A/N: Thank you to everyone still here, still reading, sticking with the story. I'm trying so hard to write all of these stories, along with an original novel, and apply for jobs at the same time. It means a lot that every time I post something here, so many of you appear to leave me messages or review. It keeps my blood pumping. Thanks so much. Sincerely.
Disclaimer: I don't own CHUCK or its characters.
Last time in Chuck Versus the Steampunk Chronicles: Chuck, Sarah, and Casey trekked through the Mexican rainforest to find Monterrey, still on the search for Marta Ruiz. Chuck and Sarah found a private little watering hole of sorts to share a soft moment, then they all continued on into the town, only to be ambushed by ... Well, keep reading to find out!
He smelled dust first. Then garlic, pepper, and a hint of something he couldn't place. His bedroom was right above Ellie's kitchen and he'd learned much about cooking just by opening his window and taking in the scent of whatever his sister happened to be prepping for a meal.
When he blinked his eyes open, he felt groggy. And when he tried to move his arms, they felt heavy, so heavy he couldn't lift them at all. Frowning, he looked down.
Oh.
His hands were bound behind him with thick rope. That explained some things.
He snapped his head up and looked around him. "Sar—"
"Shh!"
Frowning harder, he shifted around a bit on his chair and found Casey just a few inches to his right, bound to his own chair and staring at him with a hard look on his face. "No names. Don't give 'em any clue as to who we are."
He nodded, because that made sense. Then, "Wait, you said, 'them'. Who's 'them'?"
"I dunno," the bounty hunter rasped in a quiet whisper. "I jes' woke up a few minutes ago."
Chuck whipped around to look at his surroundings again, taking in as much of it as he could. It was dark, the room windowless, with just a flight of wooden stairs leading up to a place he could see. Just one lamp mounted on the wall behind them lit the room, the gas turned low, so he couldn't see much. But he knew this had to be a basement of some sort. A basement that stored food, like a cellar? A spice cellar? A wine cellar?
Then he leaned forward as far as he could muster with the way his arms were bound behind the chair. "Where's S—?" He stopped himself, but Casey picked up on his meaning. Instead of saying anything, he just redirected his gaze.
Chuck squinted, his eyes starting to get used to the dark, and he turned to look.
He saw her blond braid first, limp against the dusty floorboards, and then the rest of her. She was lying on the floor, on her side facing away from them, her hands bound behind her back, but unlike him and Casey, her feet were also bound at the ankles, poking out from under her skirts.
Chuck diverted his gaze from said skirts, hiked up a bit as they were to reveal a bit more leg than he should be privy to.
He tried to reach out a foot to see if he could reach her, straining, but he was just a few inches short. "Damn it," he hissed. "You try," he said, but Casey just shook his head.
"Already did. Whatever they did to her got her a lot worse'n whatever they put in our drinks. That damn barkeep. Had to be 'im. Saw 'im lookin' at us funny." He growled.
"Is she…?" He couldn't finish it. What would he do? How would he be able to cope with any of this if she—?
"She ain't dead. 'Least I don't think so. She must'a got a stronger dose'n us."
Chuck didn't care if the older man saw the relief in his face or heard the sigh he emitted.
Then there was a thump somewhere about them, the sound of voices, muffled enough that Chuck couldn't make out any words. And then the sound of a door handle being jiggled, before he heard a door open. A strip of light flashed down the staircase and widened, revealing a long, dark, sinister shadow as someone stepped into the doorway.
And then there were the footsteps slowly meandering down the steps.
Boots were revealed, then trousers, and finally he saw she was a woman, squinting through the dim lighting at her prisoners.
He couldn't make out her features, save for the long dark hair spilling down over her shoulders, her short and muscled stature, dark skin on her hands and throat…
She stood there, the light spilling down behind her, casting her face in shadows, and then she waved a hand up behind her and the light disappeared as there was a sharp thud of the door closing again.
Her footsteps sounded ominous as she walked around them, and then she turned the gas up, illuminating more of the room. There were boxes, crates, sacks of rice or flour—Chuck couldn't tell either way. There were wine racks pressed to the wall behind the staircase. This was some sort of cellar, for sure.
The woman stepped into view again, lighting one more lamp on the wall at Chuck's side, turning it up all the way. Then she blew out the match she held and turned on her heel to face them. She had a heart-shaped face, wide mouth, and dark eyes that were intelligent and sharp. He thought she must have been able to see everything with those.
"Who are you?" he asked. "What do you want?"
She just continued to stare, slowly folding her arms in front of her chest. It was incredibly unnerving and he squirmed a bit in his chair.
"Quién es?" he tried again, wondering if perhaps she just didn't know English.
