A/N: Some of you are still here, like, 1000 years later. And I need to take a moment to say you're all incredibly important to me. It might feel like a small thing, reading someone's story and leaving a review at the end. But at a time when I'm having to really dig deep and search for small joys and positivity, the fact that you're still here wanting to know what happens, caring about these characters, means more to me than I can say.
MUSHY SAPPINESS ASIDE!
This chapter is so action-y. So much action. I had to edit a whole lot to try to make the action exciting and not too detailed. I even went on Youtube and watched Brandon Sanderson's lecture on fight scenes. Legitimately helpful and I have my friend Frea O'Scanlin to thank for pointing me in that direction years ago. (PM me if you want the link to that lecture!)
Disclaimer: I'm not making money from this. These aren't my characters. CHUCK doesn't belong to me.
Previously in Chuck Versus the Steampunk Chronicles:
The mission went sideways! West's men are after the crime fighting gang now. Chuck's gotten himself up on the hotel's roof and Sarah somehow fought her way through the inside of the hotel to barricade herself in an empty guest room. But as she attempted to climb out of the window...
Her boot slid suddenly and her fingers slipped on the damp tile they were clinging to.
And with a scream on her lips, she pitched backwards.
She flung her arms out to try to grab onto something else, anything else.
And then a hand shot out and clasped onto her wrist, holding on securely enough that she slammed against the wall instead of plummeting to her death.
The toes of her boots scratched against the white painted wall, trying in vain to somehow scramble up to safety, her survival impulse kicking in, but then the hand around her wrist began slowly hoisting her up.
She heard a grunt of effort above her and looked up to see a face she recognized well, even with the goggles covering the upper half of his face. He grit his teeth as he pulled, reaching down with his other hand to grab her by her elbow as she swung her free arm towards him.
As soon as she was close enough, she desperately threw that arm around his neck.
Sarah was able to catch the inch-wide ledge above the window with her toe enough to help him as he strained to drag her safely onto the roof where he'd splayed himself out to catch her before she fell to her death.
As her knees found cold, damp, but gloriously flat tile, she threw all of her weight at him with a relieved gasp, just barely swallowing a sob. "Chuck!" she breathed, clinging to him like he was a lifeline.
He literally had been a lifeline.
"You're alright," she heard him pant into her hair, holding her just as tightly. "I have you." She was too shaken, too relieved, to put too much thought into the fact that this was the first time she'd felt so safe. "I have you, Sarah."
She took a deep, wonderful breath of frigid fog-ridden air, letting herself feel his strength and comfort, letting herself bask in the security of his arms, and then she pulled back, grabbing his goggles with both hands and pushing them up to smash down his curls on the top of his head. She didn't know why she needed to see his eyes so badly. But she did. And when she saw them, along with his brow furrowed in concern, she felt all the better for it.
"Thank you," she whispered, touching his face. He was alive. He wasn't down there in the dirt somewhere with a bullet in his chest. Those gunshots hadn't been the sound of the toymaker being murdered like she'd feared.
He just smiled reassuringly at her, and she vowed to never underestimate Charles Irving Bartowski again.
"How'd you get up here?" she asked then, narrowing her eyes in confusion.
"Uh, I climbed." He shrugged.
She frowned.
"What the hell happened with the lights?" he asked her.
"What do you mean? I turned them off. Do you see them on?" She painfully pushed herself up to her feet with him helping her, his hands securely on her waist and hips. She kept one of her own hands on his shoulder to steady herself, then returned the favor to help him stand. "C'mon, we have to go. They'll be at that window any second and I'd rather be on another roof by then. They all have guns."
"Yes, I know," he said, gulping. "Nearly got a bullet to the back of the head." And then he shook his head, grabbing the camera she hadn't noticed 'til that moment and slinging the strap over his shoulder, before leading her along the roof. Carefully, since it was still at a bit of a slant. "You didn't answer my question. The lights," he prompted again.
"You tell me. What happened? I was down in that damned basement."
"Well, the lights in the Crown Room went off," he explained over his shoulder.
His foot slipped a little and he squeaked out a quiet exclamation before righting himself. She snagged his hand out of the air to help, giving him a look that clearly told him to be careful. Properly chastised, he shrugged and kept going. "But then a few seconds later, they went back on again. Gibson was caught snagging the documents off of the table and Casey was caught snagging Big Theo."
"The lights went back on, you say?" she asked, wincing to herself.
"Yes. And then they went off again just as Gibson and Casey were nearly shot by two of West's goons. There was a lot of gunfire. But then Casey jumped through the window and landed in front of me."
Sarah gaped. "Through the window?"
"Mhm. He told me to run, I grabbed the camera…" He patted it where it was most likely digging into his back. "…and I made a run for it. But they were already coming 'round to get Casey, since they probably saw him go out the window, and when they saw me instead they took a few shots."
Chuck stopped at the edge of the roof, crouching down with the toes of his boots hanging off. He gulped and looked down at the third floor roof that was easily six feet below them. "I climbed up here using the gutter. Well, I got on the first floor roof using the gutter, and I just kept going up and across until I found you."
"Good thing, too," she said. "Else I'd be flat as a pancake right now." Sarah shivered as he turned back to look at her.
She mimicked his position on the edge of the roof. It wouldn't be an awful jump, from this perch to the one down there. But it wasn't easy, either.
"I wouldn't let that happen to you," he said, and as she turned to give him a look of surprise, he leapt down, crashing onto the roof and having to skid to his knees to stop.
Sarah waited with bated breath until he stood up again, wincing but alive. And then she followed suit, landing much more gracefully and with significantly less noise.
"The lights?" he asked again as she led him along the third floor roof.
"Oh. Gibson never actually told me the right lever to turn off the power. So I had to bloody well guess. Let it be known, I hate guessing." There wasn't much control in guessing games, and she needed her control.
