A/N: I am still astounded by how many people are still reading this story. It's astounding. Thank you SO SO much! To everyone reading, everyone reviewing...honestly, I have no words.
And with this chapter, Chuck Versus the Steampunk Chronicles hits over 200,000 words. 28 chapters and over 200,000 words later, we're still going strong! How 'bout that?!
I hope everyone is still hanging on and enjoying this story. It's absolutely a labor of love, but it's also nice to hear that people read and like it.
Disclaimer: I still do not own CHUCK, nor am I making a pretty penny off of this story. Hell, I'm not even making an ugly penny off of it. No pennies. Nada.
When last we saw the team, they were posing as the wealthy Charleseseseseses to get a room at the Hotel Del Coronado on Coronado Island. Chuck was forced to wear a too-tight bellhop uniform so that he could sneak down and look for Ishmael Grand on the guest list. Now that they know both Grand AND Big Theo West are still staying at the Hotel Del, what's next on the agenda for our adventurers?
READ ON, READERS!
The back stairs that led from the soft sand beach up to each floor were pristine white, as though they were cleaned every day. The steps were spotless and the also white, grandiose railings were resplendent and smooth to the touch.
But none of that mattered to Chuck Bartowski as he moved up the last flight of stairs to the third floor. Because Sarah Walker was beside him and her gloved hand was wrapped around his bicep. And every so often her shoulder brushed against his arm. And was she talking to him? Or was that just the sea breeze wafting into his ears?
"Chuck? Are you listening to me?"
Oh. Right.
"Yes. Absolutely. What did you say?"
Sarah let out a soft sigh and rolled her eyes to the side, glancing over her shoulder, then down the outdoor hallway in the other direction. "Do you know the layout of the third floor?"
The door right in front of him opened and a man in his shirtsleeves appeared, his blond hair parted in the middle and combed down over his ears. He just stared at them for a long while and they stared back.
Sarah cleared her throat. "Beautiful afternoon for a walk, isn't it?" she asked, beaming.
Chuck felt the power of her smile just as acutely as he always did, even though he knew she was putting it on for show. It was just so bright and lighthearted. And it seemed to have some effect on the guest as well.
"Err…rather. Yes." He gave her a simpering, closed-mouth smile beneath his thin mustache and ducked out of the doorway again, shutting the door.
Chuck and Sarah exchanged a look and there was a flicker of humor in her blue eyes for only a moment before she curled the fingers of both of her hands around his bicep and tugged him down the hallway to the left. "You never answered my question."
"Oh. Yes."
"Yes you know the layout? Or were you just confirming that you hadn't answered my question?" She smiled and gently maneuvered him to the side to allow a maid to push a small cart past them, the smile dying once the woman had moved along.
"I know the layout relatively well at least. I brought a family's luggage to their room on this floor during my short-lived stint as a bellhop." He smiled at her but she didn't smile back, focused as she was in finding Ishmael Grand's room. "In here."
Chuck opened the door at the end of the building and held it open for Sarah to enter into the corridor before him. The lights along the walls were dim, as the bright sunlight filtered in through the windows at the end of the hallway. He assumed the maids would turn them up once the sun set in a few hours.
He led Sarah down the hallway, his pace fast, but she grabbed him by his elbow and pulled him back to her side, leaning up to speak softly in his ear. "Slow down. We're on a stroll, remember? Not actively looking for a specific member of a crime lord's entourage."
Chuck swallowed and nodded, reaching up with his right hand to loosen his tie a bit. Even with the breeze coming in through the open window at the end of the hallway, it felt a little hot and stuffy. Maybe it was the extra layers of clothing he was wearing. Or the fact that Sarah was still pressed close to his side.
One of the doors down the hallway opened and a cart appeared in the hallway, followed by a tuxedoed waiter, and Sarah was suddenly even closer as the waiter glanced at them. She giggled happily and tugged on his arm, and he grinned unconsciously at the sound of it.
"Afternoon," the waiter said with a nod, allowing them to pass by before he pushed the cart with empty dishes and bottles back down the hallway, disappearing out of sight around the corner.
Sarah stepped back immediately and let go of him, opening the clutch she had around her wrist and peeking at the paper. She turned it for him to look at, and he followed her down the hallway, eyeing the plaque on each door they passed. Grand's room had to be close, perhaps just around the corner.
And as they finally rounded the corner, they found themselves standing directly in front of his door.
"Oh. Well. That was easy," Sarah breathed, glancing at him.
"Erm. Do we knock?"
"What? No!" she hissed, grabbing his hand and pulling him further down the corridor. "And what exactly are we going to say when he answers? Or if another of Big Theo's goons answers the door for him?"
She tugged him around the nearest corner and leaned back against the wall, letting out a huff and pushing a perfectly coiled tendril of hair away from her face. "No, we can't reveal ourselves just yet. But we do have to keep watch on that door. Find out what he looks like. And then we can tell Casey."
"Speaking of our cuddly friend, what exactly did you tell him when you went to his room earlier?" Chuck asked.
