A/N: On schedule. (vsHL is lagging, but I'm hoping to finish the Anniversary chapter tomorrow. I'm excited to get to Suitcase, which I totally love.) I am BLOWN AWAY by the attention this story is getting. Humbling indeed, so thank you for your support. As previously stated, this is Chuck and Sarah without "Charah" which is upsetting, I'm sure. Part of the story and it doesn't stay like this, I promise. The story just needs to play out. I can't say enough thanks to nevr for previewing and offering his suggestions and impressions. This was THE HARDEST chapter of fanfic I have ever written. It finally portrays what I wanted it to after he beta'd. We are almost at halfway in this story. Ok, brace yourselves.
I am furious.
What have I gotten for someone breaking into my room and drugging me?
Both Casey and Vittoria are holding me prisoner in my own room. No one has said anything to me or explained anything. I was threatened at gunpoint. I told them I was injected with something last night and I had no memory of it.
Something went wrong with the mission. It had to have. Why else would they be reacting this way?
Immediately upon being restrained, Vittoria had forcibly drawn blood from me with a wide-bore needle that hurt like hell. The gauze bandage she sloppily applied to the hole is blood-stained.
She took my blood and injected it into a portable analyzer. While she waits, both she and Casey question me about what I remember from last night. I tell the truth. I don't have any reason to lie. But there isn't much.
"Truth serum," Casey grumbles after the machine beeps. "Not your run of the mill sodium pentathol. A CIA cocktail derivative. Courtesy of the Ring."
Truth serum? Someone broke into my room and dosed me with truth serum?
"I don't remember anything after going to sleep, Casey," I repeat. Truth serum didn't usually work that way. I leave out the strange dreams.
"Mmm, you wouldn't. It's mixed with an injectable version of X-13. Twilight effect, 12 to 15 hours. Someone wanted the truth out of you, and didn't want you to remember the questioning session."
"What about security?" I bark at Casey. "How could someone do this and no one noticed?"
"Security cameras were tampered with, but we didn't detect it until this morning. Same time we realized the Duchessa gave us the slip."
Damn. My mission from the night before…sabotaged. A heavy dose of exotic truth serum and I most likely would have explained everything about the transponder in the mints, and the reason why.
Detaining and questioning me, of course, was standard procedure. The fact that I am not the least bit trusted troubles me, but I understand. Whoever chose me knew my status as a potential liability. The shadow of doubt about me in general complicates everything.
At least they have gotten proof that I didn't intentionally sabotage the mission.
"So what now?" I ask.
"Damage control. Being conducted as we speak," Casey says.
Without me.
I wonder at Carina's absence in all of this, assuming she would have come to see me first thing in the morning after the party. Vittoria leaves the room, but Casey lingers, packing up the equipment they used to interrogate me.
I decide to talk to Casey, not sure if it's already known, but I don't want to withhold anything now that I've already come under suspicion. "Zondra was with Chuck last night, Casey. She didn't drug me."
He rolls his eyes, making an ugly smirk. He must know. Maybe he heard it, just like I did. "And Carina was with me."
Despite it all, I'm glad for her night with Casey, just what she wanted. I don't let that show on my face.
"Are you certain the Duchessa left when you think she did?" I ask. Why did I dream of her and Amy while I was drugged? Oddly, The Duchessa knew Gino, although maybe not everything. Has the Villa's true purpose been discovered?
Or was the double agent CAT actually Amy? All along I had been sure it was Zondra, because of the transmitter found in her boot heel. But Amy could have planted it. What better way to deflect suspicion onto someone else?
"We have her leaving on the outside security monitors. Whether or not she came back in, we have no way of knowing."
"I thought it was a dream, but I have…weird…memories of both the Duchessa and Amy. It's not facts, which is why I didn't say anything before."
Casey nods vigorously, as if accepting both my point as well as my reason for not mentioning it before.
"Chuck is with Carina. Zondra and Amy are working as well." He doesn't elaborate, but Chuck did say he was close to figuring out the double agent. I'm forced to accept that his ordering of pairing the girls has an ulterior motive, perhaps opposite information fed to each of them, some way to determine who was loyal and who wasn't. That is, if whatever Zondra talked to him about last night hadn't made up his mind already.
I'm glad that Chuck is working with Carina directly, because that means she's above suspicion, at least for now. Part of my relief is just for my friend. But I would be lying if I said I wasn't also relieved that this meant Chuck didn't need to gather any information from her. She had rejected Chuck last night, but a bit of jealousy was simmering under my skin, knowing she had kissed him. And each time the thought surfaced, it started the internal struggle again.
You shouldn't care. You're a professional, doing a job. Feelings just get in the way.
