A/N: Chuck Versus the Steampunk Chronicles is back in business. While this chapter won't be full of action and adventure, you can be sure the next few are going to be exploding with it. I have many surprises up my sleeves. My sleeves are chalk...full...o'...surprises. I'm surprised...I can even get in here...with all the surprises that are in...my...sleeves. I've got magic comin' your way, readers. Magic. (boops your noses)
Disclaimer: I'm not making money from this. These aren't my characters. CHUCK doesn't belong to me.
Last time in the SteamVerse, Chuck and Sarah did rooftop calisthenics, found Ishmael Grand, and proceeded to ruin Bryce's ex-asset's supper. Rude. But they make a late night date with Grand to find out more about what he knows about Bryce Larkin and where the agent might have gone.
Enjoy!
Chuck slid his fingers into his hair and did his best to smooth it back, pushing his curls down to the best of his ability, trying to make himself appear more…
Well, he didn't know. Dashing, perhaps? Bryce Larkin—Agent Larkin—had perfect hair, perfect posture, a confident swagger about him, charm…all of the things Chuck had to emulate to pull this off.
He felt her behind him then, even though the mirror was angled so that he couldn't see her at the entrance to the washroom. He heard the soft swish of her skirts, the crinkle of lace as she leaned against the doorframe.
"What are you doing to your hair?" she asked.
He sliced the comb through his curls and parted it off-center, combing each side back at an angle. "Making myself look like more of a spy."
"Good luck."
Chuck turned and sent her a faux glare. But he couldn't deny, it lifted his spirits just a tad when Sarah made an effort to tease. When the mask shifted enough for him to see underneath, if only for a moment. Was she simply more comfortable in these quiet moments when it was just the two of them?
He inwardly shook his head and pushed that thought away. No, of course not. She was most likely just trying to keep him from losing his mind before they had to do something incredibly risky.
And then that sinking feeling fell upon him again. Because this was incredibly risky. He'd nearly forgotten.
But in spite of everything they were telling Casey to keep him from becoming suspicious about their intentions, a large part of Chuck was just as interested in the results.
What happened to Bryce? Why was he here? What had he done here?
And what was his life like when he was here?
Now that he knew Bryce had been a spy all these years when he'd imagined his boyhood friend flying in the skies above him—erroneously, he knew now—Chuck had so many questions.
"You don't need to change your hair," he heard Sarah say behind him. He glanced at her again and went back to taming his curls with the comb he'd dipped in water.
"If he's to believe I'm a spy—"
"It isn't about your hair, Chuck," she interrupted, and she moved into the washroom with him. She put a hand on his shoulder and turned him away from the mirror, grabbing a towel and starting to rub it over his hair to do away with all of the work he'd done to tame the curls.
"Wha—Hey!" He snatched the towel from her and frowned, pushing his hand over his hair to smash it down again. "Why'd you do that?"
"Your version of a spy is different from what a spy actually is. A spy blends in. He doesn't stand out. You've been blending in as Charlton Charles. And you've so far done a fair job of it." Fair wasn't good, a cruel part of his brain reminded him. "Ishmael Grand doesn't need to see you as anything different from what he's already seen."
Chuck tensed up as Sarah's fingers slid into his hair, doing away with the part he'd so studiously carved into his unruly locks. Her fingers slid over his scalp, her face set in a tiny smile, not bothering with propriety apparently. He didn't mind it at all.
He swallowed thickly when she lowered her hand and stepped back. "Come, put your jacket on. We'll be late meeting Grand."
Chuck let himself watch her as she left the room, for only a moment, and then he followed behind, taking his jacket from her as she held it up to him and shrugging it on. "Righto. Lead on, then."
Sarah's hand clamped shut around his arm and she looked at him closely. "Can you do this, Chuck?"
He felt his face harden before he could stop it and she let go of his arm, pulling her hand back like she'd been burned.
"Yes," he said. "I think I can handle it. Thank you for the overwhelming faith."
He didn't give her a chance to reply, instead sweeping out of the room and forcing her to follow behind. He didn't feel good about his immature response, but it made him irritable when Sarah in particular questioned his ability to handle situations.
It took almost no time at all for them to maneuver their way through the hotel, careful not to be seen by anyone, whether staff or other guests. It was late enough that no one was about in the hotel's hallways.
Chuck watched Sarah slide in front of him as they reached Grand's room. But before she could knock, he reached out and took her wrist, panic settling in. "Wait, wait…I might be a tad bit…nervous. Erm…"
She merely rolled her eyes at him, he knew for the small show of immaturity and bravado earlier, and he thought perhaps he deserved that.
