Chuck versus the Positively Medieval

by Steampunk . Chuckster

Summary: In the provincial town of Pinedeep, everyone knows: The only way to secure the hand of the heiress of the Walker fortune is to catch her black cat and take the key that hangs from its collar back to the heiress Walker's home where it will unlock the door and unlock her fortune. When enigmatic siblings from afar settle in Pinedeep, will the shifting winds they bring prove fateful? Medieval AU.

A/N: I appreciate all of your kind words, whether they're reviews here or notes elsewhere. We continue!

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Medieval Times-though if I did own Medieval Times, I'd make the chairs in that place a little more comfortable and there would be better options for my vegetarian sisters and brothers to eat while enjoying the show.

Once again, Sarah Walker heard the approach of a horse behind her as she hung her laundry in front of her home. She turned to watch the approach of a certain brunette physician on the back of the mare Sarah knew she shared with her younger brother.

Ellie raised a hand in greeting.

Sarah smiled as big as she could muster, raising her own hand in a wave, hanging her last garment on the line and heading down to meet her friend.

But much to her chagrin, she found she had that conversation she had overheard days earlier in her head again.

Chuck was angling to capture the Walker cat, to get the key to open the door to her home, to win her hand in marriage.

Her friend's brother.

Nay, he was her friend as well, was he not?

And now that wedge was there, the knowledge that Chuck Bartowski had intentions to win this contest, to marry her. That ending, which was really just a beginning (but of what, she did not know), now hovered like a pernicious cloud over her head.

Perhaps it was not pernicious, but rather it was constantly there now. Always in her mind. Sitting on her shoulders.

An invisible weight.

And now his sister was a part of that, through no real fault of her own.

"Sarah!" Ellie exclaimed, having hopped down off of her horse and closing the distance to wrap Sarah's hand in both of hers, squeezing. Sarah had no real way with other people—she never had—and so something must have shown upon her face the moment the other woman looked into it. Else, she was an extremely observant person.

Perchance both.

Ellie frowned just slightly, and then sent Sarah a dimmer, closed-mouth smile. "Thou hast heard then." Sarah raised her eyebrows in question. "My brother and his…sudden decision to engage in thy suit." The blonde pulled her lips back behind her teeth, unsure of how to respond. "Yea, Sarah, I thought thee might have heard by now. Seems it is all over Pinedeep. Serves me right for ranting about mine brother and his…decisions."

"I did hear I now have a fourth man in pursuit of the cat and the key she wears on her collar. And I did hear a name…mentioned."

"My brother's."

"Yea." That was all she was capable of saying.

Ellie switched her weight from one foot to the other nervously. "I confess, I was not simply passing by. I wished to see thee, to talk to thee, because I thought if thou hast been into the town proper, thou wouldst have heard about my brother adding hisself to thy contest."

Sarah nodded. "I must also confess, I myself am…confused by the news. In fact, I thought it might be gossip and naught much more'n it."

"'Tis not gossip. He speakéd of it at me directly." She looked anguished, as though she had much more she wished to say but couldn't.

"I see. I…thank ye for coming in person to tell me 'tis truth. Still, I am confused."

"I do not doubt it. Only, I find myself wondering. Sarah, will this development with my brother render our newfound kinship…uncomfortable for thee?" She winced, twisting her hands together before her. "I understand if it is so."

"No," Sarah reassured immediately, though there was certainly discomfort. Sarah felt it, and Ellie was a brilliant person which meant she had to feel it as well. "In fact, wilt thou come in for refreshment? 'Tis a cooler day so perhaps some tea?"

Ellie smiled wide. "I should love to. Thank ye."

And she enfolded herself into Sarah's side, holding her right arm in both of her hands, squeezing, the two walking arm in arm up to the front door.

They walked through it and Sarah wondered at this being the sister of one of the men meaning to take the key from the cat's collar and unlocking this very door. And when one of those suitors did so, her whole life would change. And where three of those men were concerned, she was certain her life would change for the worst, in every way. With the fourth, with her physician friend's brother, she did not know in which direction her life might careen. Her freedom would still be compromised, though to a lesser degree, but at least her family's legacy, her property and land, her home, would be in the hands of a man with a good heart. And she knew beyond all doubt that Chuck Bartowski was a man of good heart. One of the best hearts she had ever encountered.

