A/N: Back to this story again. This chapter is longer than average, but I'm pretty sure I'm able to finish this in 3 more chapters now. Thanks to nevr for reviewing. Food for thought: this is silly, but I had too much caffeine mixed with spicy food before bed and was up all night writing this chapter. This is not that version. It read like a horror novel, which came out of nowhere lol. I have rewritten that part, BUT...it gave me an idea that may be even more gruesome than this. I'm polling. Would you read a Crow-like story where Sarah is the avenger? So bluntly, for those unfamiliar, both Chuck and Sarah are dead and she returns to avenge them. It's a weak happy ending (like the Crow or even Ghost.) I also had a dream for another short M-rated one shot around the finale, that's not related to vsHL. And speaking of that, Tooth is waiting. I need to clone myself to get it all done! For now, enjoy this. Thanks for reading.
Ellie's voice, gradually increasing in volume, calling my name, shakes me out of my reverie.
"Sarah…" She moves to stand in front of me, breaking my thousand mile stare.
I finally look at her. Her eyes are teary, and she's pale, like she's suffered a terrible shock. Her hand flutters at the base of her throat.
"I'm sorry, Ellie…I…" I quickly wipe my cheeks, thankful that I was able to maintain my composure before Chuck left. He, at least, didn't see me break down.
"Something happened…while I was away." A statement. I wonder why she doesn't ask me anything. I wonder how much of our exchange she actually heard. Perhaps she senses my confusion because she adds, "When he hugged you goodbye…" Her voice cracks. "I could see it on his face. He loves you. But…you knew that." Her smile trembles.
"We…we already loved each other…before you left, Ellie. You thought it was PTSD…but it wasn't." I worry that she will argue with me, give me a medical reason that explains away the miracle that has transformed my heart.
She chuckles sadly. "I knew he loved you before I even saw you, Sarah. He tried so hard to rationalize why he did…everything…and it didn't make sense." She sighs. "It sounded crazy to me, so crazy…until I realized that he loved you."
That isn't crazy? That he barely knew me yet fell in love with me?
She explains. "My brother's…unique." I smile at her understatement. She continues. "He just dives in, head first, when he's passionate about something. He doesn't fall easily. He's been…hurt…pretty badly in the past."
"Jill." She is surprised when I say that, but she nods, understanding that we shared with each other.
"He doesn't fall easily, because when he does, he falls hard. Completely." She crosses her arms tightly. "I'm a little overprotective; I can't help it, you know, the way we grew up. I can't bear to think of him in pain."
"Ellie, I would never hurt him. You have to know that."
"I know, Sarah. I know you love him." She's smiling but her eyes are dull. Something about what she said is saddening her. But she smiles. "We Bartowskis know you can't go too far for love."
She pats my back gently, resting her hand there. The dam finally bursts. Everything hurts. I'm terrified that I will never see Chuck again. I sob, crumpling, and she pulls me into a hug. The mother in her rocks gently, soothing me as I weep.
Then I'm on the sofa under a blanket, seated beside her with a cup of herbal tea in my hands. Camomile, she tells me, to calm my nerves. My hand shakes the cup and I must remind myself to press the porcelain to my lip before I take a sip, so I don't spill it.
When I have stopped sobbing, I can talk. "Chuck told me everything about his life, his past. The whole week while he was waiting for Casey, we talked." I want her to know. We connected.
What she says seems non sequitur. "My brother and I. We're closer than…normal siblings are, I think." She rests her hand on my knee. "I've never seen Chuck look at anyone the way he looked at you."
I absorb that information.
"Do you know what his contingency plans are? If something goes wrong?"
She pales. The thought of harm coming to her closest family is profoundly disturbing. "I do."
"I'm useless now, but I've been an agent longer than I've been anything else. Please tell me. Chuck never shared."
"He didn't want to burden you, when you were dealing with so much. He was so worried about you, Sarah."
Was she trying to not worry me either? Why the secrecy? Did Chuck ask her to protect me from that knowledge?
"Please, Ellie. Tell me what you know."
There is some internal deliberation, some debate inside her about whether or not to talk, and what to say. It takes a few moments, but she talks.
