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 how kind you folks were in your reviews.
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.
It was by chance she spotted him as she strolled her grounds, a mid-morning stroll, as it were. Chores had been finished, the weather was fine after the cold of the last few days, and her mind was running rampant with thoughts.
So she took off, in no direction in particular. Though she knew every inch of her family estate with her eyes closed, and so, she would never get lost, even as it spanned such a large portion of Pinedeep itself.
But she'd heard the sound of wooden wheels crunching over dirt and rocks, the shifting and creaking of a wagon as it rolled along, and so she'd peeked out onto the road, and there he was, rolling along towards her house.
She raced back as fast as her bare feet would take her, darting to and fro, and she pushed into the back door of her house, skidding to a halt, splashing water from the bowl in the wash room onto her face, patting it dry, sweeping up her wild hair into a quick, messy braid and pinning it in a bun at the back of her head.
With utmost speed, she pulled stockings over her feet, halfway up her calf, stepped into boots, and straightened her long skirt and the blouse tucked into it.
Sarah got in a few long, calming breaths before she heard the wagon roll up to the front gate of her home. And she opened the front door to step outside, a look of curiosity on her face, to mask the fact that she had seen him already, minutes earlier, and had known he was coming this way.
The handyman looked up from his reins as he pulled to a stop, and that smile stretched over his face when he saw her. "Ah! Hello!"
"Good morrow, sir," she called back, wandering the path down to the gate. She noticed something strange about the way he was moving, and he looked left first, then right, as though he didn't want to climb down from his perch in the driver's seat of the wagon. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Ah. Yes. I am sorry to impose on thee."
"Thou art never an imposition, Chuck. Lest I remind ye, thou art my husband."
He blushed adorably. "I…have not forgotten…that. No. Erm…" He swallowed hard. "Spirits, just do it, man," he groused under his breath at himself, and then he carefully swung himself down off of the seat, clearly in significant pain with the way he moved and winced, hissing as his boots hit the ground.
Sarah was opening the gate for him to lead the wagon through as she noticed, and she froze. "What happened?"
"Am I so obvious?" he asked, leading the wagon through. "I can leave it here, if thou prefereth."
"Of course not. Come this way. And I have noticed ye changed the subject."
"Not purposeful, I assure thee." He led the wagon to a stop and stroked his horse's snout. And even that, it seemed, was hurting him. "I…had a small accident is all."
"An accident?" Concern rocketed through her as she moved in closer. "Does thy sister know? She hath—?"
"Oh, she knoweth, and that is why I am here. Well, one reason. This is t'other." And he reached up with significant effort, only to come down with a white cloth wrapped in something. As he set it in her outstretched palms, their fingers brushed, and she felt a spark of lightning, a shiver following it, only it didn't stop in her hands and instead traversed her whole form.
"What is this?" she asked, trying to ignore the other sensations.
"Pie. Apple, to be specific. Thou art her sister and thus, she must make sure ye are properly fed."
Excitement lit her features. "Apple pie is hardly what I would call proper. She must have put mounds of sugar in it, I can smell it."
"Thou art in for a real treat."
"Yea, I am sure. Every bit of food thy sister so sweetly cooks and brings for me is the best I have tasted." She smiled at him. "Thank ye for bringing it all this way."
"'Tis not far."
"Come inside. Tell me what happened with these aches I see ye suffer from."
But he did not follow, shifting his weight in discomfort. She sent him a curious look. "Truly, Sarah. I do not wish to impose, even if we are…married. That was the whole point of this, was it not?"
"I promise, the vow ye made will not be broken if thou cometh inside my house."
"See, Ellie, she—Well, she said what I need is to be surrounded by ice. Everywhere, ice. To keep the pain at bay, to stop swelling, erm…quell bruising. But I can't very well climb up the North mountains in good condition even let alone the condition I am in now, so the next best thing is—"
"A freezing cold creek," she surmised. "Of course." Then she paused, starting to figure it out. "Ah, aye. And so. The creek on my property is closest to the mountains where ice has melted and traveled down to us."
"I told her," Chuck rushed out desperately. "I said it was a great imposition."
"Sir, please. 'Tis not an imposition in any way. I can see how much pain thou art suffering from. Let me put this in my kitchen and we will hasten to the spot where the water must be coldest," she insisted, gently taking his forearm in her grip and giving a careful pull.