"Fie, he confuseth me." Had she said that? She looked down at her kettle, the heating water inside of it as she lit the fire in the stove it rested on. "Thy brother. He hath left me utterly perplexed."

"Well, Sarah…" Ellie sat at the nearby table, still twisting her hands together, only this time it was in the lap of her dark grey skirt. "The little menace hath left me in confused sorts as well."

"To wit, he seemeth not to care about such things."

"Indeed." Ellie pulled her lips between her teeth again, keeping something important inside, she knew. But she also respected Ellie Bartowski for keeping her brother's confidence so dutifully. She truly was a woman who loved her brother, who depended on him, and it was clear her brother depended on her back. And respected her back.

"Still, he…also seemeth not to be fond of conflict, and involving himself in this gambit of mine would seemingly drop him directly in the middle of conflict, particularly with the other men seeking my suit through catching the cat." Sarah tilted her head, turning to face Ellie straight-on. "Those other men, they're…princes and knights and sons of highly powerful men."

A guarded look showed on Ellie's face. "And my brother—Chuck is a hard-working, though not at all wealthy, handyman. He does not fit with the others. He does not have the money nor the noble breeding. Nor is he like the men who slay dragons in the storybooks. He begeth forgiveness from a fly before he swats it out of the air."

Sarah started to smirk at that last part, but then she realized why Ellie's mien changed for a moment. She moved away from the stove completely and sat in the chair near Ellie's.

"Now wait. When I stipulated my future husband catch the cat, remove the key, and use that key on my front door to take my hand in marriage, I purposely did not include in my stipulations what station the man might come from, whether he is moneyéd, landed gentry, of noble or royal blood. Thy brother qualifies to participate as an equal to those blithering idiots. Though he is not their equal in means, stature, blood," she muttered, frowning, "he far surpasses them in heart and…" Her voice faded as she stared down at her table in front of her. "I hope thou dost not think that I do not value thy brother in comparison to the others."

Ellie shook her head quickly, her smile almost too quick. "Of course not."

"Good."

The kettle whistled and Sarah leapt up, hurrying over to take it off of the fire stove, pulling mugs down to pour the water in, steam billowing up into her face and curling the hairs of her eyebrows.

"What dost thou think is going through that man's head choosing to pursue the cat?"

Ellie was silent again. And then she finally spoke up.

"Thou hast questions, surely. Only it is not for me to tell. I wish I could explain…"

Sarah chewed on her bottom lip. "Explain? Thou needn't explain." She shook her head, trying to set the other woman at ease even though she herself was filled with a great deal of unease.

"Oh, thou deserveth an explanation, Sarah. I—" She sighed. "He hath made the decision under his own power. Consult me, he did not." She rolled her eyes. "But the idiot is my brother, and as such…he is all that I have. And it is my duty, as his sister, his elder sister, to allow him to maneuver through his decisions on his own and without my imposing myself into those decisions. If-If I told thee, Sarah, I would be betraying my brother's confidence. He has his reasons and-and I hope thou wouldst believe me when I say it-it be true of heart."

Sarah did not doubt that. The man seemed incapable of doing things that were not true of heart. "I believe thee," she said with a small smile, turning back to pour the water through the leaves into the mug.

She frowned down at her task, however.

He was true of heart, he was a good man, and she wished he would leave the cat be and come to her instead. As much as she had set all of this up herself and was truly the only one to blame for his choice.

"Sarah…"

She set aside the leaves and grabbed the mugs, turning back to Ellie with another smile, walking to the table and setting the mugs down. She watched Ellie then, seemingly gathering her thoughts before she continued, and she sat in the chair beside hers.