After Chuck returned from his hour of waiting on the hotel's guests, they plotted for a few minutes before Sarah stepped out of their room to tell Casey about their findings. She had returned not long after, and apparently the bounty hunter was onboard. While Chuck and Sarah "went for a stroll" (which in actuality meant they would be scoping out Ishmael Grand's room), Casey was tasked with familiarizing himself with the layout of the hotel. From the below ground-level floor all the way to the highest point of the tower on the south end of the building. He claimed it was best to know your battleground before going into battle.
Which was strange to Chuck. What on sin's Earth would they be going into battle for? All they were doing was asking a few questions that would probably lead to another dead end, before they left this place for good and went back to Los Angeles.
"Exactly what we discussed," she said under her breath, her mouth barely moving. Her blue eyes moved to meet his and he swallowed thickly. She still held his hand and his fingers were a little numb. At least he wasn't wearing too-tight gloves anymore. And in spite of the gloves on her hand, he felt the warmth of her against his palm, intertwined with his fingers. "You had the idea to look through the guest book to see if there was anyone with the initials I.G. and you discovered there is an Ishmael Grand staying here. He may or may not be the man who wrote Bryce the cryptic message."
"He is, though."
"You and I know that, but Casey doesn't need to know it until we get a chance to talk to Grand himself. Casey doesn't know about your…" She tapped her temple with the index finger of her free hand. "And we need to keep it that way."
Chuck nodded, remembering the conversation they had on the deck of the ferry that took them across to Coronado Island. Sarah was right, he knew. Major John Casey might seem trustworthy in some ways, but money spoke louder than loyalty. He knew it was true. It would've been incredibly naive and unrealistic to think heaps and heaps of money wouldn't turn the fellow's head. Force him to betray Chuck. "Alright."
"Alright." She looked at him for a long moment. "The man has to come back to his room, or leave it, at some point."
"And what do we do in the meantime?" Chuck asked, moving to lean against the wall beside her, glancing down at her as he stuffed his free hand in his jacket pocket.
"Not entirely sure about that. Seems we've run into a bit of a snag." But then her eyes widened for just a split second before she turned to peek around the corner, before looking down the hallway they were currently loitering in. "There's no one around. Follow me."
Chuck did so blindly. It wasn't the first time. Nor, he thought to himself, would it be the last. He was sure of it. In fact, at that very moment, it was one of the only things in his life he was sure of.
She stopped at the room just before the one they'd established as being Grand's, then opened her clutch and dug in it for a few seconds.
"Sarah, this isn't his room. It's that one," he whispered, leaning in so that his lips brushed against her ear. He felt her body tense for a moment and didn't think anything of it because she chose that exact moment to reach up and knock on the door they stood at.
"What are you doing?" he whispered, panic causing him to cover his mouth. But before he could step back, or perhaps even run in the other direction, Sarah had picked the lock and was already pushing it open, cautiously stepping inside and looking around the room.
She glanced over her shoulder and grabbed him by his waistcoat, yanking him inside after her and shutting the door behind them. "Pure luck that nobody is in this room right now, but we can't take any chances. Let's move quickly. Come on."
Chuck followed her to the window, which she pushed open before climbing out onto the roof. God, one small misstep and she would plummet to her death. This woman wasn't just brave, she was astoundingly impressive. That was why he found he wasn't worried until he had climbed out of the window himself. Three floors was a long drop. And there wasn't sand at the bottom. Just hard, newly cleaned, white staircases. So many hard edges to break his fall. And railings on which to crack open his skull.
Clinging to the windowsill, he watched as Sarah lowered herself to sit on the sloped roof, carefully crab-walking along until she reached the next window over. How she did it with those boots, without the two inch heels getting caught on something, or slipping…
Trying to focus on the task at hand, he studiously avoided her gaze and struggled along the roof, barely reaching her side without slipping himself, and probably making too much noise if the look on Sarah's face were any indication. She grabbed him by his jacket in one hand and wrapped her other arm around his waist until he stopped scrambling.
Sarah raised her eyebrow, wordlessly asking him if he was alright, if she could let go and continue without him falling to his death. And as much as he wanted to stay like this, with her strong arm around his waist and her fist clenched in the front of his jacket and her face inches away from his…he nodded.
She let go and turned back to the window as he braced himself against the roof, lying flat in the hopes it would make him less likely to fall if he spread his weight out. And he watched as Sarah scooted closer to the window until she was pressed against the concrete wall beside it, clinging, resting her weight on her haunches. With grace he was certain he was not capable of, she pulled her body to the right and very carefully peeked around into the window.
Just as quickly, she pulled back and flattened herself against the wall, catching his eye. "Come here," she mouthed, reaching a hand out for him.
He knew he was blushing a bit as he accepted her help, but he told himself to remember that this woman was used to roofs, used to climbing around outside of windows, and this part of the roof was way more dangerous than what was outside of their room's window. The slant was much more drastic. And if accepting Sarah's help meant not dying, well…he would have to tell his pride to take a hike.
