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: Thanks for still reading this stuff! Those of y'all here in the U.S., make sure you have your voting plan for tomorrow all ready! Unless you voted early. See you folks on the other side, huh?

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.

Sarah quietly pointed for him to bring the wagon around to the back of the house. He carefully traversed the narrow path between the side garden and the creek, drove it under a stone archway that connected the main home to another structure, and came around the back of the house.

"Stop here. That door there leads into the back of the house where I figure we might keep the gifts for now until we can figure out what to do with them," Sarah said.

Chuck nodded and pulled at the reins, the horses stopping, tossing their heads with soft snorts. He quickly leapt down and trotted around the back of the wagon to where Sarah was starting to climb down, but with the thick and likely heavy skirt of her gown, he imagined it would be much more difficult, so he reached up for her hand and aided her in her descent.

They peered into one another's eyes for a moment when her heeled boots landed in the dirt, and then he cleared his throat and glanced towards the back of the wagon. "I will start emptying the wagon. Have ye a key for this door I can use?"

"I can help once I have cared for the horses," she said, pulling a key from the purse that dangled at her hip and holding it aloft for him.

With a mute smile, he took the key, opened the door, propped it with a nearby rock, and began unloading the gifts. He was especially careful with the wooden statue of what the gift-giver insisted was a spirit of fertility. It was cool to the touch and yet he felt heat rising from his collar.

The horses were gone, harnesses removed, the wagon sitting alone, when Sarah came strolling back from the enclosed wooden stables a few dozen yards away. He watched her approach the whole time, unable to keep from watching, unable to keep from dwelling on the fact that she was his by law. Contracts and deeds and ceremonies, vows, kisses, everything had been done down to the last letter to solidify his ownership of this place and this woman.

She was right.

And the not-so-subtle hints of the wedding guests had gotten under his skin as well. If he so chose, he could take full advantage of this. He had more power than men with noble blood and royal titles even dreamed of. Before he was a mere handyman with nothing to his name, no home, nothing but his loving sister.

Now he had more than most, if not all.

All he had to do was embrace it, enfold himself into this life, into her, and nobody would be able to do anything to stop him.

That was the reality of this situation.

But there was another reality.

Whether he loved Sarah Walker or not, she was her own. Laws be damned.

She had a big heart, a mind sharper than any other mind he'd known, a soul that emanated from her. She had goals and dreams. She had wants and desires. She was a human being. She deserved the freedom to live the life she wanted and be who she wanted to be.

The fact was, he did love her. He surely loved her. And so he would fight to preserve her humanity, her freedom. It was foolish that it all depended on decisions he was making. He hated it. But it was reality, and so he would do what he could to remove himself from the situation, while keeping other men who sought to hamper her freedom away from her.

He had the power, it was right there in front of him.

Even so, he had it in his grasp.

It was not corrupting. He was incorruptible, perhaps. Or maybe love was helping to fend off the corruption of ultimate power.

"What, sir?" she asked, a bit of amusement in her blue eyes as she walked closer to him in the dim light of the moon.

And so.

He had been staring.

Chuck fought off a blush as best he could. "I fear I never told thee, and in spite of everything, ye deserve to hear it." She cocked her head in curiosity. He took her in, all silks and sleeves and gold filigree and long hair and tiny braids and… Spirits, that face of hers. It could send millions of men to war and launch thousands of ships to the sea. "Thou art exceptionally beautiful. On this day, especially, ye were arresting, breath-takingly so."

Sarah's shoulders bunched up around her ears as her mouth shifted into a warm smile, and then her shoulders eased again, like a tension was seeping from her. "Thou art sweet for saying't. Thank ye." And then she surprised him by reaching out to tug on the front of his doublet that had thankfully been much less constricting around his throat than the one he had said his vows wearing. "And thee, sir. Ye made a handsome picture. Both this ensemble, and that which ye wore during the ceremony."