Then she knocked.
They stood side by side, and Chuck couldn't help brushing his arm against hers. A last minute attempt at finding some form of reassurance, or comfort. He felt silly for it, especially because it did nothing.
A few moments later, the door clicked and opened just an inch, one bloodshot eye peeking out at them, sweeping over to Sarah first, then settling on Chuck.
"May we come in, Mr. Grand?" Sarah asked.
"I-I'd like to go to bed. Please. Not tonight. Please."
"I think you mistook my politeness as sincerity. We're coming in," she responded, moving in close.
He tried to shut the door and Chuck slammed his hand on the door to push it open further, his strength easily overpowering the other man's. He walked right into the room, holding the door for Sarah to sweep in after him, then he turned and shut the door, locking it behind him.
"I have a wife."
"We're not here to harm you," Chuck said, exchanging a quick look with Sarah. They weren't, right? He couldn't. He wouldn't.
But Sarah took over and set his mind at ease.
"Mr. Grand, we merely need to speak with you. We're agents with the Imperial Espionage League."
"What are you doing here? Why won't you all just leave me alone?"
Chuck narrowed his eyes. "You've been aiding and abetting criminal activity for years as Theodore West's right hand man, Mr. Grand. You're lucky we don't clap you in irons and drag you off to headquarters, never to be seen again." Sarah gave him a quick look and he wondered if he'd overdone it.
But Grand paled. "I-I've been helping the government. I'm helping. You can't—"
Sarah interjected. "Be assured, Mr. Grand. Our motive in coming here has nothing to do with Theodore West."
"We want to know about Bryce Larkin," Chuck said.
Grand seemed to find his footing, his shoulders losing their tension, the stress in his face easing. Chuck saw in him the man who had been one of Theodore West's most important employees for years. The man was smart—smart enough to double cross Big Theo without the criminal mastermind discovering his betrayal. Smart enough to rise in the ranks of West's operation, which was probably full of upstarts who weren't as efficient as Ishmael Grand must have proven himself to be.
"Why don't you sit down, Mr. Grand?" Sarah said, gesturing to the chair nearby. It wasn't a suggestion, but an order.
So he complied, moving back to the chair and sitting, running his hands down the front of the dress shirt he wore, the sleeves a bit mangled at his wrists.
"I don't know anything about Bryce Larkin," he said once he sat, switching his gaze back and forth between them.
"Don't you?" Sarah crossed her arms and stepped a bit closer, taking command of the interview, Chuck realized. That was definitely for the best. She knew what she was doing. He just had to back her up.
"Agent Larkin was your contact for quite some time. He pulled you into the operation not long after the IEL decided to do something about Big Theo's criminal operations."
"Larkin threatened my family, my life." A dark look came over the man's features. "I had no choice but to betray the man who entrusted me with so much."
Chuck felt no pity for him.
"Nevertheless, Agent Larkin was your contact."
"He was. He isn't anymore."
"Why not?" Chuck asked.
Grand turned his tired gaze on the younger man, furrowing his brow. "You would know better than I."
Sarah also turned to give Chuck a look in a fashion that kept the man sitting in the chair from seeing it. The inventor wasn't sure what the look said, so he decided just to shut up.
"No, Mr. Grand," she said, turning back to the other man. "You are the last person who saw Agent Larkin."
His eyes flashed up to her, much more alert now as he shifted to sit up a bit straighter. "What do you mean?"
"Nobody knows where he is. And we want to know if he said anything to you, anything at all, that might tell us where he was going."
Grand looked down and licked his lips slowly. "I don't know."
"You don't know where he is? Or you don't know if he said anything to you?" Sarah pushed.
"I don't know where he is. Where he was going. We met at the docks, I gave him information that Theo was planning a meet-up with some foreign powers. Gave him a list of everyone who was at the meeting. He thanked me and disappeared. The same as it always was with our…professional relationship," he spat. "But this time I never heard from him again." He shrugged.
"That was the last time you saw him?" Chuck prompted.
"The very last time I saw him." He frowned. "He was a bastard anyhow, so no skin off my nose that he left."
Chuck walked closer, coming up next to Sarah and standing at her shoulder. "He mistreated you?" he asked, feeling a chill come over him.
"You all do," Grand sneered, self-pity mixed with the bitterness.
"Mr. Grand, I hope you are remembering how you got into this situation. You spent a good portion of your professional life helping Theodore West with his very illegal business dealings, and murder when he felt it necessary, which was often." Sarah paused. "You are in no position to request better treatment than that which you've received so far."