But three years later, the memory of the one kiss I had shared with Chuck still haunts me. Some things are too strong to bury.
"That leaves me…with you," Casey grumbles, sounding miffed with the idea of being stuck with me. His old partner.
"Babysitting?" I snark. He sounds like he thinks that's what he'll be doing.
"Better. Old school detective work. Two hands are better than one."
Seems I'm spending lots of quality time with Casey.
~O~
It's dark by the time that Casey and I finish. We spent the entire day checking security camera footage and mountains of paper files that contained all the information that had either been gathered by Team Bellini or relevant intelligence that had been passed their way. For all that, we still have almost nothing. Nothing helpful anyway.
My eyes are dry, my hands are fatigued, and my back is stiff from my posture all day.
Casey takes a phone call as he is getting ready to pack up for the day. He gives clipped, one word answers and then hangs up.
"Chuck wants to see you in his office." I can't read Casey's face at all.
Anxious, with sweaty palms, I make my way from Casey's office to Chuck's, down the end of another corridor. I approach the closed door and knock.
I'm surprised when, instead of calling me in, Chuck opens the door. His face is unreadable and he says nothing. He gestures for me to come inside. I hear him lock the door behind me.
He's wearing a dark navy suit with a royal blue shirt underneath, open two buttons with no tie. It's the perfect color to highlight his lightly tanned olive skin. His eyes look brilliantly green and gold, though I know, because his eyes are hazel, their appearance is affected by what he wears. His cologne fills my nostrils as I walk by. I hate how attractive he is to me. I avoid looking at him, already overcome with unwanted imaginings of him kissing Carina, him in bed with Zondra acting out what I'd overheard. It shouldn't bother me, but it does.
Hiding my feelings is one thing. Lying to myself is entirely another.
I sit in the chair across from his desk just like I did the day before. I'm in a different, hopefully better, frame of mind this time. But Chuck is also different.
He's still exuding the same professionalism from before, but it's somehow more intense. He's focused. Scrutinizing me in a way he hadn't before. I find my heart pounding anxiously as I await the reason why he wanted to see me.
"Casey briefed me." He walks past me, resting his fist on the desktop and leaning into it. Three words to economically express everything that happened since I last saw him at the party. I feel the weight of his stare. Something accusatory. My anxiety ratchets up.
"Then you know it was truth serum administered by someone who broke into my room." I clench my hands together to keep from wringing them.
He nods, never taking his eyes off me. "I do."
The silence lingers. He moves behind his desk and sits. He opens the top desk drawer and takes something out.
A gun.
He lays it flat on the desktop next to his hand. A blatant threat, as harsh as can be without actually holding me at gunpoint.
I bristle, sitting up straighter. I'm ready to argue, but he holds up his hand, a dominating request for silence.
"What I want to know," he says in measured words, glancing significantly at the gun, "Is why you are the only person who saw Kradetska and lived. He kills indiscriminately. He knew you were CIA. You knew what he looked like. And yet, you escaped unscathed from his fortress, deep in the heart of Russia."
I sag in the chair, visibly trembling. Why is this happening? My emotions ask the question; my mind and my spy senses know better. He has a job to do and unanswered questions impede his overall goal.
"It's in my report," I say softly. "You read it."
He stares silently, then picks up the gun. He takes his time with it, but eventually, it's pointed at me. Would you shoot me, Chuck? Right here in your office? The words are screaming inside my head. In a wild, uninhibited part of me, I want to dare him to. Dying here, now…well, there is plenty of reason why I wouldn't mind.
"You're right. Your report says pretty much everything. Except how you managed to get away from him after your cover was blown. People may have overlooked it then, but I didn't. And I want to know why."
"You think I'm the double?" I ask, hating how my voice shakes.
"The double? No," he says evenly. "Potentially compromised? Yes, I do. I deal in facts. And all the facts that I know don't make sense. I need a better explanation, especially considering our best shot to actually pinpoint Kradetska was sabotaged on your watch." His voice has grown cold, not just detached.
My vision blurs, unshed tears making my eyes burn. This has slowly become my worst nightmare, for multiple reasons. I reach inside for the anger, the indignation, and use it for the strength I otherwise wouldn't have found at the moment.
"You really want to know?" I snap. "I'm pretty sure it was because he was in love with me." My voice breaks at the end of the sentence.
If I surprised Chuck, he doesn't show it at all. He just listens silently.