He knew he was blushing and there was nothing he could do to fend it off. He decided he might just let her see it and everything else be damned. "Ah. That doublet verily restricted my ability to breathe. I was relieved to take it off." He touched the much more manageable collar on this doublet.

Sarah giggled. "The things we do for beauty."

That made him laugh. And then he reached in and grabbed a small wooden chest, pulling it close and popping it open, showing her what was inside. "Beautiful silks. What will ye do with them, I wonder?"

She snorted and it was cute. "I know not what we shall do with any of these gifts. But I shan't worry tonight. 'Tis well after midnight and my bones have aches they haven't had even after a day of intensive training."

He grinned, feeling a sense of loss overcome him suddenly. He hid it behind that grin as they carried the rest of the gifts inside in shifts, leaving them on tables, the spare bed, or the floor if they were large enough.

Sarah shut the door behind him once they finished, both of them standing in the room, and she moved the rock he had used outside, throwing the lock, trapping him inside.

He sent her a wide-eyed look. She seemed confused.

"I-I figured I would head around the house to get back to the road before going back home, but I could cut through the house, too. I did not want to take liberties as such," he said quietly, tugging on the hem of his doublet nervously.

Sarah seemed even more confused.

"Going back?" she asked, tilting her head. "Dost thou mean to the house where ye live with Ellie?"

"I do, yea." He picked up the knapsack he had packed for their wedding night, all for show, of course. There would be no wedding night, not in the sense everyone must assume there would be.

"Art thou going there…now? 'Tis mere hours 'til the sun will come up, Chuck. And ye mean to wander home with the moon not being full, all forms of creatures and…villains that may attempt to accost thee."

He chuckled. "I will be just fine, Sarah. I have spent many nights sleeping under the stars during my travels—"

"That aside, thou must not."

Chuck furrowed his brow. Now he was confused. "I…must not? Why?"

"The festivities continue, even with the married couple gone to bed." Her voice cracked slightly on the last word and he fought to remain in control of his facial features. "Pinedeep tradition…" Another one? Damn it. "The groom and his bride leave the celebration earlier than everyone else and… Well, I should not have to tell thee what is expected to happen. But needless to say, the groom being seen strolling away from the house and bed he is supposed to be staying in on his wedding night will surely set tongues a'waggling."

He felt himself go pale. "I suppose I did not…think of that. B-But I care not. I made a promise and I mean to keep to't, Sarah Walker."

"Sarah Bartowski," she corrected. "My name is no longer mine. Now I have thy name. That is also a part of this. And the woman who has now taken thy name cannot send thee away from her bed on thy wedding night."

He thought he sensed a blush on her face in the dancing firelight from the candles she had since lit as they brought the gifts in.

He knew he was blushing, even over the paleness.

"Sarah, I did not marry thee for this. 'Tis as I said many times before. I mean to take nothing from thee." He felt the need to emphasize, "Nothing."

Sarah closed the distance between them and slowly slipped her hand into his, tugging him from the room, down a narrow hallway, and finally out into the entryway of the home, the staircase sloping up to the second floor seeming so incredibly daunting to him especially now.

He caught her glancing at it, too.

"Please, do not leave. Didst thou read the marriage contract not?"

Chuck sent her a wide-eyed look. "I…skimmed it. Did I miss something?"

Sarah rolled her eyes to the ceiling and took a deep breath. "A spiritual meeting of souls, a contract binding lives, and the joining of carnal bodies. All three. Or the marriage, it-it will not be legally recognized."

The floor was swept out from under his boots. He barely was able to lock his knees and keep himself from keeling over.

"I…did not know."

"Now ye do. And so. I cannot allow thee to go home. Not on this night. If anyone sees my husband anywhere that is not here, word will spread, and our marriage will not be recognized. That is…rather the point of everything you and I have been through together the last few weeks, is it not?"