He merely glared down at his lap. "Well, I told you what you wanted. Now will you leave me be? I already have enough of you government filth in my life, dangling my future over the fire."
"Do you remember anything about Larkin at the time?" she continued as though he hadn't spoken. "Anything that might help us to find out where he might have planned to go? Did he say anything at all?"
"The bastard didn't even say thank you."
Chuck grit his teeth, clenching his fists at his sides. "Mr. Grand, I'll remind you that you are obligated to help us. Just as you yourself said, you have no choice."
"What else could you possibly want from me? Isn't this all something that can be accomplished through Agent Gibson? Why do they send more of their damn agents after me? I don't know anything about—"
"Agent Gibson?" Sarah interrupted.
The moment he heard the name Gibson, that buzzing in the back of his head swept down to the base of his neck and his vision was compromised. He kept his balance just barely, shutting his eyes and bracing his body as best he could to keep from toppling over.
When he opened his eyes he was breathing hard, trying his best not to let anyone in on the fact that he'd just flashed again. Not even Sarah. He licked his dry lips to no avail, fought the ache in his head, the weakness in his limbs.
"Yes. A month after my last contact with Agent Larkin, another agent made contact with me. Agent Gibson, his name is. He's been here ever since." He huffed. "And if Agent Larkin was a bastard, this one's the devil himself."
Chuck spun on Sarah, saw she hadn't dropped her mask even a little, and immediately spun back to face Ishmael Grand, fighting to cover his mixture of terror, shock, and general upset at this turn of events the way Sarah was.
"Agent Gibson is your new contact? Your handler?"
"Yes, he's my new handler. Are you even listening?" Grand took a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped his forehead. "He's the maître d' of the hotel. Goes by Denton. No wonder Theo's had such an easy time of it all these years—you government folks are terrible at communication."
"We, uh…work in a different sect of the IEL," Chuck tried. "Missing…persons." His voice faded off as Sarah spun to give him a sharp look.
She was quick to stymie the beginnings of suspicion in Grand's features, the guarded look of him as he watched the exchange. "Mr. Grand, we're here to discover the whereabouts of our agent. Taking down Theodore West is Gibson's mission, and by extension, yours. We were made privy only to information we needed to fulfill our own mission—finding Mr. Larkin."
"Hm. Well, I don't know where he is. Talk to Gibson. He might."
Chuck wanted out. He needed to get out of this room and into his own where he could grab a pillow and yell into it as loudly as possible, then perhaps thrash around a bit.
There was an IEL agent here, in this hotel. If only this Agent Gibson knew how close the Intersect was…just within his grasp. Chuck felt weak, overheated, like the collar of his shirt was squeezing around his neck, tighter…tighter…He couldn't breathe.
Agent Gibson had helped to bring down the opium cartel in upstate Maine four years ago. He'd even been awarded a royal honor, receiving a medal from the Queen herself after he was shot in the line of duty.
This wasn't a man to be trifled with. The bodies he'd left in his wake. The bodies Chuck had just seen in the flash. Photographs of a thought-to-be-abandoned building with fire spilling out of the windows and doors. The dealers were caught in the bowels of the building somewhere according to the file, fated to meet their ends surrounded by the violent blaze of a fire started by Agent Marcel Gibson of the IEL.
What would a man like that do to him, the inventor wondered? What would he do to Sarah if he knew she was a con artist? Not just a con artist, but the Ice Queen? That more than anything made Chuck back towards the door.
Sarah half turned towards him, giving him a long look, a searching look. Something must have clicked in her mind and he thought perhaps her eyes softened, or maybe his headache made him imagine it.
Because she quickly turned back to Grand.
"Do not speak to anyone," she said, stepping up close and leaning down over him to poke her finger in his face. "You only speak to us. Am I clear?"
"I only speak to Agent Gibs—"
Sarah's fist tangled in his shirt front and she single-handedly lifted him off his seat a few inches and put her face close to his, causing him to let out a strangled yelp.
"I said you only speak to us." He didn't say anything. "You think Agent Larkin was a bastard, and Agent Gibson is the devil? I wonder what you'll make of me if you don't follow my orders, Ishmael." She said it through gritted teeth, her voice low and hard.
Chuck shivered and felt a little uncomfortable when the corner of his mouth tilted up. It was just that she was holding Ishmael Grand up with one hand. And something in his midsection churned in a really good way at seeing how strong she was. It was probably just that he was glad she was on his side. Surely that was it. (He'd stick with that, since it made him feel better about his sanity.)
She threw Grand back into his chair when he nodded with an intimidated squeak.
