A/N: ANOTHER!
Here is my thing. I am determined to get as much of this out as soon as I can. Because I lost a lot of readers during that massive chunk of time in which I neglected to update this story. And that makes me sad. I know it's slow going, but it's also fan fiction and I called it the Steampunk "CHRONICLES" for a reason. Which means I'm going to have my character-growth loving ass some fun, capiche?
Anyway, the hope is y'all have fun along the way, too. My readership and reviewership has tanked, but I'm here for those of you still reading and enjoying.
Disclaimer: I'm not making money from this. These aren't my characters. CHUCK doesn't belong to me.
Last time in the SteamVerse:
You got to know Agent Gibson! (Isn't he just a doll? I'm thinking along the lines of Puppet Master.) Our trio managed to persuade him that Casey is a bounty hunter and Chuck and Sarah (Ashley and Beth Saphead because thank you Casey!) are his assistants. They got the bad news that a boat won't be heading back to San Diego until Monday morning, but Gibson came to the rescue and found them tents in Hotel Del's infamous "Tent City".
Ahoy! I spot some action on the horizon! Shall we go full speed ahead?
Sarah was quiet for most of their walk back to their tent.
But it wasn't an uncomfortable quiet. She just listened to him, a soft smile on her face as he talked about the man at the carnival who'd fixed a piano with tacks to make it sound more tinny. And how when Chuck had played it, the keys had felt different from the piano he'd played at the orphanage. "Badly," he was sure to add when she gave him a surprised and interested look. "Ellie will tell you she'd sell her soul to never hear Pachelbel's Canon ever again."
As they continued the meandering trek back to their tent, Chuck circled back to a thought he'd had earlier on in the day when he'd first wandered down to the cliff house. And this time he voiced it aloud, painfully aware that the con woman might not be very receptive to this kind of conversation.
"Sarah?"
"Hm?" He felt her eyes on him but he stayed facing forward.
"Do you ever think…about how different your life would be if you'd been born rich?" He paused, but she didn't say anything, so he continued. "I mean, with a mother and a father who cared what happened to you, where you ended up? Do you ever imagine?"
His idea of wealth didn't have to do with money or big palaces. It was about people—the people you had with you, around you. And he'd always wondered how things would be different if he'd grown up with it.
And the toymaker had no idea just how singular the woman at his side thought he was as she came to the realization that he meant family instead of money. Instead he waited, careful not to look too closely at her.
She was silent for a good while, tense against his side. "I—I don't know. I suppose it isn't something I imagine because it isn't what happened and it's better—Oh I don't know. Isn't it better not to dwell on what might have been?"
He faltered a bit. Even though her tone hadn't been admonishing in the slightest. He felt she truly believed what she'd just said. "You're right, I think. We can't go back and try again, can we?" He sighed. "Ellie and I and—" He swallowed thickly and shook his head. "We would always stay up late. Ellie snuck into the boys quarters and sat on the end of my bed. We talked about another life, some other…timeline…in which our parents were adventurers. Egyptologists." He watched the corner of Sarah's mouth turn up in a small smile. "Ellie's favorite was that our parents were medical professionals who took us to other countries, to heal the sick in Africa, India, Nepal, Argentina…the Arctic even. And we learned all sorts of languages, got to know all of these other cultures."
"That doesn't surprise me." He chuckled at that and her smile grew, but she was still quiet. "What was your favorite?" she asked finally."A farm." He shook his head. "Very unoriginal, I know. It just always seemed like such a peaceful existence. You have your land and your…cattle. Your family works the land. It's all yours. It's…safe. Picturesque."
He didn't notice the way she was hugging herself, her face hardening.
"Although, I'm probably romanticizing farm life. I imagine it's a hard life, having a farm. But it just always seemed warm and inviting. I'd like farmer parents."
Sarah didn't respond, and he glanced over at her. She was distracted, chewing her lip.
"D-Did I say something wrong?"
"No." She shook her head and lowered her arms to her side. "It sounds very nice."
"And you?"
"What about me?" She squinted out at the sun setting over the water.
"Any fantasies of wealth?"
"I never thought about it," she said with a shake of her head. "Perhaps something close to the ocean where nobody could reach me. Away from everything. Away from…this whole world."
"Peaceful," he said quietly. And then he opted to go in a direction that lightened the mood further, if only to see the pleased surprise in her face. "It's just that I'm certain I'd have my own airship."
Her head whipped about and she furrowed her brow at him in confusion. But then that smile of hers bloomed over her face. And she laughed, shaking her head at him. Best of all, she bumped his arm with her shoulder, something so wonderfully teasing that he almost felt lightheaded with giddiness.
"Truly!" he chuckled. "I've never been in one, so I've only got my imagination to go off of, mind you. I just…I imagine that being up in the sky, above all of…this…" He gestured at everything around them with his free hand. "God, it must be so freeing. Being up there while everyone else is down here, living their lives, and you're just so far removed from all of it. Every bad thing that exists down here…gone…up there in the clouds. Don't you think?"
She was watching him closely, and he could tell she wasn't sure how to answer him.
"It's alright," he finally said with the kindest smile he had. "That was rhetorical. I know you've flown before. And I'm not sure I want your answer if it's anything other than what I've imagined." Then he frowned a little, down at his feet, because he simply couldn't help it. "Gives me hope that if everything goes to hell, I at least have the sky to escape to."
Neither of them spoke again until they arrived at their tent and she asked if she could wash up first. He took it as it was intended.
And she smiled gratefully when he bowed his head slightly and announced he was going for a walk.
Chuck moved away from the tent as she disappeared inside, wandering through the encampment, his feet taking him in the direction of Casey's tent quite by accident.
He was going to slip past and meander the main street when he heard a voice inside of Casey's tent. It wasn't Casey's voice, but another. One he recognized.
What was Agent Marcel Gibson doing sneaking around Tent City, and inside of Casey's tent no less? Was he invited there? Were Chuck and Sarah the ones being played?
He felt himself tense at that thought, and he knew he couldn't walk away from this. Tonight, he wouldn't rely on Sarah to protect him. Tonight, he would protect himself—what was more, he would protect her. And he would show her he was capable of being her partner in all of this, not just as the unfortunate target she was blackmailed to protect.