Chuck lifted his hands to push them both through his curls. He had managed to tamp them down well enough with the butcher's help while preparing for his wedding day, but a night of frivolity had made them unruly once more.

"Then-Then I will not go." He looked down at the knapsack at his feet, for he had since dropped it to the floor in shock. "I packed this bag for appearance's sake."

"Good thing ye did." She stood close again, right in front of him, her eyes searching his face. "Pick it up and come with me up to my room."

Chuck swallowed hard, his mind running faster than it ever had before. His heart raced even faster as he stooped to lift the knapsack into his grip, and Sarah took his free hand again, their eyes meeting as she stepped past him to lead him to the staircase.

They walked up them, step by step, and with each step, he felt his lungs empty, panic setting in. This was not what he wanted, and then he did want it and had wanted it because he was only a man, all too human, with red-blooded rivers pumping through his body. But he would not let himself want because this had not been part of the bargain they made with one another.

Not for him.

}o{

Sarah had been mentally and emotionally preparing herself for this wedding night for weeks.

She knew what was required of her—the same thing that was required of everyone who was newly married. And she knew what was in that contract because she had lived in Pinedeep her whole life.

In that time, she went from abject fear about an act she had not engaged in before, an act that she knew she likely would have to engage in someday when she was married, to a sense of strangely calm acceptance that it would happen on the night of her wedding, to what she existed in now—a tentative mixture of curiosity and admittedly…want.

She had only discovered sex existed after her mother's passing, and speaking of it with her father? Absolutely not. He would have run into the woods and he never would have returned. Nor was she familiar enough with any of the other women in the town to have those discussions. There was a polite standoffish air from even women such as Missus Naughton, as though they knew someone of importance was in their midst and they dared not offend or misstep.

So she had found texts amidst her parents' library. Were they accurate depictions of the act? She knew not.

The one person she knew she would be able to ask without the morality mothers of Pinedeep knocking on her door to cleanse her with spirit incense would be the Pinedeep physician. But that Pinedeep physician was one Eleanor Bartowski, who now shared her name, because they were now sisters-in-law.

That was not a conversation she could have.

The irony…

She had felt Chuck's lips against hers. She knew what it felt like to be in his arms, to have his hands on her, as they had danced a few times together now. And she knew the sensations that went through her when he embraced her, when he touched her, because ever since the moon festival, she thought of it at night when she was trying to fall asleep alone in her bed.

So that curiosity and that want had lodged itself in her gut the more she thought of her wedding night.

She heard him every time he insisted he meant to allow her to forge her path without input from anyone else, and the way they were contractually and legally bound to spend their first night together as husband and wife had still been something she dwelled on in the last week especially as their wedding day approached. Perhaps there was room for Chuck Bartowski on her path she chose?

She felt a certain madness take hold on her heart as she pushed at the door that led into her bedroom. And she let go of his hand, leaving his side to light a fire in the fireplace. She bent to her task, using flintstone and tinder. He moved to her side, leaning in to blow on the burgeoning flame for her as she gathered more wood from the pile she'd made beside the fireplace, stacking it on the hay diagonally. Once the wood ignited, they both moved back on their haunches. Sarah picked up a sliver of wood, ignited it with the fire, and moved to her full height, strolling about the room to light the candles she had set up, more than usual situated near the bed.

Chuck was unnervingly silent as she did so.

Sarah wondered if he was in the midst of feelings of deep trepidation. It made her feel less alone, and then hadn't Chuck Bartowski's arrival in Pinedeep made her feel less alone in general?

They had forged a friendship, if nothing else.

She had to trust that bond as she blew out the wooden sliver and turned to watch him.

He still knelt at the fire, staring into it, the light dancing on his handsome features. What was going through his mind, she wondered?

Finally, he seemed to shake himself, shifting on his heels to look up at her over his shoulder. And then he slowly rose up from his haunches, and she was reminded again of how tall he was. She towered over most of the citizens of Pinedeep and he in turn towered over her.