"You hate guessing. Stored in here." She saw him tap his head and she stopped, her eyes widening. "No, I didn't mean in the Intersect. I-I don't think I can add things into it. I don't actually have any control over it, especially not like that. I just—I meant my brain."
"Oh." She shook her head. "Of-Of course."
"It's still in there. My brain, I mean. It knocks about if I move my head too fast." He smiled at her and she smiled back, climbing up to the peak of the roof, slinging one leg to the other side and straddling it again, much like she had the other day.
The fog made it hard to see anything but Chuck as he followed suit, facing her, watching her closely as she spoke.
"But I guessed anyway, and I suppose I guessed wrong. I pulled one switch and it must have turned off the lights, but only in the Crown Room. Nothing happened where I was, so I figured I'd pulled the wrong one. So I pushed it back in place…" Chuck gave her a flat look. "I realize it was stupid, but I was trying to think on the fly, as it were. I tried to pull two other switches but they were locked and I couldn't figure out how to unlock them. So I killed the control panel with a bullet."
"Sarah…Did you shoot the control panel?"
Sarah ignored him as she suddenly remembered something and she glared. "You locked me in the basement, by the way."
He made a face. "I what?"
"You shut the door, Chuck."
His warm face paled and his eyes widened. "Oh my God, I shut the door." She raised her eyebrows at him. "Oh my God, Sarah. God. I'm so sorry. I shut the door. You were locked in—What did you do to get out?"
Chuck looked so genuinely upset about his faux pas, she had to actively resist putting her hand on his where it rested on the roof between them.
"It's alright. I'm alive." There were a few men in the hotel who weren't, though. They were dead. She'd made sure.
Chuck winced and shook his head. "I'm sorry."
"I forgive you." She swung her other leg over the peak and perched with her boots braced against the tile, then turned to look at him. "But we need to get off of the roof. As safe as it feels for now, they're bound to try to follow us up here."
On second thought, she reached over and tapped his goggles. "Put those back over your eyes. And…where's your hat?"
"It fell off when I caught you. Good riddance, anyway. It didn't fit all that well." He shrugged.
She huffed in amusement, then expertly slid down the tiles, her boots scraping until she could perch on the edge of the eaves. Chuck followed less expertly.
They spent a few minutes moving along the roof of the hotel, carefully but quickly, having to stop and press themselves against the red tiles when they heard voices from somewhere down below.
Sarah thought about Casey, only for a moment, wondering if he'd escaped. Chuck told her about how he had watched Casey yell and shoot back into the Crown Room with two pistols at once as he ran, and she'd nearly slipped she was so amused by the image.
She was sure he could take care of himself. He was a bounty hunter, and a major. He'd been in battle, she had to assume. Though the battlefields were most likely very different from whatever the hell this was.
Sarah finally stopped, bracing her feet against the smokestack facing east towards the ocean. Chuck mimicked her position. "We can't just stay here and hope things die down, can we?" he asked, rolling his head towards her. He looked strange with the goggles on. They were different from the ones he used in his workshop. Those were certainly less protective, and she could see his brown eyes through them. These were tinted jet black and bulky; they covered most of his features. It was a little unsettling.
"No," she finally answered. "They'll find us up here eventually. We have to get into the hotel and sneak out on the ground floor. Then we can ditch these disguises and meet Gibson at the docks."
"If he's still alive," Chuck said. "There were a lot of gunshots in there. The chances of any number of the bullets hitting him seem high."
She could feel him watching her closely. Was he trying to read her response? Why would he do that? Unless perhaps he was trying to gauge whether she felt something for the agent?
She felt the prickle of annoyance. Men were fools. Even the best of them.
"He's a spy. This was his mission. He knew the risk."
"Yes…"
"The window should be down here," she continued without blinking. "I just have to make sure nobody is inside." As she eased herself down onto her stomach, she gestured for him to join her. He did so carefully. "Just grab onto my legs and don't let go, please."
"I won't," he said dryly, and she nearly laughed, in spite of how tense their current situation was. Maybe it was because of how tense their current situation was.
She slid down as far as she dared, feeling Chuck's arms wrap securely around her legs. She felt safe enough to ease down further, and then she heard his voice whisper down to her in the darkness.
"Did you hear that?"
"What?" she whispered up at him.
"Gunshots."
He was silent and she heard the loud bang of a gun somewhere behind them, perhaps at the front of the hotel, or inside of it. She couldn't exactly place where it had come from.
Neither of them said anything.
But Sarah knew what Chuck was thinking. They might have just heard one of their team members die. Just like she'd thought about Chuck when she'd been in the basement earlier.
"A little lower," she whispered, and he eased her down even more until she could finally see into the room. It was empty. But she felt relief too soon. Because when she grabbed at the window and tried to pull it up, she found it was locked. "Damn it!" she hissed.
"What? Were you seen?" he asked from above.
"No. Window is locked. They probably all are. Pull me up."
He did, and he didn't let go of her until she was safely sitting on the roof beside him. "We have to find a balcony.""Well, we've done this before, haven't we?"
Sarah spared him a small smirk before she led him to the same place they'd found themselves two nights ago when they'd first seen Ishmael Grand.
The railing was much more slippery than it had been that night, the moisture in the air making the climb feel treacherous. But they managed to get inside of the hotel safely.
The hallway was empty as they shut the door silently behind them, but she could hear the ruckus of terrified guests elsewhere in the hotel. She gestured him forward and together they snuck through the corridor.
Sarah pushed herself in front of Chuck as they rounded the corner at the end of the hall, just in case.
And she stopped dead in her tracks.
Two of West's men were at the other end.
She quickly shoved at Chuck, pushing him back behind the corner and diving after him. He gave her a look.
"They're right there," she mouthed.
"They're on this floor," one of the men was saying, loudly enough for Sarah to hear. "We saw 'em go up, and Tommy Boy's got Luis on the fourth floor. No way they could get by 'em. Harry an' Ed are on the second floor."