So he tiptoed closer to the tent, careful not to let the lamps lining the main street cast his shadow against the tarp as the sun slid behind the horizon and disappeared. He knelt beside the corner of the tent where there was a slit between the flaps of tarp, and he put one knee down in the dirt, sweeping his bowler off of his head and moving his face in close to try to hear their conversation.
"I need your full cooperation," he heard Agent Gibson say.
"You don't get a damn thing 'til I get paid. Or did you forget I'm a bounty hunter?"
Chuck felt a chill go down his spine. Paid for what? Was he handing the IEL agent his "assistants" for payment? Did he know who they were? Did he know the toymaker was the Intersect this whole time and now he was turning them in?
He forced himself not to lose control or go sprinting back to Sarah until he heard more. He couldn't let himself overreact just yet. He wouldn't assume until he knew for sure.
"I haven't forgotten, Major Casey. But there's also the matter of this contract of yours, the one that makes you a tool of the government to use in whatever situation the government so chooses until the contract is up."
"That ain't how it works," Casey growled. "Any work I do gets me a check, or I ain't doing it."
"Not according to your contract. See, I've sat in the room with the officials who write up those contracts. Did you actually read yours, or did you take the Imperial Bureau of Machinery and Defense at their word?" There was silence, and it seemed to please Gibson by the tone of his voice. "If you had read it before you signed it, you'd know you are obliged to do whatever either IBoMaD or the IEL request of you, whether it pertains to your hunt for the AWOL Agent Prettyboy Larkin or not."
"That's a load o' horse shit. My contract doesn't—"
"Doesn't it?"
Silence again.
"The hell you come to my tent fer?" Casey grumbled. "Why don't we jes git to the point?"
"I'd love to." Chuck heard someone splash liquid into a glass, then there was a pause, and the sound of the glass hitting wood as it was put back down. "Good whiskey, Major Casey. We can drink it with the rest of our party when the mission is a success."
"What mission?" Casey asked, echoing Chuck's own startled thought.
"I've been waiting for the reinforcements I was promised at the beginning of this damned mess they sent me into. And every time I send a request for a few agents, I get a telegram telling me I need more evidence before they send extra resources. Well, now I have a way to get the evidence." There was a long pause. "But they won't give me reinforcements until I provide evidence. So you see my predicament."
"Reinforcements fer wut exactly?"
"I'm bringing Theodore West's operation down. I'm collecting the evidence and taking him out, all with one fell swoop. And then I'll be given the respect I deserve for the work I do."
Casey scoffed as Chuck rolled his eyes. "F'course this is some power play. Why can't none o' you do somethin' 'cause it's yer damn job? Always need to get medals and honors an' a pat on the back from Her Majesty. Bringin' down a nasty piece o' shit like West, potentially saving future lives in the process, ain't enough for ya."
"Get off of your high horse. You're a bounty hunter. All you do is take out criminals for reward," Gibson spat.
"Not a shiny piece o' metal I can put over my mantelpiece, brother. What I do is for money. So's I kin live in a way I choose, eat wut I want an' when I want. Sleep under a roof. S'far as I'm concerned, s'long as I git paid, I don' need no stinkin' ribbons or gold badges, unless I kin sell 'em an' git more money."
Chuck heard another splash, a gulp, and the whoomp of the glass hitting the wooden tabletop. "You're a no-good bastard, John Casey. You know that?"
"Yeh? Wut else is new? And what the hell you mean yer takin' out West? Yer one man."
"Four."
"Wut four? You got a team here?"
"I didn't. Not before. But I do now."
Chuck figured out Gibson's meaning just as soon as Casey did, and a chill went through him that admittedly wasn't as bad as the first one. Because at least Casey wasn't throwing them at the IEL like he'd first assumed. Silver linings.
"If yer includin' my team in that, don't. We ain't helpin' you in this suicide mission. We're movin' on come Monday, and we're findin' Larkin. We aren't in the business of savin' the day."
"And that's why I brought up your contract, Major. Maybe that wasn't your business before, but it is now. Because you signed that contract. You should've read the fine print, perhaps."
"Nah, this is bullshit. We ain't helpin' you."
"You are."
"No. We ain't."
"On Sunday night, you and your team are going to help me prove Theo West is colluding illegally with foreign leaders in his business deals, and then you're going to help me arrest him for treason."
"On Sunday night, I'ma be in this bed enjoyin' my whiskey."
"You really don't understand, do you? You have no choice." Another silent pause. "I'm not able to do this alone. I could get the evidence alone, of course. I have the camera to record his late night supper he has scheduled with said leaders. But then it would be quite some time before Graham sends his agents to help me. If we strike on the same night, I can get out of this God forsaken place, and I'll never have to put up with a screeching bourgeois throwing hot coffee at me because it doesn't have the correct ratio of cream to coffee."
Chuck felt cold, even after hearing Casey's snort at the image of a screeching woman throwing coffee at the bastard IEL agent's face. Casey was trapped, and if he was trapped, they were trapped with him. This was a suicide mission.
"You kin do this on your own. I ain't gonna be a part of it. Neither are my people."
"You think I can just burst into the room and announce Big Theo's under arrest, and they'll just step aside and let me walk him out of the room in cuffs?" Gibson hissed. "I'll be shot before I get a single word out. No, no. I need a team. This needs to be crafted. I've crafted it. Down to every last detail. It can be done. But I need you, and your people."
"Don't give a chicken's ass wut you need. You can't have me or my people."
"Again, Major Casey, I don't believe you understand. I'm not asking. I'm informing you. Next, I'll be ordering you. Or shall I resort to blackmail?"
Chuck shivered.
"Blackmail? Fer wut? You don't got nothin' on me."
"Except for that smuggling charge that threatened to put a black mark on your name when you were a boy," the agent said calmly, dangerously.
Chuck perked up. Casey was a smuggler? It wasn't exactly a surprise, was it? He was a bounty hunter, now. But he wouldn't let Gibson hold that over his head, would he? Who cared if he was a smuggler when he was just a boy? Everybody had to do whatever they could to survive.