Sarah swallowed audibly. "I am myself," she said in the tense quiet. "If I were some other lady with station and breeding and fortune, I might have attendants here with me for a moment such as this. To…undress me, adorn me in a night dress fit for a wedding night." She glanced away from him, embarrassed, shy even. "But I have no attendants, and no servants. Neither did my parents before me."

"Hadst thou married a prince, that might have changed," he spoke softly.

"Lucky then am I that I did not marry a prince."

Before he could respond, she picked up his hand and put it to the tie of the laces that kept her overdress tight about her figure, at the front of her chest.

Chuck sprang back from her as though she had plunged his hand into the fireplace. "Oh! Uhhh…" He held his hands up by his shoulders as if in surrender. She sent him an alarmed, confused look. What had they just been talking about…?

She blushed. "Wouldst thou prefer if I did it myself?"

"Yea, my lady. Only, I…" He let out a rough breath, running his hand down his chest, having dropped his knapsack in shock yet again. He turned on his heel, facing the fire and putting his back to her. "Now ye may continue. Without mine eyes."

Sarah furrowed her brow. "Sir, I-I understand not. The marriage contract states that—"

He turned back to her and closed the distance so rapidly she backed away slightly, the backs of her legs bumping the bed frame. She barely kept her footing. "I care not what the contract states. I beg thy pardon for being blunt, Sarah. Surely, thou art right in that a man should not be walking home at this hour when he has just been married to his wife. 'Tis a breach of that marriage contract. But they know not what happens here. I will stay the night as you say, but as I said, I did not marry thee for this." He gestured to the bed behind her. "Not a soul besides those in this room need know whether the bride and groom engaged in…" He gulped, shifting his weight in discomfort. "…a certain joining of carnal bodies, as thou said was written in that contract we signed."

Was he truly doing this?

She gaped at him, shock making its way through her system. "Thou art saying we…lie about what happened in my bed tonight?"

"A mere lie through omission, my lady. I will not take from thee on this night. And no one shall know from mine lips…nor thy lips, I presume."

"Truly?" she breathed. "Thou art requiring me not to fulfill my wifely duties?"

"Truly not. There are other beds in thine house that I may use for the night?" he asked, though he surely knew the answer to that.

She shook her head, curling her fingers around his wrist. She had a confusing mixture of sensations spilling through her. First and foremost, relief. Relief that she would not have to cross this threshold that made her feel prickling jolts of fear in her breast. And yet… she had a slight wantonness that would go unanswered, and she could at least silently admit she regretted that her curiosity would not be satisfied on this night.

"Ye need not wander to some other room, Chuck."

"I beggéd of thee to trust in me, Sarah, when I told ye what I wanted in this pact. Thy freedom to make thine own choices is still uppermost in my desires. It…rises as a priority above mine other desires." He glanced away.

Other desires?

Sarah wondered at the way he had phrased that.

"I do trust thee, Chuck Bartowski. And still, thou art my husband above all else. Whatever desires thou haveth, it is within mine obligation to see them met."

He surprised her with his tender touch, fingers cradling her chin just so as he looked in her eyes. "Even in the midst of rules, norms, traditions, thou art not a woman to allow herself to be run over, thou art not a woman who kneels, not to anyone and certainly no man." A sort of fire built in her center at how sincere his confidence clearly was in the truth of his words. "Thou art not obligated to me, or my desires. Even if I sought satisfaction, there is a feeling in my breast that thou wouldst not giveth to me 'less ye felt the want to do so."

"Do not away to another room, Chuck." She shook her head. "I said I trust thee and I do. Come to my bed."

Chuck sucked in a deep breath, glanced at the bedroom door she'd left ajar, and then looked back at her. "Aye, lady. I will come to thy bed, but I will do nothing more than find rest in't. I will earn the trust thou bestoweth upon me."

"Thou wilt only lay in my bed…?" She didn't know why she needed to hear him say it again. It just sounded so unbelievable.