And then she muttered a dangerous "Good" as she spun on her heel and stomped across the room, past Chuck to the door.
Chuck knew well enough not to speak, instead pointing at Grand with his best rendition of an intimidating, dangerous look, and when he realized he wasn't helping at all, he hurried to follow Sarah, not stopping until they were back in the hallway.
With every intention of getting back into his own room, away from prying eyes, where he could properly lose his mind over these new developments—as well as pack his bags and get off of Coronado Island as soon as possible—he rushed in the direction of the staircase on the south side of the hotel, where their room was.
He heard Sarah close behind, aware of how crazed he must look, trying in vain to calm himself down so as not to trigger suspicion from anyone who might stumble upon them.
But it wasn't until she was unlocking the door into their room that Chuck felt his panic start to bubble over. Sarah tangled her fist in his collar when she opened the door and he felt himself yanked inside.
The door shut and he fell against it as she turned the lock.
Her fingers dug into his biceps and her cool blue eyes caught his brown ones.
"Chuck, did you flash?"
"Agent Marcel Gibson. Two years in the Royal guard, then two more in a…another clandestine agency that—I can't, I can't remember which one—"
"It's alright, just keep going," she said, breathless.
"Uh…F-four years ago h-he planted explosives in an abandoned building in Augusta. That's in Maine."
"Yes, I know."
"Right, sorry. Of course." He blinked. "Killed over thirty employees in an illegal opium ring. He was shot during the operation so the queen gave him a Royal medal in a secret ceremony. No real name, no age. At least, not in the flash."
Chuck winced and pinched the bridge of his nose as Sarah loosened her grip on his arms and stepped back.
"Well. This is a problem."
"Just slightly."
She sent him a look and he withered a little. "We have a spy with the agency Larkin wants me to protect you from right here in the hotel with us."
"We need to leave. At once," Chuck said, pressing his fingers to his temple to try to relieve the ache. "If he knew I was here, if he knew I had the Intersect, and—God, Sarah, what might he do with you if he discovers who you are?"
Sarah looked at him steadily, eyes a little wide, but he didn't see fear there. It was something else. Surprise? Then she blinked and the indecipherable look was gone again. "I'm not worried about that. I can handle it. I've had agents on my back since…" She stared at him for a moment again, and then she shook her head. "We need to leave. You're right."
"We have to tell Casey—" Chuck began, but Sarah grabbed his wrist to cut off the rest of what he was going to say.
"We could just leave."
He gave her a flat look. "We're on an island, remember. Well, rather an island. More of a peninsu—That's not the point. The point is, we have nowhere to go. Casey would catch up to us. And then what would our excuse be? Because we can't very well tell him you're hiding me from the Imperial Espionage League on account of all of the government information that's been transferred into my brain from a strange blue cube that was in a disconcertingly humanlike automaton Bryce Larkin left at my workshop. Can we?" He let out a long breath and shut his eyes.
"Good point," she said, even as she shot him an annoyed look.
"Our best bet is to talk to him, tell him another agent is here."
Sarah huffed and moved away from him, pacing to the window, then back again, but stopping at the bed and putting her hand on the bedpost.
"I should have realized they would send someone to replace Bryce." She put a hand on her forehead and huffed again. "Theo West is a menace. They'd never let something like this fall by the wayside. With Bryce running off, they had to keep up the work they were doing with his asset. You just send in another handler. It's so obvious."
Chuck took a few steps towards her. "It isn't your fault."
"I didn't say it was," she said. "And anyway, what other choice did we have? We had to keep Casey from biting at our heels. Any longer without a lead on Bryce and he probably would've…"
She drifted off and he had an idea of where she might be going with that. He didn't want to think about it.
"Let's tell Casey."
Rolling her eyes, she gestured at the door. "After you."
}o{
Casey sat on the window sill in his room, puffing on a cigar, letting the smoke flutter out into the cool ocean breeze outside. "That's something I didn't consider."
"Exactly." Sarah shifted her weight uncomfortably. She'd been wracking her brain the moment Grand told them about this Agent Gibson who was undercover at the hotel to handle him. How on earth would they deal with this situation?
What happened if Grand told his handler about the other agents harassing him in his room? Gibson would contact his superiors, no doubt, and they would tell him they didn't send anyone else. Her cover would be blown.
And Chuck…
He'd be in major trouble.
"Hmng." Casey paused, frowning deeply. And then he flicked his eyes over to her, the smoke curling out of his mouth slowly. "Sure you ain't too fond of bein' this close to an IEL agent, huh? Already got close enough with another'n, din't ya?"