"Wut of it? Everybody's smuggled somethin'."
"But not everybody has somebody out there trying to make her own way in the world, somebody whose dreams might be dashed if it were known Major John Casey wasn't a war hero, but instead he was a smuggler, a thief…a fraud. Even in a world where no one's truly without sin, that would damage her life greatly, wouldn't it? There's not much that keeps your government from going back on their agreement to expunge that little blight from your record. And really, it isn't just the one little blight, is it? There are many blights. Many things you'd like to keep hidden. If not for you, then for her. Hm?"
Casey was silent, but Chuck could feel the tension even from outside of the tent. Who was Gibson threatening. Who was this she? He could guess. Someone Casey loved, perhaps? Some woman he'd left behind for some selfish reason? Or perhaps…perhaps it had been to protect her?
"That a threat?" came the low, dangerous growl.
"Yes. It is. Before you try to kill me, remember I'm an agent with the IEL. I've written a letter to General Beckman that details your breach of contract—"
"What breach of contract?" came Casey's tight, furious voice.
"The one where you deliberately refused an order from a government agent who outranks you. I won't have to send that letter if you help me take down Big Theo tomorrow night. I don't have to tell you what will happen if that letter is sent, do I? Because it won't just affect your future, it will affect hers…and theirs."
Chuck knew the agent meant his and Sarah's futures. But Gibson had no idea just how right he was.
"I ain't sellin' my partners out in this. I don't make decisions for 'em. They make their own. The bounty huntin' business is about freedom and I ain't throwin' theirs to a wolf, no matter how fancy his badge is."
Chuck wanted to stand up and clap, or rush into the tent and hug the surly man who'd been a thorn in his side more often than not in the past few months. But he stayed where he was, silent.
"I don't give a damn about the—what do you call them? The Sapheads? I know this is all an act, John. They might be your assistants, but they're certainly not the Sapheads, nor are they married. A woman like that would never willingly bind herself to a man like that." In spite of himself, Chuck felt the sting of his words. If only because he knew it was true.
"Be that as it may, that's exactly what she did," Casey growled. And Chuck wanted to hug him again. "Ain't my business to know why she did. But she did."
He heard Gibson make an impatient sound of doubt. "It doesn't matter. They don't matter. They're not important enough for me to check on them. As long as they do what's required, you can keep your little rag-tag team. You can keep everything. And I'll tear up that letter about the breach of contract. Nobody will feel the adverse effects of the sins of your youth. I won't even tell anyone I saw you…You'll help me, then."
Another pause. But Chuck knew what Casey's answer would be. Just like Sarah had agreed to put her life on hold to protect the Intersect if it meant someone she cared a great deal for was safe, Casey would do whatever was necessary to keep his loved one safe.
"I need to talk to them first. They aren't gonna wanna do this."
"Then make them want to. Because there's a lot at stake, Casey. You break contract, General Beckman's strange connection to you isn't going to save you from having your past smeared all over the intelligence circuit, hitting the presses, and making Al—"
"I got it. Jes git the hell out o' my tent."
Gibson chuckled. Then came another splash, gulp, whoomp. "Thanks for the whiskey, Major. I'll see you and your team bright and early to prepare for tomorrow night."
Chuck silently burst from his spot against the tarp as quietly as he could, wanting to have better cover when the agent left Casey's tent. As he ducked behind another tent and carefully peeked around the corner, he saw Gibson's silhouette stop between Casey's tent and his neighbor's. The man looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the tent Chuck was sharing with Sarah.
He couldn't see the man's face well enough, but he figured he knew what was on his mind. Sarah Walker. Or, rather, Beth Saphead. Since that was the only name the agent knew her by. It put a green spike through him, making what he'd just heard that much worse. Not only had this man just threatened an innocent woman trying to live her life somewhere without the influence of whatever life Casey had chosen for himself, he was yearning for a woman who, for all intents and purposes, whether he believed it or not, was married.
Chuck watched the man leave, keeping an eye on him until he was far enough away…And then he made a break for it, sprinting all the way back to the tent and just barely remembering Sarah might be in an indecent state inside. He slid to a stop, his boots scratching along the dirt.
"Sarah!" he hissed into the slit of the flap entrance. "Sarah, are you decent?"
He didn't hear anything, and he felt like a louse, but he was desperate to tell her what he heard as soon as he could before Casey showed up. (If the man had any intention of telling them what had just happened. Maybe he'd just spring it on them in the morning so as not to give them a chance to escape.) Chuck burst inside of the tent, covering his eyes with his hands as he heard her gasp.
"I'm terribly sorry, but I just overheard Gibson and Casey talking in Casey's tent and I need to tell you what they said right now."
He chanced a peek and saw a lot of her collarbone, her smooth flawless shoulder, her long neck, before she slipped the lacy strap up over her shoulder. He shut his eyes tightly again.
"What do you mean?" He didn't say anything. "Chuck, I'm decent. What did you hear?"
He lowered his hands and looked at her, having to swallow a few times. The woman whose clothing she stole had been a bit larger than Sarah, and while she'd looked gorgeous anyway, it hadn't fit her form as well as her clothing back in Los Angeles had. These undergarments, however, must have been from Sarah's own suitcase. Because they fit her so flawlessly, accentuating her thin waist, leaving a large square of her upper chest visible, and her long, graceful arms that he knew were so much stronger than they looked. The white cotton pantaloons ended in lace just under her knees, leaving her shins and calves bare, her feet bare and so perfect. Every part of her so perfect, including her long hair that flowed freely down her back.
God help him, he was only human in the end.
"Chuck."
"I'm s-sorry. I—Sorry." He shut his eyes tightly and shook his head. He was mortified she knew he'd been staring at her, but it didn't seem to bother her any as he opened his eyes again and stepped closer.
"I don't know why, but I walked towards Casey's tent, maybe to talk to him, I don't know. But Agent Gibson was there. And my immediate thought was that they were colluding. That Casey knew—that he knows about me and…" He lowered his voice, moved even closer, doing his best to fight the blush that came from standing this close.
