A/N: So Chuck Versus the Steampunk Chronicles continues. I know this story is sad right now, but as always, look for the light in the darkness. Sometimes for me, that's even better than fluff directly in sunlight. I don't know what I'm saying, I'm very wrung out right now. Just read the thing and I hope you like it.
Disclaimer: I don't own CHUCK or its characters.
Last time: After the gutting loss of android Morgan, everyone decides it's time to leave Los Angeles for their protection. And Ellie and Sarah find a small moment of connection and reliance on one another.
Los Angeles was at his back now.
It took them less than two days to leave, and they'd had to do it as quietly and with as little movement as possible. At least, not in the light of day. Most of the travel back and forth from the Woodcomb basement was done under the cover of darkness.
They'd hitched a wagon for Sarah's trunk, the one he'd seen her open only once before, an arsenal of weapons he was careful not to think about too often. Everything else they would need was inside of it as well. They'd taken stock of what they had, left behind what they thought they didn't need, and packed the rest up to take.
There was food enough for a long journey. How long of a journey, he wasn't sure. Sarah and Casey had taken care of that, talking amongst themselves, their heads bowed close together, a list between them. Blankets, coats, hats, plenty of clean drinking water, food, everything they would need for heading into the desert. Who knew what town they'd hit first or when?
Chuck sat astride Domino, the reins clutched in his hands, his knuckles resting on the horse's mane as she walked along beside the wagon. Casey had slapped a disguise on and bought two work horses from a shopkeeper who was leaving Los Angeles as well. They were pulling the wagon along behind them, and Casey sat up in the seat, leaning back a bit against the tarp that was hung over the wagon, covering its contents in case of inclement weather. Ellie sat beside him.
Devon sat on the back of the wagon, his legs dangling down as he stared at the horizon behind them, the city disappearing the further they rode. His home becoming smaller and smaller.
And Sarah walked.
She'd insisted on walking, no matter how much he told her to ride Domino.
Part of him wondered if she just felt safer striding along in her trousers hitched up with a thick belt, her coat hanging down to her mid-calf, boots rising up almost to her knees. A large rifle was slung across her back, the strap over her shoulder. Another gun sat at her hip in a holster. And he knew she had knives a'plenty on her person in various places.
She hadn't slowed or looked to tire in the three hours since they finally set off from Los Angeles. She just kept walking.
He risked a glance at her as she walked to his right, just a little bit ahead of him. He could see most of her profile as she trudged along, her eyes narrowed to thoughtful slits, even as the vibrant blue orbs cast this way and that across the landscape, most likely looking for potential danger.
She wore one of his hats with a wide-enough brim to shade her eyes and nose from the sun.
And he thought about how nobody had questioned him when he grabbed the trunk that held the remainder of Morgan inside of it, dragging it across the dirt towards the wagon. Most of all, though, Sarah had given Casey a look, and then he heard her quietly mutter, "Help him get it in the wagon."
Casey had looked at her like she was crazy, but she'd clenched her jaw. It had been enough to get Casey to swing into action… and now Morgan was inside of the wagon with the rest of their stuff.
In the last two days, she'd been extremely careful, and a little quieter than she usually was, observing more than participating. Not that she hadn't been helpful.
It was almost as if she was waiting for some bogeyman to pop out and attack at any moment. Her hackles were raised, her body tense, every bit of her ready in case there was an attack.
And while it made him feel some nervous energy having her so tense around him, it also made him feel safe. Not a day went by when he didn't feel so grateful he had Sarah Walker here to protect him and his family.
Sarah's tongue darted out to lick her lips then and she shifted the rifle on her shoulder. They'd each prepped a pack for one night in case they were separated for some reason, or in case they had to leave the wagon behind for lodging once they reached a town safe enough for them to sleep in. Sarah's pack was slung over Domino next to Chuck's. She'd tried to wear it and he'd grabbed it from her, wordlessly tying it to Domino's saddle beside his own.
She'd quietly let him do it without argument, and then he'd climbed up onto Domino and they began their journey.
But he also knew that she was without her water canteen because of it.
So he reached back, tugged his own canteen from the saddle pack, and dug his heel into Domino's side a bit, trotting up next to Sarah. He unscrewed the cap and then thrust it down towards her wordlessly.
Squinting up at him, she smiled a bit and took it. "Thanks," she said, their fingers brushing. She took a long drink, let out a sigh, took another long drink, and handed it back, using her sleeve to wipe her mouth.
"Nothing out here," he said, not really wanting to go back to silence, the way things had been for the past few hours.
She hummed and nodded. "That's because there's not much that can survive it." She sent him a bit of a look, the beginnings of a smirk on her face as she idly reached back to touch her long, blond braid. "Just wait until we get a day or two's journey into the thick of the Mojave."
"You done this before?" he asked her.
Sarah frowned a little, but disguised it as squinting over her shoulder. It was gone when she turned back to face forward again. "Yeah, I have. Once. Not quite this far south."
"Is it the way Jacoby describes it in The Desert Rascal?" he asked. She sent him a furrowed brow. "I used to steal the papers from the stoop of the orphanage before the sisters could burn them. We'd pass them around late at night after we were supposed to be asleep, read them to one another by the light of one single candle."
She peered up at him, a small smile on her face. "What was it about?"