"I know there is…unfounded gossip about my brother, and me as well, coming to Pinedeep because we heard about thy challenge and figured Chuck would have more of a chance with a woman of thy breeding and stature, what with this cat gambit thou built to protect thyself." Ellie sipped the tea, looking embarrassed and almost shy even. Sarah had never seen shyness in the woman. "We have spoken so candidly, the two of us together. Thou must have felt betrayal, that I sat here listening to thy worries and unhappiness at thy situation all while plotting to…feed thee to my brother." She made a face, shame in her eyes. "'Twas a terrible way to phrase it but I think ye understand my meaning."

Sarah shook her head vehemently. "I heard that very same gossip and I did not believe it," she said truthfully. "Truly. I did not." She reached over to reassuringly squeeze the physician's hand where it rested on the tabletop. "Thou toldeth me thy story. I was not why the Bartowskis came to Pinedeep. Ye both needed a home, 'twas all." She swallowed hard. "I know better than anybody how pernicious gossip can be."

"'Tis cruel gossip, yea. My brother has not a manipulative bone in his body. Nor does he yearn for riches. A roof over his head, aye, more than a single meal in a day, aye that too, and a place to practice his trade such that it is."

"I know. But 'tis why I am…confused."

"I would that I could dispel you of the confusion. But…'tis up to him to come here and tell thee his reasoning." She seemed frustrated.

"Would he not come to tell me?"

"I have a feeling he will. When, I cannot say. He does everything as he liketh." Ellie paused. "But he has a great affection for thy cat. I have seen it with my own eyes. He lights up when it visits our yard behind our home and work spaces."

Sarah widened her eyes and swallowed hard. "Does she visit thy home?"

"Aye, she has a few times. We…care for her."

"There are many things your brother has done that…leaveth me more than just a little confused." Did he want that key or not? With the cat having come near him, surely there had been chances given.

What a strange man.

"Yea. Me as well. He has always been this way," she drawled with a sigh. Then she sat up and gave Sarah a steady look. "Still, I want to say one more time. I promise 'tis by his heart that he is driven. As always."

Sarah nodded, twisting her lips to the side, having met that heart on different occasions… wondering what exactly the future had in store for her, and whether the handyman would be part of it.

}o{

Chuck didn't know why he decided to go to the tavern on that night of all nights. Days had passed since his decision now and he had seen the cat more than once in that time, besides the close mishap when he helped her escape two of her owner's suitors.

He had tried once to whistle and hold out his hand. She merely looked at him as though he should know better than to think that would ever work.

He knew better than to try that again.

But how would he manage to get the key otherwise?

Bryce, Prince of Lark Kingdom had sent a letter to his home, with royal seal and everything. It invited him here to the Pinedeep tavern, tonight, and while he initially meant to stay home, his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

And so.

He found himself sitting at a round table, the handle of his tankard clutched in his fist, his knuckles white from how hard he was squeezing, and to his right was Cole of Barker, to his left, Bryce the Prince of Lark Kingdom, and across from him, Shaw of a Bastard and whatever poor woman had the misfortune of giving birth to the cretin.

What had he gotten himself into?

Fie, he felt a fool.

"—I am willing to admit," Bryce was saying, leaning back against his chair and taking a swig from his own beer. "The little beast is much harder to catch than I had thought before I made the trek across many kingdoms to come hither for this woman's hand."

"The whole idea is emasculating," Shaw grumbled. "We chase this puss about Pinedeep as fair maiden siteth in her tower, laughing at us all." He clenched his teeth as he hissed that last part.

Chuck knew he should defend Sarah, but the mean little man was saying such ridiculous things, he found himself amused more than aught. In fact, were she here, she would likely laugh at the situation.

"Emasculating it is, but 'tis what she demands of us. One of us must get the key. Enough games. I have wasted enough time as it is." Cole swiped his hand through the air, already having drunk enough that he was slightly swaying. "But the thing is immune to my charms, too quick for thee, Bryce, and too full of wit for thee, Shaw."

Shaw bristled at that. "The beast is not more intelligent than I am."

Bryce ignored him. "Aye, and is this not the point?" They all looked at him curiously. "Apart, we are no match for the creature. 'Tis almost as if she know of our pursuit and thusly is ready for us. I am also growing tired of the game, friends." He put both hands on top of the table, looking at Chuck, then Shaw, then Cole. "So I propose…a truce. For a short time."

