A/N: Another difficult chapter to write. In the end, for the sake of the rating, I decided to skim over the mission specifics, if you know what I mean. Joking with my beta and maybe some readers will be disappointed...SOOOO...I'm working on a companion piece independent of the plot for anyone wanting to read that. On AO3. No hard feelings if you do or don't. It is NSFW so I had to wait til the weekend to start writing it. Still in Sarah's POV because when I try to write in 3rd person it comes across like an instruction manual. No bueno, as they say. None of the plot is lost if you don't read that. Any and everything Amy tells Chuck under truth serum will be revealed in Ch10. The Suitcase chapter is taking a backseat to that little detour this weekend, but it's difficult to get in that sweet mindset with this story on the brain. Unsweet. There are 4 more chapters to go. Here goes!
I spent most of the rest of the morning looking for Carina, to no avail. I knew I could ask Casey where she was; he had both a professional and personal interest in her whereabouts. But I was still too angry, too out of control, to converse with him again.
Every time I tried to focus on something else, I found my mind drifting back to the shocking truth.
How could Casey be so blind?
He was a seasoned agent, a colonel with the NSA. He was a spy. Typically the least clueless people in any given situation.
I eventually started to tell myself that though one pill bottle seemed to explain everything—it didn't. Something was off. I had stopped trusting my spy skills a long time ago, but this mission, and my relative sobriety, had honed them anew. Now they were on fire.
I had an overwhelming urge, this feeling like I needed to get to the bottom of things. Only I didn't even know which hole I was supposed to be looking in.
I wished I had access to Chuck's files. But he was the SAC, so almost all of his background files were top secret, above my clearance, or so heavily redacted that looking at them would be worthless.
In my vibrating rage at Casey and Bentley and Beckman and the entire establishment that thought people, decent people like Chuck, were as dispensable as field rations, fodder for their intelligence machines—I had a thought.
Was it like the frog in boiling water? Was Casey seemingly blind to it because he had been there all along, day by day, and the change was so gradual that he never questioned anything? Damn, I wish I knew what had really happened.
Casey said Chuck almost flunked his training. Somewhere an appeal was made. There was a "re-engineering" phase. They couldn't have dosed him with both medications with the facade of pain medication if he hadn't had any pain yet.
Gradual change made the most sense. Adjusting to the upgrade and adjusting his medication. Logically speaking, that meant that not all of the changes I'd seen were drug induced. If they were, the change would have been instantaneous…and suspicious.
Chuck had to have perfected his spy craft during his training. Chuck was smart, probably one of the smartest people I had ever met. His talents were wasted at the Buy More and everyone knew it. It wasn't just book knowledge either; he could problem solve, think on his feet, improvise—right along with the best of them.
What would have been the issue, always, was exactly what Bryce had said in that taped argument he had with Fleming I had seen. Chuck was a good person, too good to survive in the world Bryce, and later me, lived in. Chuck fundamentally objected to killing, using people, harming people for the greater good. The end never justifies the means with him. He was unwilling to sell his soul.
So instead, they fed him a drug that was meant to eliminate emotion. Take the humanity out of the human equation. Create a living, breathing robot.
But was that honestly what had happened? I was racking my brain. Casey had firsthand knowledge of the drug's disastrous side effects. Had Chuck been so obviously affected, Casey would have noticed.
But Chuck never presented that way. He was charming and smooth, cool and collected. He could seduce women, sweet talk them into giving up their secrets. Could any one of those men in Casey's unit have done that?
I remembered more about what Casey had told me. Fulcrum sought Chuck out because no one else known to any agency, legitimate or not, could tolerate the new Intersect. Chuck was special. Didn't he also say the designer of the Intersect had broken Chuck out of confinement? For that to have happened, Chuck wasn't just special. He was literally one of a kind.
Although, in my heart, deep in my heart, I already knew that.
The laudanol hadn't produced those same side effects in Chuck. Was he special in that regard as well? Or just so resistant to it that the dose needed to be so high?
What kind of physical damage was that doing to him? I knew the DNI thought of him as expendable. The idea terrified me. The fact that it was done against his will infuriated me.
I was still in this brainstorming fit when I got a text from Casey.
Beckman informed. No change in plan. But more to come.
What did that mean? I could have guessed that her outrage, if she had any, wouldn't be enough to scrap the mission. Missions took priority. But it made me wonder just who was in charge now. Had Beckman pulled rank on Bentley? What could be the consequence of that? Who else was now involved?
I felt a rush of fear at the thought that now Graham could be. What did that mean for Chuck's plan?