"You take right wing, I take left?"
"Check every room."
Sarah and Chuck exchanged a look, Sarah calculating and Chuck desperate.
She looked over his shoulder down the hallway. "We need to get out of the hallway. C'mon," she whispered, grabbing him by the lapel of his jacket and pulling him along with her.
She tried each door handle as she went along, cursing every time she found the door locked. Until finally, she found a door ajar. Sarah didn't even chance a look over her shoulder at Chuck, instead pushing in, hoping she didn't have to subdue whomever was inside.
But the room was empty. The guests had left their things, probably when they fled in a panic after the gunshots. She pulled Chuck in further and then stood in the threshold, peeking out just enough to see down the hallway.
One of the bastards strode around the corner and, without standing on ceremony, kicked open the first door he came to, charging in with his gun drawn.
The hotel door's lock wasn't going to work, apparently.
She whipped her body back into the room when the man came back out, shouts of whomever he'd barged in on following him. Sarah heard him kick in another door, followed by a high pitched scream just as she shut the door again.
She didn't even bother with the lock as she rushed back to where Chuck stood in the middle of the room.
"Window? Back to the roof?" he asked, and he moved to the window, looking out of it. "Never mind. There's only death out this window." She frowned at him in confusion. And the sound of doors slamming open was getting closer. "There's nothing to climb onto."
"Damn it," she hissed. They'd picked the wrong room to hide in. She tore her hat and goggles off and looked around the room for a weapon. They were trapped, outnumbered…There was no way for them to fight out of this.
The "goons", as Chuck called them, would come into the room and find the two men they'd been looking for here. Like fish in a barrel—with West's men holding the guns and she and Chuck playing the fish.
Sarah stilled, a thought occurring to her.
Two men. They thought they were going after men. Nobody knew she was a woman. She'd heard them calling her "he" when they were chasing her down.
She was a con artist. She knew human nature better than most did. She knew what drove people, what demoralized them, what hurt them, what made them happy, proud, she knew how to stroke egos… And she also knew what embarrassed them.
The con artist turned to look at the toymaker.
And then she rushed to his side and moved his goggles away from his eyes, carefully trying not to snag them in his curls.
She grabbed his jacket and started pushing it off of his shoulders.
"Wah—What are you—?"
"I'm sorry, Chuck. You need to take off your jacket and shirt," Sarah explained, stepping back far enough to strip off her own coat, unbuttoning her shirt and tugging it out of her trousers.
"Why? What are you doing?" His eyes were as wide as saucers as they flicked down to the stays she wore over the cotton under shirt. And, she noticed, he stared pointedly at her bare shoulders as well.
"Please, Chuck. Please trust me. Take off the jacket and shirt. Please. Hurry!"
She could hear West's man coming closer, checking doors, kicking them open if they were locked.
Chuck looked over her shoulder at the door, then back at her with a quick nod, ripping his jacket off, followed by his shirt. She tossed her hat, goggles, and clothes underneath the skirt of the bed and Chuck followed suit.
He still looked incredibly frazzled, confused, worried…But he moved quickly as she grabbed his arm and pulled him to the bed, yanking at the duvet and covers and lifting them. "Get in."
"W—Alright, but…Alright."
He hurriedly scrambled under the covers and she followed suit, not caring how dirty their boots would make someone else's bed. She didn't have time for thoughts like that.
Because she heard footsteps outside of their door.
Then followed a knock.
Chuck's bare arm was pressed against hers as they pulled the covers up to their chins.
And he still didn't seem to understand what was happening. She didn't have time to second guess. She went with her gut. She desperately grabbed him and yanked him towards her, not stopping until he was forced to roll onto her body.
She clung to him, burying her face in his neck.
His body was hard, warm, and stiff as a board on top of her. But then she felt him melt against her.
The door handle jiggled. It wasn't locked, so the man easily opened it and pushed the door open, hard enough that it swung and banged loudly against the wall.
Sarah pulled her face out of Chuck's neck and looked at the gun, screaming bloody murder as Chuck pushed himself up.
"What in the bloody hell are you doi—Is that a gun?" he bellowed, doing his best to gather up the sheets and protect Sarah from the potential voyeur's gaze.
Sarah just kept screaming.
West's man's eyes bulged and he took a few steps back. "You didn't happen to see—Er—" It was almost comical to see a large man with a beard look so ashamed and embarrassed.
"Obviously, man, we haven't seen anything! KINDLY REMOVE YOURSELF FROM OUR ROOM!"
Sarah wailed louder, trying to push herself behind Chuck so that the intruder couldn't see her.
The man was gone just as quickly, slamming the door behind him.
And she was surprised to find Chuck slumping back on top of her, cloaking her in his warmth, his skin against hers, his legs tangled with hers, his breath against her shoulder.
She heard the footsteps move on, trying other doors, disturbing other guests. But still she waited.
Until finally Chuck shifted above her, and rolled to the side. She jumped when she heard him chuckle a little.
"I'm sorry," he apologized. She looked at him, her brow furrowed. He was blushing even though she knew he was trying to talk through it, disguise it, distract her from seeing it perhaps. "That was just brilliant thinking."
"Yes, well…" She huffed and swung her legs out of the sheets, getting down on her knees next to the mattress and grabbing their things, tossing his to him, trying to ignore the ripple of muscle in his arms and shoulders as he tugged his button up back on, tucking it into his pants and buttoning it.
"Most men balk at the idea that a woman might be involved in a plot such as this. We haven't the stamina, nor the smarts. I took advantage of that."
"If only they knew," he said, shrugging his jacket on and buttoning it. His gun had fallen out of where he'd stashed it, she noticed, and it sat there in the middle of the bed. Black and ghastly against the crisp white sheets. "Oh!" He reached down and snagged it, tucking it in the back of his trousers again.
