A/N: Seems to be a pattern, here. Something terrifying happens in the world, and I pop up with a chapter. Real talk: Can I just go live in an elephant herd with enough electricity and wifi to keep posting my stories? That's my new life plan.
Thanks to everyone who is still reading my work, still waiting for my updates, after all of these years. Honestly, you guys are why I write sometimes and I mean that. You're all great.
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:
Chuck and Sarah found letters from Agent Larkin to Ishmael Grand that made very clear that Grand was much more involved in the takedown of Theo West than they'd thought, and much more of a hero. They, uh, ahem...said their goodbyes to Agent AssFace...and Chuck, Sarah, and Casey made for Los Angeles again.
WHAT'S NEXT? KEEP READING.
He wasn't afraid.
There wasn't any reason to be afraid anymore.
He knew this. No matter what happened here, on this earth, in this lifetime, there was a place for him in the hereafter. A place for him and his brothers and sisters.
But he felt a sense of trepidation as he stood staring at the door before him. It wasn't fear for himself, but for the plan. He was the only one capable of carrying out this most important duty.
That was what he'd been told.
And he believed it with every fiber of his being.
He smoothed out his brow, fixed a warm countenance over his squirrelly features, and knocked.
"You may enter," he heard the director call. And he opened the door, stepping inside.
"You wished to see me, Director Graham."
"Yes, come in."
He shut the door behind him and folded his hands behind his back, watching as the man signed a few documents, tapped them against his desk, and set them aside. He flicked his good eye up to look his visitor in the face, his features unchanging, and then he pressed a button on the side of the goggle he wore over the opposite side of his face where his other eye used to be.
There were rumors he'd lost it in the revolution, that he had been there during King George I's greatest triumph against the British Empire—then George Washington. And that George had perfected a way to keep his most steadfast supporter and general alive to continue his legacy—some sort of serum to keep the man from aging.
It was just a story, just something to give Director Graham an air of majesty and a sense of being untouchable, even immortal.
But no one was immortal. No one except…Him. The leader. The chosen one.
"Do you know why I asked you here?"
"No, sir, I don't."
Graham gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "I'm the director of the Imperial Espionage League. With that title comes great responsibility," he said quietly as the other man sat across from him. "That means keeping a watchful eye on the goings-on here, at our headquarters. I can't always do that myself. And I'm worried, Kieran."
"Larkin, sir?"
There was a flare of frustration from the director at that name. "We have no leads on his whereabouts, even with General Beckman assigning her best IBoMaD agents to assist in the manhunt."
That meant they were steps ahead of the US Empire in acquiring the man who held the Intersect in his brain. They had almost nabbed him in Paris, but he'd been too fast, too good. He was a fighter, they knew now. They knew he was good now, and they would treat him with much more respect next time they found him.
Which would be soon.
They had eyes everywhere.
Even within the IEL.
He suppressed a smirked at that, keeping his face as impassive as always. "How can I help?" he asked.
"Whenever it takes this long to get something done, it always means there's a leak somewhere. A mole."
A year ago, he might have broken out in a cold sweat at this point, but instead, Kieran merely met his superior's eye. He'd changed. Things were different now. He had a direction. Up, up, up…all the way up. He would ascend to the highest lands where only the chosen few ended up. So it was written.
"A mole, sir? You mean one of our agents?"
"Compile a list of personnel who've been briefed on the Intersect. I'll meet with each of them personally. That includes the scientists and engineers, however many of them are still alive."
"…Don't you think someone with more time on their hands might be better suited for this?"
Graham's dark eye flashed and a cog whirred in the mechanical one under the goggle. "We are talking about a leak of the single most important secret in this country's history. If anyone outside of those who were sitting at that table with me all those years ago when we first discussed the Intersect and its implications leaked the information in that meeting, it could mean the end of the world as we know it. I need one of my most trusted men on this."
"Understood, Director. I'll put everything I have into this. And I will report back on my findings."
"Good. That's all."
The Deputy Director of the IEL stood up and nodded his farewell to the Director.
"Kieran."
He spun on his heel. "Yessir."
"Are we the only ones looking for the Intersect?"
"Sir?" He pasted a questioning look on his face.
"I have this niggling fear we aren't the only ones who know about the Intersect. That there are others. The Chinese?" He narrowed his eyes.
"I don't know, Sir. Perhaps."
"Or perhaps not another country, but someone completely unaffiliated with a government. Someone who wants to see the world burn. It's been keeping me awake."
"With all due respect, Director, every villain has an angle. Watching the world burn is rarely the angle. Money, power, fame…Outright destruction serves no purpose, does it?"
"Hm." Graham nodded and slumped back against his chair. "Keep your eyes and ears out there, Kieran. If you hear anything, if anything seems off to you, even if you think you're just being paranoid, I need you to tell me. Immediately."
"Understood."
And with that, he left the room, headed to the staircase, and left the building altogether.
The US Empire's clandestine forces still had no idea where Agent Bryce Larkin was, and they had no idea how to find him.
He needed to compile the list of agents and IEL/IBoMaD scientists who worked together to create the Intersect, who watched it come to life. And he would handily leave his own name off of the list. The Director's right hand man would not be a suspect.
The Inquisitor would be glad to hear it.
}o{
Chuck pushed the bone-deep ache plaguing his entire body to the back of his mind as he focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
He and Sarah had just helped Casey lug the remainder of Ishmael Grand's possessions up the rickety stairs that led to the bounty hunter's rooms.
After the night they'd had, followed by the uncomfortable travel, add to that the emotional and mental drain of the entire experience…Chuck had already been ready to collapse.
Then the omnibus they had tried to catch back to their respective homes had been packed with commuters leaving their jobs to go back to their families.
He and Sarah decided to walk, practically dragging their suitcases behind them. He insisted on seeing her to her door, not expecting much more than the exhausted "goodnight" she breathed in his general direction. And yet, the click of the door shutting left him feeling almost debilitatingly alone. All he wanted to do was climb into his bed and sleep, but he also didn't want to be by himself. She was the only person on Earth who understood, who would know why he was as tired as he was, why his body and head hurt, why he felt so…sad.
But he shuffled away from her home anyway. She'd done more than enough. And he didn't want to risk relying on her too much. At least, not emotionally.
It wasn't long before he arrived at his own home, sneaking up the stairs to his rooms as quietly as possible to keep Ellie and Devon from hearing him.
The familiarity of them would be so welcome. The comfort they both gave him, the kind of comfort only close family could provide, would be so welcome.