"…And what I have in my head," he said quietly. He knew how easy it was to hear a conversation from outside of the tent. And anybody could be listening.
"God help us," she breathed, her eyes widening.
"He doesn't. He set my mind at ease a moment later. He isn't selling us out. He still doesn't know the truth."
"Then what was Gibson doing there? Get to the point, Chuck."
"Sorry. Yes. I am." He licked his lips, not noticing the way her blue eyes dropped to them in the flickering candlelight. "Agent Gibson wants us to help him take down Theo West tomorrow night." Sarah blanched and he spoke faster. "There's going to be a meeting over supper. West has invited some foreign leaders he isn't supposed to be colluding with. I imagine he'll take pictures of the meeting perhaps, and then use that as evidence to arrest him."
"Gathering proof of his illegal dealings and arresting him in one fell swoop?" Sarah whispered. She leaned even closer. "That's insanity!" she hissed. And she was near enough that he felt her breath against his chin.
"My thoughts exactly."
"Casey said no, didn't he?"
Chuck winced.
"I'm going to kill him."
"Wait, wait…" Chuck curled his fingers around her wrist. "He has no choice. Gibson has dirt on him, something…something bad. He used it to blackmail Casey. I'm pretty sure he has no choice."
"Blackmail?" Sarah's brow furrowed over her anger. "What does he have on John Casey?" Interest and curiosity both lit her face and she seemed to wait with bated breath. She was hanging on every word…
His chest ached. It wasn't that he didn't trust Sarah. He did. But he also knew she would do whatever she had to if it meant surviving. She'd said it herself, over and over again. She was first and foremost a survivor.
"I—I don't know." He felt awful, but he couldn't betray such a deep, dark secret. Whomever that woman was, she deserved Chuck's secrecy. He wasn't supposed to hear that private detail about Casey's life. About his past. He wouldn't be the type of man who held that over another man's head.
Chuck Bartowski wasn't a blackmailer.
"But they both knew what it was," he said, his mouth dry. "Casey has no choice but to help him. It's a suicide mission, but we have no choice—"
Moonlight spilled into their tent as the flap opened, and Casey's bulk form stepped in front of it. He knelt down to move into the tent, letting the flap close behind him. Then he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.
"Am I interruptin' somethin'?" He seemed pleased by the thought.
Chuck took a quick step back and realized belatedly how much worse that made it all look.
Sarah rolled her eyes. "What do you want, Casey?"
He stepped further into the tent, then cocked his head, gesturing wordlessly for them both to come closer. They did.
"Agent Gibson just came to my tent. He has a plan to take down Theo West's operations, and we're going to help him. Tomorrow night. He'll be back in the morning and we'll start planning then. That's all."
He spun on his heel to leave but Sarah reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him to face her. "Say that again?" she said through a clenched jaw. "Because it sounds to me like you just signed Chuck and I up for a suicide mission."
"I had no choice. S'in my contract with IBoMaD that I help government agents who outrank me."
"The hell does that matter? Gibson is with the IEL. His name isn't on your contract, is it?" she asked.
"No, it in't. But that don't matter. If I don't help him, that's breach of contract. I lose this job. An' prob'ly plenty o' future jobs. This is my career we're talkin'."
Chuck watched him closely, and he saw there was begrudging fear deep down in his eyes, under the hardness, the steel of his face. Agent Gibson had hit Casey in his most vulnerable spot. It wasn't fair. It was cruel. It was disgusting.
And he hated the thought that he'd have to help that man.
"Plannin' starts first thing in the mornin'. Be in my tent half after seven." He started walking away, but Sarah stopped him again.
"Wait one bleeding moment, Major. This is your contract. Not mine. Not Chuck's. I don't give a single damn about this cover. We're not your assistants. We're not marching in there to get killed just to save your career."
"I said be in my tent at half after seven." He looked over his shoulder at Sarah first, then at Chuck.
The toymaker read it clearly. Major John Casey was walking out of this tent, knowing full well he was giving them ample time and opportunity to leave him behind, to escape his watchful eye. But he had no choice.
Sarah let him go this time.
A few moments passed, and then Sarah spun to look at Chuck, the gears whirring in her head. That passed, too, and then she rushed back to her cot, grabbing her skirt and stepping into it."What are you doing?" he asked quickly, following after her. He knew what she was doing.
And he was disappointed.
"We're leaving," she mumbled, fastening the skirt at her waist, before reaching down to pick up the blouse she'd been wearing.
Propriety be damned, he reached around her to grab the blouse away from her, holding it behind his back where she couldn't reach it. She flashed burning hot blue eyes at him.
"We're not going anywhere, Sarah."
"Like hell am I marching into that hotel tomorrow night to get myself killed," she said through gritted teeth.
"Gibson has a plan. And no matter what happens, we can't just abandon Casey."
"How far have you fallen into this cover, Chuck?" she asked, moving up close to him, lifting her chin, her eyes flashing again. "I'm not your wife, we're not Casey's partners, and he isn't our boss. We're not bounty hunters."
He felt the sting of her including the part about her not being his wife. As though that was something he'd somehow started to believe in any way shape or form. Maybe he was hapless at times, but he wasn't that hapless. And it hurt to know she might think that he was.
But he wouldn't let her have that satisfaction, so he ignored it.
"No, we aren't. But he is. And he's been trapped by that snake of a spy. You should've heard Casey sticking up for us in there. He didn't have to. He didn't know I was listening. He had nothing to gain by insisting we had a choice in this, but he did it anyway. I'm not abandoning him." He met her look for look. Until she huffed and tried to reach around him to grab her shirt back. He merely thrust his arm out further and she growled.
"Chuck, this isn't a game. This isn't one of your penny dreadfuls. You walk into that hotel tomorrow night, and I can't protect you. Not from West or his men, not from Gibson, not from anyone who might try to harm you."
She twisted her hands in the lapel of his jacket, making sure he was looking at her closely. He couldn't not look at her. It was impossible. Even if he wanted to look away.