And he did, carefully moving closer as she held his hand tightly. When he was close enough, she wrapped an arm around him again and hugged him against her. "Very carefully," she whispered, "peek into that window. He's in there. And we both need to get a good look at him so that we know who to look for later."
Chuck felt her breath against his chin, the rise and fall of her chest against his, and he forced himself to focus on anything but how warm and soft she was, and the strength she possessed to be able to hold him steady like this when he absolutely weighed much more than she did with the six inches of height he had on her. He followed orders to a tee, carefully grabbing the windowsill's ledge in one hand and Sarah's waist in the other. He figured she wouldn't mind, and he completely missed the way her eyes bugged out for a split second, and how her breath got caught in her throat.
Because he was looking in the window, thanking the higher powers above for the fact that the man hadn't shut his curtains.
There was the man in question, sitting in his chair with his feet propped on the ottoman, reading a leather-bound book and distractedly chewing on his nail. Chuck took in every last detail he could of the man's profile. The dark bushy mustache curled at the ends, the goatee, the extremely curly hair that was parted on the side and forced straight by grease, the ends curling wildly about his ears. He could probably be considered handsome, with a strong jaw and a Roman nose, and he was maybe only a few inches under six feet, but it was hard to tell for sure with him sitting. He wasn't portly, though he wasn't exactly thin, either.
Chuck thought perhaps the man was in his late thirties or early forties. And there was a certain arch in his eyebrow, even as he sat alone, that bespoke of inherent confidence.
When the man shifted a little, Chuck yanked himself back as fast as he could, ending up with his front pressed against Sarah's again, safely out of sight of the window.
"That is Ishmael Grand?" he asked in a whisper.
"We have no choice but to assume it is," she said in a low voice that sounded a little breathless. All of this climbing and sneaking, he couldn't much blame her. "That is his room. And he looked right at home."
He did. He was in his shirtsleeves, his suspenders hanging at his waist, and he wasn't wearing shoes.
"Good. Now…how do we get back?"
Her smirk made him back away, because he couldn't handle that look on her face while he was pressed up against her this tightly, and he clambered over the roof to the window they'd climbed out of a few minutes earlier. Only to find that the window was shut. He could have sworn he had left it open when he followed Sarah onto the roof. Strange, that.
But then it was less strange when he peered inside and saw that a maid was pacing the room with a duster in hand. He pulled back and gestured desperately for Sarah to stop. She did, poised a bit precariously on the roof, confusion on her face. "The maid is cleaning in there."
Sarah rolled her eyes to the sky and slumped down against the roof, biting her lip.
"What do we do?" he hissed, panic in his breast.
"We find another way off this roof," she said with a shrug. Like it was the simplest thing in the world. And maybe for her it was. But Chuck did not have the dexterity or jumping skills of a monkey, nor did he have the claws of a squirrel. Leaping around on the roof of the Hotel Del Coronado was not how he had wanted to spend his afternoon. "Follow me," she mumbled, digging her boots into one of the grooves of the red roof and climbing up the incline to the peak. She made it look so easy.
And it wasn't easy, he discovered while trying to follow her lead. Eventually he made it to the peak without slipping and falling three stories to his doom. But now he clung with both hands, his legs dangling, his face and clothes covered in dust. "You know," he panted as he looked up to his right at the beautiful con woman now straddling the peak of the roof, "I once had a dream about climbing the highest mountain in the world."
"You did? Did you make it to the top?"
He finally hoisted himself up with a pained grunt, mimicking her pose and facing her as he also straddled the roof's peak. "No, actually. I fell."
Her eyebrows popped. "Sounds more like a nightmare."
Chuck only had time to shrug before she giggled and swung her leg over to skid down the other side of the roof, stopping herself by propping her feet on the eave of another room's window. He swallowed thickly, ignored the chill that wracked through him, pretended he wasn't thinking about all the ways this could go wrong, and followed suit.
He slowly eased himself down to stand poised on his own eave a few feet away, not exceptional enough to slide down quickly the way Sarah had done, and he shrugged. This wasn't so bad. At least he was wearing pants, unlike Sarah, whose gown was now filthy, the hem covered in dirt and dust. Not that she seemed to mind any of this.
"Don't think about it too much, Chuck. Just follow exactly what I'm doing. Check to see if anyone's inside of that room." She flattened herself on her belly and lowered her head to look upside-down into the room. She pulled up quickly. "Occupied."
Chuck did the same and saw a child playing with blocks on the floor, its mother in the chair nearby. He pulled up and peered at Sarah. "This one is, as well."
"Damn it." The con woman huffed and looked to the left, past Chuck and his eave. "Let's go that way. I think our best bet will be climbing down the side."
"The side of the building?" he rasped.
"It's perfectly safe."
"Perfectly," he mocked, but she didn't respond, as she was already making her way down the roof, poised on the edge of the eave before she dropped over and disappeared from view. "Sarah!"