"A cowhand named Billy Anson is framed by a romantic rival for stealing the mayor's horse. He escapes from prison and goes on the run, becomes a vigilante, and goes on adventures through the Mojave. He hunts and captures bad fellas who've got bounties on their heads." He shrugged. "It was easy to imagine the horizon burning red as the sun sets, one lone rider on his horse. No other life save the buzzards perched on a cactus. And a quickdraw rascal." He mimicked pulling a gun and muttered, "Bang bang."
She sniffed in amusement. "And this from someone who's got an aversion to guns…?"
"Well, they were just fun adventure stories. But I still yearned to get out of that orphanage, see something different. Wide expanses of land, and off in the distance mountains made from rocks that've been there for millions of years. Peace."
Sarah looked at him for long enough that he squirmed a bit in his saddle.
"You think there's peace out here?"
"Sure. There isn't?"
She shook her head. "There isn't any peace anywhere, Chuck. Not even out here."
"Well, I don't see any of the Inquisitor's bastards attacking us. No patrols."
She raised her eyebrows and pushed his hat back a bit from her forehead. "That is true. But we've got our very own Billy Anson out here," she said, gesturing to the driver's seat of the wagon. "He's bound to attract some trouble eventually. And if he doesn't, you might."
Chuck huffed. "Fair point. It seems to find me no matter where I go." He cast his eyes down, swallowing the lump in his throat. "And the people I care about the most seem to get the brunt of it."
He felt her hand curl around his calf and squeeze. Just a few days earlier, that small gesture would have done wonders for his heart. But today, and really, every day since they found Morgan wrecked by vandals, her touch was just a small bit of kindness. His heart felt like a hunk of lead wedged in his chest.
When he didn't respond or look at her, simply keeping his eyes in front of them, he felt her let go, and then she disappeared from his side.
}o{
Casey had gestured to her from his seat, swirling his finger in the air over his head. He wanted her to drive the horses, she knew. She gave Chuck one last comforting squeeze, not sure if it did anything to help, wondering if anything at all would ever help, and then she stepped away from him and came around the wagon Casey had pulled to a stop.
The whole small caravan had stopped with him.
As she walked up beside Casey, he set the reins down and turned to her. "I gotta relieve myself. And if these damn knees of mine don't get used soon, they'll fall right offa me." He hopped down easily. "You drive for a while. I'll walk."
And then he sauntered off to do his business somewhere behind the wagon.
That left her looking up at Ellie still sitting quietly in the seat next to the driver's, her hands clutching her knees over her dress. She took a deep breath and then looked back down at Sarah.
"You walked this whole time?" Sarah shrugged. "Weaker sex my backside."
Sarah snorted at that. It was truly the perfect way to break the uncomfortable silence. She quickly stepped up to the driver's seat, hoisting herself the rest of the way and plopping down even as she swung her rifle out from behind her.
"Wanna hold that?" She thrust the rifle into the brunette's hands and watched as the other woman stared down at it with wide eyes. She smoothed a hand down the barrel of it and took a deep breath.
"You know how to use this, then."
"Mhm."
"Is it long range?"
"Yep. It's why I took that one out instead of just relying on this bad girl." She slapped her hand on the pistol at her hip. "Out here, you need something long range. Who knows what'll come upon us."
Ellie huffed, blowing her bangs back from her forehead. "It never ends with you people, does it? There's always something dangerous around the corner, even if there are no corners to speak of." She gestured to the wide, flat land surrounding them.
Sarah couldn't help smiling in amusement at that. "I like how you put that," she admitted. "And you might be right." She heard a high pitched whistle behind her then and it made her bristle as she spun to see Casey holding a rifle of his own, making the universal sign for let's move out. "You mind not whistling at me like I'm one of your damn horses?" she snapped. He widened his eyes and held his hands up, trudging around the wagon to walk where Chuck had half draped himself out over Domino's back, his bowler hat pulled low over his eyes. "Thank you," she muttered, turning back around and setting them off again with a "hya!"
A moment later, as they rolled along through the desert in the direction Casey had set them off on—due perfectly East—Sarah turned to eye Ellie in her peripheral. She hadn't removed her hands from the rifle that laid diagonal across her lap. She still sat straight, her shoulders back, one of Devon's caps with a bill on the front smacked down over her hair to protect her face from the harsh sun.
"I feel like we brought this on you all," Sarah admitted quietly. Ellie turned and looked at her for a few moments, but didn't respond, so Sarah felt like maybe she should clarify. "You-You said 'it never ends with you people'… I assumed that meant me and Casey." She looked at Ellie closely as the woman nodded a bit. "I can't speak much for him, but I know for a fact that I'm cursed. In-in that I seem to pass curses onto the people around me. I've been that way for…a long time." That was all she was comfortable saying. "Your brother's only the latest victim, I'm afraid."
She could hear Ellie sigh, even over the clampety-clamp of the horses' hooves against the hard ground and the wheels of the wagon crunching over the dirt.
"You think Chuck hasn't always pulled trouble towards him?" Ellie asked, a thread of sarcasm in her droll tone. Sarah gave her a bit of a surprised look. "That boy hasn't known more than two or three days in a row without getting into some sort of trouble. Even before all of this." She widened her eyes then and tilted her head. "Granted, he's never gotten into quite…this much trouble. But trouble's drawn to him like a mosquito to a lamp. Or maybe he's the mosquito and trouble's the lamp. Always diving right into a fight because it's the right thing," she said, rolling her eyes in frustration. "He's never been good at minding his own business. Always acting the part of those heroes from the serials he always reads. He's always seen himself as Robin Hood deep down inside. I know it. I see it in his eyes sometimes, even now that he's a grown man."