Thankfully he listened, following after her to the door. "This is not necessary. She-She tricked me by forcing that pie into my hands. Told me if I did not bring that pie to thee, I would be disappointing both my sister and my wife."
Sarah laughed, holding the door for him. "She truly said that?"
"Well. Not in so many words, but-but that was the main thrust of't."
She laughed again, leading him into the kitchen, pushing the pie into her own oven just to keep it safe, and hurrying to the back door. "Let me get thee something to dry with when thou art finished with the cold soak."
"No, no. I will just put my clothes back on."
"Yea, sir. And catch thy death of cold." Rolling her eyes, she left the kitchen, went to the washroom, took a towel out, and came back, pushing it into his hands. "Now come."
"This is too much effort, just for—"
"Ye never told me how this happened. Is everything hurting?" She cut him off purposely, tired of him repeating the same thing in spite of her insisting this wasn't an imposition.
"Oh, aye. All of it. Somehow my ears ache even. Mine own ears, Sarah."
She giggled, pouting sympathetically at him as they began their stroll towards the creek. They would follow it for some minutes in comfortable quiet, naught but the sounds of birds tweeting and a breeze shifting the leaves around them, before they reached the spot she had in mind. "So? What did ye do?"
"Mr. Garnet's barn roof has been leaking in the rains. Not exactly safe for the animals to take shelter in a leaking barn. And so, the rains stopped, I climbed up onto the roof, began my patchwork, only for a bit of ice left from last night's cold snap to catch under my foot and…down I went."
Sarah gasped, stopping, bringing her hand to her mouth. "Chuck! From the top of the barn? 'Tis such a long way!"
"Erm… I am not…proud of myself."
"Proud of thyself?Sir, thou art lucky ye are not dead."
A horrid chill went through her. She did not realize his job required him to be on someone's roof, but that was silly; he was a handyman, he fixed and repaired, he improved, and why shouldn't he fix someone's roofing?
"I know." He cleared his throat, shrugging, but the shrug must have triggered another ache because he winced again. She touched his wrist and gestured for them to continue along the edge of the creek. Where she was taking him, it was deeper, as well. Deep enough for a tall man like Chuck Bartowski to sit on its floor and have it go up to his shoulders, at least.
Chuck continued. "I fear I scared Mr. Garnet half out of his mind. I landed and stayed still for some time, I think out of shock that I had not died. Poor man scrambled up to me yelling, 'Sir! Sir, are ye dead?!' Heh."
Sarah smirked and shook her head. "Spirits are watching over thee. Of that I am sure."
"I see not why. They have many kings and princes and queens and princesses, and knights and landowners, dukes and duchesses, people of royal blood and breeding, hero-types, to look after. Why bother with a young handyman who is incapable of settling in one place?"
"Thou art not incapable," Sarah argued, frowning at him. "Ye and thy sister are perfectly capable of settling, of building a home. I have seen that home with mine own eyes. The places ye both have tried to settle in were incapable of expanding their minds outside of what they have seen and believed their whole lives, and they persecuted ye both for't. They were the problem, not the Bartowskis."
He grinned at her, then hissed and grabbed at his ears. "I am telling ye, even the ears. I understand it not."
Sarah giggled, enamored with how sweet he was. And, frankly, how candid he was with her. His honesty astounded her. Even her own father would smash his thumb with a hammer and pretend he wasn't suffering from splitting pain. He was too much of a man for that. The head of the family did not worry about pain; they dealt with it and kept on.
Chuck was no less of a man than her father had been, and yet, he was honest about how badly he ached after falling from Mr. Garnet's barn roof. She admired him so. And she felt…he trusted her. Which stemmed from respect. And that was why she'd gone through with all of this, wasn't it?
"Wilt thou do me a favor, Chuck?" she asked then, cutting through the silence that wasn't exactly comfortable. Chuck was clearly uncomfortable with his ask, in spite of legally owning this estate, this land, and the creek that crossed through it.
"Anything," he replied immediately. "If I can."
She tried not to blush at that. She was not sure if she was successful.
"Be careful when ye go out there on those jobs of yourn. Please. I cannot have my husband breaking his neck."
Watching him closely, Sarah noticed his eyes darting back and forth as he ruminated on her words. What was he thinking, she wondered?