"We receive Americans in Monterrey all the time," she said, without much trace of an accent even. "You three are very different, however. Would you like to know how?" She paused and stepped a bit closer, the corner of her mouth lifting in a bit of a smirk, her eyes narrowing. "You swept into town and immediately looked to blend in as much as three whites can. Americans who come here as tourists to take in the local color," she said a bit mockingly, "usually enjoy the idea of standing out. It's a side-effect of being raised in an empire. They seek that intoxicating feeling of superiority."
Chuck glanced at Casey, seeing the way the bounty hunter rolled his eyes. "So you see white folk bein' polite an' respectin' yer culture, an' you automatically judge 'em as dangerous, knock 'em out, and tie 'em up in some cellar?"
She seemed unmoved by his sarcasm, not reacting to it at all, and instead, she reached over with her boot, hooked her foot around the leg of a chair, and dragged it over so that she could sit on it, her movements quick and graceful in a way that almost reminded Chuck of Sarah. He wondered if this woman was as deadly as Sarah was.
"No," she said, her voice clipped. "Your goal wasn't to respect my culture. You were trying to hide. And this woman you are with was the most suspect of all. I've never seen anyone so good at watching for trouble while making it seem like she isn't. That takes extra talent, one might even say it takes specific training." She paused and her features hardened, the smirk turning into a dark stare. "So tell me. Which agency are you from? And what jurisdiction does your empire have sending its agents into our country to spy on our people? Some might go so far as to call this an act of war."
"No war," Chuck rushed out. "We're not here for war. Just taking in the sights. Wanted to see lovely…lovely Monterrey. It's lovely. Really. Truly. Just…"
"If you say lovely one more time, I'm gonna bust these ropes and punch you in the throat so's you never say anythin' ever again," Casey growled.
Their captor ignored the banter. "I asked you a question. You'd do well to answer."
"We aren't agents."
"That's a lie."
"It isn't," Chuck said, shaking his head. "If we were agents, wouldn't we have some sort of identification? A badge? Proof?"
She laughed at that. "You think because I'm Mexican that I don't know how your agencies work? I lived in your country for most of my life. It was also my country." Chuck found himself giving Casey a significant look. "It still is my country. Your agents don't carry identification. The Imperial Espionage League doesn't operate on that level of transparency. And neither does your Imperial Bureau of Machinery and Defense. So tell me now which one of them sent you and why, or I'll bury all three of you so deep no one will ever find you."
A chill went down Chuck's spine, but he couldn't help wondering if they hadn't inadvertently found Marta Ruiz. Rather, she'd found them. And if they could get out of this alive, they'd be able to talk to her about Bryce.
The woman reached behind her back and produced a long knife.
…If we can get out of this alive, he silently repeated to himself, swallowing as the blade glinted menacingly in her grip.
"We ain't agents. I don't know how else ta tell ya, lady. Want me to say it in Spanish?" Casey snarked.
"Errr, perhaps don't make the woman with the massive sharp knife angry? Just a thought," Chuck hissed.
Her sharp eyes flicked over to Chuck and she narrowed them again thoughtfully, taking him in from head to toe, before switching her gaze back to Casey. "He makes a good point," she said slowly.
"Would you—" Chuck dropped his eyes to the still figure of Sarah on the ground, then, worry pricking at him. She hadn't even budged, in spite of the extra light in the room and their voices. "Would you please at least make sure our friend is all right?" he asked.
"She'll wake up in a moment. I didn't kill her." Then she shook her head. "I'm not going any closer to her than I need to. She's clearly the most dangerous out of the three of you."
He conceded with a shrug. She was right.
"I must have found two dozen knives on her," she said, shaking her head, and Chuck wondered if there wasn't at least a smidgeon of respect in her tone of voice as she looked down at Sarah.
"She's…" Chuck searched for a word. "Careful."
"She's a damned agent. Admit it. Who do you work for?"
Just then, Sarah made a soft sound, her shoulders shifting. The sight of her moving sent relief spilling through him. He hadn't trusted this woman's word that Sarah was alive until that moment.
Sarah groaned again and shifted onto her back, wincing as she barely squinted her eyes open. He saw the moment she realized the situation she was in. Her eyes snapped open, her body tensed, and she shoved herself up with her elbows to sit, fully alert. But she swayed then as she spun to face the woman who'd taken them captive, and she had to thrust an elbow out to catch herself from falling back to her side. They all waited for her to get her equilibrium back and sit up again.
"She's awake…" the woman chirped, taking a bit of a step back. And Chuck thought it probably wasn't fear that made her put distance between herself and Sarah, but observation and respect. This woman knew a worthy adversary when she saw one.
Sarah spared her a long, hard look, her blue eyes icy and cold. And then he saw something change in them. He couldn't read her at all as a mask fell over her face, and he knew a thousand different things could be happening underneath it. He wished he could know just one of them.