I was nervous about tonight. It's about as awful a mission as I could imagine. But Chuck was counting on me. I couldn't let him down, certainly not now, with the knowledge I had.
But I wanted to talk to him. Casey told me when Chuck arrived back at the villa. I waited for almost an hour.
~O~
I'm taking deep breaths to calm myself. Everything inside me has boiled to the surface and I'm a mess. But he needs a calm, cool agent. I use all my strength to regain my composure.
I have already told myself over and over that the Chuck I will see now is drugged. Medicated back into submission. Whatever emotion I had seen last night would be gone. It stings to think that. It breaks my heart.
The only consolation I have is knowing, because of what I know of the drug, what I had seen was real. It had to be. The drug helped him manage his emotions, at the very least. Once it wore off, everything shone through.
I knock and enter his office. He's seated at his desk, working, deep in thought. He doesn't look up.
"Is this a bad time?" I ask softly.
He looks up. He looks so tired. Careworn. But inexplicably his eyes brighten at the sight of me. "For you, never." His lips twist into a crooked grin. I had expected cool, professional Chuck. But he's different. My heart starts pounding.
I'm searching his face, looking for more. So many things I want to say, but I can't say anything. I can't tell him the truth. I can't talk about last night, though it hides in the shadows of the room just the same.
"Are you alright?" he asks. I realize I am just staring, not talking, and I came in here. He's not flippant like before. He's concerned. Genuinely concerned. I'm shocked once again.
My blood rushes through my veins.
"You don't have to do this."
"Do what?" he asks, genuinely confused.
"Any of this. But most of all…trying to help me. It's not worth it." I'm not worth it. I imply that but don't say it.
I'm waiting for a lecture about his mission and his goal. That would be the SAC thing to do. Say it isn't about me at all. But he doesn't.
"What if I think it is?" He's so serious, so intense. His eyes go through me.
"I would ask you why." My voice weakens.
"Because you deserve better." He stands and walks toward me. There is no mistaking what I see in his eyes. The depth of emotion, the intensity of what he feels. How can this be?
I'm overwhelmed. "I've made such…such a mess…of everything…" Tears are flowing. Oh, this was not what I wanted to do! I was expecting Agent Bellini, not Chuck. Certainly never my Chuck.
"No, Sarah, you haven't." His voice is so gentle, my name on his lips like a prayer. "You risked your life to save that little girl and in the process, cut off your only lifeline to do it."
"Everything else…" I mutter in a broken voice.
"Everything else is a tragedy. And it pushed you past your breaking point. Knowing how strong you are, it had to be an enormous strain."
How strong I am? Or how I used to be? He makes no distinction. I've stopped anticipating his manipulation, not after all the candor I've witnessed. It makes me wish I was what he thinks I am.
I cover my face, losing the battle as my shoulders shake. I'm surrounded by warmth and the musky scent of him as he holds me. Comfort. He's offering comfort. What is going on? I'm reeling.
"You…you don't understand…and I…I can't…" My tears are making me incoherent. I get angry at myself for blubbering and pull myself away, wiping my cheeks with my palms. "The real reason Carina refused. In the hallway…and for your mission."
I force myself to look at him. My jaw trembles. "She knows how I feel about you." I let the words flow, worried I may never get another chance to tell him. His current mood and his softer demeanor bolster my courage. I can't just say I love him; it feels manipulative to say it now.
It's important to me that he knows…something. Last night, for me, was about how I feel about him. Even if it isn't reciprocal.
He doesn't blink for the longest time, and when he finally does, he winces, as if it's painful. "Sarah…I…"
It would only make sense that he's being consolatory, trying to ease the rejection, the unrequited nature of that kind of feeling. But that's not his tone, not at all. He's breathless, like he's struggling to find the words. It's all there in his eyes. Love? Can it be true?
How can this be? I'm dumbfounded, my mouth gone dry.
Why? Why is this happening? I was expecting Chuck the way he had been all along. What I am seeing doesn't make any sense.
He had definitely taken the medication, or he wouldn't be composed. He is composed, I note. What's different is how he is reacting to me. The finest nuance that didn't seem possible based on what Casey had said. That nagging thought—Chuck was special—wouldn't leave me alone.
Let him see it. How you feel. The voice in my head is the loudest. The way to do this is to stop fighting. Underneath it all, my feelings are wild and untamed. Uncontainable. Stopping the forced composure is all it takes. I hold his gaze, my eyes beaming my adoration.
His face softens and he looks like he did last night, only this time, there's no guilt, at least none that I can see. This has to be courtesy of his drug, maybe partially working? But I'm enthralled, nonetheless.