The look in his eye made her want to shove him right out of the window. He'd end up a pile of broken limbs somewhere down below. Maybe he'd hit a few railings along the way.
She shook herself out of the thought and glared at him, purposely not looking at Chuck. She didn't want to know what kind of a look he was giving her. He was smart enough to pick up on Casey's less than subtle suggestion.
"I don't much enjoy the thought of having an IEL agent on my ass, no. But we're stuck here. And we already revealed ourselves as spies to Grand. If he says anything to Gibson, we'll be found out. We'll all be in deep shit—"
"Then we find a reason to give this Gibson feller for why we're here. Obviously, we have to make like we were lyin' to Grand. Gibson will know we ain't IEL. You an' me, maybe we could play it off for a bit, but he'd never believe this guy." He flicked a bit of ash in Chuck's direction and snorted in amusement.
Mercifully, Chuck was silent, merely glaring at him. She finally looked at the inventor and felt a gentle tug in her chest. He looked tired and in pain from flashing earlier. He was probably too exhausted to take Casey's bait.
Just as well. They didn't have time for petty arguments.
"Right, but what story do we give the agent?" she asked. "If we can't tell him we're spies, what are we going to tell him?"
"Whatever we tell him, it has to be first thing in the morning," Chuck said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Casey gave him a questioning look. "We told Grand not to talk to anyone, but we all know he will. He'll tell Gibson first chance he gets. Probably in the morning. So we'll have to find Gibson before then. Spin our tale before he hears it from Grand."
"Or we could all just leave," Sarah said. The other two men turned towards her, one narrowing his eyes, the other furrowing his brow in confusion. "If this gets too complicated, we'll drop the ball somewhere." Casey sent Chuck a look. "Not just Chuck, Casey. Any of us."
"We ain't leavin'." He readjusted his backside on the sill.
"It's not safe for us here," she argued.
"I don't give a bleedin' cow whether or not you two're safe. I'm here to get information on where our elusive Agent Larkin is. Pretty sure Gibson will have somethin' on him." He shrugged and took another puff on his cigar.
Sarah could feel Chuck looking to her for guidance. Warmth prickled over her skin and she ignored it, meeting his concerned gaze with one she hoped was at least a little reassuring.
"Fine. So we can't leave. Then what do we do instead?"
Casey settled in thought and Chuck started pacing, slowly moving from the desk to the bed and back again.
This entire trip to San Diego had been a mistake.
But Casey had been quickly losing his patience with Chuck. And she honestly had no idea what sort of action he'd take against Chuck if he decided the inventor was no longer helpful to him. That he'd wasted so much time on Chuck when he could have been elsewhere, pursuing other leads to finding Bryce Larkin, would enrage the bounty hunter.
She had to force herself to remember what he was, whom he was. He was not an ally. He might hurt Chuck the moment the inventor became useless.
Maybe that wasn't the case. Maybe Casey had some form of a moral compass. It was hard not to where Chuck was concerned; the man had a way of getting under your skin.
Either way, it'd be a lot smarter for her to expect the worst from the surly bounty hunter. That way she'd be prepared if anything went south. She liked to be prepared.
And that was why they needed a plan now.
"Easy." Casey broke her out of her deep thought and she looked up at him. Chuck stopped pacing, turning towards the man in the window. "We tell 'im the truth."
Chuck spun to look at Sarah and she looked away from him to Casey. "The truth? Are you insane?"
"So they say," he said with a toothy grin, pushing out of the window and standing to his full height, stretching a bit. "I'm a bounty hunter hired by the government to find Bryce Larkin. I'm sure this Gibson feller knows about Larkin's disappearance if he's important enough to look after our boy Ishmael."
Sarah narrowed her eyes. "This is too complicated."
"Not at all. S'the truth, ain't it? I'm a bounty hunter—he'll know the name John Casey, trust me." She withheld the urge to roll her eyes at his overblown pride. It wouldn't help anything. "Government agency contracted me to find Larkin. Grand was his last known asset. This was the last mission he was officially assigned. Makes sense I'd come 'ere lookin' fer 'im." He shrugged. "I'll talk to Gibson in the early mornin'."
"That's all fine and dandy, Casey, but that doesn't explain why we're here."
"Sure it does," Casey said, rubbing his finger under his nose and sniffing. "You're my assistants." He shrugged again. "Easy as pie."
They broke away a few minutes later, Casey seemingly at ease with the whole thing. And why not? What did he have to lose?