But he didn't have the strength to lie, to keep the soul-deep sadness and tiredness from his features. They would have questions. So many questions.
Ellie would press him until he told her what was wrong. And she was still under the impression that he'd spent the last few days helping Sarah care for her aunt.
He was ashamed. That shame would show.
He just couldn't muster up the will to lie to her right now. He'd break immediately. And Sarah would hate him. He'd hate himself. But worse than everything else, he'd be putting his sister in danger.
He was exhausted.
But he couldn't stop thinking about what happened to Grand. And about what they'd found after his death. So much of Theodore West's eventual downfall could be attributed to Ishmael Grand's actions, and nobody but Chuck and Sarah would ever know. It wasn't fair.
And then Casey had dismissed Agent Gibson's offer of compensation. Chuck had been stunned. And he was even further stunned when the bounty hunter took full responsibility for making sure Mrs. Grand received her husband's possessions.
Casey must have seen the look they exchanged on the train when he made the announcement, because he bristled a bit with a challenging and snappish, "What? You don't trust me? I ain't no saint, but 'east I'm not that IEL scum." Chuck had beens satisfied to leave it at that, but Sarah spoke up, asking how he meant to get it all to Grand's wife without taking it to her New Mexico home himself.
"Got people wut owe me favors," had been his reply.
That had been that.
No one had told Casey about the extra correspondence between Grand and Bryce. He couldn't know the man he sought had gone to Europe. Chuck couldn't just hop onto an airship and fly to another continent, just another clue in this fruitless chase, one that would hit another dead end.
One thing seemed evident to the toymaker. All of this was grinding down Casey's respect and loyalty to whomever it was he answered to. Casey's chain was being jerked around, that was a fact. No one had told him about Bryce being stationed on Coronado. Nor had they told him Bryce had returned only a few months ago.
Witnessing the lack of remorse and disrespect for life displayed by an IEL agent surely added to the contracted manhunter's disillusionment.
And now he was calling in favors and pulling strings to help a dead man's wife find peace.
Almost half an hour passed once Chuck was ready to slump into his bed after allowing himself a long bath when he realized he'd neglected to check on Morgan and the Buy More.
There was probably quite a bit that needed to be cleaned, projects to be finished…But mostly he needed to see that his absence hadn't been noticed by those who might break in and ransack the place.
It was a fear he'd had at the back of his mind all weekend, even though he trusted his sister and brother-in-law to keep an eye on the place while he was gone.
So instead of giving in to the comfortable pull of his own bed, Chuck Bartowski pulled his boots back on, shrugged into his coat, and set his hat back on his still-damp curls.
Then he strode out of his home and…
He caught sight of heralmost immediately, sitting at the bottom of his stairs on the last step, her knees curled up.
She turned to look up at him and their eyes met in the dwindling lamplight from the street.
"Sarah?" he whispered, shutting and locking his door then slipping his key in his coat pocket.
Sarah climbed up to her feet and turned to face him, waiting for him to start down the stairs towards her before she spoke.
"I thought you might—"
She stopped, her brow furrowed in question as he interrupted her with a soft "Shh!" and hurried the rest of the way to stand next to her at the bottom of the stairs.
"Sorry. Just—I don't really want my sister hearing," he whispered. "Not sure I can…" He shrugged, deciding to be entirely candid with her. "I'm not in the right mindset to lie to my sister tonight."
Sarah's face hardened for a moment as she directed her gaze away from him. She nodded. "Understood," she whispered this time.
"Why are you here? Everything alright?"
"Nothing's truly alright," she said, "But I don't need to tell you that." Then she slid her gaze down to his feet and back up to his face again. "You're checking on the Buy More, aren't you?" He nodded, biting his cheek to keep from smiling at her. "I figured you might. Thought I would wait here for you until you decided to leave."
Chuck's eyebrows popped. "But…why?"
She gave him a flat look.
"Oh, you're…coming with me?"
Sarah merely shrugged. "Not only am I having a hard time sleeping in spite of how tired I am, I'm also too aware that a store left unattended for long enough might draw some unwanted attention. And if that's the case, I need to be there to protect you."
Chuck bit his tongue and nodded. There was a long pause between them then, their eyes meeting. He couldn't tell if it was comfortable or awkward. And then … "Care for an extra long walk?"
His jaunty sarcasm after everything earned a laugh, a genuine one, and he led her to the back where he kept his horse and carriage.
}o{
"What do I do to wake him up?"
Sarah swept her gaze up and down the mechanical figure, from its feet up to the top of its head.
She jumped with a gasp when the eyes shifted and it worked its jaw.
"Verbloop kindoooooooom…" The eyebrows turned down—almost like a furrowed brow. "Sarooooooh…" Morgan hit himself in the head with his metal fist, making a loud clunk sound. "Apologies. It takes a moment for me to wake up. Like a person but different."
Sarah blinked. And she jumped again when Chuck appeared at her shoulder. "Something I really need to work on," he chirped. "But it's not as much fun as teaching him new ways to insult our very own bounty hunter." That earned him a wicked smile from the con woman. "He, uh, he wakes himself up," he said, gesturing to Morgan. "Motion sensors. Key words he can identify even when he's asleep—or, rather, his version of asleep."
"So he…" She leaned close and studied the android. "He can sense us moving, you mean. And it…makes him…er, wake up?"
"Exactly. I outfitted him with a sensor that picks up on heat specifically caused by friction." He poked Morgan in the head and the small mechanical man almost looked offended.
"Friction," Sarah repeated, looking up at Chuck through her eyelashes.
"Yes. The movement of your skirts against your legs, cloth against bare skin…" She gave him a look without thinking about it but he thankfully didn't seem to notice. "Boots against the floor."
Morgan cast his attention from Chuck to Sarah and back to Chuck again. "Who am I? The cat's mother?"
Sarah couldn't hold back the snort. "Did Chuck teach teach you that, Morgan?"
"Yes, actually! You are very intelligent, Sarah. Truly. Almost as intelligent as you are pretty."
The con woman swept her gaze over to Chuck who seemed a tad embarrassed, but mostly amused, as he began rifling through his order slips on his desk.
"I'm not entirely sure if that's a compliment," she admitted, and the android clamped his hands to his metal chin.
"Oh! Oh, dear! Then I did not do it correctly! You are supposed to be tickled pink. And you do not look even slightly pink. No, indeed. You look very tired instead."
"Thank you," she drawled sarcastically, and Chuck leapt to the rescue.