"Not the kind of traditional love one might think. His sick, twisted idea of it. Like the kind that meant he would have shot me in the head so I died quickly. As opposed to a poison that took five days to liquify my internal organs…or three hours hanging from a meat hook with my intestines in my own hands while I bled to death." I'm breathless and my voice wavers. "Because he did all of that while I was there with him. I watched him do it. And I couldn't do anything to stop it or help them because I would have blown my cover. And then one of my so-called teammates blew it, on purpose, I'm sure with the hope that I would have been eliminated."
I look down, and the tears standing in my eyes slip down my cheeks. "But I was able to exploit the situation. You obviously had seduction training. You know how beneficial it can be when a mark falls in love with you." I hear the sound of him resting the gun back on the table.
He stays silent. He wants me to say it. Dying inside, I close my eyes and say, "Sex. I traded sex for my life." I sniffle. "And if I could go back and do it again, I would have let him shoot me. But I can't." Why did I add that? He already knows I'm unstable. Good job reinforcing that.
I'm tenuously close to breaking down, all my emotions dammed behind a wall that's about to crumble. I fight the overwhelming urge to stand up and run from the room.
"I had to be sure." Chuck's voice is quieter, faintly laced with compassion, which I don't expect. Or want.
I feel the shame, heavy on my shoulders like a wet blanket. Kradetska had only been the third person I'd ever been with, one of the root causes why there are now so many I no longer count. I try to reach back to that conversation with Carina, and my thoughts of equating my actions with Chuck's current ones. That they were no different. They're not. But it feels like it to me.
Because it doesn't bother him, doesn't affect him. He's perfectly adjusted to spy life. It did bother me. It went against my principles, what I told myself I would never do for this job, a job I never wanted, but had no choice in doing, just to survive. Still, over ten years later, doing what I needed to survive.
I risk glancing up at him. His features are set, inscrutable. Am I imagining the sadness I see in his eyes? I had always been a master at reading people, even at my worst. But I can't read him at all. My own emotions must be clouding my impressions.
He goes on, professional as ever. "It didn't make sense why Graham would have let you back in the field with that great a breach of security, regardless of the reason why. And then he wouldn't let you be pulled from the team."
"I'm due for his retirement plan if I fail. But I'm sure you know that," I mumble, shifting my gaze away again.
"I think you're due that, no matter what, as soon as you've exhausted your usefulness to him." I look up quickly, flabbergasted by what he's implying. I don't even think about my teary eyes, my crumbling facade. He's matter-of-fact, the perfect spy, but I hear the tinge of anger.
And then it hits me. "You think Graham is working for the Ring."
He stands and starts pacing. "I need proof. But yes, I do. When I finally have that proof, courtesy of our double agent friend, it'll be absolute endgame. Beckman doesn't even know I suspect that."
"But you told me?" I ask, dumbfounded. He put me on house arrest, threatened me with a gun. And now, he trusts me with this information? Is this real, or a trap? I'm lost in a maze and I tell myself the only way out is the truth.
His face shows the first real bit of emotion I've seen so far. He's stopped pacing and his eyes go straight through me. He's indignant…but because of me, my situation. "He never should have put you back in the field at all, never mind as quickly as he did...after you killed Bryce."
His voice softens, to the point where I swear he sounds like the Chuck I remember. "He was your partner. But you had feelings for him. I know you aren't involved, Sarah. Not when Graham is so obviously using you the way he is. Denying your instability, pretending it wasn't happening…he was trying to pin all of this on you, and he couldn't if you weren't functioning."
Chuck's defending me, protecting me, even in a backhanded kind of way. My name, in his gentle voice, hurts like nothing I know, could ever know. Does he understand all of the truth, or only part of what Carina let slip last night? If he did, he would know how much he's hurting me, killing me with his kindness. My heart can't take this. "I didn't have feelings for him. Not the way you think." Oh, God, why did I just say that?
He's rattled, shaken…surprised. He recovers quickly, but I see it. I remember Carina's refusal last night. No matter what Carina said, he was still reluctant to believe all that encompassed. That I, in fact, actually had feelings for him. That I still do.
It's too much, the both of us being so emotional. I have to get out of here. I jump to my feet.
Before I can walk away, Chuck's hand is on my arm, firm but not rough. He pulls me backward until I'm leaning against him. I'm acutely aware of his body, warm against mine. I feel his breath on the side of my neck. The softest, feather-light kiss under my ear that almost makes my knees buckle. A split second later, he twists his arm around me, turning me until my front is pressed against his chest.
My eyes are still open when he bends down and presses his lips on mine in a hot, searing kiss. I'm too shocked to respond, either to kiss him back or push him away. I feel his tongue flickering against my lips.
I should push him away…push him away! But I can't. I don't want to. As disgusted as I've been with everything that I've seen here, how sexually loose the boundaries in this villa are, I've been more jealous than anything else. Because I wanted this. I want this. Even if he will walk away and do the same with Zondra and Amy and some other woman too…I'm done lying to myself. It doesn't matter. I want this.