"Best case scenario…well, you know. They take out Ryker and Shaw and Chuck returns here tomorrow night." She leaves it ambiguous, anything beyond his return not known or not planned.
My emotions have taken control of me, overruled my senses, it seems. At the end of the day, Chuck is the Intersect. When faced with the option to remove it, he had upgraded instead. According to Chuck, he had done that for me. But he'd done it. Would the DNI just let him walk away with the intel?
I feel a shock of fear as I find myself asking—would Chuck even want to walk away? Perhaps I have been assuming, because of what I want, because I know the love he feels for me could mean he would prioritize a life with me over his duty.
But Chuck is not like anyone else I have ever known. He does this job, a job thrust upon him, one he never asked for, and more importantly sought to quit, because he believes in doing what is right. He is selfless to a fault. He risked his life, and later his soul, to save me, someone he didn't know. It seems like asking him to leave that behind for me is selfish.
I believe after what I've endured I have a right to be selfish. But at the same time, I am certain that no matter what happened to him, he would never believe that thinking of himself first was an option. That is the purity in him, that goodness that Bryce knew.
The pieces of my broken heart are sharp as I think this. That even in the best case scenario, I could still lose him.
I've spent too much time thinking about this. A nagging thought returns—the way Ellie said Shaw's name. The same way Ryker's name sounds when I say it.
"How do you know Agent Shaw?" I ask.
If she's surprised, it doesn't show. Does she think Chuck explained? "He killed our father." Her voice cracks.
What? Chuck hadn't said a word about that. He had spoken of his father like the man was alive, just woefully absent.
"Two days ago." She wipes her eyes with her index fingers.
Two days?
She must see my shock. "Casey told Chuck when he called yesterday morning." She's surprised that I don't know. "Casey said Shaw did it to get Chuck in from the cold, as they say, whatever that means."
I feel like an arrow has pierced my chest. I can't catch my breath. Oh, Chuck…he didn't tell me, suffering in silence, because he didn't want me to blame myself. But it is my fault. His father is dead now because of Shaw's insane vendetta against me. A fight Chuck willingly inserted himself into to protect me.
"He didn't tell you," she says, the meaning dawning as the words come out.
"Ellie, I'm so sorry—" I gasp.
She sits forward, gripping my arm so tightly it hurts. "The only person to blame is Daniel Shaw. Don't forget that, Sarah."
But she leaves out the fact that Daniel Shaw wouldn't have even known who Chuck or Ellie was if not for me.
She releases me, her mouth set in a grim line. "All this spy stuff," she grumbles bitterly. "I used to know the difference between the good guys and the bad guys, you know? Black and white. Very clear. But the CIA…spying…it's all…gray, isn't it?"
I nod sadly. She is more right than she knows.
"The people who left you for dead, who left you prisoner of that animal…they sat around a table and calculated the risks…to them, not to you. You gave your life in service and they discarded you like you were a piece of equipment. And I'm sure those people left that meeting and ate their dinners, kissed their spouses goodnight, and slept like babies every night while you were being raped three times a day for three months straight…"
She is only voicing what I've been thinking all along, knowing Chuck is the only reason I'm here and alive.
"I'm sorry, Sarah. I'm bringing up things you don't need to hear." She wipes her eyes again.
"My point, I guess, is that Chuck doesn't belong in that world. He's too good. He's been at odds with them since the beginning. Because people matter to him. Lives matter to him. He's done nothing but good, but it's wearing on his soul. I want him to be done. I don't know if he'll listen to me. I'm hoping losing our father like this will make him see. He's all I have left."
"Chuck told me your father was CIA." She looks at me, thinking, her eyes darting back and forth.
"Sarah, my father was Orion. He designed the Intersect. The one Bryce stole with your help."
What?! I'm breathless from shock. Chuck never told me when he brought it up, probably because at the time he was protecting his father's cover.
And then it hits me like a fist. His father tried to remove it! Bryce knew all along…he knew he wasn't condemning Chuck to live with the Intersect forever. But Chuck then convinced his father to upgrade it instead? And he had?
The knowledge burns a hole through my heart. He told his father he loved me. As Ellie had explained so eloquently, they were Bartowskis. That was reason enough.