"Ahem. Morgan? Perhaps you should do a search in your database for the term backhanded compliment and read up on that." He pulled at his collar a bit uncomfortably.
"I don't understand," Morgan droned.
"You will." Chuck patted his chest. "For now, why don't you fill me in on what I missed? Anything in particular happen while I was away? Did Ellie or Devon drop in to check on you at all?"
"Nobody dropped in, Chuck. There is a roof that would make it very hard to do so. Very hard, indeed." Morgan stared at his creator and Sarah had a hard time not giggling.
"Did they visit, I mean…" Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose.
"They did. Very often, in fact. Devon lost at chess three times. Oh, no. Wait." The gears turned audibly inside of his head as he lifted a finger. "Four times. Only he said the last time didn't count because Ellie arrived and was distracting him. However, I deduced this was an excuse because Ellie was in the other room sweeping the floor." He made a gurgling sound that almost resembled a clearing of the throat. "Ellie told me not to tell you what she did the last time she came and—Oh." He stopped and lifted his finger again. "I just realized she told me not to tell you. I cannot tell you, I'm sorry."
Chuck sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Tel him what?" Sarah asked, curious.
Morgan seemed not to hear her, or he was actively ignoring her, which was strange from a machine.
"Don't even try," Chuck said, giving her a flat look. "His loyalty to Ellie is far stronger than his loyalty to me, his creator," he emphasized as he threw the android a sarcastic look.
Sarah smirked. Maybe she was starting to like this strange machine.
Then Chuck turned to glance at Sarah, a long look that made her fidget a bit, before he turned back to Morgan. "Would you mind letting me talk to Sarah alone, Morgan?"
"No. Shall I sweep the store? I've done it already today, but dust gathers very quickly. I noticed that while you were gone. I watched. It does gather quickly. Something about the lack of windows. Maybe you should put in windows."
Chuck boggled at the android. "The Buy More has windows."
"Are you going to kiss Sarah when I'm gone?"
Sarah's eyes widened, amusement threatening again as she saw Chuck go pink. "No," was all he seemed capable of saying. "Go sweep."
The machine seemed to shrug without actually lifting his shoulders and clomped out of the workshop into the store, the door shutting behind him.
"Uh, I…still have some work to do with him. Namely in the art of, uh, erm…tact."
"You just might," she said, her amusement breaking through. She let him recover from the embarrassment of the situation before she crossed the room and sat on the edge of his desk, looking up at him. "The letter?" she asked, figuring she knew what this conversation would be about.
He let out a huff and shook his head. "This Inquisitor thing. What is going on? What's he seeing out there?"
"Evil, he said. I've gone over the letter a few times since we got back. Didn't dare read it again until I was home, behind locked doors. Just in case. He said darkness is coming."
Chuck nodded. "His exact words. That's one of the things that stuck out. I can't get it out of my head. Darkness is coming. It's like some foreboding Ides of March type of statement you'd see from a sinister character that steps out of the shadows to warn an unsuspecting hero of danger in their future."
She looked up at him through her lashes and smirked slowly. "Been reading quite a few serials, haven't you?"
He blushed a little and shrugged, playing it off. "A fellow's got to keep himself entertained, hasn't he?"
"Nevertheless, you're right," Sarah admitted. "It sounds like something out of a nightmare." And then she stood up again, closer to him, making sure to meet his gaze as she spoke. "But that wasn't the part I haven't stopped thinking about, Chuck. He said they knew him, knew his secrets. What other secrets has he but this one?" She poked a finger in his chest gently. "You, Chuck."
He shook his head. "They can't know about me. The only people on this entire planet who know about what happened to me with the Intersect are me, you, and Bryce."
"And if Bryce told anybody else about it?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.
"Then…Then I…He didn't. He wouldn't. They'd only think it was him. They can't know about me."
Sarah sighed and she nibbled on her lip. Chuck trusted so easily and readily, but she supposed she should grant him this. Bryce was risking his life to keep Chuck out of the government's crosshairs, so to speak. And it seemed like Chuck was really the only person the agent cared about.
"Who are they anyway?" Chuck asked, shaking his head. "What's this evil? This darkness?"
"Perhaps Bryce is starting to go mad." The toymaker flashed her a look that was half consternation, half confusion. "I just mean that perhaps being alone, always on the run…perhaps it's all getting to him and he's becoming plagued by anxiety and paranoia." She didn't like the upset, guilty look on Chuck's face then. "None of this is your fault, Chuck. You didn't ask for him to bring the Intersect to you. You didn't want any of this. And you're dealing with it now as best as you can. He owes you this. He got you into this and he'd damn well better be the one dealing with the brunt of his actions until he can find a way to get you out of it."
Chuck blinked at her rant. And then he sighed and slumped to sit in the chair behind him.
"He isn't going mad. Whatever this is, it's real. Bryce Larkin, whether he's paranoid or not, isn't the type to imagine things or exaggerate. He's always done his best to debunk my flights of fancy when we were kids. Fairies, monsters, magical creatures…He never believed in any of that."
Sarah nodded. She didn't know Bryce well, not nearly as well as he must've. She trusted he knew what he was talking about. "You're right, I'm sure. But we need to take this seriously and listen. Watch."
"Do you think he or she or…they…are after Bryce now? This…Inquisitor?"
"It sounds that way."
"Maybe they're some secret branch of the government we don't know about."
"Did you flash on it?" He whipped his head around and furrowed his brow at her. "Inquisitor. Did that make you flash when you heard it? Is there anything in there about them?"
He blinked and lowered his gaze, is eyes flitting back and forth as he thought back. "Come to think of it, no."
"Then they're not with the government. Any government. Bryce told me the engineers who created the Intersect amassed information from other governments, as well. Illegally."
Chuck's eyes popped. "I'm sure that wasn't sanctioned in the 1872 World Peace Convention."
"Nothing was sanctioned in the 1872 World Peace Convention, Chuck. Ambassadors and world leaders spent the week bickering and then called it a day and went home." He snorted at that. "The point being that whatever this is that Bryce wrote Ishmael about, no government knows about it. It's something else entirely. And that makes it unpredictable and honestly, terrifying."
He watched her closely, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. "So we don't know what we're up against."
"No, we don't. And it doesn't sound like Bryce knows, either. Yet another thing we have to watch out for," she said, smacking her hand on the desk and huffing in frustration.
"Why didn't he tell us?"