He's standing so close to me that I feel the warmth of his body against the front of me. The heat between us, memories of our encounter, draws us closer together. He speaks close to my ear. "I…I never…I convinced myself you didn't. That you couldn't."
I tilt my face to look up at him. I've said it out loud, used the words that I feared to say, and he still isn't confident. He never knew; he never even suspected. I think I know why.
"I resisted the truth serum. When you asked me. But that convinced you, didn't it?" I breathe him in, aching to close the space between us.
"Until you kissed me." He sighs. "But you thought Bryce was dead when you kissed me."
"I wasn't fair to Bryce. I let him believe what he wanted to believe. And he never once figured out that why we were so…off…was because I had fallen for you."
I close the distance between us and kiss him. I start delicately but he responds eagerly, pulling me closer. His hunger engulfs me in flames of desire. My whole body reacts, instantly wanting him again. I sigh with the pleasure of it, melting into him.
He pulls away, groaning like it's caused him pain. "We…can't," he pants. "It's not…fair to you. I wish things were different. I'm sorry."
It hurts, but he's trying to spare me more pain. Much the same way I had to push him away in Burbank. That seems to be the only way he can express how he feels.
"I know," I whisper. "And I understand. More than you know." I touch his face. "I would be lying if I told you I wasn't nervous about tonight. But I'll do it. For you." I pull away. I would do anything for you, absolutely anything. I pray he sees that sentiment on my face.
He blushes uncomfortably, looking down. Mentioning the mission has shattered the bubble encasing us. He steps back from me.
"Where is Carina?" I ask, changing the subject.
"On a last minute mission. With Gino." He pauses, then adds, as if finally understanding, "She refused because of you. But if she knew I recruited you instead, would she still say no?"
That makes me wonder in earnest. What was more important…keeping her promise to me or keeping me away from Chuck?
"What about Zondra? If you're certain Amy is the mole…"
He blushes again. "She…isn't into anything…adventurous…like that. One guy, one at a time, only." And he wouldn't order her, any more than he would order me.
That makes me blush. Yes, Amy drugged me for our makeshift orgy. But Carina and I frequently engaged in that sort of thing. I was usually drunk, which made me more agreeable to it. Tatiana's words about sex came back to me. I wasn't physically attracted to Carina, but in the past, she could get me off better and faster than most of my faceless male partners.
"Seven tonight. I'll brief you more specifically. It's a party, like the kind we had when you and Carina arrived. Party dress." He sighs. "Rest now. It'll be a late night."
~O~
I took a long nap and took my time getting ready. Still, no Carina. I was starting to worry. It didn't help my nerves.
My dress is black and covered in sequins. It has a halter top and a super short skirt. Sky-high satin heels finish the outfit. My makeup is intense for evening and I leave my hair down and loose.
Checking myself in the mirror, I feel like a call girl again. But then I remember the way Chuck looked at me, and I feel differently. I feel beautiful, like he sees me. Strong and beautiful. Despite all of it, he thinks I'm worthy.
I'm smoothing my dress over my hips when he knocks on my door. Right on time.
He's dressed less formally than last time. A pale blue shirt and a crisp pair of dress pants.
"Absolutely beautiful," he gushes as he looks at me. I can't help but smile. But he's all business now, the light in his eyes from before dimmed.
"So tell me the plan," I say, masking my disappointment.
He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small plastic case. There's a light blue capsule inside. He hands it to me.
"Inside that is the truth serum cocktail. Tuck it in between your cheek and your gum." He's waiting, so I do it. It's vaguely uncomfortable, but not impedimentary. "Talk. Say something."
"What do you want me to say?" I improvise.
"Good placement. No speech impediment." He continues, talking rapidly. "It won't dissolve in your mouth. You can drink hot or cold liquid with no problem. Just hold it in place and don't swallow it. That's why it's outside your teeth.
"To activate it, you bite down on it. The liquid inside will dissolve the casing. It's like altoid-level mint. Intense. You have five seconds from the time you break it open for the casing to dissolve. At the count of six, you need to kiss her. Open-mouthed. It will taste like you just chewed a breath mint. Kiss her until your tongue feels like it's starting to go numb. By that point, you'll both be fully dosed."
"If this is a high-potency designer formula, how am I not going to break our cover?"
He looks apologetic. "I have to inject you with an agent that paralyzes your vocal chords. Temporarily."
"Won't she think it's weird that I can't talk?"
"That's why you keep your mouth busy doing other things and let me question her."
I blush furiously.
"Won't she realize that she's dosed? That she feels strange?"