And now his father, the only person who knew how to remove it, is dead.
It's like I've lost him again, irreversibly. How can he quit? How can Ellie advocate for him to quit…when that means he will have to go into hiding?
I recall the original intent of this conversation. "What did Chuck say about if things go wrong?"
"You know, Sarah. There are a million things that could go wrong. I don't need to spell it all out. Just know this—if either target survives and gets away, I have a safe place to take you. With a blank identity that will let you live in peace for the rest of your life."
I'm trembling, overwhelmed. Chuck could have arranged what Ellie describes the moment I was well enough to travel. But he didn't. He stayed here with me.
"Ellie, if that's true, why did he just stay here with me…waiting?"
She's weeping, covering her mouth. "That was the plan. Get you to safety. Once he talked to Casey, and they decided they could eliminate the threats, Chuck stayed here with you. It was the more dangerous option, but…then you could be free."
There is a massive difference between living and merely existing. He wanted to give me a chance to live—not just exist.
Chuck, please come back to me…
The tea has made me sleepy. I'm drifting off. Ellie takes the cup, removes the blanket, and walks me to my bedroom. Soon, I'm asleep.
I wake screaming, a nightmare chasing me into wakefulness. I'm sleeping without Chuck again. I'm back where I started.
Chuck was dead, slung over Casey's shoulder, his blood soaking Casey's clothing…
I grab my chest, panting, telling myself it's only a dream.
I reach for the other pillow, Chuck's pillow, and snuggle my face into it, breathing in his leftover scent. Oh, I miss him. I've never missed anyone—I've never been close enough to another person to miss them. But I feel it, like a hole through the center of me. I need him. I might never be whole again without him.
Ellie is asleep in the other room, but the cabin is too quiet.
Because it's so silent, I can hear what sounds like tires rumbling on the gravel road.
Curious, and a little bit alarmed, I climb out of bed and go to look out the window. This cabin is secret, secluded. No one should be driving on this road now, not in the middle of the night while Chuck is gone.
"Sarah, what's wrong?"
I jump, startled by Ellie's words and appearance in my room. She heard me screaming. I'm momentarily dismayed, her unnoticed approach and the underlying cause—my dulled spy senses—to blame.
My career has been over for a while, but I'm amazed at how quickly I was able to shed that skin. It ran deep in me, cultivated from a very young age.
Saving Molly, saving Chuck, helping Bryce—all of that went against the grain, perhaps starting to change me in ways I hadn't even realized. Those changes were pushed into overdrive once I was here with Chuck. I became someone else.
No longer Agent Walker, I am just Sarah. I have never been just Sarah. Her name isn't even real. But she is the resurrected remains of the shattered agent, the woman living in darkness all her life who can now walk in the sun—because someone loved her. Because Chuck loves her. Sarah.
As Sarah, I was on the brink of a new life. Waiting for the other half of me to return here, to help me claim it.
But…suddenly I see a shadow on the ground outside, moving through the underbrush and intermittently blocking the moonlight…
Casey and Ellie were followed. Someone is outside. Ellie and I aren't safe.
Agent Walker is needed again. She isn't the same—she has been traumatized and her cool objectivity has long departed. There is a darkness inside her that needs healing. Without the possibility of that healing, the Agent Walker who will meet this intruder is completely altered.
Regardless, she loves Chuck and she will protect his sister with her life. The cold dread that coats the inside of my chest like slime exists because Ellie will see her, in all her ugliness, untempered by her previous professionalism. I have no choice but to let her see it, even if it horrifies her, repels her.
I dart across the room and grab Ellie, pulling her down to crouch beside me, below the window. I press my finger to my lip harshly, making sure she sees, and that she's quiet. I see her eyes widen in fright, but she nods. We have rapidly switched places—protector and protectee.
She follows my lead as I crawl on my hands and knees towards the doorway. I stop at the stand beside the bed and reach up into the drawer. I feel around blindly until I feel the familiar cold of gun metal. I close my hand around the butt and pull it out. Ellie's eyes show a deepening fear.