She and Chuck had plenty to lose—how much, Casey couldn't know. He didn't know just how dangerous this was for Chuck, because he didn't know Chuck had the Intersect. Would that change anything, she wondered? Would he be less apt to put Chuck in danger? She knew Casey didn't give a rat's ass about her safety, but Chuck's? Maybe…
By the time they got back to their room, Chuck was silent, glum even. She let him have the silence, keeping one eye on the slump of his shoulders, the way he kept rolling his head back and forth as if to ease the pain in his neck and head.
Until finally, he sighed, loud enough for her to hear from the washroom where she'd just finished changing into clothes she could comfortably sleep in without revealing too much to the man who was decidedly not her husband, the way they'd both pretended he was all day.
Sarah stepped out into the main room and frowned at him. He'd since draped his body over the chaise lounge by the window. His feet protruded over the end so far that he could almost bend his knees and plant his feet on the ground.
She supposed she could argue for him to take the bed, but by now, she had a good idea of what Chuck could be stubborn over. He wouldn't budge about her sleeping in the bed. She knew it. So she wouldn't waste his time, or hers.
"Sarah."
She had leaned down to pull back the covers and climb inside, but stopped at the sound of his voice. "Yes?" she asked, continuing to pull the duvet and sheets back enough to get into bed.
"What happens if Agent Gibson doesn't believe us?"
She situated herself on her back and stared up at the ceiling. "He will."
She made sure to sound very confident. Even if she didn't feel that way. She had no idea what tomorrow would bring.
"What if he doesn't?"
"I'll figure something out, Chuck."
She heard him huff and she stole herself for whatever was coming next.
"I'm getting a little tired of 'I'll figure something out, Chuck'. Honestly. And I know you're doing your best to protect me. This isn't on you. I'm not mad at you. I'm just frustrated." She heard him move and she turned to watch as he pushed himself up to lean on his elbows, looking across the room at her. "I feel like I'm always in this situation. Dangling with my feet over the fire. Getting closer and closer. And every time it's 'I'll figure something out, Chuck', and we've narrowly escaped so many bad things in the last few weeks because of you. I'm grateful. Please don't ever think I'm not," he said sincerely, those lines between his eyebrows making her ache. "It's gotten to the point where I'm interested in finding Bryce myself, if only to knock him flat on his ass."
She watched him as he shut his eyes and plopped back onto the lounge, huffing in frustration. There was a resignation in him that she didn't like at all.
"I don't really mean that," he continued quietly. "I know Bryce didn't mean for me to get…infected with this thing. I know that's not the right word for it; it just feels so appropriate. I feel infected."
She stayed quiet, rolling onto her side to face him and folding her arm under her head.
"I'm just tired of always hearing we'll think of something we'll think of something we'll think of something. I'm tired of being in bad situations. Dangerous situations. I just want to go home and teach my frie—program my automaton. Make buttons for my sister's coalition. Fix toys and watches. I want to sleep in my own bed, sit in my own bathtub, and read my book about mechanical theory that I checked out from the library forever ago." He sat up suddenly. "I just realized how insane my overdue fee must be on that book."
Sarah had no control over the laughter that spilled out of her, a soft, tinkling bit of laughter that made him blink, and then a slow, warm smile grew on his face as he watched her laugh at him. The first smile she'd seen from him in what felt like quite awhile.
And that made the laughter die down much quicker, as she remembered just how much Chuck Bartowski had smiled before all of this business with the Intersect. When he was just a man who every so often made an appearance at The Aviator's Timepiece for a mug of hot nutmeg and a biscuit.
She had no such feelings of forgiveness where Bryce Larkin was concerned. If she ever met him again, she would probably kill him.
"I know. I'm an idiot." He grinned and ducked his head with a self-deprecating wince.
"You aren't. You're simply a regular man who's been dragged into a highly irregular and unfair situation."
He looked at her for a long while, which made her a little uncomfortable, even if she pretended it didn't. It was the way he looked at her…
And then he must have realized he was doing it because his eyes widened for a split second before he diverted his gaze down to his lap. It was further proof that he wasn't as naive as Casey, and even Bryce, made him out to be. He knew the situation, and he was aware of how wrong this was—how wrong they were.
"Chuck, just remember that no matter what situation you find yourself in, you're not in it alone." She was sure she didn't make any of this better when she said things like that. She just couldn't stand the thought of him thinking he was all alone in the world.
"Hm." He nodded. "You have Bryce to thank for that, too."
She didn't want to respond to that, so she didn't.
Chuck continued.
"Someday…maybe…I'd like to know what it is he's holding over your head. I mean, why you're here. What it is that's so important to you that you'd put yourself through hell protecting me for it. Or maybe not what, but…who?"