I've been substituting for this with an endless string of strangers, gutted out and empty. Because I was in love with the man whose mouth is now hungrily devouring mine. I should care that he doesn't feel the same, that I will be just one more in his endless string, not the least bit special. But I don't. I just want him, more than I have ever wanted anything. Even if it has the power to destroy me.
I open my mouth and let him in. Oh, God, yes…
My arms snake around his neck as his arms wrap around me tightly. The kiss is the same, oh the same, as it was three years ago. Only now…there's no uncertainty, no hesitation. It starts as a kiss, but it won't end as a kiss.
Our hands roam frantically over each other's body, but our mouths never separate. I've been starving for him and no amount of kissing will completely satisfy my hunger. His hands are on my ass…and then I hear the sound of the zipper on the back of my skirt unzipping. I feel the coolness of the wide open zipper and the skirt falls, pooling at my feet, leaving me in a button-down blouse and a g-string.
With lightning speed, I'm lifted and roughly laid across Chuck's desk. Items on his desk clatter onto the floor. The angle is awkward. I need to use both hands to grip the sides, dangling on the edge so he can reach me and still stand. So quickly I miss it, Chuck undoes his belt and his jacket slides from his shoulders onto the floor.
He holds my legs open, a firm hand on each side of my inner thigh. Each hand slides around and grips my hips firmly, and then I feel him push inside me, the thin string of the g-string shifted to one side. The sensation is uncomfortable at first, his penetration slower than expected, as his haste has left me dry. He leans forward and pushes all the way inside me with a soft grunt. It burns as he moves, faster than my body can acclimate. It gradually subsides, but is replaced with the jabbing of the desk's edge against my flesh. If he notices my discomfort, he ignores it.
The entire encounter happens in silence, the only sounds in the room are the fabric of our clothing rubbing and the rattling of the desk as he pounds himself inside me over and over again. His hands are braced on either side of me and I grip the desk.
When he lifts his mouth from mine, I seek his eyes. I don't know what I'm looking for…warmth or affection…passion? His eyes are vacant, distant. I could be anyone, just the next girl in line. You knew this. Why are you so upset by this?
He rests his head against mine. I can no longer see his face; it's a relief. It keeps me from dwelling on how empty my heart feels. The entire time he's fucking me, I feel the edge of the desk digging into my flesh as his weight presses over me. The pain focuses me, keeps me from losing myself.
I didn't want it to be like this, half-dressed, half-dry fucking…but it feels too good. He's hard and hot and stretching me snugly around him. I can't remember feeling this way before…wanting the man fucking me, instead of the satisfaction of an orgasm wrestled from a nameless partner. Wanting him inside me for the sake of feeling it.
I've been numb for years, but not now.
I push everything else out of my mind and just let myself…feel him fucking me. The way I'm pinned, I can't meet his thrusts, only accept him inside me. He leans toward me, instinctively knowing I need that to come. The stimulation is perfect, smooth friction and delicious pressure. My quick, deep orgasm, seizing him like a fist, slows his vigorous thrusting. I bite my lip to stay silent. One soft breath of his acknowledges my silent pleasure that he felt, nothing I had to fight for, a side effect of his practiced skill. Amy's words, describing his technique, haunt me even in the grips of pleasure. Once my muscles relax, I feel him explode inside me, three hot spurts that he shivers through, but otherwise doesn't acknowledge.
When he pulls out, I feel agonizingly empty.
He turns away from me to fix his pants and retrieve his jacket. My back is to him as I slide off the desk and bend to retrieve my skirt. I dress, zipping and tucking clumsily while my legs shake, my back still toward him. I feel his hands encircle my waist and his mouth close to my ear again.
"Thank you," he whispers. His tone is smooth and cavalier. Even smug.
I'm sure he has no way to know what those words do to me. I'm in Russia again with Kradetska's hands on my body, after he's fucked me. Right before he pulls my dress down over my head. Before he lets me go and sets his timer. Moya prekrasnaya lyubov. My beautiful love. Unwanted tenderness from a murderous butcher. I'm full of the poison of his seed, disgustingly damp.
Chuck was being a realist, thanking me for letting him fuck me on his desk. Acquaintance made. Three out of four CATS claimed by him. I'm another box checked. I can't look at him as my heart shatters inside my chest. I wanted him, knowing this would be the end result. That giving in to my desire would damage me, perhaps beyond repair.
The saddest thing is that I love him so much, I don't care. I'm helpless to resist him.
But now, after I gave myself away so easily, he knows it. No more doubt about it.