This is Chuck's gun. He favors a tranq gun, but as I experienced in Diaz' compound, he will use deadly force when necessary. This is the gun he used to kill Diaz, seconds before he would have killed me. During our calm week, he told me the gun was there, that he would leave it when he left with Casey. He hadn't anticipated danger, but he refused to leave me here with no protection. His caution is now our saving grace.
I motion for Ellie to follow me. We creep into the hallway and I whisper to her. "Go into your bedroom and push the furniture in front of the door. Call Chuck and tell him what's happening."
"What about you?" Ellie huffs.
"Don't worry about me. Chuck needs you to be safe. Stay there. If you hear shots and you don't hear my voice, climb out the window. Find a place to hide." She blanches, visible in the dark. "But that's the worst case. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you."
Understanding passes between us, and her eyes tear. Even if I'm killed, I will do everything in my power to take whoever this is with me.
It's either Ryker or Shaw. Shaw only wants me dead, though if he made a deal with Ryker, anything is possible. If Ryker is here, he wants information. That means he could use Ellie as leverage. If it's an associate of either, the goal is to take me away from here—Ellie will be collateral damage.
My mind calculates a countermeasure for each contingency. I must surprise whoever this is, neutralize them before they have a chance to succeed. That's the plan, but things rarely follow a plan. No matter what, whoever this is has to be stopped. If he kills me, I must take him with me.
Chuck, please understand…
"Go!" I hiss. She follows my instructions reluctantly. I wait as the door closes. I'm crawling towards the kitchen and I hear Ellie dragging the dresser to block the door.
I must switch the gun to my left hand. The physical therapy Chuck helped me do has made a difference, but the weight of the loaded gun is fatiguing my right hand. I have been trained to shoot with both hands. I can do this.
I scurry into the kitchen and tuck myself next to the door, able to hide opposite the opening of the door. As if on cue, I hear someone tampering with the lock. Light tapping, then a thud, and the metal latch gives way. The first thing through the door is a gun, someone's arm. With all my strength, I kick the door.
The intruder's gun falls from his hand and clatters on the floor. I hear an angry howl of pain as I slam his arm in the door. I move, but not quickly enough. He pushes the door back against me, harder; he is stronger than me. It sends me sprawling and I drop my gun. I start to reach, frantically trying to locate my gun, any gun, while it's still dark. I know what furniture is in this room, and ironically, I had been living in darkness for weeks in the cabin.
The shadow is patting the wall, looking for the light switch. I am on my hands and knees, but I grasp two legs of one of the kitchen chairs and swing up. The chair collides with the intruder, breaking over his back; the wood is old and dry, brittle, easily splintering. He falls to the ground beside me. I roll, aiming to drive my knees into his side. My knees make contact, but at the same time I feel a hand grasp my throat and squeeze. It diminishes the power of my blows.
My hands are still free, if at an awkward angle, but I chop up to try and disrupt his hold. He squeezes tighter and I struggle to breathe. A face is suddenly hanging over mine. This isn't Ryker.
"I've been looking for you for a long time, Agent Walker." Shaw. It has to be. So he's here to kill me. Is there also another agenda, some secret plan, a deal he's made with Ryker? I can only imagine Ryker's wrath if Shaw kills me before Ryker has the opportunity to torture the location of the baby out of me. Chuck's intel had them in cahoots, which tells me I have time. Maybe not a lot, but he's not going to strangle me now. I stop resisting.
"Shaw," I say hoarsely. His grip loosens and I can breathe comfortably again. He stays there, pressing me against the floor, pressing his weight on top of me. My inability to move, the compression, makes me flashback to the compound and being chained. I shut my eyes, desperate for calm. I force it, don't allow myself to devolve.
"So Bartowski told you about me. Did he tell you everything?"
"That I killed your wife…because she was a double agent."
He howls like a madman, his eyes like two black stones in the dark. He slaps me across the face so hard I hear my teeth crash together. I taste blood in my mouth, caused by the jarring of my teeth. "Mention her again, and I'll kill you right now, Ryker be damned."
So my guess was correct. And I've been able to manipulate him to divulge the information. Let's see what else I can do. I'm biding my time.