He clambered down until his face dangled over the edge. She stood safely on one of the lower level roofs, frowning up at him. "Sh! Do you want them to know we're out here?"
"Err…no."
"Get down here! And be quiet about it," she whispered, reaching up for him. He blushed again and turned his body around, lowering himself until he was hanging from the edge, before letting go and landing in a bundle of limbs and tweed. She grabbed him by his jacket again to keep him from going anywhere else and let out a soft sigh. "You aren't the most graceful man I've ever met, I must say."
His blush deepened and he suddenly felt a little defensive. Which was ridiculous, considering they were on top of the roof of a hotel, trying to find a way to sneak back in without being noticed. "I'm not exactly used to roof leaping," he snarked.
Sarah looked sincerely amused as her blue eyes glinted at him, and it didn't seem like it was entirely at his expense. The embarrassment melted away and he was left only with the heat coming up from his collar. "The roof is flat here, so just try to walk a little quieter, will you?"
Chuck nodded, following her north along the long, red roof until they reached the edge of the building. It was still about two stories down, which wasn't asawful as the fifth story that towered behind him, but it was enough to give him momentary vertigo when he looked over the edge. "How do we get down?"
"There's a balcony on this side." And she swung herself over the lip of the eave to disappear again. He didn't even hear her land, but as he peeked over, he saw that she was clinging to the railing of the balcony. Gritting his teeth, he slowly slipped his feet over the edge, shuffling his body to the side and hanging there for a moment, before he dropped to grab onto the railing.
His foot slipped, but his hands proved true, keeping him from falling the rest of the way to the stairs below. Sarah was there as well, having already hoisted herself onto the other side of the railing. She held onto his wrists tightly. "Careful," she breathed, concern in her face as she looked down at him. He nodded as best he could and moved his foot up to brace himself again, finally lifting himself over to safety.
The moment of panic, that split second of thinking he was about to die, made all sense of propriety disappear, and seeing her standing there with her hands on his arms, both of them safe and on solid, flat ground instead of dangling precariously, he couldn't help but lunge forward and wrap his arms around her.
She stiffened, her arms extended out behind his body, and he just held her. Until he became aware of what he was doing, where he was, and he could smell her hair and feel her tense in his arms…
He leapt away like she was made of fire. "Sorry. I'm sorry. Are you alright?"
Sarah just lifted both of her eyebrows and ran her hands down her front. "Perfectly. Are you alright?"
"Of course. Yes. Absolutely." He brushed off his shoulders and smiled a bit sheepishly, to which she replied with a bit of a smirk as she reached up to rub at his cheek with the sleeve of her gown.
"Dust," she breathed.
"Thank you." He cleared his throat.
Then she gestured over her shoulder with a flick of her fingers. "We should…"
"Yes. Find Casey—Hello, Casey!"
The man appeared from around the corner and halted as Sarah spun to face him. The bounty hunter grunted and curled his lip. "Been lookin' fer you two fer awhile. What're you doin'?"
"We know what Grand looks like. We just have to talk to him now," Sarah said, seemingly unfazed by the entire situation.
Chuck found he wasn't so collected, so he just kept his mouth shut.
"Then let's go. I ordered tea and finger sandwiches to come to my room and I want to be there to get it."
It was tough going, but Chuck just barely kept it together until the bounty hunter turned his back to lead them back to their rooms. The way Sarah's lips were twitching made it that much harder.
And he didn't much fancy being murdered for a mistimed giggle…not after everything he'd survived thus far.
}o{
Sarah Walker supposed she had been on worse jobs than this one.
She bit back a smirk and unfolded her elegantly folded cloth napkin with a quick flick of her wrist, laying it out on her lap and scooting her chair to the side to be able to sit closer to Chuck. He was, after all, her new husband. And it would make it easier for them to speak to one another in tones that no one else could hear.
But the breast of lamb just looked so amazing. With the stewed celery and a poached egg, not to mention the delicious wine that she hadn't been able to do more than sip so that she could keep a clear head.
"Maybe don't drink so much of the port, dear. Your father had too much in his youth and now he has so many health problems," she said as the waiter approached.
Chuck choked a little and set down the glass of port, dabbing his lips with his napkin and sending her a look.
She didn't bother checking her amusement. He was too easy to tease.
Not that she could allow herself to get too carried away with the teasing. They were watching for Ishmael Grand to make his entrance. Thanks to some clever eavesdropping, she had learned that Grand liked to eat all of his meals in the dining room usually, but he never missed dinner. Knowing he generally sat to eat between seven and eight thirty, Sarah dragged Chuck down to eat at seven precisely, slipping a note under Casey's door when he didn't answer her knock.
Once the waiter retreated with their empty salad plates, leaving them to dig into their main dishes, Sarah leaned in. "Any sign of him, yet?"
"Well, I haven't got the best vantage point of the entrance, but I can tell you he has yet to come in through that window." He gestured primly towards the window with his hand.
Even as she shot him an unamused look, she found herself chuckling just a little. No one could say Charles Bartowski didn't have a sense of humor.