"You could die." She let that linger, and he felt the sickness in him. He knew what she said was true. But he couldn't let that sway him. "These men aren't just bad men, Chuck. They're killers. I, of all people, should know. I'm even more dangerous than they are." There was a depth in her then, and in that depth, he saw darkness inexplicably tangled up with guilt and sadness. It killed him to see it, but his heart fluttered that she allowed him to see it, whether she meant to or not. "But there's only one of me. I can't do this. I can't save you from this. No matter how hard I try. I'm one person."
He cupped her elbow gently. "I know. But we can't leave Casey to face a breach of contract. Not with…whatever it is Gibson is using to blackmail him hanging in the balance. I can't in good faith abandon him with that over his head."
"Damn your good faith!" she hissed, letting go of his jacket with a hasty push and walking away from him, pacing to the exit and then back again, frustration and annoyance seeping out of her. "Chuck, this isn't the time to be the good guy. You're always good, always protecting people when they don't give a damn about you. Do you truly think that brute cares about whether you live or die?"
"He told Gibson he wasn't selling us out. In those words. Being a bounty hunter is-is about freedom, he said. And he wasn't going to throw ours to the wolves. How can you hear that and still want to abandon him?"
"Because he tried to kill me, perhaps? Because he's keeping us around so that he can find your old pal to turn him in and collect the bounty? Because the second he finds out—" She stopped herself, glanced over her shoulder, and then marched up to him again, her face oh so close to his, making his heart race, as disappointed as he was in her, as frustrated as he was that she was fighting him on this. "The second he finds out you're not the key to finding Bryce Larkin, the second he finds out that you're actually the last place on Earth Bryce would ever be…" She sighed and it caught in her chest for a moment. "You're in big trouble, Chuck. When he finds out we've led him on, we're both in big trouble. If we leave now, he'll be stuck here until he's fulfilled his contractual obligations with Agent Gibson." She huffed. "Who knows? This damn escapade of Gibson's is so blasted insane, Casey might be killed. And then we're in the clear."
Chuck felt his face collapse into…he didn't know what. But he knew she saw it, and she immediately looked like she regretted what she'd said. "He tried to kill me, Chuck. Did you forget that? This man is dangerous. We've been trying to get away from him all this time, and when we finally get the opportunity, you want to stay and protect him?"
"You didn't hear what he said. There's good in him."
"You think there's good in everybody, Chuck. But there isn't. Some people—" She swallowed thickly. "Some people are just bad. They do bad things. And even if they do good here and there, they're still bad."
He thought she would touch him for a moment, the way her hand lingered in the air between them, and then she didn't, dropping it back to her side and sighing.
"Please, Chuck. I know you're trying to do the right thing. But it's my job to make sure you're safe. And the safest thing for us is to get out of here before we're roped into a suicide mission."
"I'm not going."
"Oh, don't be an idiot," she snapped, walking away from him again.
Anger rose inside of him. "Oh, so I'm an idiot now? I'm an idiot for not letting a man who refused to throw us to the wolves walk into a lion's den all alone when I have the ability to help him?"
"Your animal kingdom metaphors aside, if he knew the truth, he would turn us in faster than we could even blink an eye. So yes, you are an idiot for wanting to stay. I choose being alive come Monday over being able to pat myself on the back while I'm at death's door for not abandoning a man who wants me dead. I'm not staying, Chuck."
"Then go. But I am staying."
"Chuck, I'm the only person in the world trying to help you. For once in your damn life, listen to me."
His face hardened, and he clenched his fists at his side. "Go ahead and leave. Then you can explain to Bryce why I died alone in that hotel. Why you failed to protect me."
He refused to bring up the blackmail, and what might happen to whomever she was protecting by being here. He wouldn't stoop as low as everyone else in this situation.
But he could tell she was thinking about it, her blue eyes grey and cloudy, her chest heaving.
"I regret the day I agreed to this. All of this," she finally said, her voice low and cutting. "I knew I would. I just didn't think you'd be the one to give me a reason to regret it. Yet here you are…"
"That's right, Sarah. Here I am. I'm not just going to lie down and do whatever you want me to. Maybe Casey hasn't been a friend to me, maybe he's been an outright ass for most of the time I've known him…" But the woman out there who Gibson had threatened didn't deserve to pay for Casey's sins. "But nobody deserves to be blackmailed. You didn't deserve it when Bryce did it to you."
"You're alive today because he did. So don't act like my being blackmailed hasn't been a blessing for you," she snapped.
Chuck stared at her for a long time. And then he looked down at his feet. "That's rich. Don't think I'm not grateful, Sarah. But I do wonder if you knew even one kindness in your entire life before you were forced into mine, before you met me. Truthfully, I'm hard pressed to think of any other benefits you might've gotten from knowing me these last months, but I do know at least that one. I've never been unkind to you."
Her eyelids fluttered and her lips parted.
"We're staying," he said, his voice low. "We're helping John Casey. We're helping this unmitigated ass who's blackmailing him to get him to leave us alone. And if we end up dead, my conscious is clear. That might not be enough for you, but it's enough for me."
"You're being foolish," she breathed.
"For once, I don't give a damn what you think of me." He marched up to her, even put his finger in her face. "I mean that."
He left then. Because he had to.
}o{
She hadn't followed him this time. And that meant walking through the tents, pacing the length of the main street a few times over, and going to the water's edge, all of it alone, drowning in a mixture of disappointment and anger.
It had taken hours for him to see the entire argument for what it actually was. They were both tired. Tired of being tugged around, tired of being used.
He'd been drowning in his own angst about all of this, but she was just as deeply trapped as he was. Whatever he'd done to blackmail her, Bryce had ensured her existence depended on Chuck's figurative flame not getting snuffed out.
And by the time he shuffled back to the tent where he'd left Sarah, he considered for a moment, as he stood outside of the entrance, that she might have left. It was entirely plausible she had. And he wouldn't blame her for it.
By Monday, they might all be dead. She was a survivor. If she left, it was her survival instincts kicking in.
But he believed in her. He had faith in her humanity, in the goodness in her that she didn't see in herself. And in spite of everything she'd said, in spite of her cutting words, he was sure he'd find her in the tent when he walked in.
So that when he pulled open the flap and peered in the tent, he wasn't surprised to find her asleep in her cot, her skirt and blouse folded and placed on top of her suitcase. She was facing away from him, the sheet and thin coverlet half falling off of her to the ground, covering her only up to her waist.
