay, now you're really freaking me out," he laughed as he stuck his head through the bedroom doorway. "I know all about the spy thing, but seriously, you haven't even seen the flowers yet."

When she looked over at him, he was holding a bundle of striking snow-white flowers in his fist. Gardenias. A thrill shot through her heart only to be quickly replaced by a sense of dread. If Chuck hadn't sent them . . .

Unfortunately, while she struggled for an answer, Chuck's mind seemed to supply the worst one. A few steps closer to the table, he reached it before her and was the first to the card.

She set her jaw, fighting her instincts to grab the card out of his hand. Neither of them knew who they were from, and this could all just be an innocent mix-up. Maybe it was from the Awesomes, a get-well, hope-you-get-your-memories-back bouquet. But she couldn't fight the anger bubbling up, because she was his wife, and he should trust her more than this, not feel the need to steal the card to look at it before she did.

He heaved a sigh, his eyes on the small envelope between his fingers, and then handed it over. She took it calmly, her hand steady. Her brow creased as she slid a finger under the flap, tore it open, and pulled out the card. If she had expected anything, it certainly wasn't this.

"Who are they from?" he finally asked, his voice low and hard to read, as was his expression. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't joyful. "You know what? Never mind. I'm sorry," he said with a shake of his head. "It's none of my business."

"Of course it is, and you know it," she said, her patience draining. Frowning, she looked back at the card.

Sarah,

I was an ass, as men are wont to be in the presence of a gorgeous woman. Give me another chance? I have some urgent news about a mutual friend. Dinner? 7:00 at the Grand Ambassador.

Eric

x-x-x-x-x

Eric Gold and his new team were having a raucously good time entertaining themselves with their imagined reaction to the flowers, and especially the card. With the ten-person team, including Eric and the senior agent, Alan, the suite was crowded.

"You sure she'll show up?" asked Alan gruffly. "Alone? Her history indicates she's a lot smarter than that."

Eric had to admit, he had never felt more alive. Knowing that he was now in control, that she would soon surrender, had him on fire. "She'll show," he replied confidently. They'd hit her where she lived, and if her record showed anything, it was how protective she was of this Bartowski guy. But she was also a lone wolf. She wouldn't risk his safety by bringing him along, and Agent Casey was out of the picture. There was no one left to help her. "And she'll be alone."

"I don't understand something," Alan said. "It's Bartowski who we need. Why don't we just pick him up? I'm sure we could talk him into cooperating."

"It doesn't work that way," Eric said. "We need his genuine cooperation. We can't force that out of him. He would screw us. No, he needs to think that he is doing it for her. He would do anything that she asked him too. That is what we have to make happen."

"But this is her husband we're talking about. There's no way she'll give him up."

"Then we'll have to break her." And he, for one, was looking forward to that. It was irrational, he knew. Walker wasn't the reason his career had been tanking for the past couple years. Still, she was everything he hated, the kind of agent who took initiative and broke the rules time and again but never got punished, the kind who was allowed free reign for a reason he was never able to figure out. "That's where your team comes in. She'll have to learn that cooperating with me is his only viable option."

"How far should we go?" asked Alan. He stood straight, his body taut, as if humming with anticipation of the assignment.

"Nothing permanent physically. At least not yet."

"It'd be a shame to mess up that face," agreed Alan through a chuckle.

"But don't be gentle, either," he warned.

He wanted her to feel pain, to feel empty, but most of all, he wanted her to feel helpless. She was proud. All agents were. Losing control was not something she would deal well with. Even so, he was looking forward to the battle of wills.

"Just make her understand that her pathetic husband's fate is entirely in my hands, and there'll be no question of her ultimate surrender."

Alan just stood there for a long moment. "This doesn't seem necessary," he said softly.

Eric was quickly growing tired of his questioning. Yes, of course the agency needed Bartowski. But he needed Walker. He needed to see her broken and pleading for his forgiveness. That would be the only way to move on, to redeem his honor, if only to himself. It was the way spies thought, right? They get something - I get something. It was maybe time that this middle management agent wannabe stopped arguing and followed his orders, got with the program a little. "It's necessary because I say that it's necessary," Eric snapped threateningly. "Any other questions?"

Alan snapped to attention. "No, sir," he said. "We're all over this."

x-x-x-x-x

Normally when Sarah was angry, she got quiet and introspective. That wasn't the case this time. Chuck had seen Sarah pissed before. He knew the way her lips tightened and her brow furrowed. Hell, he'd even been the cause of her anger more times than he could count. He didn't think she'd ever completely lose her hot-headedness, but no matter how many times he thought he'd get used to her temper, he'd never seen her quite like this.

She stormed over to the bedside table, snatched up the roses, and proceeded to stomp out of the bedroom and toward the kitchen, all the while spouting a line of obscenities imaginative enough to impress a sailor. He followed on her heels, hoping to at least make sure this morning ended with no glass shards scattered all over the kitchen. In a single fluid motion, she dumped the flowers into the trash can, grabbed the can, heaved open the door, and threw the entire can outside. Then, chest heaving, she took the gardenias and quickly but carefully arranged them in a new vase. She placed them on the kitchen counter, then took a step back to admire them.