"Perhaps rein in the sarcasm just a tad, Mr. Charles."
"Yes, Sarah dear."
Was it just her imagination, or was he rather enjoying this? She decided to pay it no mind, because she couldn't allow herself to become distracted.
They ate their dinner quietly, smiling at one another and speaking in undertones about whatever topic Sarah felt the need to make up. Their parents, adjustments to a home that didn't exist, planned trips they weren't actually going to take. Because as much as she worked to convince anyone who might be eavesdropping on the besotted married couple's conversation that they were spending the rest of their lives together, the truth was that they weren't. Because they weren't married. It was a ruse, like so many other parts she'd had to play. It was just as easy as it was with anyone else.
Except that this time the warmth in his face, his smile, the way he blushed when she dabbed at the corner of his lips with her napkin…none of that was play-acting. She could tell. She knew how to read people, and in the last couple of months, she'd learned a good deal about Chuck Bartowski in particular. He could put on a show just as well as anybody…but nothing about the way he treated her was acting. Maybe he didn't even realize it himself. Maybe he thought he was acting, playing along, pretending to be a man who genuinely liked the woman he was dining with.
But the truth was that he did genuinely like the woman he was dining with.
And it made Sarah feel a little lightheaded to realize that. It made her hold his hand a little tighter, her giggle that much warmer, and the soft looks she sent him that much softer as he attempted to eat his food with as much elegance as she was eating hers.
It was dangerous and she let it happen anyways.
At least, she let it happen until the heavy footsteps of their third party sounded behind them. She felt Chuck tense, even as his features took on a look of disappointment. He must have recognized Casey's presence as well from the way the man strode with grumpy determination.
Casey stepped around to the other side of the table and looked down at them, looking disgruntled, or maybe even…frazzled? And then he straightened the lapels of his dinner jacket and pulled out his chair, plopping down with a sigh and looking down at the empty place setting.
"We, uh…weren't sure you whether or not you'd gotten our invitation, James," Sarah said, widening her eyes as if to ask if anything had happened. If he was alright.
"Yeah, I saw it," he said in a growl. "Obviously I saw it. I'm here ain't—erm, aren't I?"
"Wake up from your nap on the wrong side of the bed, ol' chap?" Chuck asked and Sarah sent him a warning look. He was amusing most of the time when it came to John Casey, but he seemed to forget this man wasn't exactly their ally. Did he want to piss the bounty hunter off?
"Hnn." Casey made a face and made to lift his hand to call the waiter over. But the waiter appeared on his other side, almost like a ghost, nearly making the older man jump. "Er…yes, a menu, please." The waiter bowed, making to leave and retrieve a menu, but Casey caught him by the sleeve. "Wait, wait. Just get me what he's having."
His eyes feasted upon the remaining food on Chuck's plate and he looked liable to reach over and eat it all himself any moment. So much so that Chuck slowly reached up and moved his plate a little closer to himself, narrowing his eyes with a suspicious look as he chewed. It was strangely endearing.
"Very good, sir. Right away." The waiter disappeared after a quick bow, returning a moment later to pour Casey some port. He swept away again.
"What happened?" Sarah finally asked, leaning forward over her plate. "Why didn't you answer when we knocked?"
"Didn't hear you knock. I was in the bath."
"Didn't hear it? Or didn't want to hear it?" Chuck asked with a small smirk.
"Didn't hear it!" Casey snapped under his breath. "Damn water wouldn't stop runnin'. Had to get a bellboy in to turn it off. You think this whole runnin' water phenomenon'll stick? Reckon it'll fizzle. Gimme a well and a bucket any day. Dagnab piece o' sh—Ahem. Ma'am." He nodded politely to an elderly, wealthy woman walking past…the stink-eye she gave him was enough to make even Sarah shiver. "Lovely night," Casey added with a smile, and when she moved past him to sit at her table, his eyes widened a bit and he cleared his throat again.
Thankfully, Chuck kept his mouth shut, even though she felt his body buzzing beside hers. She could tell he wanted so badly to tease Casey again. Instead, he shoveled more food into his mouth.
Smart man, Sarah thought quietly.
"That him?"
Sarah's amusement died instantly as Casey's words registered in her brain, and she immediately set a hand on Chuck's shoulder and shifted a little to look behind her.
Ishmael Grand was dressed in a dark grey suit with a red ascot, the hair on top of his head and around his mouth styled appropriately, a friendly look on his face as the hostess greeted him and summoned a waiter to take him to a table near the window. Sarah tried to be less obvious about watching his movement across the room, but Chuck had no such training, and she had to elbow him in the ribs to get him to shut his mouth.
He rapidly turned back to the table and looked down at his plate. "Sorry," he whispered and her hand unconsciously tightened reassuringly on his shoulder, even as she watched Mr. Grand take his seat. She noticed the waiter didn't even hand him a menu, simply coming back with a white wine of some sort and disappearing again.
So Ishmael Grand was a creature of habit. She stored that in the back of her mind for later.
"It's him," she finally replied.