It wasn't a terribly cold night, but the early morning hours were still to come, and he knew from experience that the hour just before sunrise was the coldest.
He quietly walked to where she lie on her side, her hair that she'd since braided loosely falling over her shoulder, and he knelt down next to the cot. Delicately and carefully, he picked up the sheet and coverlet. Then he pulled it over her, situating it in a way that ensured it wouldn't fall off again.
Chuck kept his hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle over the coverlet. And he bowed his head, nibbling on his lip.
She was asleep, he knew. But he couldn't help himself.
He whispered a soft, "No matter what happens tomorrow, you and me, we have to stick together. That's how we win. That's how we always win. And that's how we'll win in the end."
Chuck stared at her smooth cheek in the soft light from the candle she'd left lit for him, he assumed. It was a small thing. Such a small thing. But it was these small gestures that made him feel validated in believing in her goodness.
He reached over to carefully and tenderly move a few wisps of hair from where they'd fallen over her temple, tucking them behind her ear.
And then he stood up and moved away from her, blowing the candle out and falling into his bed. He was beat, his legs sore from walking for so many hours into the night. And he just barely got his boots off before he fell asleep, not even bothering to get under the covers.
}o{
She watched Chuck closely as he fixed the tarp over the back of the wagon Agent Gibson had pulled around in front of Casey's tent.
As much as she could have used the sleep last night, she'd stayed awake until Chuck came back, worry almost making her go after him a few times in the hours he'd stayed gone.
But her pride had made her pretend she was asleep. And she painfully knew for a fact that she'd convinced him on in the morning, she'd let him sleep as long as she dared, finally waking him up, handing him his boots and his hat. Neither of them said a word before showing up at Casey's tent.
She'd gotten some satisfaction from seeing the slight surprise in the bounty hunter's face, like he'd actually believed there was a chance they would skip out on him, leave him here to deal with this alone.
And in spite of wanting to, she'd known all along she couldn't. Hadn't she? Of course Chuck wouldn't abandon someone in their time of need, not even someone like Major John Casey who posed a great threat to his safety and freedom. And she wouldn't abandon Chuck. No matter what happened. As long as he had the Intersect, as long as he needed protection, she had to stay with him.
There was no other choice. Bryce made sure of that.
After Gibson had arrived, the foursome spent the morning going over the hotel's layout, planning who did what and when, arguing over the details.
The agent disappeared again in the early afternoon, not coming back for a few hours. And he was here again, the start of their death march quickly approaching.
He pulled the horse and wagon up next to Casey's tent.
"I'll need someone to go with me to load the weapons," the agent announced as they gathered around. "I stocked a secret cache a few miles away for this purpose precisely. Everyone else will have to trek down to the market to get a few flats of ale. Have to make this cart look legitimate, after all." His eyes slid over his team, and fastened on her. Of course, she thought to herself. "Not sure how you'll handle carrying all of that juice, Mrs. Saphead, so why don't you help me collect our arsenal?"
Chuck stepped up next to her. "You'd be surprised how much my wife can carry. Take Major Casey with you. He's the weapons master of the three of us."
"He's right. I am," Casey piped up.
"No, Casey's the strongest of all of us. He gets the ale."
"I'll go with you, then," Chuck said.
Sarah clenched her jaw and put her hand on her "husband's" arm, brushing past him and moving towards the front of the wagon where the IEL agent sat in the driver's seat. "It won't take long. And don't worry, Ashley. I'll be surrounded by weapons."
She sent Chuck a look that she hoped would get a smile out of him. It did, if only a little one. But the amusement was definitely there. She even heard Casey give off a small snort.
She ignored Gibson's hand he outstretched for her to take, hiked up her trousers at the thigh, and swung up to sit beside the agent, staying as far away from him as possible on the narrow seat. "Let's get this over with, then," she said, and he smirked, setting them off towards their destination.
The journey was blessedly quiet for awhile, but then she saw him shift a little. Her skill at understanding body language meant she knew what was coming and she rolled her eyes.
"Mrs. Saphead, hm?"
"Yes."
"Beth Saphead."
She ignored him as he tried it out a few more times.
"See, it's just odd. It doesn't fit you." She continued ignoring him. "Beth surely does. But Saphead? Never." He paused. "And you're a bounty hunter. Hm. Can't imagine what you see in it, a pretty, elegant woman like yourself."
"It's none of your business, frankly."
He chuckled. "You're right. I apologize. Very rude of me. You just fascinate me, that's all."
"And if I had an apple for every time a man said that to me to try to sound original with his come on, I'd be carrying around an entire orchard with me everywhere I went."
He laughed this time. "Fair enough. But it's the truth. You do fascinate me." There was a short pause as he pulled on the reins, guiding the horse to the right at the fork in the road, towards the ocean, she noticed. "I've never met a woman quite so beautiful, but more than that there's a…sensual mystery about you. I've always loved a good puzzle. And you seem like the best puzzle there is. Definitely a challenge. A challenge I'm not sure a man like Ashley Saphead could ever be up to. Just boggles my mind."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" she asked, turning to regard him in annoyance, leaning back, away from him.
He shrugged. "Of course. Only the worst sort of man settles for a simple woman. You're anything but simple."
Sarah rolled her eyes. The more he spoke, the more that itch she'd felt in the beginning seemed preposterous. Granted, any interest she might have had, the sliver that had been there at first, was gone by the time she found out he blackmailed the bounty hunter to keep them all there, to force them into this foolhardy plan that was most likely going to kill them all.
Mercifully, he stayed silent for the next ten minutes, until they rolled into the mixture of dirt and sand, and pulled up beside a row of small bathing boxes in which vacationers could change in and out of their bathing suits.
Gibson gracefully swung down to the sand and walked around his horse, stroking its neck tenderly as he came around to her side. She made sure she climbed down just as gracefully before he even reached her, annoyed by how big his smirk was.
"So where is this cache? At the bottom of the sea? I'm not wandering out there."
"Oh, no no, sweetheart. Steel yourself for I may just impress you."