Sarah stilled, then slowly lifted her gaze to his. That was a very good question. She wanted to be able to give him an answer that would set him at ease. Set her at ease. But she had nothing. "I don't know," she said with a shrug. "Perhaps he doesn't trust me with that knowledge. Or he thinks you'll play the hero and try to help him. He probably thought it wasn't safe for any number of reasons."
"But sending a letter to a man who's constantly with Big Theo West and his cronies, and…not to mention Agent Gibson who's probably the least trustworthy person I've ever met—which is saying something, considering the circles I run in—It seems a lot worse, a lot less safe. So why him? And why not us?"
Sarah shook her head. "I don't know the answer to that, Chuck. I'm sure he had other ways of getting that letter to Grand. Ways we don't know about because neither of us are secret agents."
It was Chuck's turn to huff and push a hand through his unruly curls. "This gets worse every day, doesn't it?"
There was a long silence between them and Sarah allowed her eyes to slip shut. And then she heard his voice, soft and tentative as it was.
"Sarah…Forgive me for asking this. Perhaps I shouldn't. It's none of my business. But is…is what Bryce holds over your head…is it worth it for you?" She met his brown eyes in the soft light from the lamp. "Staying close to me has brought you a lot of trouble."
"It is," she said without pause. What she didn't tell him was that it helped that the blackmail wasn't the only reason she was still here. And she wouldn't tell him. That would complicate things that were already complicated enough.
He sighed. "Well, if it's any consolation…I'm really lucky he went to you instead of someone else. Because nobody else would've been able to keep me alive through all of this mess that's happened since you first showed up." The toymaker then surprised her with a soft chuckle. "I'm a bit of an idiot. And rash. And I'm stubborn. You're literally the only reason why I'm not dead right now. Or in some secret government lab, getting my brain picked at or whatever it is they mean to do if they ever find me."
Sarah just smiled slightly, running her hands down her dress with a small amount of shyness. "It isn't all bad. Bad situations, certainly. Danger. All of these unknown variables and uncontrollable moments—two things I hate more than anything—but…" She paused. Should she? She shouldn't. But perhaps he deserved to hear it. He was going to go on thinking that she was just here because of the blackmail, but if she could just give him something…one thing that made him feel like less of a burden…
"The company hasn't been half bad," she finished. And the soft look that earned her gave her a feeling deep, deep inside of her chest that she did her best to ignore. To no avail. It was there. And she probably knew what that feeling was.
"What I mean is…it could be worse," she amended, and then smirked when he laughed.
"Oh, thank you. Thank you very much for that vote of confidence." He was still grinning. "Honestly and truly, Sarah. Thank you. For being here, and for giving me at least…somebody. Even this, accompanying me here, sitting and talking things through with me, trusting me…it goes quite a long way."
She huffed softly and smiled, nodding, looking away from him. And she stayed with her gaze on the ground even when he finally stood up and went back to his work, leaving her with a warmth inside her chest.
}o{
Sarah stared at herself in the mirror, poking at the dark circles under her eyes, doing her best to iron out the line between her brows that she'd picked up frowning in her sleep, no doubt.
And why not when she'd lost so much sleep over the weekend, on top of there being so much to frown about?
She took a deep breath and pushed her hands through her hair, grabbing a ribbon from her jewelry box and tying it back in a messy ponytail.
Dipping the cloth in the cool water, she slid it up over her neck, along her shoulder, around to the other shoulder…sighing at how good it felt.
It was a hot morning, and the layer of soot over the city somehow compounded the heat. The air smelled like wet tar outside. It was nearly unbearable.
She jumped then as she heard a knock on her door.
Narrowing her eyes, she put the cloth back in the bowl of water and grabbed a towel, dabbing her shoulders and neck dry, retying her blouse to cover her shoulders as she hurried to her desk, popping it open and grabbing a knife.
The knock sounded again as she dashed into her living room, her bare feet silent against the wood floors. She tried to see who it was by inching the lace curtains of the front window to the side and peeking out, but whomever it was stood too close to the door and the angle wasn't right.
Huffing in annoyance, she went to the door and whipped it open, holding the knife where she could use it if she had to.
The young woman on her stoop spun with a large grin on her face and it died immediately when her green eyes dropped to the knife in Sarah's hand.
"Oh."
Her eyes widened and she froze.
"Oh," Sarah parroted. She looked down at the knife in her hand. "Oh! Ellie, I'm sorry." The con woman stepped back and opened the door wider, letting the knife tip down so that it wasn't quite as menacing, pointing it away from Chuck's sister.
But the nurse's smile was quick, and the tension in her was gone almost immediately. "Don't ever let anyone tell you that you aren't a smart woman, Sarah."
She swept into Sarah's home moving aside so that the younger woman could shut the door behind her. "I-I'm sorry?"
"I've seen what happens to women who aren't prepared. You, my dear, are very prepared." She gestured to the knife. "We can't be too careful. Though I must ask, where exactly did you procure such a thing? I tried to buy a knife when I first moved into the rooms about Mrs. Jansing's bakery and I was refused. Women are too delicate, he said to me." She rolled her eyes. "We need weapons more than they do."
Sarah widened her eyes. She knew she shouldn't be surprised. The Bartowskis had a knack at keeping her on her toes. And she truly shouldn't have expected Ellie Bartowski Woodcomb, a nurse and woman of the city, to faint at seeing a large knife in Sarah's hand when she answered the door. She felt a bit guilty.
Though she really hadn't expected Ellie's outright admiration. That was unexpected.
"We certainly do. I-I bought it during my journey to Los Angeles. Before I arrived. It seemed an important thing to have for a lady traveling alone."
"Indeed, it is." She paused, then shifted her weight a bit shyly, rubbing a hand down the front of her black skirt, then tugging her black waistcoat…
Sarah recognized the woman was trying to work up to what she was doing here. And she couldn't for the life of her figure out how to bring it up without sounding rude. What are you doing here? was certainly much too rude.
"You must be wondering why I'm here so early in the morning. I apologize for just dropping by unannounced. I don't blame you for pointing a knife at me," she said dryly, smirking. But there was still a bit of shyness in her.
"No, it's perfectly alright, Ellie. You don't need an invitation. You're always welcome here."
"That's very sweet. Thank you. And of course you know you're more than welcome at our home, as well. Cooking for four makes much more sense than cooking for three." The tinge of pink on the woman's cheeks and the way her eyes darted away made Sarah think that perhaps the woman only just became aware of how that sounded. Chuck had intimated on the way back from San Diego that his sister might try her hand at matchmaking, when Casey had been asleep at the front of the train car and neither of them had been able to drift off. And he had looked to Sarah for guidance.