She sighed, seemingly happy with the arrangement, turned to him, and said, "He shouldn't have sent those. If I had any idea they weren't from you . . ."

"Sarah, relax," he said, moving towards her to gather her in his arms. She came willingly, nestling her head against his shoulder. "He was the one who sent them, not you. The only thing I don't get is . . ."

"What?"

"He knows you're married, doesn't he?"

She pulled away from him to look in his eyes and immediately saw the unasked question – not if Gold knew, but if she had told him.

"Of course," she said. "But guys like that tend to not listen very well. And agents look at marriage differently. It's usually for convenience. Look, he didn't get the message the first time, but I'll make sure he does. Soon. All right?"

"Sure," he nodded, making sure to give his smile a boost. She hadn't done anything wrong, and he wanted to show her that he had no reason to be angry with her.

"If it makes you feel better," she told him with a smirk, "I have half a mind to kill him. It would save me the grief of suffering through another conversation with him, and you don't deserve to be subjected to his stupid antics like this."

He frowned and pulled her back against him. He hated the way she was acting as if this little thing would upset their balance, as if one tiny intrusion would set their delicate world crumbling.

"Sarah," he murmured into her hair, "stop acting like this will break us."

She sighed, a palm splayed against his chest. "It's just . . . I feel like every time we start to make some genuine progress, something happens to throw us off track again."

He fought back a chuckle, knowing that laughing right now would be a fatal mistake, so he simply ran a hand up and down her back in an effort to soothe her. "If you think making love practically all night is 'starting to make progress,' then I'm a dead man."

She laughed into his shoulder, surprised at the joke and at Chuck's reaction to all of this. He was so prone to jealousy that she'd expected this to force them five steps backward. Whatever sick game Gold was playing, the son of a bitch had just made a fatal mistake. She lifted her head to look at his face, at his relaxed smile. If anything, he was fighting the urge to laugh.

"I have no idea what Gold is up to," she told him, "but I certainly didn't give him any signals."

"Maybe he likes it rough," Chuck teased. "Maybe he considers being knocked unconscious as foreplay." His expression darkened, but he didn't add that maybe she should repeat that tonight. He would have no qualms with her kicking Gold's ass and wiping the floor with it.

She chuckled, enjoying his teasing even despite the topic of conversation. "If he thinks being knocked unconscious is foreplay, then I'm about to rock his world."

Chuck could no longer hold in the laugh. "This guy's such a moron. Didn't you say you used to know him?"

"Uh-huh."

"Then he must have a death wish."

That or he never really knew her at all, because any guy who knew Sarah understood that you couldn't approach her like you could a regular girl. She didn't need flattery or flowers. What she needed was a reason to trust you. And no, this didn't upset him as it would have a year or two ago, mainly because she couldn't – and didn't – trust a guy like Gold. She trusted him, Chuck Bartowski, her husband.

"He must," she agreed. "Don't worry. He's not going to live long enough to expend my emotional currency on."

"I'm not worried," he assured her, holding her gaze. His lips split into a smile. "In fact, I'm quite proud of how well I'm handling this."

Gazing into his warm brown eyes, the only thing she could think was how far they'd come, how much they'd grown.

Her smile fading, she reached up to grasp his neck, her thumb running along the back of his jaw. "Chuck, I may have to do some things I don't want to in order to take Gold down."

"I know that, and I'll be with you… like I always am."

"But with you, it's not like that. You know that, right?" Everything I do, it's because I want to.

He nodded, then gave her a soft kiss. "Come and eat, then."

Smiling, Sarah followed him, her hand linked with hers. On the kitchen table, there were a variety of bagels, strawberry-flavored cream cheese, and orange juice. Of course Chuck knew her favorite quick breakfast.

She sat down and pulled his hand into hers. Gently, she began, "You know I'm going to have to go tonight, don't you?"

Very calmly, he poured her a cup of coffee, and she was relieved to see that there was no tension in his posture as he did so. "I know," he nodded. "He knows it, too."

Chuck shook his head. This guy wasn't being subtle at all. He set up a scenario where she would have to agree to meet him. He was probably thinking they were arguing about it this very minute. He was going to offer her a trade, his critical information and his agreement to lay off Chuck in exchange for some groveling, and he knew what an agent's idea of groveling was. He thought he was smooth, but this idiot didn't have a clue about what made Sarah tick. So no, Chuck wasn't all that worried. At most, he was baffled over how this small, petty man ever got Sarah Walker out on a date.

"He doesn't seem to have wised up at all," he said. He chuckled. "Based on what I've heard, I can't imagine why you would ever go out with him in the first place."

Sarah bit her lip and took a sip of the coffee he slid in front of her. It was actually an excellent question. She could blame Carina for the first date, but what about the next few? Those were all her. Because she had wanted fun and freedom and no strings. It wasn't until Chuck that she'd learned how a place to ground you could be the one thing to keep you from floating away.

"Chuck," she said, "it was a long time ago. I was different back then."