"Yea, lady. And sleep. If't comes."

And so he stepped away from her again, turning to face away from her with a finality that left her near breathless. She tugged at the ties to the overdress, pulled it up and off of her head, before grabbing at the skirt of her kirtle and yanking that up as well, careful not to harm the intricate sewing of the dressmaker. She untied and removed her leather boots, removed her knitted stockings leaving her barefoot in her stone-floor bedroom, and finally looked down at the shift she wore over her bare skin.

His insistence on not fulfilling the duties of their contract left her feeling like the nightshift she had made for this occasion was probably not suitable, and so she tugged at the sheets of the bed and climbed in.

"'Tis safe, sir."

This was strange and all, having this man who was her husband respecting her privacy and insisting—refusing even—to invade her person in spite of it being his legal right to.

It seemed he cared not about the law and what it required of them.

And she did not think she had admired another so much as she admired him as he turned and peered at her, a blush on his cheeks.

Had anyone shown her this much respect before? Ever? In her life?

No.

They had not.

Yea, she had found in him an extremely good heart, a thoughtful soul, and luck was blessing her that she had just married him and not another.

He moved to unbutton his doublet, looking away from her, and she somewhat unfairly watched as he peeled it away from his broad shoulders, down his long arms, draping it over the nearby chaise.

And when he removed his boots and knitted stockings, his fingers tugging the flowing white tunic from the waistband of his trousers, she slid lower in the bed, folded her hands over her chest, and stared up at the ceiling to provide him with the respect and privacy he had just afforded her.

}o{

He stared at the ceiling, the dark having fallen over the room once he walked around blowing everything out, leaving mist to waft its way up to the ceiling and dissipate there.

Then he crawled back into the bed beside the woman who was now officially his wife. He was on his back, as far as he could get from her, his shoulder poking over the edge of the incredibly comfortable mattress.

He decided to dwell on that comfortable mattress. In any other situation, he might get the best sleep of his life on this mattress. Never had he felt anything quite so comfortable, the way his body molded into it, but there was still a solidness, a firmness, that felt supportive. And her sheets were like being covered in silk, so deliciously warm, a very fine material he couldn't place.

Sarah Walker had slept in this comfort her whole life. And still, she lacked the ego, the overblown pride, the smugness of a Cole, a Bryce, or a Shaw. For generations, her family had apparently held Pinedeep in the palm of their hands, and until today, until this marriage, Sarah had held the province in her palm alone, let alone the town itself. She never acted as if it was so.

Chuck slowly turned his head, not wanting to make any sudden movements so that she might assume he had fallen asleep.

Sarah was on her back, her hands folded over her chest, and her eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling the way he had just been.

He really was a fool.

Almost as if she felt him watching, she turned to meet his gaze. He strove not to pretend he hadn't been looking at her, instead just sighing and giving her the best smile he could muster. "Been a long day," he finally said in the silence. "Thou findeth trouble sleeping?"

"Yea," she mumbled, looking back up at the ceiling. "And yet, I am tired."

"I am the same," he admitted.

"I hope ye don't mind me saying this, sir, but… I do not understand how thou art not asking me to fulfill my wifely duties. And-And so we just…lie here… on the night of our wedding."

That was why he felt like such a fool.

"I am…sometimes hard to understand. My sis says so. I suppose she is right?"

She let out a soft giggle and he watched her lips stretch into a smile before she turned onto her side, facing him, tucking her hands between her cheek and the pillow, pulling her knees up. She looked so young like this. Something in his chest ached.

"And so. Shall I stop trying to figure my husband out?"

"Perhaps," he said, chuckling.

There was something shy in her pretty face then. "I cannot help it. I find I want to know more about thee."

"Ask and ye shall receive," he said, grinning teasingly.