She had nothing for him. And they'd stayed silent for some time after that.
It wasn't her intention to end up actually wearing Chuck's ring on her finger, even if it meant protecting their secret. Secrets, since there seemed to be so many these days. She couldn't even begin to imagine how much it would hurt Chuck to marry a woman under false pretenses, lying so terribly to his sister. He would crumble. He'd become a shell of the man she had grown to know and appreciate.
Sarah quickly responded to save Ellie from having to backtrack her words or apologize.
"Oh, I would love that. Thank you." And then she paused. "But you…did have a reason for visiting me?" She tilted her head, smiling in a way she hoped was reassuring.
"I did. Yes." There was a smidgeon of relief in Ellie, then. And the self-deprecating smile on her face, as well as the knowing and grateful glint in her eye, told the con woman that the nurse knew and appreciated her tact.
"You see," Ellie continued. "The Coalition and I—that is, we are planning a march. A march for voting rights of all women. They did it in New York a few months ago. Mrs. Boynton's sister wrote her all about it and sent some of the materials they used, educational and the like. So we have a blueprint, if you will. It was very successful. Many women came out for the cause."
"It sounds like quite the undertaking," Sarah said.
"Oh, you have no idea." The nurse huffed and rolled her eyes.
"Though—and I hope you don't mind my asking, Ellie—isn't your coalition for Women Doctors? What happened to that part of the fight?"
"That's still a priority. It was successful in New York and Boston. There are currently a few licensed female doctors in the South, as well. Though I think in their cases, they've found loopholes in the laws there to keep law enforcement from shutting down their practices. You know," she shrugged, "it's not exactly something those who wrote the laws down there figured would happen—female doctors—so they didn't include anything like that in the wording. Unfortunately, that's not the case here." She gave Sarah a dry look.
"Ah. Thank you, men."
"Thank you, men," Ellie repeated in a drawl, nodding her head once and giving Sarah a flat look that made her giggle. "Anyhow, the hope is that suffrage will lift women in the eyes of the law—at the very least—to being able to hold their own in careers that require university. Doctors, lawyers, judges, accountants, et cetera. Perhaps they'll allow women into all universities if we're allowed to vote." She huffed. "Frankly, it makes no sense to lift women in only one area of society. And for that matter, only one type of woman. Color, religion, class…We fight for all women, or we fail."
Sarah felt something stirring in her breast as she listened to the confident ring of Ellie Woodcomb's voice.
And she was trying hard not to get too caught up in it, even if she believed in the fight. She felt she had more important things to worry about. Chuck's survival…and her own survival…just for example. She could pretend to get pulled into Ellie's movement for women's rights, but she couldn't get lost in it. She had to keep her efforts focused on keeping Chuck safe. He depended on her.
And as important as Ellie's cause was, as much as she felt the power of it in her own breast, in ever fibre of her being… Nothing took precedence over Chuck.
Over his safety, she meant.
Maybe if she kept repeating it, she'd actually start believing it.
"Do you…not agree?"
Sarah perked up, looking at Ellie quickly. "Oh…no, I do! Absolutely I do."
"Oh." Ellie smiled a bit tentatively. "You just looked rather…sad for a moment. If you don't mind my saying so."
"No, I don't mind—It's just…It bothers me, the way women are treated like second class citizens. And that isn't even including the women who don't look like us. Not white, I mean. They're treated as third and sometimes fourth class citizens."
"You and I are exactly of the same mind, Sarah Walker." There was pride in the nurse's face, and Sarah couldn't help being affected by it. It pleased her to no end and she felt incredibly silly for it. When had she ever cared what other women thought of her—what anyone thought of her—if it wasn't to ensure a successful con job?
"Yes, well…it is difficult to ignore."
"And that's why the Coalition has become a massive player in the suffrage movement. We're also trying to pull in women who are not white, but…Well, you see they have much more to fear, showing disdain for our lawmakers in public. I fear they'll face consequences I don't have to worry about, and that's something we'll have to work on." Ellie shook her head, then. "I'm getting entirely off track, which happens every time I'm on the topic. What I really came here for was to ask if…Well, would you like to be involved in any of this?"
"Involved?" Sarah felt a nervous quiver in her stomach and she put her hands behind her back, twisting her fingers together.
"Yes, in the march. We'd like women from all walks of life. Chuck tells me you moved here from the country, and now you waitress at the Aviator's Timepiece. We have nurses, of course, but also politicians' wives and daughters, clerks, secretaries, housewives. As a waitress, you might bring a new perspective into the conversation. Dressmakers and shop owners are still an untapped area of expertise we're attempting to pull into the march, but we'll get there." Then she quickly rushed ahead. "Of course, I'm not just asking you because you're a waitress. No. Indeed, I thought—Well, you are Chuck's…friend." She paused. "And my friend. And you've helped pass out pamphlets and buttons with us before. I wanted to include you, in case you should, well, like to be included."
Her smile was vibrant. And expectant.
Sarah felt insincere, and it made her feel terrible, but she knew at that moment that there was no way to avoid going in this direction. It would arouse Ellie's suspicion, and if not that, then perhaps her ire, if Sarah spent all of this time in her brother's company without it being romantic.
Perhaps there were ways to traverse the path without letting it get carried away. And dear God, without there being a ring involved.
"Is Chuck partaking?" she asked suddenly. And she squirmed a bit, looking away from Ellie. She felt the woman watching her closely.
"In the march?"
"Yes. Well, and the planning. The preparation. I just know he supports you—women, all women—in this fight. And I was…curious." She winced a little, playing the part of a woman who was doing a poor job of hiding her romantic interest from the man in question's sister.
"He told me he'd be available for whatever I need. He better, if he knows what's good for him." Sarah could see Ellie biting her cheek to keep from beaming too hard. She knew exactly why. "So I think it's safe to say he will be involved, yes. And he will be at the march. He won't be the only man, either. Plenty of good fellows in the greater Los Angeles area have already pledged to support. Not all," she said dryly, rolling her eyes. "Certainly not all."
"No, of course not. How does a man keep control of his home if his wife is out voting and thinking for herself?" Sarah groused. And she earned a laugh from the nurse.
Then Ellie reached up and fixed the pretty purple hat she'd pinned to the top of her elegantly piled dark brown hair. "I should be off. I have a meeting to get to. Oddly enough, it has nothing to do with suffrage, and everything to do with fixing the crack that runs up Vine thanks to the last earthquake we had quite awhile back. I swear, what exactly are taxes for if they can't fix a damned road? It's a safety issue."