"Good. I've just about finished my meal," Chuck said, looking down at his empty plate.
For his part, Casey looked a little put out. "I haven't even had mine yet. And I'm hungry."
"Well we don't need you for this part, thankfully, so take your time, James," Sarah said quickly, for the time being ignoring the way the bounty hunter was reminding her more and more of a whiny child. Instead she eyed their mark as his food was brought out to him and he stuffed his napkin in his collar, digging into his pork leg, potatoes, carrots and spinach with gusto.
Sarah suggested Casey not be involved in this first part of the plan, so that Mr. Grand wouldn't know him if he saw him later. It gave them a third party who could slip in and out of situations behind the scenes. And he had already proven he made for excellent back-up, in spite of her not trusting him all that much in other ways.
He had begrudgingly agreed to it. And she supposed if that meant he could eat his dinner, he'd be all the happier for it.
Paying him no more mind, she turned to Chuck and raised her eyebrows, moving her hand to his wrist. "Are you ready, Chuck?"
Casey snorted into his wine quietly.
"Something you'd like to say from over there in the peanut gallery?" Chuck asked, sending a flat look in Casey's direction. Sarah was already too focused on her task to be that amused by the toy maker's sarcasm, but her lips did twitch just a tad.
"It's prob'ly best you don't do any talkin' at all. Let the expert manipulator run 'er mouth. It is her job, after all. She's a master when it comes to lying."
Deciding to act her age, Sarah ignored the barb as best she could and turned her focus on Chuck. "Are you ready?"
It was sweet how affronted he looked for her sake, but she didn't deserve it, because the ogre was right. This was her job. She was an expert manipulator. And Chuck himself had been the recipient of it. Maybe he forced himself to forget about that.
But he finally met her gaze and nodded once. "Let's get the show on the road, as they say."
Chuck stood and offered her his hand. She delicately placed her fingers in his and stood with her usual grace and composure, setting her napkin on the table and smiling up at Chuck as she took his arm and let him lead her across the dining room.
"In all seriousness, it's probably best if you do the talking," Chuck said out of the side of his mouth, leaning close. "I'm afraid my mouth will ruin our only chance."
Sarah shook her head, unconsciously reaching over to lay her hand on his forearm to reassure him, giving him a slight squeeze. "You're the man in the relationship. It doesn't seem…prudent…for me to do all of the talking. Who knows what sort of man he is? And we don't want him to shut us out before we even get to introduce ourselves."
She heard him sigh, and the worry increased in his eyes.
"Chuck, don't look so worried. Remember who we're supposed to be."
"Ah, yes," he responded, looking down at her with a flat look. "Our cover identities have cover identities." He paused. "They don't write this stuff."
In spite of everything, Sarah had to smirk a little at that. But then she admonished him with a quiet, "Sh," and turned back, catching Ishmael Grand's eye as they finally approached his table.
She smiled politely, nodding her head and receiving a polite nod in return, and then she felt Chuck halt beside her, pulling her to a stop as well. She glanced up at him as he stared at Grand, his eyes widening, and then he grinned that grin of his. The one that was probably capable of warming the heart of the devil himself.
And then he pulled her a little closer to Grand, moving slowly, tentatively.
"I'm terribly sorry, sir. I might be wrong but—Are you Lieutenant Pennybottom?" Before Grand could respond, confusion in his face as he set his silverware down slowly, Chuck surged forward and grabbed his hand, shaking it. "Well, I'll be. It's been, what, ten years?"
Sarah watched in awe, careful not to let it show in her features, instead wearing a mask of polite happiness as she kept her gaze on her incredibly friendly husband. Granted, Chuck didn't look old enough to have been acquainted with a lieutenant ten years ago. He was probably just barely a teenager then. But that was neither here nor there.
"I—I, uh—I don't—"
"Darling, come and meet Lieutenant Pennybottom." Chuck reached his hand out to Sarah and she eagerly crossed to his side, letting him gently drape his hand over her shoulder furthest from him. "My wife, Sarah. Sarah, this is Lieutenant Pennybottom."
"N-No, I'm—I'm afraid—"
"Why, you used to bounce me on my knee when I was a boy," Chuck continued, grabbing the nearest chair at Grand's table and pulling it out, guiding Sarah to sit in it. He hurried around to the informant's other side and sat there, leaning close.
"We don't have much time, Mr. Grand." Sarah nearly jumped she was so surprised by the speed with which Chuck dove right into things. And he had been nervous not a minute earlier. She could only stare at the determination in his face, the way his eyes seemed to almost change, even as he kept the friendly smile in place.
For his part, Grand looked apt to jump up. But Chuck's hand clamped down on his wrist.
"Agent Larkin sent us."
"W-What is this?" the man asked, his face red, sweat glistening at his temples as he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. The handsomeness in his face was somewhat marred by the red splotches of discomfort in his cheeks, and the whiteness of his lips under his mustache.
Sarah finally decided it was safe to take the reins. Chuck had done his part, and brilliantly, she decided. She leaned in.