"Never fear, Sarah. I will be more careful. I know 'tis thy freedom that dependeth on my safety, and not just…me, my life. It—"
"No. Ye misunderstandeth." Then she found herself looking at him a bit critically. "Hold, sir. Dost thou think that is all ye are worth to me? A ticket to mine freedom?"
Chuck gulped, shaking his head, wincing. "'Tis not that. I think that not. I swear't, Sarah. I know ye care more for my safety and life than…simply because if I die, thou loseth thy blockade between ye and men swooping in again. 'Tis only that I understand this is…also a factor."
"I care for thy safety, Chuck," she insisted. "Not because it protecteth me from the unwanted courtship I had to endure for years, but because I want ye to be safe. I-I want not for my life to be…without…this…silly handyman of mine."
Whether Chuck Bartowski minded her seeing it or not, she saw clearly the vibrant blush on his cheeks. He looked right at her, his eyes soft and golden brown in the sunlight that came through the leaves of the trees that towered over them.
"Sarah, th-thou had to say it not. But I appreciate that ye did." He tugged on his tunic, biting his bottom lip, looking away again. "I wish to stay in thy life as well."
"Good. There is a document and a ceremony we both partook in, sir. It means we are bind'ed for life."
He smiled. "'Tis the truth of't. I will be more careful. I promise."
"Hm. Good. And please, thou need not be afraid to ask for things from me. Especially something like this. I do not mind my husband coming onto this property—property owned by thee by the way—for things such as this. If Ellie thinks it will help with thy pain, especially."
"I do not wish for ye to feel spite, or-or be upset because I appear here with no warning. The way I did on this day."
"I will not feel spite. I will not be upset. Only if ye come here without saying hello or seeing me." She narrowed her eyes threateningly. "Then I might be spiteful, good sir."
She adored the sound of his giggle, the way he shuffled his boots against the ground. "Yea, my lady. Orders understood."
Sarah wanted to insist that they were friends. Close friends. That any close friend—and that included his sister of course—was welcome here on her estate. But her mouth could not form those words.
He was her husband.
In all ways, save for one…rather important way.
And damn it, at least she could admit to herself that she wanted it in all ways now.
When last they spotted one another in the market, they came together in the middle of the road, lost in one another for a moment, it being days since last they'd met, and they were nearly run over by a horse-drawn cart.
Mr. Keane had yelled from his seat, "Ye still live in a world with the rest of us, lovebirds!" and he had laughed, riding away again.
So she had spent the rest of her time in the market with the man she had married. And while they might have convinced one another outwardly that it was merely to keep up appearances, she had enjoyed every moment of it. She had melted at his touch, so tender against the small of her back. She had purposely played with the front of his tunic as he bought her treats from the confectionary. He had allowed her to feet him one of the treats. And he had apologized under his breath for catching one of her fingers between his lips when closing his mouth around the candy. But she had not wanted an apology. All she had wanted was for her face not to betray the way her entire body had come alive right there in front of the whole of the Pinedeep public.
He had ridden with her back to her house, and then he had been on his way again before she could ask him to stay.
At night, thoughts of him had grown overwhelming. They invaded other thoughts, thoughts of what she would work on the next day, if she had tasks she needed to get done, errands to run. Should she clear the corner of the garden that had been flooded by the rains, the crops ruined? What should she plant there in its place? Squash again? Or something else?
But no, in swung distracting thoughts of the handyman with the dark brown curls atop his head, his golden brown eyes, his smile, his broad shoulders, long arms, the sheer height of him, his kindness, his warmth, his thoughtfulness, the way he touched her when they danced. Even the all-too-quick press of their lips together during the wedding ceremony.
She had never accepted any man anywhere near her bed let alone inside of it. But she wasn't without thoughts of it. And oh, she had thoughts these last few weeks. Many. Often.
Now she had to guard the blush from her cheeks as they finally neared the spot she'd had in mind.
}o{
"I did not know the creek was so deep here," he said, trying to keep his nerves from his tone.
"It runs for miles and miles. Some places it is deeper and colder, such as here, closer to the mountain. And the further it runs south across the Walker estate, the more shallow and less cold it is." She pulled the towel into her grip and stood there, looking down at the flowing water.
He was chilled simply looking at it. "Is the current strong enough to rip me away and take me to the sea?"