"You are quite the activist, Mrs. Woodcomb," Sarah said, unable to keep the admiration from her tone.
"Well…yes…" Ellie blushed a bit and it pleased Sarah more than she wanted to admit. "It seems harder and harder to ignore the many shortcomings in the way things are done. I know it's a dismal thing to say. However, I feel I don't have to parse words with you."
Her smile was kind. And more importantly, there was trust there. It was trust Sarah didn't deserve, and yet it didn't make it any less sweet to see it in the woman's face.
"No, indeed, Ellie. I beg of you not to parse words with me." She smiled back and brimmed at the confident nod that received.
"Same goes for you, my dear. But now I'm off. Thank you for bringing my brother back to me in one piece. I truly hope your aunt is well-recovered soon. I apologize for not asking after her sooner. My one track mind ran off after the cause and…" She winced, embarrassed.
"No, it's alright. She should be fine. My cousin is taking good care of her now. Chuck was a great help." He'd saved Sarah's life more than once. Great help was quite the understatement. And had she thanked him for that? She knew she hadn't.
Ellie reached out and took Sarah's bare hand in her gloved one, squeezing comfortingly. "Good. If there's anything at all I can do, just let me know."
"Thank you, Ellie. That means so very much to me."
Pleased, the woman nodded and then turned on her heel, striding for the door again.
Sarah walked her out onto the porch and a sudden thought occurred to her. "Oh! Ellie, I'm terribly rude! I didn't offer you tea or refreshment. I—"
"Oh." She waved her hand and shook her head, sending the younger woman a sardonic look. "Please, don't fret about it. A woman can only stand so many cups of tea in one day. You spared me a few unwanted sips out of politeness." Sarah giggled, still a little ashamed of herself for not thinking about it. "Good day, Sarah. I'll be in touch."
"I look forward to it."
She watched the woman gracefully glide out through the gate and around the other house, turning onto the main street and disappearing from sight, and then she ducked back inside of her home and shut the door, slumping against it.
If she didn't have a shift at the Timepiece to get to, she would go straight to Chuck and tell him what she'd just done. The wheels of this faux romance were turning now, and he wasn't going to be happy about it, especially since he'd explained to Ellie that they weren't courting, after the first time Sarah said they were. She wondered just how confusing all of this was for the nurse. Or perhaps she just thought them both immature in love.
Either way, she'd be late for work if she didn't change into her uniform in a hurry.
}o{
The con woman turned waitress was in a sour mood by the time she arrived at the Aviator's Timepiece. She wasn't sure why. If she hadn't had a shift today, she still would have to travel in the same direction, to the same part of town. Only instead she'd be at the Buy More, trying to figure out how Chuck got Morgan to work. Or watching Chuck build something else.
Perhaps it was the fact that she wasn't at the Buy More, providing a much-needed barrier between the toymaker and his assistant.
She was nervous leaving Casey alone with her charge.
Then again…There was what Chuck had overheard the bounty hunter say in the tent that night. The grunt-happy brute had stuck up for them when he hadn't needed to.
But now that they were back in Los Angeles, it was different, wasn't it? They didn't have to be a team anymore. And Casey would want a lead in his manhunt.
She'd tossed and turned early this morning once she got back to her house after helping Chuck at the Buy More. Where did they go from here? Would Chuck have to tell them he had no more leads?
How was she supposed to take it, considering Casey thought she was after Bryce just as much as he was, using Chuck just as much as he was, if not more?
By the time Sarah strode into the alleyway behind the club and pushed into the back door, her mood had worsened all the more, and she only had the wherewithal to nod in greeting to Maggie when the woman called a cordial good morning to her over her shoulder as she poured freshly brewed coffee into it pot.
"Miss Sarah!"
She spun on her heel as she snagged her apron from the rung where she'd hung it on the wall nearly a week ago. "Good morning, Mr. O'Brien."
"Now, how's the aunt?"
"Much better, thank you for asking. Very sweet of you, sir." She flashed him a smile. She'd read him the first day on the job and knew exactly how to make him like her. Subtle compliments, things that made him feel like he was doing a good thing, things that made him stand a bit straighter…Sarah figured she could get away with just about anything, short of murder perhaps.
"Oh. Yes…Well, good." He ducked back towards the kitchen to keep watch over the bread she smelled baking.
"There's a fella sitting in the corner alone out there, Sarah. Can you bring this coffee to him? He's at the table by the door." Maggie distractedly waved towards the nearby pot as she focused on balancing three plates on her arms and hands.
"Of course." Sarah finished tying her apron around her waist, tucked a stray hair behind her ear, and picked up the coffee pot with a pot holder before pushing out into the main dining area.
She hurried around the bar and made a beeline for the man sitting alone at the table near the door. His top hat was on the table top, behind the paper he'd spread out to read.
He pulled out a pocket watch and glanced at it as she approached, then cast his dark eyes up at her.
"Well." A grin spread over his face as he sat up straighter. Sarah rolled her eyes inwardly. "You've changed quite a bit since I asked you for a coffee three minutes ago."
Sarah ignored that and smiled politely, setting the cup on the table and pouring the steaming black coffee into it. "Milk or sugar, sir?"
"If I say both, will you promise to make two trips?"
She blinked at him.
"That way I can see you twice instead of just the one time." His fingers curled around her wrist then, and he pulled her closer.
Sarah wasn't in the mood. Her polite smile died.
"I always think quality is better than quantity," she replied.
"Do you, now?"
"Mm. Yes. So why don't we make this one especially good?"
"Why don't we?"
Sarah reached over to take his hat, turning it upside down on the table, and in a supremely graceful move, she began pouring the rest of the coffee into it. "Theeeere we are."
The man let go of her wrist and pushed back from the table, standing on his feet and swaying a bit. Shock was his first reaction, and then she saw the fury.
"What the devil is wrong with you?" he growled.
"Did you not want coffee, sir?" she asked innocently, raising her eyebrows in question, still holding the coffee pot up.
The man grabbed onto her shoulder tightly and pulled her close. She grit her teeth, ready to act if she needed to. "Now what could have possibly made you think a barmaid could treat a man with such cavalier disobedience?"
"I owe you nothing," she growled back.
His grip tightened. "You forget your place."
A hand clamped down on the crisply pressed arm of the man's suit. Sarah followed the arm up to see Chuck standing there, towering over both her and her current opponent. "Sir, I believe you forget yours," he said, calmly.