Sarah sent him an amused look for that. "Careful what ye wish for, Charles Bartowski." His heart beat hard and fast in his chest as his grin became a softer sort of smile. "What of the Bartowski family? I know naught of thy family."

"I know even less than thee," he said, a bitter sort of slant to his small smile. "Wherefore hath they come from? I know not. I know Ellie and I were found wandering the woods. I know what town we were near. I know not how we got there, where we came from. And by my sister's account, she cannot remember either. I was but a babe and she was only four years, closer to five at the most."

"And so, perhaps someone else gave ye the names Eleanor and Charles Bartowski?"

"Nay, it was all my sister could give the tradesman who found us. Our names. Could she have made the names up? Perhaps. But I doubt it. She had been so busy trying to keep the both of us alive. Fancifying a name such as Bartowski would be quite the feat for a person so young."

"Hm," he heard her hum, so quietly he barely heard it. Her blue eyes fastened on him, so soft and warm even in the lack of light in the room. "And so it has just been the two of ye, your whole lives."

"Aye. But we have found ways to survive, just the two of us. Having one another made it bearable, made it survivable."

"Being on the run?"

"Yea, my lady. Even through that."

"I should have liked to have a sister."

He turned onto his side to face her, trying not to pay much mind to the fact that it brought him ever closer to her. He folded his arm under his head and settled again, raising his eyebrows. "A sister like Ellie? Because with the exchange of vows earlier today, thou didst gain not just a sister like Ellie but Ellie herself."

Sarah glanced away, her lips pursing and twisting to the side. "Not truly."

"Nay, Sarah. Truly. Ellie has wished for a sister such as thee and now—" He stopped himself, thoughtful. Perhaps this would not be as good of a thing as he imagined it might be. "Well…" He cleared his throat. "I think she hath a hope that ye shall consider her so, in spite of this marriage being… unorthodox."

"Has she?"

"Yea, Sarah."

"I…would like it so."

Chuck smiled.

The conversation seemed to fade, and still, they stayed that way, facing one another in the dark, eyes silently searching, meeting, searching again, and then her eyes began to droop, and her body seemed to mold even further against the bed as she fell asleep.

Chuck shut his own eyes, but his brain would not let him sleep, not for some time.

}o{

She knew what was happening even before she was fully awake, and certainly before she opened her eyes.

They had fallen asleep on opposite sides of the bed and at some point during sleep, they had each rolled closer to the center of the bed. And now their bodies were entwined in a way that one couldn't tell where she ended and where he started.

His face was tucked under her chin, his lips and nose lightly grazing her throat. She had not realized how soft and silky his hair was, but it was pressed into her cheek now.

Their legs were tangled somewhere at the end of the bed; she felt the weight of his leg pressing her down, draped over her body, and his arm further up, wrapped around her torso, pulling her in close.

Her heart was racing, thudding so wildly in her chest, she feared it would wake him up.

How had this happened?

Surely, they had moved together in sleep, but why would their bodies betray them like this?

She bit her lip, shutting her eyes tightly, trying to slow her heart. But it had been a cold night and the fire in the hearth had gone out at some point. Perhaps they had moved closer for warmth.

He was warm. For the first time since she could remember, she was waking up in early winter without her feet feeling halfway to frozen. No shivering.

Sarah had to admit to herself, it felt good, even if the arm pinned between her stomach and his seemed numb.

She let out a gentle breath and let her cheek rest against his hair, trying not to focus on the way his large hands rested on her. Even in sleep, there was a protectiveness in his embrace.

What was new? This man wanted to protect her when he was awake, and now when he was asleep as well, it seemed.

But she couldn't have him waking up with them wrapped up together like this. She could feel how heavy he was against her, and she knew he was sleeping deeply, but it was a double-edged sword. It would be work to try to disentangle herself from him because he was so deeply asleep, but if he wasn't so deeply asleep, he would wake up when she moved.

With slow, patient, measured, precise movements, she managed to get his arm off of her, having to unpeel every one of his fingers from her waist, her arm at a terrible angle.