Sarah let out a one syllable giggle and shook her head. "I see what you mean. That heroic impulse…"
"The altruism. Mmmhm." And then her pretty features twisted into anger. "Anyway, it wasn't you who brought this down on our heads. And it wasn't even John. It was that bastard stain of a man, Bryce Larkin. He did this. Chuck can play all holy and forgive him maybe. He was my friend too when we were at the orphanage, you know. We were a little unit, all of us. But I won't forgive him for this. He ruined my brother's life. All our lives." She huffed and shook her head, her features ironing out again until she just looked tired, the anger petered out. "Not that he had anything to do with those people who attacked our march. I don't know who brought them down on us. Maybe we would've had to leave Los Angeles anyway…"
The con woman nodded her head. "Maybe. Yeah."
The silence that settled between them was a lot more comfortable, Sarah was pleased to note, and they rode on in that way for a few more hours, the sun slipping lower and lower, until it met the horizon behind them.
}o{
The sun had set, the sky changing from an orange-red color to purple, by the time they hitched their wagon and horses in a small rest area outside of Pomona.
As tired as Chuck was after ten or more hours of walking—through what he'd foolishly assumed was desert for a good chunk of those ten hours until Casey informed him they hadn't even gotten to the real desert yet—he still had it in him to observe something besides just fatigue in Sarah as she helped Casey pull the horses over to the water where they could drink.
She looked uneasy in a way she hadn't all day.
Before, when they'd first left Los Angeles in their dust, she'd had her guard up, ready for an ambush, in spite of the fact that they'd be able to see said ambush from a mile away. Now, she looked like she'd rather be anywhere but here.
"Devon and I will go into town and see about rooms. Sorry, girl, we need you for just a bit longer," Ellie breathed as she stroked Domino's neck. "You'll get your rest soon enough."
Domino let out a patient whinny and nudged Ellie's shoulder with her snout. Devon was already climbing into the saddle and reaching down to help her on behind him. She gracefully pulled herself up.
Chuck watched as her arm tightened around her husband's waist. As much as his sister loved their horse, she'd never liked sitting so high up on that saddle. It had always made her nervous. She insisted it wasn't that she didn't trust Domino, but Chuck knew the concept of sitting on a wild animal's back was what made her uneasy. They were unpredictable.
"Three rooms, then?"
"Jes' two," Casey said, shaking his head. "Someone's gotta stay with the wagon and the horses. 'Less you wanna cart this one's entire trunk o' weapons into the hotel with us? Not sure these pieces on our hips'll be allowed in the first place. My guess is 'less we manage to hide 'em, they'll have us check our guns with the sheriff."
Chuck gaped a little. "You have to…check your guns?"
"'Course. Can't jes' walk around carrying a live gun when you're in a peaceable town like this. We ain't uncivilized even out here." He scoffed. "Walkin' around with a loaded weapon in town. Tha's for crazy people. They don't want any scenes from The Desert Rascal bein' played out where people kin get hurt."
Sarah shook her head and put her hand on her gun, almost as if it was unconscious. "I'll stay with the wagon and the horses."
"Nah, we get two rooms. One fer the ladies, one fer the—"
"Did you not hear me, Casey? I said I'd stay with the wagon. I'll be just fine. What, you think I can't handle being out here on my own? It'll be nice and warm inside the wagon. I've got blankets. I'm staying here." She was adamant, and Chuck knew he wasn't the only one who'd seen there was no way to reason with her about it. She could handle herself, he knew. She'd protect their belongings and their horses just fine.
"Look, I've slept in worse than a nice wagon with a cover and plenty of blankets," she added, staring them down in a way that almost dared them to argue with her.
No one did.
Not even Casey.
And it was all Chuck could do not to ask what was going on with her, why she seemed not to want to be here, why she seemed so uncomfortable.
Ellie finally spoke up from where she sat astride their horse.
"Only if you agree to sleep in the wagon tomorrow when we start off again, and not stalk along next to us on foot for another five hours." She gave Sarah a warning look, and Chuck figured his sister was probably the only one in the party who could get away with giving Sarah Walker an ultimatum.
Proving his theory, Sarah nodded. "All right."
Devon and Ellie set off into the town, Domino slowly trudging along beneath them. And Chuck found himself staring at Sarah again. Casey grumbled and moved to the wagon to get inside and grab his pack.
"You're trusting Casey to protect me?" he asked her quietly, smirking just a little to let her know he was trying to tease.
"Yes." She nodded. "Anyway, I don't think your sister would let anything happen to you. She'd murder any bastard that tried it with her bare hands."
He snorted. "You're right about that." He paused then, watching as she gathered hay for the horses and set it in front of them. He rushed to help her. "Have you grown tired of masquerading as my wife on our adventures?" He winced, feeling stupid for the joke. It wasn't charming in the slightest.
Sarah sent him a droll look, biting her lip. But she didn't seem to want to answer that. "I meant what I said. Lying down in the back of a wagon is like living in the lap of luxury compared to some of my other sleeping arrangements over the years. Anyway, I want to be near my things. And-And I mean to protect Morgan, too."
The ache he'd managed to ignore for a few hours today while taking in the scenery around them roared back to life in his chest and he almost recoiled at the suddenness and intensity of it. It must've shown because she was there in a second flat, her arms around him, holding onto him tightly as she let him cling back.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"No. Thank you." He squeezed her hard, their hats getting in the way but both of them choosing to ignore it and letting the brims bump and cause their respective headwear to go askew. "I want you to know that I'm…" He sighed. "I'm grateful. To you. Your kindness…"
He stopped talking, shutting his eyes tight, trying to will the tears from falling. He succeeded, mostly thanks to Casey dropping something loudly inside of the wagon and cursing.