"Mr. Grand, Agent Larkin was pulled off of the case—"
"I don't know that name. I don't know either of you. Please, let me alone before I—"
"Riptide."
"W-What?" Grand asked, the fight going out of him immediately. He seemed a little pale, as well. Sarah turned to stare at Chuck closely. What in the entire raging empire was he talking about?
"That's the ship Big Theo sank off the coast of Mazatlán six years ago."
Both Sarah and Grand gaped at Chuck.
He continued quickly, pointedly ignoring Sarah, she noticed. "It was loaded with drums that had been filled with oil drilled from the gulf. Nobody could prove it was him, even though there were oil drums in Theo's possession with identification tags that had been painted over."
Grand leaned in, his face red, just barely able to keep a snarl from his face. Only just.
"You be careful what you say here, boy." His eyes darted around the room as he calmly sat back in his chair and smiled politely. "How do you know about the Riptide, then?"
"You told Agent Larkin about the oil drums. About Big Theo's involvement in the sacking and sinking of the ship. He passed along that information." Chuck's brown eyes flicked to Sarah's and she knew by the look that he wasn't comfortable continuing. So she took up the conversation, knowing they had to do this a lot quicker.
"We ask that you believe us and trust us. It's in the league's best interest if you do, the empire's best interest. And yours," she said quietly.
"What more does—does the league want from me?" he asked in a quiet, tight voice, picking up his fork and poking at his food.
"We don't have time now," Sarah mumbled. "But we will meet you at your room tonight. Half past eleven."
"Half past—? Why, I'm asleep by ten every night!" he whispered.
"Then you'll just have to wake up again at half past eleven. We spent too much time at your table already. 'Til we meet again, Mr. Grand."
Sarah met Chuck's gaze and he leapt up a little too quickly for her liking, but then he seemed to gather himself, bending at his waist a little towards Grand, looking embarrassed.
"Mr. Grand, I'm so terribly embarrassed. Again. Cannot apologize enough for interrupting your meal. You really do look just like the lieutenant. Why, it even just occurred to me, Mr. Pennybottom drowned in '88. Boating accident."
Sarah sent him a subtly harsh look that very clearly read "Stop" and he clamped his lips together.
"I do beg your pardon," he said, bowing a second time, before hurrying around the table to pull Sarah's chair out for her and take her hand as she stood elegantly, a practiced look of just barely muted mortification on her pretty face.
"Oh, no…erm…not at all. I have been known to have…one of those typical faces," Grand said, clearing his throat with a tense but polite smile.
"Darling, I think we should let the man eat his meal in peace now," Sarah said, bowing her head towards the informant and letting Chuck lead her away from the table. She took care not to look at any of the other guests, glad their ruse had seemed to go unnoticed by everyone. They were all the better for it if no one witnessed the scene.
"Don't look at Casey," she whispered a bit harshly, grabbing Chuck's arm with both of her hands and tugging. He stared straight ahead again, eyes wide, before composing himself and running his hand down his front, before he draped it over hers on his arm. "Remember, as far as Grand knows…for now…Casey isn't with us."
Chuck nodded, swallowing so loudly she could hear it.
She let him guide her through the lobby, but she was careful not to let him take her back to the elevator, instead subtly maneuvering them both towards the elegant staircase. And she ignored the way his eyes settled on her as they ascended the stairs to their floor.
Neither of them spoke again until they had pushed their way back into the room Mr. Charlton Charles had purchased for them that morning.
Chuck was still watching her, she knew, as she crossed the room and turned on the lights, marveling at how easy and beautiful it was, this thing called electricity.
She knew what Chuck was going to say. She could feel it on the tip of his tongue. He was going to say something about her obvious discomfort with the elevator. He was going to tease her, needle her about it. Make light of the situation. It was his way of coping.
"Did I ruin everything?"
Sarah turned to look at him steadily. Leave it to Chuck Bartowski to surprise her at every turn. Just when she thought she had him pegged, too.
She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. "I don't think you did. In fact, I'd say you performed rather brilliantly."
He only frowned a little…and she was a tad disappointed. She felt silly for it, but she'd been hoping to see that smile of wonderment he got when she told him he'd done well at something. Even considering the sincere lack of self-confidence implied in that smile, she enjoyed seeing any kind of smile on his face.
"I should have let you do the talking." It was like he hadn't even listened to the words she'd just said. "Lieutenant Pennybottom? Really?"
"Well, the name you used aside, it was just the excuse we needed to approach him and speak with him." She shrugged.
"Do you think he bought it?"
A thought occurred to Sarah just then. As she'd been too shocked at the time to figure it out while they sat at the table. "You flashed, didn't you?" she breathed, moving closer to him where he stood leaning back against the door to their room still, his shoulders slumped forward a little, his face worried and downcast.
He shook his head.
"Then how did you know about the ship?"