"You were young, right?" he asked with a grin that was clearly designed to set her at ease. "You know, I think I'd like to meet this moron."

She was stunned, even after having been pleasantly surprised by Chuck so many times in the past week. Irrational jealousy was no longer an issue. Instead, they were looking at the situation rationally, examining the evidence, coming to logical conclusions.

"Why?" she asked with a smile. "So you can give him pointers on how to seduce me?"

"I am something of an expert on that topic, Mrs. Bartowski," he chuckled, "how to get inside Sarah's panties."

She laughed, a warm feeling filling up her chest that had nothing to do with the coffee she was drinking. It was not surprising or mind-shattering to realize that she loved Chuck. What got her insides all twisted up in the best way was the realization that she loved being married to him. It was a shame that she'd apparently resisted the idea of a relationship for so long. She could understand it, because spies and relationships didn't exactly mix, but being in one with Chuck wasn't even in the same category.

She loved the comfortable intimacy, not only physical but emotional, as well. She loved their genuine protectiveness of each other. She really loved the lovemaking. Most of all, though, she loved the conversation, the pure joy of making each other laugh, especially with someone who knew her inside and out, someone who kept her on her toes.

"That's true," she laughed. "Care to share your technique?"

Chuck grinned. "Well, it's a bit hard to describe in words. Maybe this afternoon I'll give you a live demonstration."

Sarah took a bite of her bagel, savoring the taste. She really was starved. "I'm afraid the joke would be on you, Mr. Bartowski," she said, matching his grin.

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?"

"For a couple reasons. This afternoon is totally unacceptable. I expect this demonstration right after breakfast." She nudged him with her elbow. "Eat a little faster, will you?"

Chuck made a show of looking at his wrist, as his watch was somewhere in the bedroom. "Okay," he agreed, "after breakfast fits into my schedule. So what's the second reason?"

She smirked. "What makes you think I'm even wearing panties?"

x-x-x-x-x

Sarah stood outside the restaurant at the Grand Ambassador, subtly checking that the two exits they'd identified earlier were clear. They had agreed to go into this mission as just that – a mission. No distractions, taking nothing for granted. It was Sarah's condition for allowing Chuck to come along.

Leave it to Eric to pick such a high-end place. He knew she'd be pissed off from the note but that she wouldn't dare start anything physical in such a public place, a place full of well-to-do folks out for a fancy dinner. It also required the effort of a formal dress. Though she had several in her closet, she'd chosen the least spectacular, the most modest.

Or she would have. Chuck, though, had requested the one she currently wore – a black, backless satin evening gown that looked like she'd been poured into it, with a high slit and a plunging neckline. Judging from his grin when he'd first seen her in it, it was his favorite. And she had to admit she looked good in it. It screamed of elegant sophistication, with maybe just a hint of naughty hidden somewhere inside.

Better still, it was yet another sign of how much he'd grown, that he wasn't jealous over her wearing something so overtly sexy to meet another man, even an unfortunate specimen with the title of 'ex.' Best of all, though, was that it allowed her to insist that Chuck match her level of dress. She'd been looking for an excuse to see him in a tux, and he'd practically handed it to her.

As she was picturing his tall, lean frame, his voice came crackling over her earpiece. "Have I mentioned how incredible you look tonight?" he asked, and she could practically hear the grin in his voice. "Mrs. Bartowski, you are without a doubt the most beautiful woman in the world."

She chuckled softly.

He continued, "Maybe after the mission, we can take the jet to Vegas, have a late dinner of our own. Then maybe get a room with a view and a Jacuzzi?"

She rolled her eyes. Normally, Chuck being romantic and complimenting her would have her heart pounding, and she couldn't deny that the thought of looking over the Vegas lights and sitting in a hot Jacuzzi with a glass of champagne, some strawberries, and her even hotter husband was enough to set her nerves on fire. But she was in mission mode. She had to be. For his sake.

"Don't lose focus, Chuck," she murmured. "Mission, remember? We need to be ready for anything." Especially since they really had no idea what Eric was up to.

Chuck took the gentle rebuke in stride. "Yes, ma'am," he replied, injecting gravity into his voice. Sarah wouldn't respond well to any silliness on a mission, but he really hadn't been kidding about Vegas. It was nice to finally have the money to be able to treat his wife like the goddess she was. They could still get this done quickly and have time for a diversion to Sin City afterward.

He cleared his throat. "Mission mode," he told himself under his breath. A bit louder, he said, "I'm in position. No unusual activity outside. Parking lot looks calm."

"Might as well get this over with," Sarah sighed to herself. She walked up to the maître d'. "Excuse me," she said, "I'm meeting an Eric Gold for dinner. Could you show me to his table, please?"

"Good evening," he nodded. "Yes, Miss Walker? Mr. Gold left a note for you."

"What's it say?" Chuck asked in her ear almost immediately.

"Thank you," she said, taking the note and walking away. She ensconced herself near a pillar before opening it. "It says there's been a change of plans," she told him angrily. "He wants me to come up to his suite."

x-x-x-x-x