Chuck pulled back and cleared his throat, gesturing to the wagon. "I'm…I'm gonna help…yes."
He rushed past her and without missing a beat or catching a glimpse of whatever her face was projecting after that, he climbed up into the wagon and helped Casey retrieve what they'd need at the hotel.
They left Sarah behind nearly an hour later, with the wagon and their horses. Once Ellie and Devon came back with confirmation that they'd paid for two rooms for the night at the only inn on the main street, Chuck and Casey grabbed their packs and let Devon lead the way to their shelter for the night.
The sky had darkened by then, and they were leaving Sarah alone at the rest area that had no light sources, save a campfire a nearby group had kindled.
He was sure she would be fine. Considering the dribs and drabs of information he'd gotten about her past, he wouldn't be surprised to find out that Sarah really had experienced much worse than keeping watch alone on the floor of a wagon.
But it was her intense insistence that gave him pause. She was adamant about not going to the inn or letting Casey take the job of watching their belongings and horses for the night. She wasn't merely giving Casey a break. Something else was going on there.
But he kept walking, and a half hour later he filed into the small, cramped room with the one bed, just barely big enough for two men over six feet tall to fit comfortably on it. Casey lit the lamp on the desk beside the bed and Chuck pulled the curtains closed over the window. But not before he peered out of the window down the main street towards the rest area where he knew Sarah was probably crawling inside of the wagon to rest, if she hadn't already. He couldn't see much further than the end of the street, but he knew she was there.
Something was pulling at him to be there, too.
Casey left the room to go to the washroom and get some of the grime of the day off of him, and when he came back, Chuck wordlessly left to do the same. Devon was there, scrubbing his face with a bar of soap and the frigid water that came out of the pump.
They exchanged a look and Devon went back to it.
Chuck unbuttoned his shirt, shrugged it off, and hung it on a nearby hook before he knelt over a basin to do the same.
"Where are we going?"
Chuck froze where he was scrubbing his shoulders with the soap and turned to look over towards his brother-in-law. "I'm not sure. East. That's all I know."
"Is that enough?" Chuck gave Devon a curious look. "I just mean that Casey's the one leading us. Do we really intend to blindly follow the man without asking where we're going?"
"Do you know what exists East of the Arizona border?" Chuck asked. Devon shook his head no. "Neither do I. And I doubt Ellie does. Which leaves Sarah and Casey."
"Our fate lies in the hands of a bounty hunter who meant to use you to get to that Larkin fellow and a con woman. The most infamous con woman in the country at the moment." He shrugged. "If not the world. Not exactly wonderful, this situation we're in."
Chuck bit back a defensive retort. He trusted Casey and Sarah more than he'd ever trusted anyone. But he'd been through a lot with the two of them. Devon hadn't. And Devon wasn't just looking out for himself. He was looking out for his wife, Chuck's sister… Ellie was his number one priority.
Chuck took a moment to lean down and let the water flood over his shoulders, upper back, and head, running the soap over his skin before rinsing it all off. He scrubbed at his curls, then pulled up again. He found a clean rag being thrust out in front of him and he grabbed it with a, "Thanks", before he began to dry himself. "I don't blame you for being concerned, Devon. I wish none of us were dragged into this. I regret having to drag you and Ellie into this more than anything. But Casey and Sarah have saved my life more than once. You haven't seen the evidence you need to trust them, but I have. So I'm asking you to trust me, if not them."
Devon gave him a long look, and then he clenched his jaw and stretched his hand out to him. "You have my trust. Always."
Chuck smiled and took his brother-in-law's hand, before they stepped in for a hug. "I'm sorry, Devon," Chuck breathed, giving the other man one last squeeze before they stepped back to get their shirts back on. "I'm sorry about your practice. Your career you've worked so hard for."
Devon shook his head. "My practice can be anywhere. And no career is more important than taking care of my family. And you didn't—" He huffed. "Whatever that was, whoever those mad criminals were, that wasn't you. It wasn't anything you did."
The other man clamped his hand down on his shoulder. "We're going to be all right, Chuck. Because we're together."
Chuck nodded and slapped his hand on top of Devon's. "Yes."
Devon mussed his hair with his big grin and left the washroom, leaving Chuck standing alone, his curls still dripping with cold water, a pit widening in his chest.
}o{
He covered his face and took a few deep breaths, pushing his hands into his hair and trying to fight the bubble of desperation mixed with exhaustion threatening itself up from his chest and into his throat. If he didn't fight it, it would burst out of him in a scream.
Casey had fallen asleep in the bed before Chuck had even gotten back from washing up. And his snoring was loud enough to wake the damn dead. He'd figured he was tired enough to fall asleep in spite of it, but as he crawled onto the other side of the bed and tried to fall asleep, he couldn't.
And in all fairness, it wasn't just Casey's cacophonous snoring that was keeping him awake. He hadn't been able to get a full night's sleep since the attack on the Coalition's march. The fear that everything was just now starting, that attacks just like that would soon be happening all over the country… But Bryce had his run in with the Inquisitor's followers in Paris, so maybe it would happen all over the world, and not just in the United States Empire.
Not only that, his sister's life had been ruined. His brother-in-law's successful practice obliterated, halted until further notice, and they were all uprooted from their home, their city they were born and grew up in. The work they'd done to build it all up from scratch… it amounted to nothing now.