It unsettled her and she felt ridiculous as she got dressed and fixed her goggles and hat back on her head.
"We need to get out of this room, in case he has second thoughts and comes back," she said, eyeing Chuck's singularly curly dark hair.
"Where do we go? You heard him. Those bastards are above us and below us."
She went to the closet and pulled it open, finding a hat much like Chuck's there. "Here. Wear this."
"Stealing hats now, are we?"
"The less people see of us the better."
He nodded.
"Only way we can go is down. Once we reach the lobby, we can get outside."
Chuck fixed his goggles over his eyes and slapped the hat over his curls. "Well, Miss Walker. Lead the way and I'll follow."
There was a determination in him, a brave front. She didn't begrudge him fear. He'd been shot at already tonight. They were sorely outnumbered. And unlike her, he'd never been in a situation like this before.
He was being a good soldier, though.
And she was overwhelmed with the desire to wrap her arms around him.
Instead, she let him see a reassuring smile, one she hoped helped ease his nerves. And then she went to the door, pulling a pistol out of her coat before opening the door and peeking into the hallway.
"Clear," she breathed over her shoulder.
And they made their way down the corridor, moving at a fast pace, ignoring the guests who were up in arms over the intrusion of West's guard bursting in on them as they hid from whatever war was going on inside of the resort.
But as she stepped around the corner, she saw that the man who'd walked in on them was leaving another room that seemed to be empty. She backed behind cover again and turned, putting a hand on Chuck's chest to stop him from crashing into her.
She couldn't see his eyes, but she saw the color in his cheeks and she swallowed thickly, looking over her shoulder. "He's there," she whispered. "Let him see you."
Chuck let out a soft breath, rolled his shoulders, and then he burst past her around the corner. She didn't dare watch, trusting Chuck to pull it off, knowing he understood what his task was.
"Stop! Stop right there!"
She heard Chuck yelp in surprise, and she forced herself to stay put when she heard the gunshot. To her relief, Chuck sailed around the corner past her. And she pressed herself against the wall, waiting.
"I've got ya, ya bastar—"
Sarah Walker didn't let him finish. The moment he followed Chuck around the corner, she stretched out her arm and slammed it into his throat. He hit with so much force that he was lifted off of his feet, making a wicked impact with the ground. She followed with a swift kick to his temple, knocking him out cold.
She stole his gun, too, if only out of spite. "Here, hold this," she said, shoving it into Chuck's hands. "Let's go."
They turned the corner again and Sarah's heart jumped into her throat as three men fell on them immediately. She ducked down as one of them swiped at her with his fist, pulling a knife out of her boot and slamming it into his leg as she came back up.
She used his momentary shock to back away just enough to bring her leg around to crunch against his nose, sending him to the ground, holding his face.
But then arms wound around her waist, lifting her off of the ground. She swung her elbow back wildly, trying to catch the henchman off guard. He merely grunted at the impact and fell back into the wall. It wasn't enough to give her any advantage and he quickly slammed her into the floor, knocking the wind out of her as he pinned her there.
"Chuck!" she just managed to choke out.
The man's hand went around her throat, his knee pressing into her sternum. "Chuck!"
She didn't know why his name escaped through her lips when she felt the hand close around her windpipe, when she felt an incredible weight on top of her. She'd never called out for anyone in her life. Why cry out for help when there wasn't any? And yet, his name snuck out. Desperate. Begging.
Her panicked swats at the man's arms did nothing. She couldn't breathe. Her vision began to dim.
There was a sickening thump somewhere in the hallway. And then there was a roar—something that was almost terrifying. She felt the hand around her throat go slack.
The dark spots around her vision started to clear as the man was bodily lifted from her and slammed hard against the wall, so hard in fact that the man's nose broke, gushing blood immediately.
Chuck was there, one fist in the man's hair, the other twisted in the back of his jacket. He pulled the man away from the wall, then slammed him into it again, even harder this time. So hard the floor underneath her seemed to shake.
On the toymaker's face was a look of horrible fury, his jaw clenched, his eyes hard.
He did it again. And again. It was almost mechanical, without an ounce of feeling. Like he was doing it because he was…programmed to. Possessed.
She sat there watching in complete shock as he threw the man onto the ground at his feet and leaned over his body, bashing his fist into the man's face. In spite of the pitiful whimper of fear and pain West's henchman let out, Chuck cracked his other fist across his temple. Then again. And again.
The toymaker fell to his knees over the henchman and closed his fingers around his neck in a grisly mimicry of what the man had just done to her.
But his fingers, she saw, were tightening to kill.
She knew it. She knew what intent looked like. She'd felt wasn't Chuck. This couldn't be Chuck. He was shaking with anger, eyes hard, an unholy growl coming from deep inside of him.
Her toymaker, her steadfast soldier who regularly defended all that was good in the world…He was nowhere to be found in that face.
She sprang at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, tackling him off of the bloodied man choking on the ground.
Chuck struggled against her, his hand covered in blood as he reached up for her, but she batted it away. "Chuck!" she yelled. "Chuck, stop!"
He kept fighting her, overpowering her enough to pin her to the wall.
"Chuck!" She just managed to bring her hand across to slap his face. "Chuck, it's me!" She did it again, and he stopped, his features going slack, and then there was pain, his brow furrowed, his teeth gritted in a wince, and he slumped against her.
The toymaker let out a long breath and shook in her arms as she held him tightly.
Had the Intersect done this? It had to have done this. The gentle, kind inventor she knew had somehow been buried under a vengeful, hate-filled monster. The Intersect had nearly made Chuck murder someone.
She cast her eyes to the side at the henchman slumped against the wall. She couldn't tell whether or not he was alive. But Chuck had done enough to make it so he wasn't a threat, and she wouldn't dwell on anything else.
"S-Sarah…"
Sarah strategically turned them around so that he couldn't see either of the men he'd left a battered, bloody mess on the ground.