Sarah froze, thrown off for a moment by Chuck's sudden presence. She hadn't seen him when she first came out of the kitchen. She'd been distracted and frustrated. Tired.
"Mind your own business," the man barked, his mustache twitching in ire as he turned on the younger man.
"I would. Really I would. Only, you're being incredibly disrespectful towards my friend."
"Chuck, it's alright." Sarah finally found her voice, setting the coffee pot down on the table next to her. And she quickly reached up to shove the man's grimy hand off of her shoulder, glaring at him, clenching her jaw. "Sir, it's high time you left. Take your hat with you, if you please."
The man suddenly shoved at his hat, sending hot coffee cascading over the table, drenching the newspaper he'd been reading, and splashing onto Sarah's apron and unfortunately her hand. She hissed and pulled her hand back.
She heard others in the Timepiece standing and crying out in consternation. There were chairs scratching against the floor, and one fellow across the room bellowed, "Now see here, sir!"
The pain in her hand was forgotten in a moment, however, when Chuck lunged forward, making to punch the other man in the face. Sarah acted just in time, catching his arm as he reared it back, his hand in a fist.
"Chuck, no. No."
He stopped, looking livid. But thankfully, she didn't see that glaze in his eyes, or the deep lines between his brows, the uncharacteristic look of hatred and violence that had been part of the reason why she couldn't sleep on the train yesterday. That had been her first thought, the moment she saw Chuck move in her peripheral. He had flashed like the last time she'd been in trouble. And he would kill this despicable but physically harmless man in front of the rest of the Aviator's Timepiece patrons.
But this was Chuck she was pressed against, this was his wrist she was clutching. Her toymaker was in his brown eyes as they swept over to her. He blinked and his body unclenched, he lowered his arm, straightened his suit, and stepped back, gesturing at the man as if to say, He's all yours.
Sarah didn't have time to identify the overwhelming rush of emotion, the heat in her center, as she looked at Chuck Bartowski—the way he almost looked excited and amused as he moved out of her way.
Instead she grabbed the unruly patron by his wrist, yanked his arm behind his back, and in one powerful, quick move, slammed him into the wooden floor. Hard.
She ignored his cry of pain and yanked his arm behind his back even harder. The room was suddenly silent as she stuck a knee in his shoulder and pushed down. "You're never to come back to this establishment again. And tell your friends we don't tolerate this kind of behavior. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"
The man's eyes, narrowed in pain, flicked up to look at Chuck. "What sort of a man allows his woman to fight his battles?" he growled.
This was the sort of man Sarah had always enjoyed hurting. The snap of his shoulder popping out of his shoulder would be so very cathartic, especially after such a rough morning. The sound of his pained scream, the sight of his tears. Men like this who thought the best way to disparage a man was to compare him to a woman deserved much more than this.
When Chuck didn't answer, Sarah leaned close and growled, "A secure one."
She let go of him, climbing up to her feet to look down at him. She'd have to be satisfied enough with the ache in his shoulder that would last a few days. His pride surely took a hit as well.
"Now get out," she breathed, blowing the hair that escaped her elegant coif out of her face and gesturing towards the door.
The man climbed up from the ground in a hurry, snagged his hat, and wordlessly left, not bothering to look back again.
Sarah jumped as the room was flooded with whistles and applause. She looked around. There were only a few other folks sitting around the tables, enjoying their morning beverages and muffins. Some of the men were beaming, their cheeks rosy, clapping their hands on the tabletops as they lifted their mugs to her. And the three women seated at the table in the back were laughing as they applauded.
She turned to meet Chuck's wide eyes. Apparently he was just as stunned by the reception as she was. And when he grinned and chuckled, she couldn't help but turn back to the guests, grab the pleats of her skirt, and curtsy with a small, coy smile.
They all laughed harder as O'Brien stepped around the bar and crossed the room towards her. She had a feeling she was in trouble, but she'd easily charm her way out of it. Though she wasn't sure how much of it her manager had seen. None of it could be considered charming.
The ruckus died down by the time he arrived and everyone went back to their conversations. Sarah met his dark eyes under equally dark bushy eyebrows solidly, lifting her chin.
But before he said anything to her, he flicked his gaze over to Chuck who stood only an inch or so taller than him. He put his hands on his sturdy hips. "Well, you sure had no problem stepping out of that battle. Quite a pair on ya." His eyes flicked down to Chuck's…well.
Sarah made sure not to follow his gaze.
Before she could speak up to defend Chuck, O'Brien continued.
"Honestly, a lesser man might've ignored the sage advice of a smart woman and clonkered the bastard. Not sayin' he didn't deserve it, but…" He sniffed and chuckled.
Chuck smiled a little, looking surprised.
Sarah heard herself say, "Well, Mr. O'Brien, he knows firsthand how easily I can pin a man—though in entirely different circumstances."
She should've stopped herself, but she supposed she didn't want to. And that was rather unfair to Chuck, wasn't it?
O'Brien looked to have swallowed too much air and Chuck—Well, she decided not to look at Chuck. But then the hefty owner of the Aviator's Timepiece laughed and shook his head. "Somehow I have a type that I end up hiring. Even when I don't realize it."
"May I take a break, Mr. O'Brien?"
"Take the day, see if I care. That show you just put on made my week. Just know I'm docking that bastard's check from your pay. I am running a business." He ambled away, back to the ovens.
Sarah still didn't look at Chuck, instead busying herself with picking up the coffee pot with the pot holder again. "Meet me in the alley in the back," she said over her shoulder, and she left Chuck's side, moving through the room.
"Good on ya, Miss Sarah!" Harvey called after her. He was a regular at the establishment, an Englishman, gruff and hard and weathered by a life at sea. He was a cliché, really, but kind enough.
She ignored him today, however, and pushed into the kitchen. Maggie was grinning like the cat who got the cream when she turned around from popping open the case of ale that must have just been delivered.
"Save a little for ol' Maggie next time, huh, girlie?" she quipped.
Sarah smirked back, her heart not entirely in it, and she set the pot down on the counter, hissing a little as the pot holder rubbed against the red spot on her hand where the coffee had scalded her.
"Oh dearie…Wait just a minute." Maggie rushed over to the large ice box and yanked the handle down, swinging open the heavy metal door and grabbing the pick, smacking it against the ice block inside to chip off a good sized chunk. She wrapped it in a nearby napkin and handed it to her. "For your hand. You go home and rest, but don't let that anger fizzle, huh? We need that here," she finished with a stage whisper.