They'd have to start again. If they ever stopped running, that was.
Chuck climbed out of bed carefully, rolling his eyes as Casey snorted and rolled over to take up almost the whole bed as if he was unconsciously aware it had just been made vacant for him. And then he padded over to the window and inched the curtain out of his way to look outside again. The dirt street below was empty, windows in the buildings dark save for the saloon a hundred paces down, the light flooding out of the place, someone passed out in the dirt next to where the horses were watering. Poor bastard.
And no matter how much had gone wrong, his workshop destroyed, his store ransacked, nothing would amount to the loss of his best friend. The hours he spent with the android he'd built from scratch with his own two hands just a decade ago, little by little adding parts, pieces, innovating to make it so that he could think for himself rather than simply parroting words, only just within the last five years finding away for him to teach himself by reading and obtaining and storing that information on his own. The way his creation had effectively become more than just his creation.
Morgan had become the one being he'd spent the most time with. He wasn't a being. Not literally. He was machine. But in too many ways, he'd been more man than machine.
He'd been Chuck Bartowski's best friend.
He'd been family. Chuck had felt like a mentor for the second time in his life.
And for the second time in his life, he'd had to watch it slip through his fingers.
Chuck let out a rough breath and tugged on his curls a bit, trying to find a pain to replace the one in his chest. He didn't succeed. All it did was hurt his head and his heart.
So he let go and took another deep, shaky breath.
It was the last straw.
Morgan was the last straw. The destruction he'd witnessed, the loss of his livelihood, of Ellie's and Devon's, the coalition and all of the other progresses they'd made in their community, but also within themselves, was snuffed out. In one damn morning. But he felt utterly broken by the loss of Morgan. The violence that had been inflicted upon him.
Ever since Bryce put the Intersect in his brain, Chuck had been hiding. He'd been hiding with Sarah's help, and then with Casey's. He'd been running, staying in the shadows, not bringing attention to himself. Because he had something incredibly powerful in his possession. He had something both the Inquisitor and the Royal government would kill to get their hands on.
One side would use him as a weapon, the other as a tool. And then he thought to himself that both entities might use him as a weapon. He had no reason to trust the IEL or IBoMaD, and he had no reason to trust Her Majesty the Queen or her machinations to further her empire's goals.
But he trusted himself.
And if he could figure out how to use the Intersect, if he could control it, he might be able to fix things. He didn't know. But Bryce might know. He'd been read in on the project from the beginning, hadn't he? And if that was the case, he'd know more about it than any of them. He would know how to use this to stop the carnage. And from there, Chuck could figure out what to do next.
He needed to catch up with Bryce.
And he needed to make sure he didn't share this idea with anyone else. They would surely stop him. Keeping Bryce far away from the Intersect was the best plan of action, because it was the one that would keep Chuck safe. They'd all agree, and they'd all work against him.
But he was done hiding in the shadows. He was done running away.
He had something in his head that could help people.
Chuck pocketed that for the time being though and peered down the dirt street towards that rest area where Sarah was. He felt that pull again.
He hated the idea of her alone out there, not because she wasn't safe. He'd bet on her against literally anyone, multiple anyones at the same time. He hated the idea of her alone out there because they'd all gone through traumatic experiences the last few days. She'd nearly died. She could've died when that bomb had gone off, the one she'd saved Ellie from. And she'd been laid up from her injuries for a few days. And then the patrols had gone mad throughout the town, rioting, destroying Chuck's life's work, murdering his best friend…
In spite of everything Sarah had lived through these last few days, she was outside in that wagon by herself, dealing with all of it by herself. She wasn't him, and he had to be careful not to project himself onto her. He couldn't do any of this alone. He was dying on the inside, trapped in this room with John Casey the Snoring Bounty Hunter. He needed someone else; he couldn't be alone. And he wasn't going to assume she needed that too. But she was human just like he was. She was just trained at not letting any of it show.
God, he needed the tether that bound him to Sarah Walker to be a lot shorter suddenly.
He needed the warmth and peace that he felt when he was around her, the way the ache ebbed just slightly when she was nearby, or when she looked at him with those blue eyes. He felt how much she wanted to help, to be of some comfort. And he also felt her resisting somewhat, as if she was afraid, unsure of what to do, how to do it.
She didn't understand that the only thing he needed from her was to have her near him.
And he was afraid to say it, afraid that might scare her away. It felt like a rather big statement with big implications.
He couldn't do this. He couldn't shove Casey over and try to lie back down to get some sleep because he knew it wouldn't come until he was with her. Nobody gave him that peace and calm. Nobody made him feel that safe.
So he stepped back into his boots, pulled the rest of his clothes on, shoved his things into his pack, and left the still-snoring Casey behind.
}o{
She stared down at the pocket watch in her hand, turning it over in the light from the handheld lamp she'd lit and was keeping beside her as she reclined back, leaning on the bedrolls piled up against the side slats of the wagon.
She hadn't told anyone, but she'd taken it from the Buy More that day they'd found Morgan. It wasn't anything special. She'd found it behind the glass case where Chuck had kept some of the more valuable products. It had been lying there facedown, shattered glass covering it, and she had discovered it was still in one piece and working. He'd etched a beautiful flower pattern into the back of it that reminded her of the gardenias that had been her favorites in a time of her life that felt as though it was just a dream nowadays, a mere figment of her imagination. She still had this image of a work-hardened but still feminine hand snipping one off of its stem and handing it to her. She could still remember the fragrance.