"Truce?" Chuck finally spoke up. "What dost thou mean, sir?"

The prince smirked. "The four of us shall work hand in hand. We plot! Devise a plan to ensnare the puss-puss, trap her."

"If all four of us trap the cat, how do we determine who geteth the key? Four all cannot possibly share one woman." Cole shrugged.

Chuck made a disgusted face at him that was ignored.

"Fair question." Shaw seemed disgruntled to be sitting at the table and Chuck found himself agreeing with the awful man for the first and only time. He wished he were anywhere else.

"Ah, but of course we draw lots!" Bryce exclaimed. "Whoever wineth will obtain the key to Sarah Walker's home."

"And her marriage bed, eyyyy?" Cole let out a raspy chuckle that made Chuck grind his teeth. He just barely kept his arm at his side rather than slamming it into the other man's seemingly very hard jaw. He would break his fist before he would hurt the knight.

Shaw leaned in with his elbows on the table. "We are all here for one thing, truly. With news of that Walker land being rich with valuable resources, that beautiful stone house with dozens of rooms and big windows…" Chuck felt his fist form where it hung at his side. And he was ready to leap over the table. "But she is not hard to look at. Climbing into that bed—"

"Let us—!" Bryce cut in quickly, and Chuck felt a hand clamp down around his fist, the observant prince keeping the handyman from getting himself arrested and hanged for attacking Shaw, whose father would not rest until the man who hit his son dangled at the end of a rope. Chuck flexed his fist, subtly brushing the other man off. Surely, he did not wish to hang, and Sarah would likely not wish him to hang, especially not for her honor. But the man needed to face consequences for his disrespect. They all did.

"Let us decide," Bryce continued. "Shall we work together to catch this cat? Once it is in our snare, we shall draw lots and thus decide who shall be the master of the Walker properties."

The men thought it over, and then Cole slammed his fist against the table with a sort of finality. "Count me in, prince."

Shaw sighed, frowning down at the table. "Fine," he snapped. "Perchance together we can end this ridiculous game."

And then they all looked to Chuck. They would be working together to catch Sarah Walker's cat. And once they did, Chuck's plan would be in shambles. Sarah's freedom would be lost, the rest of her life forfeit to the whims of a man who cared more about valuables in the dirt of her property than her happiness and well-being.

Desperation was rising in his chest. He could compete with the three of them separately, but if all three contrived some plan to entrap the cat, perhaps putting their three dim brains together would work much better than their dim brains working alone.

This was quite a terrible turn of events.

"Handyman!" He jumped, lifting a glare to Shaw who didn't see fit to use his actual name. "We have all night not! Wilt thou join or no, knave?"

"No."

He had a hard time not snarling it.

All three looked perplexed and outright shocked, though Shaw's had a tinge of relief and anger both, if it was at all possible.

"But young sir…'tis the best possible way to end this once and for all," Cole tried to argue. "With four of us putting our heads together, the cat is as good as caught."

"I thank thee, Prince Bryce of Lark, for the kind invitation tonight. But I would that I be left to handle my pursuit of Sarah Walker's cat on mine own." He nodded respectfully toward the man. He had no want to insult a prince. While Shaw would surely see him hanged for an affront, Chuck did not know what sort of a man this prince was. And he did not want to find out what happened to a man who did him ill will.

"'Tis a fool's errand," Bryce said. "Thou wilt work alone, against three of higher education, bearing, training, and nobility than thou wouldst ever hope to obtain throughout thy lifetime."

It was the way he insulted Chuck as lesser, not to cut, not to harm, but because he truly believed it to be true… somehow the cut was worse.

He bowed his head, doing his best not to let the words meander their way to his heart. "Sir, I know it to be true. I shall take my chances."

"Stupid fool," Shaw hissed. "'Tis better without him, truly." He sloshed his beer over the lip of the tankard as he lifted it from the table, slopping some of it onto the wood, crawling down over his fingers. "Th'scamp would only slow us down. I always say, throwing lot in with the lower bred, never shall good come of't."