"Are you alright?" Her hands framed his face. His head must have been aching something awful because he could barely squint his eyes open. But she saw him there. She saw the Chuck she'd gotten to know over the past few months very clearly under the pain. "Chuck? Can you hear me?"
He nodded tersely and cupped her elbows in his hands. "W-What happened?"
"You saved me. Again. That's all," she added the last part under her breath.
"Hmng?" He looked up at her in confusion.
"I said you saved me. Come on. We have to go. Can you stand?"
"Yes. Wah—Why—?" He caught sight of his hands and lifted them up. "What's th—?"
"Nothing." She knew his knuckles would be raw and sore later, but for now she couldn't let him be distracted. "Come."
She snagged his hand in her tight grip and pulled him away from the mess, in the direction of what she hoped was the staircase. And not for the first time, she was filled with an undeniable hatred for the agent whose carelessness and selfishness had so terribly infected the mind and the life of this man.
The con woman was afraid. She was afraid of what Chuck might be capable of if she wasn't there to stop him. It wasn't him, though. And that was even more unsettling.
She pushed into the staircase, fighting back the sick feeling in her stomach. The Intersect was obviously capable of making Chuck into an unwilling—even unconscious—killer. That was terrifying. Chilling. She feared for what this might mean for Chuck. And she knew she would have to fight even harder to keep him safe—not just from the outside forces…but from what was inside of him, as well.
"Sarah!"
The railing of the staircase exploded a foot away from where her hand was and she fell back against Chuck's chest, ripping her hand away from danger.
Another bullet whizzed by and she shoved back against Chuck to flatten them both against the wall.
"Came from down there!" Chuck exclaimed into her ear in panic, pointing down. She saw the shadows of the men clambering up the stairs. The hotel obviously kept emergency gas lighting in case the electricity failed on them, and someone in the staff—in spite of how riotous the atmosphere in the hotel must be with so many people running around with guns—had gone through the staircase to light them.
Chuck started to move back towards where they came from but she grabbed his arm.
They couldn't go back up.
They were only prolonging things if they went back up. Perhaps they'd end up on the roof again, with no way of getting back down. They'd be trapped once more.
No, they had to get out of the hotel.
And down was the only way out.
She took one of her pistols out and pointed down the staircase with it. Chuck blinked, his brow furrowed, and then he nodded, grabbing his gun out from his trousers a bit clumsily, licking his lips, and charging down the stairs.
"I'm comiiiiiiiinnnggg!" he yelled as he charged. He surprised her enough that she didn't have time to stop him. And God, but he was holding his gun with the worst possible form. She'd never seen someone hold a gun so poorly. But it was still a gun.
He rounded the staircase, nearly slid on one of the steps at the top of the next flight, and immediately backed up, scampering away from the men who were closing in on him.
"Stop right there!"
Chuck spun just in time, bringing his gun up to slam it into the henchman's wrist to keep from getting a bullet in his chest.
The other man came into view and lifted his gun to put a bullet through Chuck's chest.
But she was too fast for him. With the way both men faced her partner, Sarah had the advantage. She leapt over the banister, flailing a little as she swung down onto the second floor flight, landing hard on the second henchman's head.
He crashed into the wall face first, his hat flopping off of his head, his skull cracking against the dry wall.
Sarah was on her feet first, sparing Chuck a quick glance to make sure he was okay. He was swinging his pistol wildly, somehow fending off his attacker.
A hand grabbed at her ankle then, and she was swept off her feet, putting her hands out just in time to keep from bashing her face against the thankfully carpeted steps.
But she whipped her body around, cracking her boot heel against her assailant's face. His hand loosened on her ankle and she pulled away, pulling her knife out again and swinging it down to stab him wherever she could reach.
He rolled away enough that she missed, embedding her knife in the wooden step. It was jarring, but she brought up an arm in time to keep his swinging fist from meeting her face as hard as it could have.
That said, his knuckles caught her mouth hard enough to knock her down a few steps.
She brought a boot up to slam into his gut as he closed in on her, then she climbed to her feet and grabbed him by his jacket, swinging him as hard as she could into the wall.
There was a loud cracking thump as he connected with the wall and he was out like a light.
"Say goodbye," she heard the second henchman growl in satisfaction. He must've imagined he had the upper hand on Chuck.
He was wrong.
In spite of the tangy taste of blood from what was probably a broken lip, she rushed at the second man and grabbed him by the back of his collar, kicking at the back of his leg from behind to send him down to one knee. Chuck stumbled back in surprise.
The henchman swept up to his feet, swinging his fist to try to catch her in an uppercut, but she tilted to the side just enough for him to miss, reaching up to catch his arm in both of her hands.
She yanked down, using his loss of balance against him, and she dipped low, throwing his weight over her back and tossing him past the railing.
He screamed as he fell, his voice carrying the whole way down until they heard the sickening thump of his body landing way down below. The yell stopped and Sarah slumped forward in relief.
She didn't dare look at Chuck. Instead she grabbed his arm and pulled him down the stairs after her. They'd cleared the stairwell and the con artist had a feeling this momentary relief wouldn't last long.
As they reached the first floor, she yanked on Chuck's arm to pull him past the mess of limbs the henchman she'd thrown had become.
Having the toymaker fear her was perhaps the worst possible thing she could imagine. Well, having him fear her…again.
But he'd halted before she could pull him to the door. And she knew without even having to look at him that he was staring at the bloodied, dead man on the erstwhile polished tile.
Then she did look.
His jaw clenched and he swallowed thickly. And then his shoulders straightened and he stomped up to the body.
"Goodbye," the toymaker snarked, and then he straightened his hat and turned on his heel, marching past her to the door.
}o{
Chuck swallowed the slightly sick feeling in his throat as he ripped open the door and stepped out into the hallway. The man had tried to kill them. That was why he was dead.