"Miss Ruiz," she said with a slight head nod of greeting. The other woman lifted an eyebrow and turned to face Sarah better. "Or should I say…Commodore Ruiz?"
A slow smile grew on the other woman's face. "I knew you were agents. And it's Air Commodore Ruiz, if we're being technical. I've asked your companions enough times, so I'll just ask you. You know who I am. Who are you?"
"We aren't agents," Sarah responded, blowing a strand of hair that had fallen into her face away.
"Oh, save me that—"
"We aren't. But we won't tell you who we actually are until you treat us like human beings instead of cattle. Untie us."
Their captor chuckled. "For how many knives I found on you, señorita, I'm certain there are more I wasn't able to find. I untie you, and you will use one of them on me." She put her hands on her hips and smirked.
Sarah didn't have much she could say to that, but Chuck did. He was going out on a limb. This was a risk. But none of them would get anywhere with this until they told Marta the truth.
"Did Bryce tell you we might be coming?"
Her head snapped to face him, her features severe. "You will tell me who sent you right now." She brandished the knife at him then and closed the distance until the blade was touching his nose. Chuck didn't dare move a muscle, his gaze sliding down to Sarah's. Her blue eyes were wide, startled.
"Wait, he didn't—"
"I'm not talking to you," Marta cut Sarah off with the authority of a born leader. Then she turned back to Chuck. "How do you know about Bryce?"
It was the steadiness of her hand that scared Chuck the most, so he just swallowed and told her the truth. "He's my best friend. We grew up together. Bryce Larkin, born in Los Angeles, California and raised at St Anthony of Padua Orphanage. I met him there. We were like brothers until he left to join the Air Force."
The knife slowly lowered as he spoke, and when he finished, it was hanging limply at her hip. "What is your name, señor?"
"Charles. But if he told you about me, he probably called me Chuck."
A soft laugh escaped as she looked at him, then turned to glance over her shoulder at Sarah, then Casey, and back to Chuck again. "He never told me about his parents. I should have known that was why." She fiddled with the knife between her fingers distractedly, looking off to the side. "The way he is, it makes sense."
Chuck felt himself frown a bit at that and she sniffed in amusement at him.
"He keeps everything so closed up inside. Even when he tells me the important things, there's always more he doesn't tell me, I know."
"He's always been that way," Chuck said. "We're very different, he and I. And the orphanage didn't change that in either of us."
"Hm." Then she surveyed him again. "So you are the inventor, the one who sells toys to children. The one who built a, um, machine-man to—"
"I am," Chuck cut her off quickly, making sure not to meet Sarah's gaze, just in case. Nor Casey's, for that matter. "Will you please untie me and my friends? We have much to discuss, Commodore."
She shook her head. "I don't know how you know about me, how you found me, why you're here. And I believe you are who you say, but I still do not know who your friends are." Marta turned on her heel. "Bryce told me you were his best friend, like his brother, but I don't know how much I can trust you. Especially considering you brought agents with you."
"These aren't agents," Chuck insisted. "They're my friends. This is my assistant at my shop, John." Casey turned to give him a long look, as if he was wondering what Chuck was playing at. "This is," he said, nodding towards where Sarah still sat on the floor, "This is my…bride-to-be, Sarah."
Marta missed the surprised look Sarah sent him at that, but Chuck saw it, and he also heard the amused grunt from Casey, as quiet as it was. I'm in so much trouble…
The commodore outright laughed at him and he looked up at her with a furrowed brow. "You don't believe me?"
"A woman who carries that many weapons on her person doesn't marry a man who makes toys for a living."
That smarted. He felt her words like one of Sarah's knives stabbed in under his ribcage. But he tried to play it off. "I-I have a lot to offer. Thank you."
He refused to look at Sarah. He was too embarrassed, and he'd asked for this, hadn't he?
"Bryce told me all about you. His one true friend, someone he could trust no matter what. It's why he went to you first."
Marta couldn't possibly know the truth of why Bryce went to him first, that he wanted him to fix the android so that he could travel back to his government and successfully bring their precious Intersect back home. She couldn't know that it hadn't worked out the way he'd wanted it to, that Chuck had accidentally absorbed the Intersect's deepest secrets, its hidden abilities, into his brain. And now Bryce was on the run to attract the government away from his boyhood friend.
So he let her think whatever it was Bryce had told her.
"He also told me he is protecting you."
Chuck couldn't help it, his head snapped up to meet her gaze, startled by her revelation. "I…don't know what you mean. I-I don't need protection."
"He wouldn't tell me why, don't worry." She smirked, and then she turned on her heel and finally moved closer to Sarah, kneeling down in front of her. "And if that is Chuck, you are the one Bryce sent to protect Chuck." There was a pause, and the commodore ran her gaze up and down the other woman. "He did not describe this protector." Another pause. "I wish he had."