And as her heart broke for Chuck, and for Ellie and Devon, as she felt the pain and ache of loss from the sight of the broken machine, something she'd begun to see as human…as better than human, really, for he hadn't learned prejudice or hatred the way humans did by the time they reached adulthood, Sarah had let herself pick up the pocket watch and hide it in her waistband.
Since then, she liked to hold it and look at it.
She tried not to let the fact that Chuck had made it with his own two hands get buried too deep under her skin. But the fact was that it might be what had her sometimes sticking her hand in her pocket just to feel the cool metal in her palm, knowing whose hands molded said metal, inserted the gears, etched the design on the back…
Sarah clicked the pocket watch open and looked at it. Nearly one in the morning, over a dozen hours outside of Los Angeles, and with an even longer trek on the horizon tomorrow, she was dreading whatever came next.
Casey had ensured her that he had a place in mind where they could not just replenish the way they'd be doing here in Pomona, but could lay low, plan their next steps to move forward, and be safe from prying eyes. When she asked her where the hell that was, he'd clammed up. She had no choice but to trust him.
Chuck trusted him. And she trusted Chuck. Even if sometimes he was too trusting, he'd been right about John Casey.
She slowly shut the pocket watch and turned it over, angling it so that the lamplight glinted off of the beautiful etchings in the back of the piece. She ran her thumb over the brass gardenia, as she thought of it now, and sighed.
Sarah Walker had survived everything the world had thrown at her so far, but something far darker and much more sinister was at play here, something more than simply a broken world run by corrupt individuals. Someone was angling to hold this world in the palm of his hand and crush it. That was what it had felt like, a cult of followers willing to sacrifice themselves for him, his vision, whatever this whole thing was. That meant nothing good.
And now people she cared about were without homes, without their jobs, their lives. And Chuck was in so much more danger than she could've ever imagined, and from so many sides.
Her eyes flicked over to the trunk near the end of the wagon, the trunk Chuck had wordlessly insisted they take. What he meant to do with the pieces of Morgan that were leftover, she didn't know, but if he needed them here with him, she wasn't going to be the one to stop him. There'd been more going on with Chuck and his creation than met the eye, she thought, something extra that both Chuck and Ellie weren't saying.
But it wasn't her business.
It was enough that something Chuck had built and spent years making improvements on, even fostering an almost human personality in it, had been brutally destroyed by gutless, soulless, vengeful patrols.
She heard the crunch of gravel right outside of the wagon suddenly. Just like that, the gun she kept next to the lamp was in her hand and she was pointing it at the flap at the back of the wagon.
"Sarah," she heard a voice whisper. Not just any voice. She let out a slow breath as Chuck poked his head inside. His eyebrows shot up, disappearing into his bowler hat, and he held his hands up. "It's me. Sorry! I was—Sorry…"
Glancing at the gun she still had pointed at him, she huffed in frustration and set it down, pushing herself to sit up properly. "I thought you were someone trying to steal our horses. What are you doing out here? Did something happen?"
"Yes," he said, leaning his palms on the back of the wagon and tilting his head a bit. "I learned that Casey's snoring sounds like if you were to stand inside of a locomotive's horn."
In spite of everything, she snorted and shook her head, smiling down at her lap. "What are you doing, Chuck?" She gave him a serious look. "You should be up at that inn getting some sleep."
"I couldn't. I couldn't sleep."
There was so much sadness in the words, in the look on his face, the lamplight flickering, causing shadows to dance over his face. His brown eyes looked gold in the light, and that somehow made the ache in her chest worse. "Casey?" she asked, even though she knew it wasn't Casey. The slightly flat look he gave her was evidence enough that he knew she knew what it actually was. Not Casey, but everything else. "Well, don't just stand out there, then," she said quietly, shifting over a bit so that he could lean against the bedrolls as well.
He crawled into the wagon with her and didn't stop until he had plopped down to sit beside her. They reclined together, shoulder to shoulder, propped against the bedrolls and just sitting in silence for a few minutes.
"It wasn't the snoring," he said just above a whisper.
"I know."
"I'm terrified." He stared down at his knees.
"I am, too," she admitted. She could feel him looking at her, and she saw it in her peripheral, the way he turned to stare at her, almost a double take, as if he wasn't ready for her to admit that. "Surprised?" she asked.
"No, it isn't that." She heard him swallow. "You're human, Sarah. Perhaps stronger than the rest of us, but still human. We don't know what's coming for us, if it'll eventually catch up, if we can keep this up, running all over the map for…who even knows how long? Anyone who isn't afraid in a situation like this isn't human." She turned to look at him steadily as he continued. "I'm just surprised you told me."
Sarah scoffed. "You'd see it anyway, even if I didn't say it. And then I'd look like a liar." She shrugged. "I am a liar. It's what I do best."
"I don't buy that. You're an incredible bodyguard. I think you're better at that than you are at lying."
She sniffed in amusement. Only Chuck Bartowski could take a moment like that and turn it into something sweet and amusing all at once.
"May I say something that might sound…very dramatic?" he asked then, leaning his head back against the bedrolls and staring up at the tarp that stretched over their little wagon sanctuary. She liked thinking of this as a sanctuary, she decided. A sanctuary amongst the bloodshed and the uncertainty.
"Of course," she responded quietly, turning her head just enough to watch him.
His Adam's apple bobbed and he blinked.