He smiled with no small amount of charm and cocked his head back over his shoulder, a dangerous glint in his eye. Then he walked over to the nearest bathing box and took a key out of the back of his pocket.
Annoyed by her own curiosity, Sarah followed him, her boots sinking into the sand with each step.
Gibson unlocked the door and swung it open, holding it for her to look inside. The interior was very small, only about three feet by three feet. There was a small wooden bench, a rusty hook that protruded from the wall, and that was it.
"Agent Gibson, there are no guns in this wood heap."
"Marcel, beautiful. Remember? Call me Marcel." When she ignored him, he sighed and stepped past her into the bath box. "Not everything is as it seems at first. Just as you thought I wasn't worthy of your attention when you first met me…" He knelt down, brushing at the sand over one of the wooden floorboards. And then he slipped two fingers in the hole at the end of the board and tugged. The floor came up in a large square in his hand, revealing a staircase that led underground. "Voila. Now you are impressed by me. Even…interested? Just a tad?" He grinned cheekily.
And she hated herself for being impressed. He'd probably dug this himself after buying the bath box as his own. It was a very safe place to keep an arsenal of weapons.
She was careful not to let any surprise show on her face, and she was gratified when he seemed disheartened by her lack of response. "This is where the guns are, then?"
"Yes. Ladies first."
Sarah made a face at him. "No. I insist, you go down there and get the weapons. I'll wait by the wagon. Keep watch."
"Don't trust me, hm?"
"Not further than I can throw you." She moved to the doorway of the bath box as he called her name. She blanched at the familiarity in his voice.
"Beth." She turned back. "Bet your husband doesn't have an arsenal as big as this one." His tone said very clearly he still didn't believe her and Chuck's cover story about being married.
"You said yourself, not everything is as it seems at first. You might think you know all about my husband," she said, her voice flat, without the flirtation she might usually lace it with, "but you know nothing about his arsenal." He smirked. "I suggest you drop this shameful flirtation," she continued, her voice hard, "Or you'll get to know his arsenal rather well. And I doubt you'll live to tell the tale."
She left him then, and climbed up to sit on the seat of the wagon to keep watch as he carried all of the weapons up the stairs, shoving them in the flat of the wagon, fixing the tarp over them, putting the floor back in place, and fastening the bath box's padlock.
He was sweating and the worse for wear when he climbed back up into the driver's seat beside her. "Thanks ever so for the help," he grumbled.
She didn't even acknowledge he'd spoken.
Again, she was spared his attempt at flirtation for a few lovely minutes, and she allowed herself to enjoy the soft breeze, going back to a time when she'd ridden in a vehicle very different from this, the seat bruising her backside after the bumpy ride. But the afternoon she'd spent at the top of the cliff overlooking the ocean had been…so comfortable. Even though there'd been another person there with her, that person had only added to her comfort.
It was one of the few times she'd felt more comfortable and safe with another person than she felt being alone.
But as Agent Gibson shifted, his shoulder brushing against hers, the moment of peace effectively died. For the man she sat next to now did not make her comfortable. Nor did he make her feel safe.
And he made it that much worse when he turned to regard her. "So tell me how I'm supposed to believe a woman such as yourself willingly married a nincompoop like Ashley Saphead? I'm truly curious to know what your answer will be. Because I still genuinely don't believe this cover story about you being married to him."
"I don't owe you anything, least of all an explanation of my relationship with my husband."
"He isn't your husband. Drop the act, Beth."
"Mrs. Saphead."
"You're wondrous, you know that? You don't even crack a smile or wince when you call yourself by that God awful name."
She clenched her jaw. Sarah Walker had never taken well to being patronized, or to being laughed at. And he was doing both. "I will gladly throw you off of this wagon and you can walk back if you don't stop talking," she snapped.
"I've obviously hit a nerve." He smirked. "Oh, come now. Honestly. The man can't even be a passable bounty hunter. I see a woman like you with someone who can properly hold a weapon, first of all. Someone who doesn't rely on his wife to fight all of his battles for him."
"Ashley knows what his wife is and isn't capable of, Agent Gibson. Something most husbands never learn, in spite of being married for decades longer than we've been married. You'd do wonders for yourself if you learned a few things from him. Like respect, for one. And not having an overblown ego."
"My ego is overblown?"
"Incredibly overblown. One wonders how you even move through doorways, your head is so massive."
He looked a tad miffed and she inwardly celebrated. And vowed not to play his game, for she knew that if she continued along this road, she'd play right into his hands.
And she didn't want this man's hands anywhere near her.
She took everything she'd thought in the beginning back, blaming her brainless libido for the split second of physical interest.
This man wouldn't be desirable to her in any situation.
And she assumed he'd make a lousy lover anyhow. Self-serving and proud and fumbling.
"Alright, then. Keep trying to convince me. It won't work. Nobody would believe a man so awkwardly shaped—almost like a praying mantis—would ever hold interest for any woman, let alone a woman so fine as you are." He watched her for a long while as she stared straight ahead, wanting this awful ride to be over. "He barely speaks. Probably a tad dim-witted is my guess. What have you all to gain by pretending the two of you are married, anyhow? Ah!" He snapped his fingers. "Bounty hunters are very usually cheapskates. You pretend the two of you are married and you only have to pay for one room instead of two? Does Mr. Saphead sleep on the floor?"
"He sleeps with me," she couldn't help saying.
Why was she allowing Agent Gibson to get to her? If he'd insulted her, she could shake it off. But something about the repeated barbs he was jabbing into Chuck behind the younger man's back made her furious. It was bull dung like this that added to the toymaker's inability to see his own worth, his obvious reluctance to understand what a woman might see in him…especially a woman who—like he'd said the night before—hadn't known genuine kindness before she met him.
"Is that right?" Gibson asked glibly. "Then why when I laid myself out on your bed the other morning did I notice only one side of the bed had been slept in?" She knew he'd be studying her face so she kept her mask over it. "I'm a spy, you see. And one of the first things you learn at the Factory is to observe, and then surmise."