Sarah giggled. "Uh, thou wouldst have to be a mere wisp of a man for that to happen, and that is something thou art not."
They met gazes and he heard himself swallow loudly.
She quickly looked back at the water then, a shaky smile on her beautiful features. "Anyhow, ye have seen how much shallower it is at the house. I do not believe one would drown there even if one tried."
"Oh. Yea, my lady. I have fished in the creek south from thy house. N-Not on the estate property, of course. It does get shallower, just enough for the fish to swim through." He tugged on his tunic nervously.
"Yea, sir, I know."
He looked at her curiously. How had she known about his fishing. "Do ye?"
Her eyes went wide for a quick moment, so quick he wondered if he had simply imagined it. "Thy sister told me ye like to do the fishing for the house."
"Hm. She has fished before. Admittedly, I have been too lazy to do't before and she took up the job. We try to share tasks. 'Tis only fair I cook the fish if she catcheth it." He did not want her to think he sat about in the house and allowed his sister to do the brunt of the chores.
"Dost thou cook?"
"Oh, aye. Not nearly as well as Ellie, but I can make something edible." He chuckled, then moved to sit on a cropping of low rocks beside the creek. He winced as he did so, his shoulders and arms hurting pretty badly as he leaned down to take his boots off. The pulling action was making the pain sing through his upper half.
It must have been clear to her how difficult a time he was having because she hurriedly set the towel on another set of rocks and knelt at his feet where he sat.
"No, no, no," he rushed as she picked up his foot covered in a dirty boot with her fine fingers. "Pl-Please, thou need not…touch my boots. They are filthy. And thou art…" So fine. The finest person he had ever met. And her high breeding and wealth had little to do with it.
"Thou art…?" she prompted, still cradling his booted foot in her hands, kneeling before him. "What was it ye meant to say to me, Chuck Bartowski?" He could not bring himself to say what had gone through his mind. What existed in his chest. A heart that beat for her like it had never beat for anyone or anything. So he kept quiet, giving a small shake of his head. Her small smile was soft and amused, her blue eyes so beautiful in the mid-morning light shining through the trees. "Mmm. Not going to say?" He shook his head again. "I am not above touching dirty boots, good sir. How else would I get the boots I wear when I walk the grounds off of mine feet if I touched them not?"
He huffed out a soft amused sound, ducking his head to look at her hands still holding onto his boot, and she finally, oh so carefully, eased the boot off of his foot. He imagined her boots got plenty dirty when she tromped around on her estate grounds. He could just see her walking around the place for hours, exploring it even though she likely knew every inch of the place, walking and walking and walking some more until she was exhausted, hair out of place, boots caked in mud, maybe even the hem of her skirts. Or perhaps she even wore trousers and tucked the hems into her boots.
Chuck was completely in love with the image, and he found himself drowning in it so that it took him a moment to realize she was giggling at the giant hole in his stocking that caused his toe to poke out, bare and ugly and terrible. She gently pulled off the other boot as he blushed vibrantly.
How had…?
"I-I did not pay attention when I pulled on my stockings this morn. I knew not that there was…a hole. I will throw these out posthaste when I return home. It—"
"I am not looking to annul our marriage over a hole in thy sock, handyman," she chuckled, the look in her face sparkling as she set his boots to the side. Then she set to rolling his stockings down and off, her fingers tucking under his trouser legs. Her touch against his bare skin was exciting and he felt his heart racing, his breathing coming out in embarrassing little puffs. "Thou art a handyman, however, and so I wonder if ye cannot just…" She comically stuck her finger out of the hole, a cute innocent look on her face. "…sew it shut?"
"I…I am afraid I do not know how to sew. That is one task Ellie has had to take the brunt of over the years if our clothes became worn. I can hammer, saw, jigger…but holding a needle and…threading it and…Well, these giant hands and long, uncoordinated fingers cannot manage it."
"Hm. Have ye tried?" He blushed. "Perhaps that is another thing I can teach to thee." And then she glanced away, looking almost ashamed. "Thou dost not need to learn to sew, sir. I speak out of turn. Of course, as a wife to a husband, I-I could do these things for thee."
"Absolutely not. Not-Not that I would not mind…some help sometimes. But even if this marriage was…erm, in the traditional way of things, I would not require anything of thee."
Sarah smiled at him. It was that slow, warm smile of hers he did not think he ever saw on her face unless they were alone, just the two of them. It made his insides feel so good to think that might be the case.