"You let the CIA turn you into a bonafide whore, Walker." He laughs wickedly; his breath is foul. "I don't want to fuck you. I don't even want to torture you. I just want you dead. And you will be. Very soon. But you see, I need to kill two birds with one stone. And by that, I mean…I need to do some damage to Bartowski for what he's done to me. What he's cost me."
I feel his knees digging into my thighs, his body pinning me to the floor. His hand is on my throat again and he squeezes slowly. "I've been disavowed by the CIA…while he was hiding up here, fucking their whore for weeks. He's gonna find you, and his sister, dead here. I already know killing him would be mercy. Forcing him to live without you, without Ellie…is the most damage I could do."
He knows first hand, doesn't he? What drove him insane first? Losing his wife to the agency he worked for? Or not knowing for sure if she had turned on him?
Please, Ellie, go…run…I pray she got through to Chuck, and that she's safe. Help is three hours away. The longer Shaw's here with me, the more time she has to get away.
"But before I do, I'm going to find out where you hid the baby." He shifts and drags me to my feet, only to then punch me with all his might. I'm unconscious before I hit the floor.
~O~
I regain consciousness slowly, feeling my head pounding so severely that I feel nauseous. I fight an overwhelming urge to vomit, taking deep shuddering breaths. It's still dark. I've not been out long. I slowly become aware. I'm sitting on a kitchen chair. My wrists are bound to the arms, my ankles to the legs.
A shadow moves before my eyes and I feel a pinch, a prick, a cold needle sliding into my arm. Trauma rears its head, flashing me back to being dosed with drugs before rape. I scream, railing against the bindings.
His hand, cold and rough, grasps my chin and holds my head steady. He tilts my head up. "It's truth serum, Walker. A very high dose. Not enough to kill you. Just enough that you won't be able to resist it." His evil grin shines in the dark. "I won't kill you so cleanly…or peacefully."
Truth serum. The idea sends fear slushing in my veins. He is right; I have been trained to resist, but there is only so much training can do. It will ramp up in my system. An hour from now, I won't be able to resist him. I hope I have an hour.
The light, giddy, pseudo-drunkenness rises slowly, like a fog. Pure truth serum hasn't been flowing in my veins since I trained at the Farm. That training helped, in the beginning, when Diaz drugged me. He used more than just truth serum, but still, I am now an expert in resistance. I start when I realize it's reached my bloodstream, and that feeling I'm expecting is diminished, weakened. I almost laugh when I realize I must have built a tolerance in my time of captivity.
If the dose was close to lethal, my tolerance will just give me time, not complete protection. Shaw knows nothing of this, it seems. He's standing there, waiting for me to slink into submission. He's waiting, so I fake it. Tricking him, manipulating him…it will distract him while I rub the rope tied around my right ankle against the jagged piece of wood that's protruding from the leg. I knew it was there; Shaw can't see it in the dark.
"Name."
I could very easily say Sarah Walker, though technically that's really a lie, isn't it? He knows Sarah Walker is a cover. "Jennifer Burton." Also not my name. My name is Samantha. Shaw doesn't know that, though. No one ever knew but Graham, and he's dead. My trick works, for he smiles in triumph.
"Hello, Jennifer." Syrupy, mocking, condescending. "Does Bartowski know your real name, Jennifer?"
He knows ma as Sarah. Sarah is who I am; she is the only me that's ever been real. "No," I say, adding false dismay. I can still lie, but it's hard not to laugh when I do it. It takes tremendous concentration. I sob, pretending to cry. He can't tell my eyes are dry in the dark.
It keeps him focusing on my face and not my leg. I'm using intense isometric muscle contractions to hide the wriggling of my leg back and forth as I saw it on the jagged wood. It's tiring to do in conjunction with my mental concentration.
"Is the baby still alive?"
"No." A lie, but I'm alarmed at how difficult it was to say just the one word. I have far less time than my first estimate. The dose was high, indeed.
He grabs my face and pinches until I wince. "You were in Europe for almost three weeks before you reported back to Graham. What were you doing…if the baby didn't survive the escape from the mansion?"