He wasn't a good man. Sarah had saved their lives.
And more than anything, Chuck refused to die today.
No matter what he witnessed, no matter what he had to do, he would not die today.
Suddenly he heard a door open somewhere down the corridor. He whipped around to see who it was as Sarah bumped into him and grabbed his arm.
"What—?" he heard her say, but he was distracted, for he recognized Theodore West the moment the man stepped out of the room into the hallway.
"HEY!" Chuck yelled, pointing.
West was still shrugging on an overcoat as he glanced at them, and just as quickly Chuck saw the flash of a pistol pointed at them.
"Get down!" Sarah bellowed in his ear, and she tackled him to the floor as two shots were fired.
Sarah pinned him to the carpet, her body on top of his, her chest heaving, her face tucked in his hair. Then she pushed herself up to hover over him, looking down into his face with a roll of her eyes. "'Hey'? Honestly, Chuck."
He winced sheepishly. "I was surprised. B-But he's getting away!" He pointed down the hallway as West's coattails disappeared around the corner.
"He's going towards the lobby. Let's go!" She climbed to her feet and yanked him up. He grabbed his new hat and slammed it back on top of his head.
And then they ran. Chuck overtook Sarah easily, skidding around the corner and nearly slamming into the wall.
"Hurry!" she gasped as she gracefully turned the corner and kept running.
He scampered after her, beating his legs hard, and realizing a little belatedly that they were chasing a crime lord—instead of escaping which he thought had been the plan.
Did Sarah realize? Or had she had the same instantaneous reaction he'd had? A bad man was fleeing, and they couldn't let him get away, even if Agent Gibson was a cad.
They burst through the door at the end of the next corridor and entered the lobby.
Sarah staggered to a stop and grabbed at his arms to stop him. "Where is he? You see him?"
"Tall, black coat, top hat. Tall, black coat, top hat," he murmured breathlessly as he scanned the lobby. People were rushing about, some frenzied, others looking for cover.
"There!" Sarah said, pointing. Chuck followed her finger and spotted the man. West was leaping over fallen furniture, trying to reach the door. And as he glanced back and saw them, Chuck saw a mischievous glint in his eye, even from this far away, and he somehow knew exactly what the bastard was going to do.
"Damn," he breathed.
West shot his gun into the air, causing chunks of wood from the banisters above to rain down on the guests who dove for cover.
Pandemonium broke loose. There were screams, people scampering to and fro, yells of "He has a gun!"
"Move!" Sarah demanded, shoving someone out of her way as she rushed across the lobby. Chuck followed suit, barreling into people and apologizing when they crashed to the ground.
"GET OUT OF MY WAY!" his companion bellowed, sweeping hysterical tourists out from her path with her outstretched arms.
They eventually reached the door and shouldered through it, neither of them stopping.
Unfortunately, Chuck had forgotten about the stairs a few feet away from the main entrance, while Sarah had not. He realized his mistake when his foot didn't meet the ground like he thought it would.
He tumbled down the stairs, barely catching himself on the shined brass railing to keep from hitting his head and knocking himself out.
Sarah stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned towards him. "R'you alright?" she panted.
"Fine. Just my pride. Go go go!"
Was it just him, or was their a glint of humor mixed with adrenalized excitement in her face as she spun back and scanned the front lawns of the hotel for the man they were pursuing?
Was she enjoying herself? Fighting crime?
"I see him! Get up, Chuck!"
He did and they raced past the fountain, across the dirt road, and onto the expansive green lawns of the hotel. Chuck passed Sarah now that he saw their man, and his vision narrowed to focus on a spot on that man's back so that he could keep track of him once he hit the edge of Tent City.
They had to get him before he could disappear in the maze of tents. They couldn't afford to check every single tent in the city. There were at least one hundred of them, he thought.
But then something caught his ankle and one foot crashed into the other, and he tumbled onto the lawn hard, the air rushing out of his lungs as he landed awkwardly on his arm.
He rolled onto his back and looked up, trying to catch his breath, and found one of West's cronies holding a pistol to his face.
But then there was a pistol jammed against the man's ear and Sarah was there behind him, clenching her jaw. She cocked her pistol silently. And though he couldn't see her eyes very well, he had a feeling they were on him.
"Run. I'll handle this."
He clambered to his feet and nodded.
"Don't look back."
He turned and ran. And in spite of the loud blast he heard behind him, he didn't look back, like she said.
He felt himself judge the con woman, deep deep down inside. And he reminded himself of whom she was. She was the Ice Queen. He'd flashed on her that one time, back in San Francisco, and he'd seen the bodies she'd left in her wake. He'd never asked why she killed, he just knew she had. He'd seen her do it to protect him tonight, and to protect herself.
He knew what she was capable of. The images were burned into his brain, even if he'd forgotten a lot of what he'd flashed on in the past few months.
And as he sprinted towards the Tent City, he told himself it wasn't fair for him to judge when he still didn't know her story. He only knew what he saw in her face, in her eyes, in quiet moments when they were alone, when her guard was let down, her mask fallen aside.
Like at the fair earlier, when he'd tossed the hollow ball at the group of opened bottles on the table and it had bounced along, back and forth on the rims, before rolling around one of the rims…and just when they'd all thought it would finally plop into the bottle, it had hopped out and landed on the ground. Sarah had laughed uproariously at him as he let out an exclamation of disbelief.
That was the part of her he knew. And he willed himself not to get too caught up in that part of her. Because there was another part of her he didn't know as well, the part that had buried a bullet in that man's brain just now.
He shook his head when he finally skidded onto the dirt of the Tent City's main street. "Damn it," he whispered, looking to and fro. He'd lost West. He'd gotten too deep into his own mind again. And he'd lost his mark.
Sarah skidded to a halt beside him and tucked her gun into her belt quickly as an elderly man hobbled past with a bucket of water in hand, calmly tipping his hat.