Chuck felt he had worn out his welcome as all three men glowered at him. And still, somehow, he was not throttled, he was not invited outside for a beating, nor was he placed under arrest by any of the three, as he quickly stood up from the table and bowed at them, mostly at the prince. He would count his blessings and be off.

"I wish thee all a good night. And luck. Much of it."

"How darest thou? 'Tis this bastard what needs the luck!" Shaw exclaimed, his voice loud, meaning for all of the tavern to hear it, surely.

"No need to make such ruckus, sir," Bryce said in a calmer tone, putting his hand on the arm of the foolish ass. "Let him go."

Chuck bowed his head once more, picked up his tankard, and left the table behind, instead moving to sit at the bar. He should go home, he knew, but he wanted to finish the beer he had paid for, and the three suitors soon climbed up from the table and helped one another stagger out of the tavern altogether, leaving Chuck without the awful feeling of three pairs of eyes glaring at his back…at last.

He heaved a sigh of relief when they went.

"Thou art really a fool, boy," Imelda, one of the barmaids of the tavern, said as she wiped at the wooden bar top with a white cloth. He lifted his gaze to meet her brownish green eyes as she blew some honey-colored hair from her face. "Dost thou think that moneyéd queen in her high tower will have her head turnéd by thee?" She let out a gusty giggle. "F'course I know what thou thinketh." She leaned in conspiratorially. "What does it matter, if the fair one's head turns for thee or not, s'long as ye've got that key, hm? Smart but not so smart, that is thee."

He frowned deeply. "I do not doubt they will be stronger, the three together. But I will not throw in with men who think only of the lady's land and her bed." He clenched his jaw. "And 'tis not a stretch to wonder, should they devise a plan smart enough, aye and fast enough, to catch Sarah Walker's furry friend, wouldst the drawing of lots be fair?" She tilted her head in intrigued question. "Or…would the thing be riggéd for a certain son of a lawmaker?"

"Would he rig?" Imelda asked. "Hm. Thou mayst be at truth. Though 'tis men like thee, with righteous ideals about what is good and what is bad, right or wrong, who tend to lose out in the end. Take it from me." She sent him a flirtatious look he was entirely uninterested in. "Right does not win the day in the end. 'Tis a rare thing in this world."

Chuck shrugged, pushing his tankard towards her. "Fill that up if you would please."

It was rare, perhaps she was right, but it was not impossible. Sometimes right won the day in the end. But the more he emptied his tankard, again and again and again, as the hours swam by, midnight passing and landing not so gently on his head, he felt less and less optimistic about his chances.

And he finally swayed his way out of the tavern, his feet dragging along the dirt as he attempted to see straight enough to make his way home.

A fool he surely was, for at the beginning of the night, he'd tied his horse off at the end of the marketplace, a good couple of minutes of a walk away, rather than tying it off at the tavern itself.

The cool night air was helping sober him up slightly, but nothing could help the horrible defeatism that plagued at his heart as he walked oh so slowly down the dirt road.

He was a fool. A simple fool. Uneducated save for Orion, the man who'd help raise them, teaching them both to read. Knowing words on a page did not make him educated, or cultured, the way Bryce, Cole, and Shaw were. He would never have noble blood, he was nowhere near royal, he was no damn knight, even if Sarah had begun teaching him how to wield a blade and shoot arrows in a specific direction. He knew naught of his real father, or his real mother.

Who would want to marry the motherless boy struggling to make ends meet?

Certainly, he did not have the brain that would outsmart three men working together. But would the cat succeed in continuing to elude them? He hoped she would.

As he had sat at the bar, attempting to comfort himself with beer, he had heard Shaw snark from the table, "And what would the mere tradesman even offer us? Would he build a contraption to catch the beast? A cat trap?" He laughed loudly and Chuck pretended he had not heard the ass.

But what would he do to get his hands on the key? He could do nothing.

He would ruin it all. Sarah would lose her freedom, her name, her land, her home, everything.

Chuck took another step, his foot landing on a loose stone at the bottom of a small staircase down to the lower market, and he toppled face-first, landing hard on the ground.