"Bryce." I force myself to only say his name. It is a tiny part of the truth. I was securing falsified documentation for the baby I'd rescued and planning with my mother. I was on my way to California with Molly when Bryce contacted me and told me he was in trouble and needed my help.
"Larkin? Larkin didn't leave North America until after you helped him steal the Intersect."
"I stayed…because he needed my help." I almost slurred the word "stayed." He knows I'm lying. He slaps me across the face.
"I'm going to ask you one more time, Jennifer. Is the baby alive?"
I stay silent, afraid I can't say no again.
"If you don't answer me, or you lie, I will empty the vial into your arm. You'll live for about ten more minutes before it stops your heart. I'll get the truth. And I'll kill you before the drug does…remember: I owe you a very violent death."
"Yes." It feels pleasurable to say it, the truth. Lying was causing me physical pain.
He sneers in triumph. "So weak," he mutters. He leans close to my face. "Where is she?"
I bite my lip to keep my mouth closed. California. California. It's a sing-song in my head, ready to burst out. I'm shaking, sweating with the effort to not speak.
He grabs a fistful of my hair, flashing the large, full syringe in my face. "Into your carotid artery." I feel the prick of the needle tip against my neck, where he threatened to inject.
I'm sorry, Chuck. I can't let him dose me. I have to protect my mother and Molly.
The rope of my right ankle finally breaks. I'm weakened, but I channel every last drop of strength I have into the free leg and kick, sweeping across both of his legs. He goes down in a flail of arms and legs.
Three of my four limbs are bound. I have only one option, and it's perilously dangerous. I plant the free leg down, foot flat on the floor, and dive backwards, falling on top of Shaw, the rickety chair underneath me. The weight of my body cracks the structure of the chair between us. I cry out in pain, broken wood gouging the flesh in my arms, legs, and back. But the other leg and my left arm are free. My right arm comes away with the arm of the chair still attached.
I roll on the floor, under the table, grasping for a gun. I feel a hand wrap around one of my ankles and pull. He's dragging me out. As I slide, my hand brushes the metal cold of a gun. Chuck's gun. My left hand closes around the butt, and I slide my finger into the trigger. Suddenly, he's spinning around and he kicks the gun from my hand with a boot. I lunge for him and we go down in a heap of arms and legs, onto the tabletop and then onto the floor.
I'm pinned beneath him. I don't have any strength left to fight him. A knife flashes in the dark. "A slit throat is a particularly awful way to die…"
I close my eyes, waiting for the slice…
And I hear a loud metallic clunk. Shaw's body slumps. I open my eyes to see Ellie's shadow, standing over us…with a frying pan in her hand. She saved my life.
I scramble to my feet. "I told you to hide, Ellie! Why didn't you leave?"
She looks shaken, worried. "Being a Bartowski also means not doing what you're told…in a general sense." She smiles, a relief.
She flips on the lights and I squint, waiting for my eyes to adjust. She sees the state I'm in–cut, bruised, sweating, shaking. "Oh my God, Sarah, sit!"
"Truth serum. He…dosed me with sodium pentathol." She pulls the remaining kitchen chair towards me.
"I called Chuck. He's on his way." She pauses, seeing my expectant expression. "I don't know what happened. I didn't have time to chat."
I'm about to tell Ellie we need to tie Shaw up, while we are waiting for Chuck. I'm still under the effect of the truth serum. I don't want to tie him up. I want him to pay for everything he's done. For killing Chuck's father. And in my traumatized mind, he represents Diaz and every other man who paid to keep me naked and chained to a dirty bed, my legs spread wide for facilitated access.
My hand is on the tabletop, then on the gun. I lift it in my left hand. An automatic, unconscious effort. I point, pull the trigger. Shaw is unconscious on the floor and I shoot five bullets into his chest at close range. I lift the gun, aim at his head, and fire the last bullet.
Ellie stands in muted shock, Shaw's blood and brain matter splattered on her lower legs.
I fire the gun, its barrel empty, again and again. There aren't enough bullets in the gun, in the world, to satisfy the burning rage. Ellie pries the empty gun from my hand.
Before I can lift my head, my vision blurs, and then I'm plunged back into darkness. I collapse into Ellie's arms, and everything shuts off.