"They must not know what's happening in the main hotel yet all the way down here," Sarah said quietly, her hand on his arm.
"I lost him. I'm sorry, Sarah. He slipped behind a tent and I…" He threw up his hands dejectedly.
"It's alright, Chuck." She squeezed his arm. "We'll find him. We just have to keep our eyes open. He could be anywhere and he's going to try to get the jump on us if he can."
"How do you know?"
"It's what I would do."
Chuck watched as a knife slid out of her sleeve into her hand, and he sought not to notice the red tinge of the blade. She'd already used it tonight, it seemed.
Then again, he still didn't know what happened to his fists—why they were bruised and cracked, blood lining them. He'd pushed it out of his mind, knowing something had happened when he'd flashed. He just didn't know what.
He gulped and pushed it out of his mind, easing forward along the edge of the street. "Sh-Should we split up? Cover more ground?" he asked her as they calmly strolled along, casting their eyes back and forth.
"No. You aren't to leave my sight for even a moment, Chuck. Understood?"
The toymaker nodded, comforted and reassured by the hand she kept on his back as they moved along the line of tents. She then pointed off to the side and he veered to the right, guiding her further into the rows of tents.
They both spun at the loud clatter of hooves behind them, rickety wheels and an even louder, "HYAAAAAH! Whooaaa!" startling them further.
Sarah lifted her pistol in her free hand and pointed it up at Casey as he pulled his wagon up next to them.
She lowered it immediately with a sigh of relief. Chuck felt that relief himself. For a moment, he'd thought the cavalry had come. In his current predicament, that would've been more bad than good.
"Been lookin' fer you two all night! Get on!" the bounty hunter growled.
They didn't waste any time.
Sarah leapt into the seat next to Casey with two quick movements as Chuck rushed to the back and used the spoke of the wheel to hoist himself over the wall of the wagon bed.
Casey took off without even glancing back to see if he was safely inside and the toymaker crashed hard onto the floor of the wagon bed. He growled in annoyance and climbed up to his knees, putting his hands on the back of their bench and looking out through the space between Casey and Sarah.
"We saw West. We were following him," Chuck said to Casey and he nodded, turning his chin a little to respond.
"I know. I saw. He's headed fer the docks."
"The docks?" Sarah asked.
"HYAA!" Casey brought the reins down on the horse and nodded. "He's got a boat there. 'Least that's what our ol' pal Ishmael Grand told me. He's tryin' to beat him there, hold him up."
"Grand coming through for us in the end," Sarah said.
"Hmng, but West knows this place like the back of 'is own hand. He had a big hand in buildin' it. He's gonna get there long 'fore we do."
"Let's just hope Grand is convincing, then," Chuck murmured. Casey grunted in agreement and ripped his hat and goggles off with one hand, tossing them in the back of the wagon, barely missing an unamused Chuck's head.
Because Casey seemed to find it unnecessary to wear his goggles anymore, Chuck took his own off, leaving them and the hat Sarah stole for him in the corner of the wagon and taking Sarah's from her as she passed them back to him. The braid she'd tucked up in the hat tumbled down her back.
He only had a moment to reflect on how good the night mist felt on his face, and how much easier it was to see without those damnable things on his face, because Casey pulled the wagon off to the side at the end of the Tent City and they cascaded down a bumpy bath towards the dockyards that looked out towards San Diego.
Chuck assumed Theo West's plan was to get on his boat, sail over to the San Diego port, and board an airship or train that would get him far, far away from this mess.
Chuck was prepared to give his all to make sure that didn't happen.
At the edge of the docks, Casey pulled the wagon to a stop and, as one, they leapt down from the wagon and landed at a run.
Chuck noticed that Casey and Sarah had their guns out as their boots thumped against the wood of the docks, searching for West, for Grand, for any kind of docked boat. But he couldn't bring himself to take his out.
It was still wedged in his belt at the small of his back. And it would stay there.
He followed after them, his lungs burning, his limbs throbbing.
The toymaker felt something churning in his gut. Nerves, or maybe a bad feeling.
"I have a really bad feeling all of a sudden, Casey. Maybe we should—Oh."
They rounded a clumping of crates onto a jetty that jutted out from the dock, a few posts poking up, crooked, in disrepair.
A small boat was moored there, and standing beside it was West and Grand.
"Stop right there, both of ya!" Casey bellowed, pointing his gun at them.
"This can't end well," Chuck murmured under his breath, staying a step behind his companions. Just in case.
Grand turned on his heel with his hands up and West slowly followed suit. Chuck didn't like the smirk on his face, as though he knew something they didn't.
"It was a close thing," the criminal said, letting out a mocking sigh of relenting, "My getting away I mean."
"Take that gun you got at yer hip and throw it into the bay," Casey growled, inching forward. Sarah was pointing her gun at him as well.
Chuck saw what happened next coming a mile away. And he knew the others must have too, but there was nothing they could do to stop it.
West grabbed Ishmael Grand by his arm and yanked him in front of him, pulling his gun out and placing the barrel against his right-hand-man's temple, knocking the his bowler off the top of the shorter man's head in the process.
"W-What—Mr. West?" The informant's voice quivered in surprise and fear.
"I wasn't entirely sure what you were doing here, dear Ishmael," West said, his arm slung tightly around the other man's throat, his gun still pressed against Ishmael's head. "Did you think you were coming with me, I wondered? And then I thought perhaps you didn't. Perhaps this all happened tonight because the damned royal fed bastards knew. But how could they know, Ishmael? Hm?"
"What are you talking about?" Ishmael asked. "I don't understand. Let me go, Mr. West. They'll kill us both."
"They pointed their pistols at me, dear friend. And not at you. Almost as though they knew you wouldn't be a threat, even though we all know you've got your own gun tucked into your jacket's inner pocket, where you always keep it, isn't that right?"