She bid her coworker goodbye, snagged her coat and belongings, and pushed out of the back door into the alleyway. Chuck waited beside the steps, leaning against the brick wall of the club, turning his hat in his hands. He looked up as she walked down the steps and rounded the railing to meet him.
"I apologize for what I said," she said immediately. He wordlessly furrowed his brow in question and she explained. "To Mr. O'Brien. About you and—You and I. What I insinuated, I mean."
Chuck's face pinked and his eyelids fluttered. She saw him looking for words, and she thought she knew him well enough to know he was probably trying to find a way to brush off her apology as unnecessary. He was a man who constantly apologized and rarely allowed an apology from someone else. It was frustrating.
"There is a reason why I said it. Though, I was rather too bold in the way I said it. Perhaps I was riding the high of slamming that unmitigated ass against the hardwood floor."
He chuckled. "I can't say I blame you for that."
"Which part? Slamming him against the floor, or the boldness?"
"Er…" He tugged at his collar and she found the gesture sweet. "Both, I suppose."
She pressed her lips together and then smiled. Then she realized what she held in her hand and she slipped the strings of her purse around her wrist, pressing the ice against her burn. "Well, like I said, there was a reason. I was going to address this later today after my shift, but you're here, and—Just a moment, why are you here?"
He looked up from her hand to meet her eyes, gaping a bit. "Hm? Oh, I, er—"
"Something happen? Everything alright?"
"Yes. I mean, that is…Nothing has happened and everything is alright. As…alright as it can be. All things considered." His lips twitched in the semblance of a smile, and he stepped up close, smacking his bowler hat over his curls and taking the ice wrapped in cloth from her hand.
She put up a bit of a fight, but his patient gaze made her stop. "I've received quite a few burns in my line of work. It's best to apply the ice directly on the irritated skin. It'll be cold but, well, that's the point." He took the chunk of ice between his fingers, flattening his palm under her other hand, and gently began to slide the ice over her burn. She sighed in relief at the feeling of it. "This doesn't look all that bad, however. Nothing too damaging."
"Yes. N-No," she breathed, her eyes fluttering closed, inadvertently leaning into his touch. "That's good."
"You were saying?"
Sarah's eyes snapped open and she stood up straight again. "Er—Yes. I w—I was saying that…" What was she saying? Ah, yes. "The comment I made…I was trying to cement the impression that you and I are…" She pressed her free hand against her apron, feeling the wet spot there. Her fingers slipped into the material and she lifted it up between them to look at it. "Oh. Damn it. I'll have to figure out how to get this stain out."
"Ellie can help you. She's come home from the clinic with worse stains than that."
"Yes…"
"Sarah." His tone was pointed and she shook her head.
"Sorry, I—Speaking of Ellie, actually. That was what I was saying. She came to my house this morning," Chuck blanched, "Don't. It's quite alright." She just wouldn't tell him she'd brandished a knife at his sister, that was all. "It was just about the Coalition. Or, rather it was about the suffrage march. I've planted a seed in her head that I'm—rather that we're—you and I…"
Why was she having such a hard time speaking to him about this? It surely wasn't the soft touch of his hand underneath hers, the wet bite of the ice still gliding over her injury.
"Well, she thinks I have a romantic interest in you. I made her think that," she hastily added. "It's just much easier to explain why I spend so much time with you. There is no other way to justify…this."
"Unless we tell her the truth," he said. And when she gave him a look, he shook his head. "Which we cannot do. I know."
"Right." She cleared her throat daintily and looked away for a moment, and then flicked her gaze back up to meet his. "I overdid it with Mr. O'Brien. Made it sound…" She really didn't want to finish that.
Chuck shrugged, making a face. "You're a modern woman, Sarah Walker. He's not entitled to any information you don't give him about your personal life."
"Or behavior?" she asked, amused.
He smirked and she saw the blush on his face. A few months ago, she never would have believed that she'd be standing here at some point, discussing sexual relations with the man Bryce had blackmailed her to protect. And he wasn't fainting, this toymaker who had made a career out of pleasantly surprising her. He was keeping up.
And he was making it hard to breathe.
Though, that must have been the corset. The corset was making it hard to breathe. Truly, that must have been the real reason.
"I'm sorry. I didn't want there to be another reason for you to lie to your sister." There was something she couldn't decipher in his face as he broke her stare and looked off to the side. "It just wouldn't work any other way. And I have to be around you." She moved her head to the side, ducking down a bit to catch his gaze again, get his attention. "I have to be where I can protect you."
Chuck nodded. She wasn't sure what the small smile meant. But she would take it over the hurt she usually saw in his face when they discussed this.
"Good." Something occurred to her then. "Uh…You never quite answered why you came."
"Oh. Casey is manning the Buy More and I needed a break from a project." He paused. "I also really wanted a hot nutmeg."
There was something else at the tip of his tongue, she could see it, and then he let it pass, shrugging in a nonchalant way that she saw right through. She felt what he didn't say in the air between them—around them.
He'd come to the Aviator's Timepiece because he'd wanted to see her. Just like he used to before—when he hadn't known Bryce had hired her, blackmailed her, to protect him. When she'd just been a girl he liked.
Chuck sighed and squinted up at the sky, then. She followed his gaze, peering up through the slanted roofs of the buildings they stood in between. "The air feels strange. Or is it just me?"
"Perhaps it's going to rain," she said, letting her eyes shut for a moment. Not that they'd be able to tell. Unless it was a windy day, it was hard to see the clouds through the soot.
"No, it just feels…different."
She lowered her gaze back to him, and then she felt the warmth of both of his hands close over her hand he'd been cradling. The ice was gone—melted—but he was still looking up at the sky.
Sarah Walker took a moment to study the man before her when his eyes slipped shut. His brow was furrowed, his lips turned down in concentration. His hat smashed his curls down against his forehead, a few wisps poking out from underneath.
Just what did he mean by that?
It sent a chill through her.
And then a large drop smacked him right on the cheek and his eyes snapped open. "Or perhaps it's going to rain!" he chirped, chuckling as she beamed at him.
She let him put his hat on her head to keep her hair as dry as possible as the large drops began to fall faster, but when he tried to shrug his suit jacket off, she glared and he chuckled again, keeping it on.
Instead they ran out of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk, neither of them caring about the scandalized look an elderly couple shot them as they ran past them holding hands.
A/N: I know a few people used to get sore at me for bringing in the creepy things, but ... it's part of these chronicles so ... I guess ... deal. (shrug) There will be much more as we move into future chapters. Much, much more. It's all starting to click into place.
Please please review? Thanks everyone!
-SC