Sarah looked away.
"I will untie you all, but know my brothers and cousins are all upstairs. They are armed and not afraid to use their weapons. Monterrey police will back us up if we tell them three white intruders came into our home. Your empire's laws do not apply here."
She eyed Casey in particular and he nodded once. "Understood, ma'am."
"Good."
Chuck still couldn't get a read on Sarah as Commodore Ruiz cut the ropes and freed them, and as much as he told himself not to try, not to intrude on her in that way, he couldn't stop himself from wondering where her head was at.
}o{
At least Marta Ruiz was true to her word, Sarah found, as they were marched up the stairs out of the cellar. They all three stopped when they came face to face with a handful of men holding rifles. When she saw none of them were pointed at her or Chuck and Casey, she felt safe enough to take in her surroundings. The room had three walls, the fourth open to the elements. It was drizzling, she saw, the iron table and chairs out on the hacienda style veranda and the colored stone beneath it getting wet.
Marta spoke in Spanish as she told the men to keep watch for the police, and three of them split off to march towards the front of the home, she assumed, two others going out into the rain, moving through the courtyard, and disappearing around the corner.
Three more stood unmoving, their eyes fastened on her and her companions.
"Tea?" the commodore asked them over her shoulder. Chuck seemed to pale at the idea but Casey didn't waste much time.
"Beer if you got it. I'd prefer to open the bottle all on my own, if'n ya don't mind," he finished with a look that made the woman chuckle.
"I can't blame you for that. Javier, beer for our guests. Just the bottles."
A man who'd been sweeping water from the room out onto the veranda turned from his work and nodded, leaving through yet another hallway.
"Please. Sit." She led them to a seating area on the other side of the room, next to a fireplace that had a fire roaring inside of it. "You all look the worse for wear, now that I'm looking at you in the light."
"You did drug us," Casey grumbled.
"That welt on your chin and the cut I saw on your arm under your shirt wasn't from me. And you, Chuck, your hands."
Sarah looked over at Chuck as he glanced down at his hands. His knuckles hadn't been treated after the fight with Constantos' men and they were still covered in scratches, swollen. He saw everyone was looking and he turned them over, tucking them between his legs. "I'm all right," he said, and Sarah clenched her jaw. Just a few months earlier, he wouldn't have hidden things like that. And she wondered if he'd been ignoring the pain in his hands because that was the reality of his life now. Pain, aches, worry…He was learning to just shut up about it, the way she and Casey did. The idea of him changing in even the smallest way saddened her.
"I'll get some things for your wounds," Marta said then, standing. "I'm sure I needn't remind you that you're surrounded should you decide to try anything." Her eyes flicked up to the two remaining family members standing nearby, leaning against the doorway, rifles still at their sides.
She made her point very clear. And her family members made theirs as well, what with the way their grips tightened around the barrels of their rifles.
And then she was gone.
"Bryce told her about you," Chuck whispered immediately, swiveling to face her. "That means he was here."
Sarah nodded. "I thought the same thing. When she just talked about you…Well, of course he'd mention you when they were in the Air Force together, his best friend back home. But when she said he'd sent someone to protect you…"
"We need to know when he was here," Casey said from the chair across from the couch Sarah and Chuck sat on together.
"If he's even left," Chuck piped up, and both she and Casey whirled to face him. She hadn't even thought that might be the case.
"You really think she might be hidin' 'im someplace?"
Sarah leaned forward and thoughtfully propped her elbows on the knees of her skirt that was soiled with dirt from their kidnapping. "No," she finally said. "Things would have gone quite a bit differently if Bryce was still here."
"He isn't here."
They all looked up to see Commodore Ruiz standing in the doorway holding a tray with various odds and ends to treat their wounds. She smirked, then swept into the room and set the tray on the table between them. "Bryce Larkin would never hide from you, Chuck. You, perhaps he might," she added, sending Sarah a look.
Sarah hoped no one saw her blush. She hadn't meant to. And she hated herself for it.
But she was afraid the other woman saw more, knew more…had guessed more…than she wanted her to know. She thought it might be in everyone's best interest if she did something to dispel Marta of that idea.
When Marta made the move to help Chuck with his hands, Sarah sprang for the cloth and salve and grabbed it first, apparently surprising the woman as she leaned away again. "I'll do it," Sarah insisted, scooting closer to Chuck and motioning for him to show her his hands.
Seeming a bit confused, he cleared his throat and slowly pulled his hands from between his legs, flattening them on his knees. Sarah took one hand first and pulled it onto her own lap, immediately starting to clean and treat it, being as gentle as possible. It wasn't as bad as it must've been the day before. His bath in the natural pool that morning had cleaned the blood away at least. Though she wondered how he'd found the strength to climb up behind that waterfall with the way his knuckles were black and blue.