He didn't ask if it was a man, but she heard it in the way he drifted off. Sarah forced herself not to look at him, still saying nothing.
"It's none of my business," he rushed. "I know you won't tell me…or you can't. I understand. You owe me nothing. But…is it for someone? Are you protecting someone else?"
"Chuck."
"I know, I'm sorry. I'm not going to ask again. I'm sorry." She saw him lie back down in her peripheral and she flopped onto her back again, blinking at the ceiling.
He could never know. Nobody could ever know about Jack Burton's sins, and what she'd done to protect him from the consequences of his sins. It was too much that Bryce knew.
But she'd been so young and stupid. Such a horribly stupid girl who'd let herself be comfortable enough, and drunk enough, to tell a man she didn't trust even that little bit about Jack, when he'd been manipulating her into telling him something he could hold over her head someday the entire time they'd been together.
She saw it now. And she'd never make that mistake again. Not with a pretty man she didn't even trust.
Not even with a man she did trust.
And she had to admit, if only to herself, that Chuck was that man. In spite of everything constantly raging inside of her where the inventor was concerned, she trusted him more than she'd ever trusted anyone. And she'd trusted people before, people who'd earned her trust at least a little bit.
They didn't exchange any other words. Instead, Chuck stood and putzed around the room, turning down the lamps. She heard him shuffle back to the lounge, plop onto it, and move around for a good two minutes until he was as comfortable as he could get on the damn thing.
"G'night, Sarah."
She didn't have the wherewithal to respond.
}o{
"How hard is it to find the damn maître d' of the hotel? Shouldn't he be everywhere?" Chuck hissed, leaning down closer to Sarah so that she could hear him over the clatter of dishes, banging of pots, and loud voices.
Strangely enough, everyone in the hotel kitchen was so focused on their job that the two strangers who had somehow found their way into this underground realm that guests weren't supposed to see went completely unnoticed.
Sarah merely shrugged at him. "Should we perhaps ask someone?"
"No, no. The moment we speak to one of them, this well-oiled machine will come to a complete standstill. Haven't you ever read anything about ant colonies? One ant stops and it throws off everyone else. This entire kitchen could come crashing down over our heads."
Sarah was giving him a look that was dripping with dry amusement when someone bellowed, "BEHIND!"
Both of them took a quick step forward as a waiter blasted past with two trays balanced on his gloved palms.
"I think we best get out of here, your strange ant metaphor aside," she mumbled, her hand landing on his wrist. Her finger pushed under his shirt cuff and he felt every last nerve in his arm tingle at the gentle touch.
Chuck was sure he'd die before all of this was over, and it would have nothing to do with spies or crime lords or a grumpy bounty hunter, and everything to do with the woman standing beside him at this moment.
Brushing that thought away, he let her lead him out of the kitchen and through the door into the dining room. From there, they nonchalantly strolled around the perimeter of the room and made their way into the lobby.
"Brown hair, green eyes, five foot eleven, you said." Sarah was sweeping her gaze around the lobby, he noticed, so he did the same, looking for the face he'd seen in the grainy photograph that he'd seen in the flash.
"Yes. The dossier in my flash said brown hair and green eyes. Five foot eleven and three quarters. Ridiculous, I think."
Sarah turned to raise an eyebrow at him. "What is?"
"That they would have his hair color and eye color and height in his dossier. Don't spies have disguises?"
"There's only so much a disguise can do. Changing one's height might be difficult."
"Yes, this is true. But what about the work you do?" He felt her fingers tighten a bit on his arm. More of a spasm, really. "I suppose I just mean…Well…How much are you able to change about your appearance? I can't imagine you not sticking out no matter what you do to disguise your appearance."
He meant it as a compliment, but she didn't seem to care either way. She merely shrugged and answered the question, unaffected by his flattery. "I have my ways," was her only response.
After a few more minutes, they decided Agent Gibson, or rather, the maître d' apparently named Denton, was nowhere to be found in the hotel. Sarah surmised he was probably personally serving one of the guests their breakfast. Though they both knew just after sunrise was the time when hotel staff was the most active, preparing for the day. Not just for breakfast, but to clean the rooms, and otherwise take care of their guests.
"It doesn't make sense that the maître d' isn't currently conducting that insanity in the kitchen," Sarah said as they finally reached the hallway that led to the room they were sharing. "Perhaps we missed him," she said as Chuck fished the key out of his pocket and slipped it into the lock. "What color of brown was his hair, exactly? Did you see? Was it a lighter brown, or was it a darker brown like yours?"