The informant didn't seem to have an answer to that, and Chuck knew it only confirmed what West was surmising. Chuck had even seen it the moment Casey and Sarah pointed their guns. And if he'd seen it, so had West.
"Let him go, West. He had nothin' to do with this," Casey barked.
West merely laughed. "Do you think I built my empire by being an imbecile?"
"Folks have before," Casey answered. "Throw the gun over and give it up. Yer empire's crumbling. Yer done, Big Theo," he ended mockingly, adding a tsk tsk tsk.
But West merely tightened his grip on Ishmael Grand and pressed the pistol harder into the man's head. "You think I won't kill him?" He was inching towards the edge of the dock, towards the boat. "A double crossing cockroach?"
"I didn't have a choice, Theo. They threatened my—"
"Shut the hell up. I should've had you killed months ago when I caught you rummaging in my suite."
"P-Please. Please, I have a wife…"
Chuck had a feeling the man who'd had plenty of innocent people murdered, put others out of business, and ruined the lives of multiple coastal towns' people, didn't give a damn about Mrs. Grand.
But then it didn't matter, because suddenly a tarp shifted to West's right and Agent Marcel Gibson rose from under it to his full height gracefully, his arm bringing his gun up to point at the criminal.
West backed away from the boat and laughed, his eyes a bit manic, Chuck noticed. And he felt begrudging admiration at how impressive the IEL agent's entrance was. Damn it all, anyway.
"The waiter? Oh, this is fresh. How many times did you have to butter my crumpet for me? And pour my tea. It must have killed you to have to serve me. Who do you work for? IBoMaD? Imperial Espionage League?" West laughed again.
Gibson almost seemed like he was smiling, but there was a darkness in him that left Chuck cold.
His hard eyes hardened even further, the green becoming murky in the quiet light from the gas lamps hung along the jetty. "You're not getting on that boat, Mr. West."
"You really think I'm not going to shoot the rat bastard, do you?"
"Oh, I know you will. But your mistake is in thinking I wouldn't."
His pistol fired and Grand's body jolted as the bullet slammed into his chest.
Chuck jumped, staggering back a bit, staring at the scene, the air leaving his body, his heart stopping, his entire form going frigidly cold.
West let go of his hostage and stepped back, gaping as the IEL asset fell to his knees first, then slumped backwards, unmoving on the dock.
West was shocked long enough for Gibson to put a second bullet in the crime lord's thigh. He fell to the jetty with a cry of pain and crumbled into a ball, his gun forgotten on the ground as he clutched at his wound with both hands.
Casey and Gibson moved fast, Casey kicking the gun away from West as Gibson manhandled him and started dragging him roughly along.
"Bounty hunter!" Gibson barked. "Help me get this heap of shit to the wagon. Grab that coil of rope there. You two stay and clean up," he ordered over his shoulder.
Clean up? Clean up. Clean up?
If Chuck was at all cognizant, he would've seen Casey give the unmoving form on the dock a lingering look.
"I said help me!" Gibson snapped, his voice strained as he continued dragging a wailing Theodore West away from the scene.
Casey sent Chuck one last look, a look Chuck didn't see, and then he hurried to help the agent.
It was then that Chuck came to, and he shook his head, using his legs even though they felt like lead, staggering towards the man who was bleeding out onto the jetty.
He dove to his knees beside Grand and immediately pressed his hands against the wound that gushed red, sticky blood all over the cream-colored suit the informant wore.
The asset whose handler had just shot him in cold blood.
"You're alright," he breathed, his voice shaking. "You'll be alright. My sister's a doctor."
In his shock and panic, he didn't realize what he'd just said wasn't completely true. He wouldn't have cared if he did realize it.
And then Sarah was on the other side of Grand, lowering slowly and silently to her knees. Grand coughed, blood spattering his lips and mustache, and Chuck watched as Sarah took the handkerchief out of his pocket to dab at his lips with it.
For a moment, they met eyes over the shivering man dying on the jetty, and she merely shook her head.
There was a soft cough from below and Chuck turned back to Ishmael Grand. The man swallowed, coughed, again and winced in pain. "P-Please, can—My wife. Don't—Don't let her know what I—She n-never knew…"
Chuck knew Grand would die here. But what did it hurt to give him one last bit of happiness? "She'll never know," he said, determination in his voice. "And she'll be taken care of."
"Th-Thank y-y…"
His body spasmed under Chuck's hands and then he went limp, his head slumping to the side. Chuck watched as the life seeped out of the man.
He stayed there for a long time, just staring, still pressing his hands against the wound.
Until finally…
"Chuck." He didn't respond for a few moments. "Chuck, he's gone," came Sarah's gentle voice.
He saw her hand tentatively reach out for him but he fell back, landing on his behind, and crawling away from the body.
"Why?" he whimpered, too numb to be embarrassed. "Why would he…Why'd he…?"
And then he caught sight of the blood on his hands. His gut churned, his stomach roiled, and the insanity of the last few moments overcame him.
He flipped over onto his knees and clambered for the nearest place he could empty the contents of his stomach without Sarah witnessing, ducking behind a clump of discarded nets.
Shame went through him. Shame and sadness and shock. Guilt. Anger. Disgust. And shame again.
He heaved, choking.
And then he felt a cool hand on the back of his neck, another on his shoulder.
Her hands held onto him tightly, keeping him from keeling over, keeping him upright. And he felt the fingers of one hand gently comb through his curls comfortingly, the other hand's fingers digging into his shoulder, keeping him grounded, letting him focus on something else for just a moment.
The toymaker let the con woman guide him to the edge of the jetty, and she was still there as he washed the blood from his hands in the water. Gradually, as they stayed there, he felt the shame of what she'd witnessed washed away with the blood.
And he let himself slump over into her solid warmth, shutting his eyes, finding a comfort he'd never felt before as her strong arms surrounded him and pulled him close.
A/N: Please review. Thanks, fam.
-SC