"John, was it?"
Sarah looked up as Casey nodded gruffly.
Marta slid over to hand him a block of ice in a cloth. "For that jaw of yours. And you, Knife Woman, for your neck."
In spite of the fact that she felt the bruise on her neck acutely, Sarah shook her head. "I'm fine."
"Put the ice on your neck," came the voice of the commanding officer she'd seemed in that dossier Casey's handler had sent him. Without pause, Sarah reached out and took it, eyes a bit wide. But she couldn't treat Chuck one-handed.
Seeming to realize her quandary, Chuck took the ice from her with the hand she wasn't working on and he reached around her to set the ice against her neck. She bit back a hiss of surprise, as cold as the ice was, merely flinching.
"Sorry," he breathed. "Is this where it is?"
Now she knew she couldn't hide the blush from anyone in the room, least of all Chuck himself, as she reached up to curl her fingers around his and slowly drag the ice over to the spot where Marta had pinched her nerve to render her unconscious. Their eyes met for only a moment, and then she looked down at his hand and continued gently dabbing the salve on his wounds. "Thank you."
"Of course." Why did he have to say that, and so softly? So gently?
"And now I want to know why you're all here," Marta mercifully moved on. Sarah kept her gaze steadily on the work she was doing.
"We're looking for Bryce," Chuck answered, seeming to have recovered from the moment faster than she was able to. Though it wasn't helping that he was caressing her bruise with the ice in tiny, gentle circles…undetectable to anyone besides her since she could feel it so very clearly.
"Why? Why are you chasing after him when he's doing everything he can to stay away from you, to protect you? I don't know what you did, but whatever it is, they think he did it. Why are you putting yourself in danger when he's going through all of this trouble to keep you out of it? And you, why are you letting him when you're supposed to be protecting him?" she asked Sarah.
"I'm protecting him, I'm not his master," she answered.
"Quite the progressive take on being a bodyguard, though foolish."
"I have no intention of being the sort of wife who tells her husband what to do, just as he doesn't tell me what to do."
Marta seemed amused at that, and Sarah was careful not to look at Chuck. She didn't much want to know his reaction to her going along with the lie he told about them being engaged. She didn't want him to know it suited her own purpose. She didn't want him knowing her purpose in general.
"How did you know to come to me? How did you find me?"
"The government's got yer dossier. I managed to get a'hold of it," Casey answered. "And you should know right now that someone told them about Bryce. Someone wut was here, wut knows you. Mebbe they saw 'im when 'e was here."
The commodore's back straightened and she stood up to her full height, her features hard as she squinted out into the rain that was getting worse now. "You think perhaps they've been spying on me for some time now. Is that it?"
"I wouldn' put it past 'em."
"And how the hell would you know, Assistant to the Toymaker?" she asked, wryly.
Sarah could see what had drawn Bryce in where this woman was concerned. She was observant, sharp, and very obviously independent. And the air of authority was still there, in spite of retiring from the Air Force after the airship wreck she'd gone through.
"You know I ain't jes' his assistant. He likes goin' around tellin' people that 'cause it makes 'im feel less like a lily."
Chuck jerked his head towards Casey and glared. "That's just plain rude."
Casey shrugged. "I've got my own ties ta the gov'ment. But I'm tellin' ya now, I ain't on their side. Not in this." There was a bright flash outside and the rain came down harder, then a few seconds later a loud rumble sounded.
They all paused to take it all in, nature's fury flooding the yard that was built at a slope to lead the water down into gutters and drains that sent the water elsewhere.
And then Marta spoke up again.
"This is much bigger than he led me to believe, isn't it?"
"He couldn't have known we'd show up," Chuck said. No, Sarah thought, Bryce would never believe Chuck capable of doing this, of wandering out of his comfort zone. She was sure the agent underrated Chuck in many other ways, as well. It was a mistake she found herself making sometimes herself, but she was learning…just as Chuck was.
"He left eight days ago." Sarah looked up to meet Marta's eyes. She could see now there was trust there. "He stayed with me for eleven days only, longer than he meant to I know, but then it became much too dangerous and he fled again. Before you ask me where he went, I do not know. I only wish I did. I would have followed him by now if I knew. He is alone, terribly alone." She sighed. "He was injured and tired when he showed up. Some of my men found him in an alley outside of una tienda…" She seemed like she might have something else to say, but she kept it inside, instead clearing her throat. "They said he was saying my name, and when I went to see who this man who claimed to know me was. I saw it was him, I paid his bail, and I took him here immediately. My family…We cared for him, treated his wounds, fed him properly."
Sarah saw a pleased blush on the woman's face then, and she thought she might be able to guess what else had happened between Agent Larkin and ex-Commodore Ruiz. The way Chuck cleared his throat quietly told her he'd put the pieces together as well.