For a long moment, he really did not have the wherewithal to move, his face pressed against the dirt, legs and arms akimbo. What would happen if he stayed like this? Would people care?

Would Sarah Walker care?

Yes. He thought she might. But he was only a laborer, a tradesman who still fought to make enough each day to contribute to his household he shared with his sister. He had nothing to offer her save her freedom. Was that enough for her?

It would have to be enough for him, but was it for her? Being tied to a man with…dirt under his fingernails? Would she feel shame?

Those men and their stupid ego each possessed cancelled one another out separately, with their lack of charm, lack of wit, and lack of speed. But if they put all of their…attributes such that they were together, would it be enough? He feared it would. He feared for his cat friend, even if he was allergic to her.

He especially feared…

"M'gonna lose 'er," he muttered into the dirt, his face aching, his knees aching, and his heart aching.

And then he heard something to the side as his eyes slipped shut. A meow, soft though it was. "Hm. Do I know who that sound belongs to…?" And as he opened his eyes, there was his cat friend, all black, sitting a few feet away from him, just watching.

"W-Wait. Gah! Not so close. Please. M'gonna sneeze…" He pushed himself onto his elbows and held up a hand to stop her, and she didn't come closer; instead she continued to stare as if she was wondering what in the spirits he was doing lying on the ground.

Fair.

He plopped down into the dirt again and groaned. "Goin'a fail. Cannot do't." He lazily turned his head to look at the unmoved cat. "I wan'ed to catch thee, but 'tis not poss'ble. The key, 'twill never be mine. An' 'at means my plan…" He lifted a hand and made a sound as he spread his fingers. "Poof. Up'n smoke." The cat just stared, still unmoved. "Th'other suitors 'r workin' 'gether now. Y'know that, dost thou not? Well. Y'know it now. Watch thy step. Separately, I think they're very stupid, but 'gether? Three of 'em 'gether might make up jus' th'one brain." He snorted, letting out a snicker.

The cat shifted just slightly closer.

"N-No, no. M'gonna sneeze!" he said desperately, holding up a hand again. He tried to roll, but he was made too dizzy and stopped. He just stayed there. "M'just gonna let m'self sneeze. M'tired." He huffed with a slight smile. "Now'm out 'ere, tripp'ed on thoze steps. Drunk. Like a fool, don' even know why I drank zo much, 'n 'm talkin' to a cat. Alzo like a fool." He pushed his fingers through his hair and held them there, blinking up at the sky. "I thought I would save 'er. I thought I would save 'er and she would get 'er freedom she wanteth. F'course she iz not a damzel in diztrez. Pffft, not that woman." He found himself smiling dreamily up at the sky. "She could knock all three of 'em on their asses. At th'zame time even. Heh. Bumblin' idiots wouldn' know what hit 'em. Y'could…tie Sarah Walker's handz 'hind 'er back an' she'd still win. Heheh. An' one of 'em—hic—one of 'em z'a knight. So…"

He rolled onto his side, well…tried to. But he flopped onto his back again anyway, wincing. Then he pointed at the cat, well…tried to. She was moving a lot. Only she wasn't. His vision was just swimming a little.

"Y'know, I know what you an' that very pretty woman you trot home to at night 'r doing. I know what you're doing." He waggled that finger. "She haz a cat tha' hates people. Hates…people. So she put the li'l key to 'er house on yer collar. There, righ' there." He poked himself in the throat a little harder than he meant to and coughed lightly.

The cat shifted its head to the right as though confused. Perhaps intrigued. He could not tell sober what this cat was thinking, let alone when drunk.

"Tha'z th'point!" He pointed harder and the green eyes dropped to the finger and back up to the face again. "Thou art a very imperzonable creature. Nobody—Thou wilt not let anybody near thee. Not fer anythin'. Z'on purpose. She—Sarah-Sarah duzzint wanna be married. Not to anyone. Shhhhh shhh z'a secret." He tapped his pointer finger against his pursed lips. "See, she juz wantz freedom." He arced his hand through the air. "An' these royal azzezzz wilt not leave her alone. So tha' leavez the cat… runnin' aroun'…ez-caping. Forever ez-caping. An' she getz that freedom she wantz zo bad. She iz so sharp, that one. I'z brilliant. Iz a little mean to thee, I will zay. Little mean to you."