"Thank ye. For-For the help," he stumbled out, and then he pushed himself up to his feet again. "I fear I should have worn something with buttons. Pulling this off of my head will be a struggle—" he started as he tried to pull it up his torso and grit his teeth at the ache.
"Let me help." She burst up to her feet, her full height bringing her face close to his. And without preamble or an awareness of personal space, she grabbed the hem of his tunic from him and began to tug it up his torso.
Chuck knew he was red as a radish as he gently but desperately folded his hands over hers, stopping her. "I fear I must ask ye to allow me to…erm…undress myself," he said. "I will endure the pain just a little longer. I-I cannot—What I mean to say is, if thou puteth thy hands on…me…" His voice faded breathily. "Please." He could not bare it without losing his nerve and showing her everything—all of his emotions would spill forth. "I fear I lack…the necessary willpower," he finally whispered, feeling mortified and also knowing he had a deep longing in him that would likely always be there. 'Til his dying day.
And beyond.
Sarah obligingly untwisted her fists from his tunic and took a step back, blushing…then another. Thank the spirits. …And then Chuck wished for nothing as powerfully as he wished to have her hands back on him. He wished for all of it to be real, for them to be husband and wife out here on the estate, touching however they wanted, not needing even a speck of willpower. Perhaps they would both play in the cold creek, laughing, frolicking…
He was being extremely unfair to himself thinking that way, and so he pushed it out of his mind, sending her an embarrassed but grateful look, before he painfully eased his arms out of the tunic, letting it rest around his shoulders, giving him a moment to suck in a few deep breaths before lifting his arms over his head to push the garment off altogether.
Chuck glanced at his lady, noticing she had turned away, likely to give him some privacy as he undressed.
He peeled everything off save for his grey-white braies, and then he walked to the creek, looking down at the rushing water. It looked so cold, and he carefully poked a toe into it. Spirits, it was icy.
"I do not know if I can," he admitted. "This is freezing."
"I think that is quite the point," she teased from behind him.
Chuck sent her a flat look. She had turned again and was watching, a smirk on her face. He thought he was imagining the way her gaze flicked down to take him in for a moment before settling on his face again.
But then he wasn't imagining because she frowned, dropping her blue eyes to comb over his back. "Not that I doubted the truth of what happened to thee, but those bruises on thy back look awful painful."
"Hm…yea, the bruising is already setting in."
"So get into the creek. Like the doctor said."
He took a deep breath.
"Oh, courage, sir," she further teased. That got her a darker look this time and she giggled. "Go on. Thou wilt be all the better for it later."
He knew that, and still…the cold.
Making a miserable groaning sound, he stepped into the creek, the water rushing about his braies covered legs and then he sunk down into it and squeaked as it gushed past his bare chest and arms. "Spirits, 'tis cold!" he exclaimed loudly. "Oh, 'tis cold. 'Tis freezing!"
Sarah laughed, moving to sit on the cropping of rocks he had taken up as a seat moments earlier. "Indeed, 'tis. I have swum in it before, though certainly not right after the mountain's ice and snow had melted. I am not a madwoman."
"I am not mad, either!" he argued. He felt a spark of confidence from the insane chill in his body as he sank down to sit, letting the creek water go to his throat as he sunk even deeper and slouched so that his whole form was surrounded by the icy cold. "This is doctor's orders, and thou knoweth as much."
"I do," she assented with an adorable nod, her eyebrow raised. She propped her chin in her palm, her legs folded in front of her, and she leaned her elbow on her thigh, slouching forward. She looked so young suddenly. "How long art thou s'posed to stay in there anyway?"
He shook his head, teeth starting to chatter. "I know not. She did not say."
They stayed there in uncomfortable silence for a minute or two, and Chuck looked down at the churning freezing water, not sure how to break the silence. Perhaps he was the only one who felt uncomfortable.
"I, erm…" he finally started, interrupting the quiet. "I want to, uh, thank ye. For…not leaving me to suffer this alone."
Chuck peeked up at her.
She gave him a strange little smile he could not read. "Oh?"
"Hm, yea. Not sure how much worse this experience would be without my lady here with me." He bowed his head to her respectfully.
"Dost thou do so poorly when ye must suffer alone?"