"I begged him not to leave but he did. It was too dangerous, he said. My family was at risk. And he said I was to lie if any other agents came here. He told me to say I hadn't heard from him since we broke away after that last Air Force training camp."
She shook her head. "It is raining harder than we've prepared for. I must make sure my sister gets home safely from her job, and that my parents are home. Will you please stay as my guests? We did not start off on the right foot, I fear. But I believe I have proven I can be trusted. I will even give you the rest of your knives back," she said, turning to Sarah.
It was a peace offering Sarah appreciated as she smiled up at the woman, and one that perhaps bespoke of a certain amount of respect she had for a woman who must know how to use said knives. Sarah nodded as she finished wrapping Chuck's other hand, reaching up to take the ice from him and set it on the tray after wiping the water from her neck with the cloth.
"Meet me up the stairs from the entryway, and to the right. Those are my rooms. I'll join you presently," she said to the con woman.
Sarah agreed just as Javier finally came back into the room with the bottles in hand. He got a rather flat look from Marta and shrugged a bit, a sheepish look on his face.
"Javier, show the men to our guest rooms. Draw them baths. You may enjoy your beverages there."
"Thank you," Chuck said, and as he and Casey followed Javier, Sarah found the younger man giving her one last look over his shoulder before he disappeared through the doorway.
When she turned back around, the enigmatic pilot was nowhere to be seen. So she walked through the hallway and emerged in a large entryway. A staircase crawled up to a second floor landing that stretched both ways. Sarah took each step slowly, still a bit groggy from the way the woman had taken her out of commission at the bar.
Marta's room was larger than her own room in Los Angeles, but there wasn't a lot of furniture. This wasn't a woman who lived grandly, in spite of the Ruiz family apparently having money enough for this large homestead. What furniture there was ended up being quite simple and understated. For use rather than for looks.
The last time she'd gone into someone's room without them being there was before she'd ever met Chuck. She'd taken a few expensive baubles from a jewelry box, money out of the clothes drawers, and an expensive hairpin with gold filigree.
This time, she stood in the center of the room, watching the rain out of the small square window beside Marta's bed.
She cursed the woman for taking so long because it gave her just enough time to let her mind slip to things she didn't want to think about. Like the fact that Bryce had been here and he'd most likely slept in this room, in this bed, with this woman.
Perhaps since she was all alone, she could admit to herself that there was a slight ache when she thought about it. Jealousy. But not because she had any lingering feelings for the IEL agent. There hadn't been anything in the first place except for physical lust. It had just been so long since Sarah had felt that kind of physical relief, having someone to really satisfy that need.
And because her brain was cruel and masochistic, it reminded her of the way Chuck had caressed her neck with that ice, how his fingers had brushed against her skin, so cold and yet so warm at the same time, every so often when the ice slipped in his grip.
She had nearly lost her mind every time it happened.
Just as her eyes slid shut, a soft smile growing over her face, she heard the door open behind her. She whipped around and faced the shorter woman as she walked into the bedroom.
"My family is home and safe. They think a few of the streets in the outskirts of the city might end up flooding but we're safe here. The rain usually only lasts for a day or two in Monterrey. It's worse in Mexico City. Hot rain that sometimes burns your skin."
Sarah didn't respond, just watching as the pilot moved across the room and slid a box out from under her bed. She set it on the mattress and opened the box. Sarah's knives were nestled inside.
"You have quite the knife collection. I took the liberty of looking them over. Some are for throwing, some are not. This one, I find fascinating, you know?" She lifted a closed knife from the box and turned it over in her hands, then opened it with a flick of her wrist. It glinted menacingly and Sarah smirked slightly. "Only thing is I know for a fact that they've only issued this type of knife to top level investigative officials—spies, if you will—who work in the American Empire's classified agencies." Sarah's smirk died immediately. "So you must be an agent. Right? Or…if you aren't an agent, you stole this from an agent."
"I bought it on the black market."
"Did you?" She shut the blade into the handle again and twirled it between her fingers. "Because no dealer in the black market, no matter how untouchable they think they are, would ever try to sell one of these beauties. And no one who values her life would ever buy one even if a dealer had it."
She was right. The Empire was lax in its punishment of black market trade, as it typically had bigger fish to fry. But weapons were heavily policed by the Empire which was headed by an incredibly paranoid Queen who'd taken the throne after a civilian uprising on the White Palace that had resulted in the murder of her father the King. Military and government agents working for the Empire always had the more technically advanced weaponry in case her subjects felt like having another rebellion. Since the failed uprising decades earlier, people tended to be deterred from such rebellious behavior because of this.
"So what are you, then? If you aren't an agent?" Marta Ruiz didn't seem like the type who would be easily fooled. Sarah knew from a life of crime what fools looked like, the gullible targets. This woman couldn't be lied to, not about this. She just knew it.