Wincing, she stretched the arm afterwards, and then put her fingers to his jaw to try to get his face away from her neck, out from under her chin.

She pushed gently and slowly so that he ever-so-gently shifted halfway onto his back, his head rolling to the other side.

He smacked his lips and let out a soft murmur, causing her to freeze, wincing, hoping…praying to the spirits.

But he stayed asleep with a deep breath.

She finally pushed herself to sit up, trying to jar the mattress as little as possible, and then she reached down to lift his leg just enough to try to start slipping her own limbs out from where he had them trapped.

Successful, she let out a relieved breath, scooting away from him to the edge of the bed. And she finally climbed up to her feet, safely having extracted herself. She felt foolish for how much she wanted to crawl right back into the warmth he'd provided. It was such a chilly morning, and she could see through the slit in the curtain over the window, the sun was likely obscured by fog.

On a cold, foggy morning, to get out of her warm bed instead of staying in it felt like a crime.

But she couldn't stay in her bed on this morning. There was another nice, warm body in it, one she could now allow herself to dwell on, dream about, get lost in. Yes, he was her husband now. By law.

And she knew he was right the night before when he said no one would know whether or not they completed the ceremony. Everyone would assume that had happened, as always happened with marriage.

Still, she felt like she was going mad, the way none of that had occurred to her and she spent weeks preparing herself for what her wedding night would entail. And the whole time, he had no intention of touching her.

Had he thought her brazen? Or simply just foolish?

Both?

Or perhaps he was more understanding than that, considering everything she had witnessed in him in the months since first they met.

He still slept soundly, but the sheets were at his waist. Sarah tried not to focus on his bare chest, the coil of hair over his pecks, the indentation of muscle, light as it was, over his abdomen. And she dutifully picked up the sheets and tugged them better over him, covering up the distracting sight and feeling much better for it.

She left him alone in the room, moving down the stairs, immediately getting heat going in her oven, pushing at it with a poker, and putting the kettle filled with well water on the burner.

Sarah hugged herself tightly, having forgotten to shrug her robe on over her night dress, her feet bare against the cold stone floor of her kitchen. It surely was foggy outside. She knew the way to the well with her eyes closed thankfully, for the fog made it hard to see even a few feet ahead of her.

What had brought the fog in?

Was there some symbolism to it?

Had that fog slipped inside of her? Her brain was fogged, her heart was fogged. Waking up in his arms, the sensations that came with it, the silk of his curly hair against her skin, his hands so large and protective against her body, had given her a taste of what it might be like to…

She watched the flames licking in the oven.

And she hugged herself tighter, moving in a little closer for warmth.

She needed to admit to herself, if no one else.

The prospect of not living such an utterly lonely life had started to gain a sort of…inviting glisten to it.

And waking up in a good man's arms had only made that glisten shine. How brightly, Sarah Walker—Bartowski—was almost afeared to find out.

Things would be different when he awoke.

Would he know they'd been embracing in sleep? He would awaken alone. Perhaps he'd know naught of what they had done while sleeping.

And because her human brain could sometimes be cruel in quiet moments such as this, she found herself wondering if he had ever woken up curled around other women before coming to Pinedeep.

Sarah snagged a cloth from where she hung it on a wrung in front of her cupboards a little more aggressively than was necessary, both vulnerable and annoyed with herself for everything she was thinking, everything she was feeling.

She didn't like not being in control.

She wasn't in control this morning. Nor had she been the night before.

What Sarah needed was some hot tea, a biscuit, and then she would tend to the horses and livestock, and then she supposed… She would make breakfast for herself and for her husband.

The man asleep upstairs was no longer a guest who came to help her implement mechanical improvements to her training grounds, nor was he the guest who sometimes indulged her in teaching him how to wield various weaponry on said training grounds. They had married less than twenty-four hours ago. He was her husband. Not a guest. But someone who owned all of this, who could now come and go as he pleased.