His teeth chattered a bit and he nodded. "I confess, I would not have made it this far if I had not my sister Ellie through it all." Her smile softened. "Not that—Well, I can—I am capable of caring for mine self. That is not…erm…"
"And when thou art ill? Dost thou prefer someone be there to care for thee?" she asked. Now he could hear the tease in her tone. It excited him rather than embarrassed him.
"I confess, I prefer it." He cleared his throat, glancing off to the side with a self-deprecating chuckle. He shivered again as a blast of particularly icy water rushed past his body. "Probably not something I should share with the woman who is my wife." He let out a quiet, "H'oohhh cold. 'Tis cold."
"And so. Why not?"
"I do not have an answer for thee." His teeth chattered once more as he moved his arms a bit to see if it hurt as bad. Perhaps this was shocking the pain away with the icy cold? Was that part of the cure?
He looked up at her, noticing the way she sat above him, chin still in her hand, her blue eyes amused, the smirk on her face still exciting. She had this way of raising just one of her perfect eyebrows that made him feel weak, as though he must sit down for fear his knees might collapse if he did not.
"I am sensing something here…" he muttered. She raised that eyebrow in question. "A strange power dynamic." He lifted his finger from out of the water and gestured between them. "With ye sitting up there, dry and comfortable, and me sitting in here, freezing half to death. Positioned significantly below thee."
Sarah seemed not to be able to stop the wide toothy grin from growing over her face. "Hm. It does seem I have all the power in this scenario, does it not?"
"It does."
Were they flirting? He was not so dull as to not recognize flirtation when he saw it, or heard it. He had been flirted with before. And that flirtation had gone further than he would say, as he imagined he was at least something of a gentleman. More than one time.
This was flirtation. He felt it.
Spirits, they were flirting.
"And 'tis making ye uncomfortable?" she asked, tilting her head in curiosity, her eyes shining bright blue.
"Only just."
She smiled wider. "Art thou upset?"
"Not a bit," he said immediately, shaking his head. He shivered a bit violently, knowing it was probably not making him all that appealing, dipped in this icy creek, shivering and teeth chattering, likely turning an unhealthy shade of blue.
Sarah giggled, moving her arms to hug herself around her midsection, leaning down towards him, her smile wide but closed-mouth. She glanced away for a moment, and then back at him.
"Thou art very giving with thy words today. Ye speak very freely with me, sir."
"Dost thou mean I am admitting things I should not be admitting?" he asked with a big grin. He tried to keep his teeth from clacking unattractively.
"With any other girl, perhaps not. But I am not any other girl."
"Oh, I know that," he said without thinking about whether he should or not. "I, erm…have known that. For quite some time now."
He knew he was not imagining the blush that showed on her face then as she ducked her head shyly. And still, she lifted her chin again, the blush gone, the flirtation there again.
"'Tis the freezing cold, is it not? Any filtering thou might have done otherwise is severely hampered by the icy creek flowing past thee."
Chuck laughed, charmed by her excellent sense of humor. "That might be it, aye." Then he looked up at her, because damn everything if he couldn't at least have the guts to be honest here, now. Come what may. "But 'tis also something about thee, Miss Sarah. Even in my…most vulnerable and least comfortable moments," he gestured around him at this particular moment he was in, "I feel 'tis safe to be who I am and…to speak freely to thee." Her smiled dropped, her lips parting, eyes widening. "With ye lies a sort of freedom." He paused, meeting her gaze. "Just a feeling I have, as…mortifyingly myself as I am around thee, I do not fear ye will judge me for't."
The heiress stared at him for a moment longer, her shoulders easing down, and just as quickly, she pulled them up next to her ears and hurried up to her feet, snagging the towel. "Come. Out ye climb. Thou art turning blue. I can see it."
"Am I?" he asked quietly, watching her closely. He had either embarrassed her or…something was going through her that made her nervous, uncomfortable. He knew not which.
"Yea, good sir. Come, Chuck. Out. I will not be held responsible for thy death from cold. I value the friendship I have built with the elder Bartowski."
She was trying humor to brush off her discomfort. He knew it. But he would not cause her further suffering. And so she turned away as he climbed out of the creek, hollering and howling at how cold the air was against his skin, making her giggle. And he snagged the towel she thrusted blindly towards him, wrapping himself up in it.
A/N: Thank you for reading.
-SC