"Because I think you did steal it. I don't know who from…Some agent pursuing you, perhaps. But I do have one question for you, an important one. Does Chuck know he's being protected by a criminal?" Sarah watched her calmly put the knife back and shut the lid. "Don't worry. I'm not going to call la policía in to arrest you. I'm just curious as to why Bryce would let you near someone he seems to care so much about, let alone ask you to protect him."
Sarah stared for a moment, and then she sighed and closed the distance, taking the box and opening it, moving the knives around to count them.
"I didn't steal any, if that's what you are doing."
"I always count my knives. It's habit. It settles my mind. And yes, Chuck knows."
"Huh!" She put her hands on her hips and made a face. "Well, I was right about you not being engaged, then."
Sarah frowned. "No, you weren't. I never said we weren't engaged."
She felt the other woman's eyes on her and she finally looked up to meet those sharp brown eyes with her equally sharp blue ones. Marta finally sighed and shook her head with a smirk.
"We should go downstairs. I'll take you to your room and draw a bath for you. Mama is making dinner. You'll all eat with the family." Sarah couldn't help furrowing her brow in confusion. "What, you think a once-Commodore in Her Royal Air Force won't sup with a criminal? Whomever you are, I can promise you I've supped with worse, and most of them worked for the Imperial government."
Sarah smirked as the woman beckoned her to follow, then she grabbed her box of knives, tucked it under her arm, and tagged along.
}o{
It took some time for the sun to emerge out from behind the clouds, and they were invited to stay at the Ruiz homestead until travel would be better. In spite of the potential dangers of doing so, they had agreed, spending time with the Ruiz family.
For the first time, Chuck saw what he imagined a real family looked like. Three generations lived on the large property, the young caring for the old. Meals were cooked and eaten together. Everyone contributed to the household. There was teasing, pestering, and fighting between Marta's niece and nephew, but still there was warmth and affection there.
And the toymaker found himself getting lost in it over the next few days. So that when reality started to kick in as the sun began to shine again, Chuck felt a spike of disappointment. When the flooded streets began to dry, the mud hardening, they would leave again, having gotten as much information out of Marta that they could possibly get.
He heard giggling out in the yard, Marta's niece Lala no doubt. But then there was an older-sounding giggle, one he recognized well. Unable to resist his own curiosity, he snuck through the living room and peeked out from behind the wall at the wooden porch. The wood was still drying, but that didn't stop little Lala and her new friend from sitting on it to weave dolls out of hay.
Chuck couldn't completely understand what the little girl was saying to Sarah, as they leaned together to conspire over their half-weaved dolls. But whatever Sarah replied with made the five year old let out a peal of overjoyed laughter. Sarah beamed and laughed as well, threading some hay to continue forming the head of her doll.
Sarah's doll was much shoddier than the one Lala was weaving, and somehow that made him melt even more. He could feel that sort of happiness that latched onto the innermost bits of your heart and slowly creeped outwards through your whole body until it pulled at the edges of your mouth and made her fingers and toes tingle…
He belatedly felt a presence at his shoulder then, and he turned to find Marta standing there, a quiet, knowing smile on her face.
She took his arm and pulled him away. "Ever made corn cake, Chuck?"
"Uh, no. No, I haven't." He saw that she'd placed a basket of newly picked corn, dotted with mud from the rain, down on the table in the living room, as well as an empty basket beside it.
"Help me shuck this corn, then. I'll show you."
She gestured for him to sit across from her and she grabbed one, yanking the husk off quickly and cleanly, picking the pieces of wiry hair off and tossing it in the empty basket. "Come now. Make yourself useful."
Sitting with a chuckle and a grin, Chuck did exactly that, listening as she gave him tips on how to be faster and more effective. He heard another giggle from Sarah outside, along with a happy cheer and Lala's laughter. Without even realizing what he was doing, he looked out into the damp yard and let a softness settle inside of him.
"You aren't much like the way Bryce described you, you know?"
Chuck turned back and blinked at her. "Am I not?"
"Mm, no. I see why he idolizes you the way he does, though."
He made a face. "Idolizes?" he asked doubtfully.
"It's true. He does. You're the type of person everyone should strive to be, he said. You always believe the best in people. You see people's good traits when they can't see it themselves. You kept him on track when you were boys, kept him from acting up too much. He's very protective."
The toymaker smirked self-deprecatingly. "He never much thought I could take care of myself, I know. Always jumping in when he caught other fellows being mean to me or bullying me. He'd threaten to pummel them. With Bryce around, I rarely had to fight my own battles, but it wasn't by choice." He chuckled and she smiled at him. "This is just a continuation of that. But with higher stakes than a mere black eye or two." His amusement faltered at that.