"You surmised wrong is all," Sarah said as they finally rode through the Tent City. Thank God. And as he pulled the wagon around towards Casey's tent, she spotted Chuck gently lowering a flat of ale onto the ground, straining a bit as he attempted to do it without breaking anything. Casey stepped around with another flat and set it down next to his. And then both turned to watch them approach. Something about the relief in Chuck's face and the way he tried unsuccessfully to stifle the look gave Sarah a spike of confidence.
"Did I?" Gibson asked, still glib.
"You see, I spent the night on top of my husband."
The wagon came to an abrupt halt and Sarah swung herself down off of the wagon, using her momentum to rush into Chuck's body, her arms wrapping snugly around him.
She buried her face in his shirt, not caring that it was a little damp with sweat, his body heat a tad stifling. His arms wound around her torso and pulled her in closer.
"You alright?" he breathed into her hair.
"Yes. Just showing the bastard what a married woman looks like. Hold me tighter," she responded, her lips moving against the skin over his collarbone.
She felt him shiver under her touch, but he held her tighter, curling his fingers in her shirt.
He couldn't possibly know how much strength she was getting from this embrace. She'd been shaking with fury, listening to the agent dress this man down, for no other purpose than that he was a jealous ass. So full of himself that he thought any woman might leap into his arms.
She'd met egotistical men before. Bryce Larkin was one, though certainly not quite this deplorable. But the way Agent Gibson seemed to take glee in insulting her husband in front of her had left her in need of Chuck's settling, calming, reassuring presence.
He would help her take the high road. Else she might knock Marcel Gibson flat on his ass.
In spite of their fight the night before, Chuck was here. He'd willingly listened to her, without questioning her motives, just holding her tighter when she asked him to.
And then she stepped back and gently put her hand on his face, raising her voice just enough that the other two men might overhear her say, "I missed you."
Amusement threatened to spill out of him, then, and she gave him a wide eyed look of warning that only he could see and he schooled it quickly, merely smiling down at her in unbridled adoration. "I missed you, Mrs. Saphead."
She beamed and then clamped her lips between her teeth, hugging him again to keep Gibson from seeing she was on the brink of laughter. The anger was gone. In its place was the genuine satisfaction of the camaraderie between her and her toymaker.
Like he'd said last night when he'd thought she was asleep, they had to stick together. As long as they did that, they'd be alright. They'd win.
Another couple of hours passed in Casey's tent as Gibson went back to the hotel to prepare supper for the guests. Of course it'd be suspect if the maitre'd was absent for that part of the day, since he was the one who orchestrated the entire meal and handed out assignments to the waiting staff.
Eventually Chuck pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket, sending Sarah a particular look. She lowered her chin and narrowed her eyes at him as he sat at the table across from Casey, proposing a game of gin rummy.
How did he manage to obtain another deck of cards after she'd taken his a few months back when he'd come to the Aviator's Timepiece during her shift? The look on his face as he peered up at her again very clearly said "Wouldn't you like to know?"
There was a hint of flirtation in the exchange that she wasn't prepared for. And she found herself wandering outside into the night to get away from it, letting the sea breeze cool her cheeks that she knew were pink.
When she saw Gibson determinedly striding through the rows of tents towards her, she pushed up from where she leaned against the wagon he'd left outside of Casey's tent and hurried inside.
"It's time, boys."
Chuck jumped up from his seat so fast he knocked it over, sending it to the ground with a clatter. Embarrassed, he righted it again and gathered up his cards, leaving the stack in the middle of the table as Casey fixed the suspenders of his trousers and shrugged on his jacket. He snagged his hat, grabbed a few knives to slip into his boots, and walked out to meet the agent.
Sarah grabbed her own jacket from where she'd draped it over the nearby chair, shrugging it on, and then she went to the dresser across from Casey's unmade cot and picked up the box that held their masks.
Gibson pushed halfway into the tent, the smirkish, smug act gone. He was a spy now, his face hard, his mien all business. "Keep them in the back with you. We won't need the masks until we get inside. And for God's sake, man, pull yourself together."
He was an ass, but Gibson managed to do exactly what needed to be done to put some color back into Chuck Bartowski's face. There was anger, determination, and even a smidgeon of rebellion in the look he sent the agent's way as he followed him out of the tent, his shoulders back, hands clenched, standing tall and even a little heroically.
Sarah trailed behind them a bit as she watched Casey put his stubby top hat on top of his head and swing up into the driver's seat. He turned and gave her a terse nod, which she responded to in kind. And then she flipped her braid up under her own cap and buttoned a few buttons of her coat, shoving the masks under the tarp where the weapons were stashed in boxes that resembled the flats of alcohol Chuck and Casey had bought earlier that afternoon to sell the story to whomever happened to see them approach the hotel.
"Sapheads, get in the back with the weapons." Gibson pointed at them, Chuck in particular, which Chuck seemed to resent. "Don't move. Don't make a sound. Am I clear?"
Sarah nodded and pushed Chuck towards the back of the wagon. He grabbed the tarp and lifted it up for her as she glanced up at the IEL agent climbing up next to Casey who held the reins.
It was starting, she realized as she climbed under the tarp, carefully maneuvering herself to lie down on her side without bumping into any of the guns.
This was likely the last night of her life if things didn't go according to plan.
And as Chuck climbed in after her, his body jammed up against hers because of how tight the back of the wagon was, she found herself more upset about the possibility that tonight would be the night the world lost the one man who had the ability to save it.
His face was close to hers as he kicked at the tarp to make sure it covered their feet.
Then there was a whap! sound and the carriage bumped forward, rocking along the path towards the hotel. Chuck's dark eyes lifted to hers in the darkness. She could barely see them. She felt the fear in them more than she saw it.
And she let him see that she was just as afraid.
A/N: That wagon is rolling straight into the lion's den and I cannot wait for the action to start! It's going to be a blast. (Apologies to the lovely Hotel Del Coronado for any damages that may ensue. I'm poor so I can't pay for it SORRY!)
Also, SHOUT OUT to Vs the Hard Salami and that scene in the trunk for giving me this wagon idea! You know it had to be so HOT in there. Hahahaha! ...I'll see myself out. When I leave, see that you review though. I don't deserve it, I know, but please.
-SC