"I've been wondering—if it's at all possible, which maybe it isn't—but I've been wondering if I wasn't born with a target on my back." He huffed, smirking a little and shaking his head. "I don't mean that to sound so self-pitying. Woe is me, everything happens to me," he whined mockingly. He smirked harder, but it dimmed just as quickly. "I just mean, what if—what if this was meant to happen to me? What if I was…I don't know, tagged for this? A long time ago?"
"You think you were?" she asked seriously.
"I don't know. Right now it feels that way." He blinked rapidly, his eyes a bit glossy for a moment, but it cleared almost immediately. "It all feels like too much. I'm ready to do what I have to do, to protect my family, the people I care about." He lowered his chin to his chest and nibbled on his bottom lip. "But I was up there in that room, unable to fall asleep, and I was thinking about how I can't…I don't think I can do this alone, Sarah." He shook his head. "I didn't want to be alone. Up there. I wanted to be here…"
His voice faded at the end, but she knew the rest of what he was going to say, what he didn't say. It settled between them, a bubble of warmth. …With you.
The pull between them was as intense and as strong as ever. She felt it.
When she noticed his hand had wandered to press against the trunk where she and Chuck had deposited as much of Morgan as they could find that horrible day in the Buy More workshop, she wanted to act on that pull. She wanted to stop fighting it, wrap him up in her arms, and hold him. She wanted to make all of the pain go away.
But she couldn't. She didn't know how to.
So instead, she hugged herself, pulling her legs in a bit and staring straight ahead. "I understand." She felt ridiculous then, and she looked away, shutting her eyes tight and silently cursing herself.
I understand?
"Sarah, you…" He cleared his throat, and she felt him squirm a bit, obviously tentative, maybe nervous even. She had a bad feeling about it. "You were very adamant about not going into town. It felt to me like there was something else there, that you weren't just offering to be kind, to take one for the team." He sat up a bit and held out a placating hand. "Not that—Not that you aren't kind. You are kind. But it felt like there was a specific reason why you wouldn't go into town. Perhaps I'm just…imagining it. That's probably it, isn't it?"
"That isn't it," she said, shutting her eyes again and biting her lip. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel his gaze on her, and instead of making her feel cold, nervous, uncomfortable, she felt warm. Safe. She opened her eyes again and looked at him. "You didn't see it in the Intersect?"
He frowned in curiosity, shaking his head no. "I don't know if that's how the Intersect works. I can't just…make it flash on whatever I want it to…er, focus on. Did something…happen here?"
She looked down and took a deep breath, silent for a long minute.
"You don't have to tell me," Chuck said quietly then, interrupting the tense silence. "If I overstepped asking—"
"You didn't overstep and for God's sake, for once, could you please not be so understanding and kind? I'm not trying to snap at you and I don't want you to think I'm angry with you," she added quickly, lowering her voice again. "I'm sorry," she breathed, touching his arm lightly. To his credit, he didn't look like a kicked puppy. He just pressed his lips into a tight line and looked at her, his face unchanged as he watched her unravel. His kindness was unwavering and constant, even with what he'd been through.
His best friend, as it seemed Morgan was, currently sat folded up in a trunk, his pieces strewn about him. The machine equivalent of dead. And here Chuck sat, apologizing to her for asking a simple question.
It wasn't as simple as that, though.
"It was a long time ago now, but I once…" She stalled, her tongue getting stuck, her throat closing. She pushed through it anyway. "I knew someone who ended up settling in Pomona." She paused. "I-I think that…they settled here. And if it's at all possible, I'd rather not have a run-in with them."
"Oh." He nodded slowly. "An old friend? Or a foe?"
She smirked. "Friend enough. We traveled together for a short time." She shifted her weight uncomfortably. "Perhaps some banks were robbed."
Sarah looked him right in his eyes and he looked back. "I see," he said quietly. "You pulled a few jobs with them and you don't want to see them again, especially not right now, what with…all of this. Me. The Intersect."
She shook her head vehemently. "If they found out about the Intersect, or if they even had an inkling of how important you are, Chuck, they'd sell you out to the IEL without blinking an eye. That's how criminals are, Chuck." She paused, watching him. "All of us."
Sarah emphasized that by leaning forward towards him and lowering her chin a bit as she said it.
Chuck's gaze flitted to the side thoughtfully, and then he pursed his lips, crossing his arms. "Maybe you're right. But maybe they just need a cause."
She couldn't help smiling warmly at his sincerity. He truly believed what he'd just said. Still. Even after everything he'd witnessed these past few months. "No, Chuck. Some people are just bad people. And they don't deserve the benefit of the doubt."
How did she convey that to him while still preserving the generosity in him, the way he seemed to still believe in people even when he saw them do horrible things? She didn't want him to run afoul of someone like her "old friend"…but this part of him was one of the things that made her feel as though he was the last bit of light left in the world, burning brightly for everyone who came into contact with him to see.
"You might be right. But just like the Inquisitor can turn desperate people into…crusaders for whatever vengeful and backwards God he claims to represent, I believe people who've done bad things can be persuaded to do good, to become good. Truly good."
"You're looking right at me," she said quietly, "right after I told you I've robbed banks with this person. You've seen me end someone's life on more than one occasion. You flashed on the Ice Queen, saw all of the things they've written about me, my entire dossier, things I've done and some things they said I've done when I might not have. You know what I'm capable of. And you still look right at me…the way you did before." She shook her head in awe.
"Because I know what you're capable of," he said quietly. She understood his meaning, thanks to the softness in his voice and the warmth in his golden-hued gaze. She wondered what he was thinking about specifically. The times she'd saved his life, or the times she'd shown him kindness, perhaps when he felt she hadn't needed to?