It startled her to realize that was the reality now. She was no longer in the build-up period to that reality; it was here.

Why wasn't she as frightened as she should be?

Still, she was a little frightened.

At any moment, Chuck Bartowski's outer shell of sweetness, thoughtfulness, selflessness, and respect might crack. She did not know him well, in spite of spending more time with him these last months than she'd spent with all others put together—save for perhaps his sister with whom she had cultivated a real bond. Power and desire had ways of putting cracks in things, however well-meaning people were.

And she knew there was desire.

There had been plenty in their dance last night, the crackle of firelight in his golden eyes, the way he held her, his grip tender but tight, as though he ached for more. She recognized it in him, because she knew it in herself.

That was the truth of it.

If he threw his plan to the wayside and embraced her fully as his wife, something he told her he had no intention of doing, would it mean he did not respect her as much as he projected?

No, she decided.

He had apparent respect for her. Certainly more than anyone else in Pinedeep, and especially those potential suitors who had wandered to her town to seek her hand, her property, and her wealth.

Would it be a betrayal?

…No.

And maybe part of her fear was in the fact that she was so drawn to him, perhaps also the fact that she wanted him to embrace her fully as his wife.

She did not want to cede her power to a man, nor did she want to cede her wealth and property to him. This all had belonged to the Walkers for longer than her family's written history. A Walker had held this place's future in their hands for centuries. And the thought of someone who wasn't a Walker having the power to completely change everything, to ruin the land, to destroy the Walker legacy, made her feel as though she was a failure. Where so many others had triumphed, for centuries, she would finally be the one to fail.

She did not want to fail.

But she wanted Chuck Bartowski to be in her life, still.

Could she have both?

Could she have Chuck in her life and still control the day to day of the Walker estate?

So focused as she was lost in her own uncontrolled thoughts and feelings, she did not hear the footsteps against the staircase, the light thump of leather boots against wood.

She saw him though, stepping into the kitchen in her peripheral.

Sarah turned to fix wide eyes on him. He stared back with wide eyes of his own, though they were infused with a shy sort of warmth. Did he know they had curled into one another's embrace while sleeping? Had he felt her untangling herself from him?

"Good morrow," he said quietly.

"Good morrow, sir." He stayed where he was, wearing a pair of brown trousers, his boots, and a loose cotton tunic of a yellowish brown color. "I am fixing tea. Or…if thou wouldst prefer coffee?"

"I will have what thou hast prepared, my lady." He smiled. "I thank ye." And Chuck finally moved further into the kitchen, pushing a hand self-consciously through his unruly dark brown curls. "Hast thou tended the horses this morn?" She looked up at him, surprised, and she slowly shook her head. "Good. I shall do so."

"I…I have to tend to the chickens, goats, and my cow as well. I shall—"

"Please," he insisted, gently pressing his fingers to her wrist. "Let me. I have a horse of my own, so I can manage that much. Though I may need…assistance with the other creatures. I fear I don't have experience with cows, or-or chickens, or even goats."

Sarah giggled in spite of everything. Sometimes this man was sweeter than the sweetest candy Mister Pryce sold at the Pinedeep confectionary.

"I will see to our tea, and then I will join thee out back near the stables. Have we a deal?" She stuck her right hand out.

He took it eagerly, enfolding her in his large, warm hand, his grip tightening, his thumb stroking over her knuckles wonderfully. "A deal 'tis."

"Everything thou needst for the horse tending is in the stable where she stays."

"Aye."

Chuck finally let go of her hand, but not before looking down at their joining for a long while. And with a sweet blush, he brushed past her to the kitchen door that led out to the back, shutting the door behind him, leaving her smiling down at the heating kettle.

A/N: I think this might be the cutest version of them I've written, right here in this chapter. Cutes McGoots. Leave a review if you can. Thanks for reading!

-SC