He felt her eyes on him as he continued shucking the corn.
"When I was in the Air Force, I followed orders from my Imperial superiors blindly sometimes. It was just a part of the job, trusting they were asking you to risk your life for something that was very important, the sanctity and success, the protection, of the Empire I love." She paused. "I never needed to know the deeper motives, sometimes I didn't want to know, even."
Chuck's hands stilled and he lifted his eyes up to watch her toss her husk into the basket. She sighed, then brushed the hair that escaped her long braid out of her face with the back of her wrist.
"Bryce didn't tell me what all of this is really about. Why he's protecting you. What it is about you that needs protection from the League, what you've done to make you a target. I don't know any of it. He didn't feel like he could tell me. So I won't blame you for not telling me. It must be incredibly important, something I fear I possibly wouldn't understand, something that perhaps surpasses what I could even imagine." She huffed. "Like I used to in the Air Force, I'm just choosing to trust him. And you. And her, and that so-called assistant of yours." He could feel her looking at him, but he just kept shucking. "You know that kind of trust. I see it in you, with her."
He met her eyes, then looked out towards the porch again. There wasn't anything he could think to say to that.
"Bryce said you always see the good in people. I don't think he expected this when he sent her to protect you."
Chuck ducked his head and swallowed thickly. "You don't know her. And he doesn't, either."
There was a long silence. "No, I don't think he does. Not like that." Chuck furrowed his brow at that. "And I probably don't. But she trusts you, as well. Which is even more surprising to me. No offense meant to you, but she is a criminal. They tend to have trust issues."
He bristled. "You don't know her," he repeated. "She's more than what she's done in the past."
She just smiled back at him, a softness and an openness in her features. "You're right, I'm sure."
Chuck didn't sense any sarcasm in her tone, so he eased back against the couch again, merely giving her a dubious look.
Just then, Lala dragged Sarah off of the porch and into the room. "Tía, hice una muñeca."
The shyness on the blond woman's face as she handed the little girl the doll she'd made as well, how she tucked her hair behind her ear and folded her hands behind her back, standing off to the side a few feet, made something inside of Chuck ache. There was a flutter in his chest as he looked up at her.
"You see my doll?" Lala asked in English, her accent thick as she marched up to Chuck. "Señorita Sarah make one for you."
One of the dolls, the threading a little looser, sloppier, was pressed into his hands then, and he chuckled. "For me? Really?"
When he looked up at Sarah, she furrowed her brow and gave him a minute shake of the head, amusement in her eyes.
"A present for…umm…su boda," Lala said, then. Chuck didn't need to be fluent in Spanish to know the child was talking about a wedding.
Chuck saw the embarrassment in Sarah's face, and he could feel his own blush, but this precious little girl was so sure she was doing Cupid's work, bless her big heart, stoking the flames of love between two people she was told were getting married. Marta seemed the most amused of anyone, probably because she still didn't believe they were really engaged.
There was no real reason to keep the ruse going, but then the pleased look in Lala's face was reason enough, wasn't it? How would the rest of Marta's family react if they knew it was a lie…a silly, pointless lie?
But it was Sarah who'd kept it up after they told Marta the truth about who they were, why they were here, wasn't it?
Chuck stood with the doll in his hand, closed the distance, and leaned in to press a kiss to Sarah's cheek. It lasted longer than he meant for it to. And as he moved back, he thought perhaps he'd acted rashly, inappropriately.
It had certainly been an unnecessary bit of affection, and he distantly heard Marta ask Lala if she could help her shuck the corn. At least, he thought that was what she asked, since the little girl plopped down on the chair next to her aunt and started getting to work.
Sarah quietly excused herself and left the room. Chuck waited for just a moment, and then he made a mad dash after her, missing the amused look the commodore sent after him before she went back to listening to the happily chatting child squished up next to her.
"Sarah…"
She stopped on the third step of the small staircase that led to the guest rooms at the back of the house, turning to look down at him, her features unreadable, wearing that damn mask again. "Yes, Chuck?"
The toymaker looked left and right, making sure they were alone, and he climbed onto the first step so that they were nearly eye to eye. "Will you accept my apology? I-I mean for what I did. I was teasing, mostly for Lala's benefit, but I didn't have to go that far, and I am sorry."
He was expecting annoyance, maybe anger…at best, exasperation. But instead of any of those things, he saw a sparkle in her eye, a smile that was barely there, and even what he thought might be a blush.
"Apology accepted," she said quietly, and the sparkle in her blue eyes increased for that split moment before she turned on her heel and walked up the steps to disappear down the hallway.
A/N: Chuck and Sarah. Sarah and Chuck. Chuck and Sarah. Sarah and Chuck. Can't live with 'em. Can't live without 'em. I love 'em. They will kill me.
Stay tuned, Chuck fam.
-SC