He swept the door open and let Sarah in first, prepared to tell her he didn't know. The photograph he saw made his hair look yellowish, since the entire picture was yellowish.
But she halted just inside the doorway, her body rigid. He felt more than saw her go for whatever weapon she'd hidden somewhere at her hip in the gown.
"Ah ah! I wouldn't do that. Hands up where I can see them."
Chuck froze. He couldn't see anyone over Sarah's shoulder, but the voice sent a shiver through him.
"Come in and shut the door."
The inventor knew inherently that this was meant for him. So he stepped in slowly, his hands up, and shut the door behind him as Sarah shifted out of his way.
As he walked in, he turned to look at the bed and found a man in a suit fit for the maître d' of an expensive hotel casually splayed over the mattress, leaning back against the pillows Sarah had slept on, one hand folded over his chest and the other brandishing a small but deadly pistol.
"You couldn't possibly even begin to understand just how badly I wanted to rifle through those suitcases. I didn't. A small courtesy, but only because I don't entirely know what your business is here in my hotel."
As he sat up, his piercing green eyes were trained on them, just as steadily as the gun he held was.
"Who the devil are you and why are you in our room?" Sarah asked, her voice shaking in fear. "Are you an employee of this establishment? I can assure you, I will be speaking with management, and you will be fired. My husband and I will never stay here again—"
"Please." He straightened his crisp black jacket with his free hand, giving it a quick, graceful tug. He was about Bryce's height, with the same color hair, though his was much straighter. And his face was much more angular. But the man had a regal air about him that was intriguing, the neatly combed mustache over his lip adding a tinge of masculinity to it that made Chuck feel slightly…inadequate. There was an inherent grace in the way he spoke and moved, like Sarah.
But Chuck also saw an off-putting amount of confidence in him as well. Or maybe it was the long look Agent Gibson sent Sarah, his eyebrow lifting in interest, his mouth slowly stretching into a charming smile, that Chuck found off-putting.
"Don't insult your intelligence and mine. We all know you aren't here to break up the monotony of upper-class life. You're here for some purpose that's unknown to me. But I have it on good authority I shall know what your purpose is immediately." He waved his gun a little. "Good authority."
"I don't know what you mean," Sarah said, lifting her chin proudly. It only made the agent shake his head in faux disappointment. And then he stepped back and sat on the bed again. "Get off of my bed," she squeezed out through a clenched jaw. Chuck saw the muscles in her neck tense above the pretty lace neckline of her gown.
Gibson raised his eyebrows, amused more than anything, and in an infuriatingly patronizing way that made Chuck's throat burn, but the man did as she commanded, holding his hand up defensively, the gun still pointed at them. "This is your bed? Hmm."
The way he looked at the bed and then at her made Chuck's blood boil even more. His insinuation was very clear. And Chuck couldn't help peeking at Sarah's reaction. Even as her shoulders tensed, Chuck saw her cheeks redden, and he felt an uncomfortable prickling feeling at the back of his neck.
"Now before I force you to tell me why you're all here, and what you're doing talking to Ishmael Grand," he added, the playfulness and flirtation gone, his eyes hard, features dark, "I'm going to need everyone here. Which means I need one of you to retrieve your friend."
Chuck felt a chill go through him. Just how much did Agent Gibson know about them? How did he know? How long had the man been following them? Watching them?
"How about you, beautiful?"
Gibson stepped closer, his eyes softening as he neared the con woman, the charm pouring out of him again. Chuck watched Sarah swallow thickly, her features immovable.
And as he stood with only a few inches of separation between them, he lifted his gun to point it directly between Chuck's eyes. Chuck was a little preoccupied with his own fate to notice the way Sarah's lips parted in a small gasp.
"Bring your brother back here, Mrs. Charles," he emphasized, showing them quite clearly that he knew they'd lied about their identities. "If it takes too long, if there's any funny business, Charlton here will end up with a bullet in his poor brain."
If only Agent Gibson knew what he'd do away with if he did, in fact, put a bullet in Chuck's brain. The inventor found some incredibly wry humor in that thought. Perhaps he'd be courtmartialed. Or whatever the equal punishment might be for an IEL agent. Prison? That was a pleasant thought.
Silver linings and all that.
Sarah didn't say anything as she stepped back, turning towards the door. She gave Chuck a reassuring look as she met his gaze. He gulped and nodded, letting her know he was alright.
And then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
A/N: Cliffhangers are truly a lost art if you've watched anything on TV lately, or read any new books lately.
Well, I found it again.
You're welcome.
Working hard on the next chapter to get it out as soon as I can! Please leave a review if you can!
Thanks for reading!
-SC