"The Riptide?" He asked, his brown eyes raising to meet her blue ones. "It was part of what I'd learned in that first flash. Back at Bryce's old lodgings in San Diego when I flashed on the note. It was the first thing I could recall when I dug back into my brain. I knew he wouldn't really believe we were IEL just because we hinted at it. I needed something he'd told Bryce before."
"You mean you have everything Ishmael Grand ever gave Bryce about Theo West's operation in your head now? Because of that one flash?" She couldn't help but stare with her mouth agape. It was amazing and terrifying all at once. How was it even possible? "Can you think of something else he told Bryce about West's operations?"
Chuck's eyebrows pushed together as he lowered his head, looking down at the floor in concentration. His face was drawn and pinched as he shook his head, a little breathless, and looking like he might be in pain. "I—I can't. I can't remember. It was just…It came to me. I don't know. I can't figure out how—how this thing works still. I'm sorry, Sarah."
He looked so apologetic, so lost, that she ignored all sense of propriety and caution, instead closing the rest of the distance between them and holding onto his arms just above his elbows, forcing him to look at her as she tilted her face up to look into his eyes. "Easy," she drawled in a soft and comforting voice. "You don't need to figure the Intersect out just yet, alright? You don't have to remember. We'll make do with what we have."
She suddenly realized how close they were, how electric light made his face that much more appealing than dim lamplight or candlelight did. And she ducked her head a little, her eyes fastening on his tie.
"D-Do you need something to drink? I could get you something stiff. Or just…water."
"Maybe whiskey."
She could use some, too. For a split second, she considered asking him if he'd rather have a mug of hot nutmeg to tease a smile onto his face. But she swallowed the quip and instead moved to pull him away from the door so that she could go down and ask for the whiskey.
"Wait. Wait, there's—" Chuck turned, his eyes sweeping the room. "Hm."
Sarah watched as he crossed to the cupboard of sorts against the wall beside the window, leaning down to open it. There was an array of untouched bottles containing what absolutely had to be different types of alcohol.
"Aha!" He skirted his fingers over the bottles until he stood up straight with a square one in his fist. "Whiskey."
He worked to open the bottle, finally getting the cap off after a few moments and lifting it to his lips. She decided not to correct him, having seen the glasses tucked away in the cupboard. Surely, the hotel management hadn't meant for the guests to drink the alcohol straight from the bottle.
But at the moment, she couldn't care less, and she crossed the room, grabbing the bottle when he offered it to her, taking a large swig from it herself. It burned and she realized she hadn't had alcohol like this in awhile. Any alcohol. And God, this tasted expensive.
"That is some fantastic whiskey," Chuck said, as though he'd just read her mind.
She smirked a little and passed it back for him to screw the lid back on.
They stood in silence for a few moments and she watched him carefully. He licked his and sighed, his shoulders lifting and dropping back into place again.
"What if we were wrong?" His voice was so quiet and tinged with concern.
Sarah blinked. "Wrong?"
"Yes." He turned to her, setting the bottle down and starting to pace. "What if—What if we were wrong about Ishmael Grand being Bryce's informant? What if he's some sort of double agent? What if he was playing Bryce the whole time and that's how West found out about the IEL watching him? And that's why Bryce ended up having to leave, t-to get out of here. To run."
Nerves prickled at her fingers. Because he was making sense. She was almost scared he was making so much sense. "Chuck, you can easily get carried away thinking like that."
"Maybe I can. But am I wrong?"
Sarah was thrown off a little by the way he was looking at her. There was confidence in him suddenly. How did he do this? He went from self-consciousness to confidence in no time at all, and it was…appealing, seeing him like this. She didn't like how the look on his face, the way he was holding himself, how much taller he looked and how much broader his shoulders seemed…it was all making her feel like blushing. She fought it down and shrugged, looking off to the side.
"You're not wrong. But we're just going to have to risk it."
"I don't like that word much. Risk." And there was that hint of self-consciousness again.
She smiled a little. "Says the man who leapt in front of a bullet to save a little boy's life the first time I met him."
He looked at her squarely and she found it a little easier to fight the blush down the second time around. "Well, thank you," he said quietly. "But I didn't have much time to ponder the stupidity of my actions that day. And I have plenty of time to think about how big of a risk all of this is."
"Then don't think about the risk. Nothing's going to happen to you, Chuck. I don't trust Casey further than I can throw him, not about anything…except…" She paused. "I trust that he wants to protect you. Whatever his reasoning may be. Stick with us and you'll be alright."
Sarah knew the power of her smile, so she gave him a big one, the one that showed her teeth and made her eyes sparkle. There was a hint of cockiness in it, too. An awareness of what she was capable of. No matter what happened in the next few days, nothing was going to happen to Chuck Bartowski. She forced herself not to think about the actual motive driving her to protect the inventor, instead grabbing the whiskey and taking another gulp.
It was going to be a long night.
A/N: Whiskey is the perfect way to start off when it's going to be a long night. Raise your hand if you agree. (raises hand)
Can't wait for you all to read the next chapter! I'm plugging along so hopefully it'll be up soon!
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Thanks, everybody!
-SC