Chuck didn't quite want to lie on the ground anymore, though. So he achingly pushed himself up onto his elbow, still splayed over the ground. "Me? M'an idiot. Biggiz fool to ever live. I thought I might get thy key…her…Sarah's key…for myzelf. That way, I could marry Sarah, which would make 'er a married woman and would shoo off all thoz unwanted suitorz…" He flopped his free hand in a shooing motion. "N'they would stop chazing thee e'rywhere. Thou might receiveth some semblanz of peace." The cat seemed to sit straighter then, lifting its chin, staring hard at him. "An'-An' Sarah could…fin'lly live the life she wanz. Not-Not wif me—hic—not if thaz not something she wanz. Thaz the mozt impor-dint thing. To me. What she wanz."

But then when he swiped his hand through the air, it was too much too hard, and he flopped back to the ground on his back with a quiet, "ouch".

The cat wandered in even closer to him and he turned his head, his cheek pressed into the grime as he watched helplessly as the thing he was very allergic to came nearer.

"M'allergic," he muttered desperately.

She didn't stop, merely slinking in closer…ever closer.

There was nothing he could do to stop it. But his nose was not tickling, either.

"Know what, li'l friend?" He spoke through lips pouted by his cheek pressing into the ground. "Nobody would e'er believe thiz… I would've given 'er all th'freedom she wan'ed. Really, wha'ever she wan'ed, I would've given it to 'er. Somehow. E'en if it meant-hic-meant she go her way, I go mine." He pulled up both hands and mimicked two people walking away from each other with his expressively long fingers. "She'd still be m-married woman. No more suitorz. An' fr-freedom. Mm." He nodded, letting his hands flop back to the ground on either side of him. "Thought it such a good plan. Fool. Mizzerable fool."

He blinked up at the pitch black night, just lying there. And then he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and he saw the cat shift even closer before she lowered her front half in a stretch, before her hind half settled down onto the ground as well, simply lying there staring at him.

A bit of moonlight snuck through a cloud and the key on her collar glinted a special way.

"Thou…mocketh me," he muttered glumly.

She let out a quiet meow. And then she purred. And she scooted in close, close enough that her cool wet nose brushed against his which was hot and red from the beer he had imbibed.

She sniffed at his hair, wandering even closer so that the moon glinted on the key some more.

No…

She was right here, beside him, staying here, not darting away, not avoiding his touch. He was allowed to put his hand to her head, scratch her ears just so, and run his palm down her silky black fur.

"Very zoft. Zoft fur. …Th-Thou ist lettin' me pet thee." She purred, and somehow he had the sense to finally lift his fingers up to her collar. He felt the rough leather material against his fingertips, and finally the cool of the silver the key had been honed from.

He pinched the key between his fingers and she pulled back suddenly so that it was tugged right off of the collar. She looked at him one last time, as if she was in trouble and knew it, as if she knew she might have made a mistake allowing him to take the key.

But then she raced off into the night, disappearing from view.

Chuck Bartowski closed his fist around the key and just rested there on the ground, blinking at the sky, not quite knowing what had just happened.

And then he groaned, pushing himself to sit up, staring down at his closed fist.

No, wait. What had just happened?

He opened his hand and stared down at the key.

"M'M'what?" he breathed, letting out a shocked gasp.

"Oh. Oh!" He gulped, suddenly feeling much more sober as he scrambled up to his feet. He swayed only slightly, putting his fingers to his head, feeling a dizziness sweep through him, and then he moved as fast as his feet could take him, repeating over and over again, "I must away home. Home. Yea, home. I must…hither…hie…fast…oh…oh spirits…"

Ellie would never believe this.

He was not sure he believed it himself.

The cat had allowed him to take the key, the key to Sarah Walker's home.

The game was over.

And he knew not what came next.

A/N: Well shit.

Thanks for reading! Please leave a review if you can.

-SC