She swallowed hard and ducked her head, aware of the heat rising up from her shirt collar, and the slight blush on her cheeks.
Sarah Walker blushing. Ridiculous.
She heard the soft rustle of his clothing shifting against his body, and then his hand came into her line of sight, and his fingers oh so gently, stroked over her jaw. He then cupped her face tenderly and made her turn her head to look at him.
Something inside of her cried out to him silently, ached for him, to do exactly what he did. He leaned in close and pressed his lips to her cheek first, and then he pulled back just a bit and pressed them again to the very corner of her mouth.
Sarah's breath hitched. She was speechless. She didn't know what to do or how to react. It was all she could do to let him finally lean in to kiss her right on the lips, warmly. And she kissed him back immediately, her fist twisting in the lapel of his coat.
It wasn't a long kiss, not nearly as long as the one that had happened in the yard of Chuck's home not even a week ago. But the weight in this one made her feel as if she couldn't breathe. And as he pulled away, she subtly sucked in as much air as she could, turning her face to look straight ahead.
She was glad that he didn't apologize… she could feel it in the air between them, but he didn't say it, merely slipping his hand from where it still cupped her face.
She liked it better that neither of them said anything, even as everything inside of her came alive at once. What she wanted more than anything in that moment was to grab him and kiss him again, and keep kissing him until everything else faded away. And if she was honest with herself, she needed a lot more than that from him. She wanted it.
But that wasn't how the world worked. And she was too confused to let herself have that.
So the con woman just sat there, her jaw just slightly gone slack.
"You know…" his deep, quiet voice broke the not uncomfortable silence.
She peered at him. He didn't look upset or hurt by her lack of verbal response. He just reclined back against the bedrolls, one leg bent, his elbow resting casually on that knee, the other leg splayed out in front of him. He was staring at the tarp in front of him thoughtfully. She liked the look of him. She wanted to just fold herself against him and stay there.
"…The last thing Morgan read, to my knowledge anyway, was a book on Confucius. Virtue and ethics and all of that." Sarah felt the tension seep out of her immediately and she folded herself back against the bedrolls instead of against him, just watching him as he talked about the android he'd cared about so deeply. "He interrupted my work to ask what had happened to the world that it was so hard for us—humans—to follow Confucius's example. I didn't know how to answer him. And then he read to me aloud…" He paused, narrowing his eyes in thought. "What was it? Ah. 'Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart.' And then he just turned around and went back to his chair, sat down, and kept silently absorbing the words into his program."
Sarah felt herself melt further into her makeshift pillows. "Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart," she repeated just above a whisper. It was beautiful. "Why did he read that to you, of all things?"
Chuck shook his head. "There was something…about him. Something that left my mind boggling some days. I can't explain it. But he had moments of emotional clarity that…that he simply couldn't be capable of, shouldn't be capable of. He was a machine, a machine I built with my own two hands. Everything inside of him, I put there. The mechanisms that made him walk, made him talk, the quirks that made wearing clothes a habit he engaged in every day, other things I thought would be annoying for Ellie, thus amusing myself greatly," he said with a mischievous glint in his eye, causing her to grin at him. "But there were things in him—I swear there were—that I didn't put there. Sometimes he said things I needed to hear, as if he knew I needed to hear them. The way a friend—a human friend—does." He huffed. "It sounds mad, I know it does. But that moment in my workshop, when he looked me right in the face and said 'Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart', it was like he thought I needed to hear that. Like he could feel something had…gone loose in me. One of my own gears." He sniffed in amusement at his own joke and shook his head, a self-deprecating look on his face. "I think he knew that I was different. That something in me is changed."
His eyes went glossy again and he worked his jaw, tilting his head back and blinking up at the roof of their covered wagon sanctuary. She watched a tear finally make its way down his cheek.
"And whatever that was that was in him, that bit of…dare I say, magic… It's gone now. He's gone. All of him. It's all gone. And I don't think I'll be able to…to bring that back." He shut his eyes tightly and let his chin fall to his chest, sitting upright, turning his face away from her. "Not again."
Again?
But his body shivered, his head bowed low, and she saw a tear fall off the day's stubble at the end of his chin. And then another. And another.
Sarah pushed everything else away and gently twisted her fist in the sleeve of his coat. She guided him back to her, and didn't stop pulling until he leaned back against the bedrolls next to her again, their sides pressed close together, their hands clasped together. He turned his face into her, hiding in her shoulder. This time, his cries were silent, but she knew. She could feel it.
She didn't know how long they'd stayed that way, but she eventually felt his hand go a bit slack in hers and she moved her face back to look down and find that he'd fallen asleep. God, that protective need inside of her clawed at her chest, tried to get its talons in her.
She let it. He needed it.
She needed it.
So she gently pulled the sleeping inventor against her until his weight pressed her into the bedrolls and his head was pillowed on her shoulder. Then she strained to grab the nearby blanket she'd used to keep warm and pulled it over both of them.
She stayed awake for the rest of the night, letting him sleep, one arm wrapped around him, the other draped over the gun that laid beside her.
When his grip tightened on her, his arms moving to cradle her as if she was the last and only thing keeping him tethered to this world, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Because she knew without a doubt in that moment that there was a good chance Chuck Bartowski would be the end of her. Every fibre in her being was ready to keep him safe or die trying. And with everything that was simmering, the pot threatening to boil over at any moment, the potential of war perhaps on the horizon, she wasn't altogether very optimistic about her destiny.
A/N: Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart. :)
-SC