He snickers and rubs the back of his neck. "Not if it's done right. Using truth serum during a seduction is something that I've managed to perfect." He sounds confidently sure of himself. It gives me shivers. "You know, if you're dosed, and resisting, and then you can just tell the truth…it's a relief, like pleasurable relief. Physical pleasure as a reward for the truth… it's amazingly effective. Highest rates of success."
My dose and my strange dreams come back to me. "What Amy did to me…" I shudder. The orgasms in my dream were real, the product of her manual stimulation of me, rewards for pieces of the truth I told her.
"I have a feeling Tatiana taught her how to do that." At my confused face, he offers, "Tatiana used the technique on me first, without knowing I could resist it."
Was Tatiana an agent? How else would she have access to something like that? The picture that paints makes me sick, almost lightheaded. I'll have a front row seat later to Amy pleasuring him and vice versa. I have to toughen up.
"So instead of talking, work on her. The only problem is you'll have to let her work on you. I'm good for three. The rest is you two on each other."
Good for three? Three orgasms? How completely fucked up is this that there are hidden rules to a threesome? That he has everything so meticulously in his control, even the byproducts of pleasure in himself?
"There's an X-13 derivative mixed in, so she'll forget what she told me. Like what she gave you. I have no way to predict what you'll remember tomorrow."
I wish for absolutely nothing. The knowledge of what I will see during this is enough to make me wish it away.
"I wish I could make sure you forget," he says gently and tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. His features soften, his eyes warm and sparkle. It seems to have come from nowhere.
"I don't want to forget what it feels like when you touch me. Even if she's there watching." My body is still longing for him, and it shows in my voice. "If that's the last time."
"It has to be," he whispers. He frets, looks away. "I don't know what it is, but you…I feel closer to losing control when I see you. Every time, it's worse." He's frustrated and confused.
Losing control? The control that the medicine allows him to maintain. I feel like this is an important revelation. Somehow, I'm breaking through the medication? Can that actually be happening?
That should give me comfort, but instead it makes things worse. He needs to be in control. He can't detox according to Casey and Beckman, so he certainly can't start resisting the meds on his own. Maybe staying away from him is best, at least for now. But there is no avoiding tonight.
Knowing the details makes me more anxious than ever. He must see it on my face.
"The best advice I can give you is to just enjoy it. If you're forced to use your body to complete a task, enjoy it. It's sex. Pleasure. It doesn't mean anything…" He looks straight into my eyes and his voice softens, "Unless you want it to." He winces as he says, "I'll be doing the work."
I blush at his double entendre. But the time for blushing is over. This is about to get real.
~O~
The party is a whirlwind of dancing and drinking. People pull me in different directions, spinning me around on the floor, gyrating against my body. I'm able to keep my hands empty by aggressively dancing. Using my whole body to dance.
As promised, Chuck finds me on the dance floor. His awkwardness that I remember from the first time we danced is gone. I've heard it said that men who are good dancers are also good in bed, and at least here, that theory is proven. He moves effortlessly in time to the music, holding my body close to him, grinding against me.
"Here you are, Carlo," I hear. Giggling and tipsy, Amy creeps up beside him, oblivious to me and how close I am to him. He has me in his right arm and pulls Amy close with his left and kisses her. She presses herself against me while he's doing it.
"I've missed you these last few nights," she pouts, shifting with us, dancing as a group.
"We can make room for you tonight," he says in a husky voice, loud enough for me to hear.
"Ooh," she giggles and turns to me. "That sounds fun, huh, Sarah?"
"I don't remember the last time," I giggle back, pretending to not be annoyed.
"Sarah can give the Duchessa a run for her money," Amy whispers loudly against Chuck's neck. Another ugly picture flashes in my mind.
"Mmm, I would love to see that," Chuck snickers and then grazes a soft bite on her neck. I see his teeth tug her flesh. She purrs like a kitten.
She dances with us for two more songs, but she's impatient. She takes us both by the hand and leads us away. "Your bed is the biggest. Lots of room to maneuver."
Chuck is in character, the entire way from the party to his bedroom. He's laughing, kissing both of us, groping us and pinching our asses. I have to give him credit for knowing exactly what she would do, how she would react. She played right into his hands.
He unlocks his door and she goes in first. He pulls me against him from behind. I feel a cool prick, like a mosquito bite, on the back of my neck. He's administered the voice agent. He leaves a butterfly kiss over the entry point, reaffirming that he's dosed me.
Once we're in his bedroom, the clock is ticking. I have to kiss Amy so the session can begin.
She pulls me from Chuck's arms and backs me up against the wall. "Have you fucked her yet?" She's groping me through my dress. It angers me that she talks about me like I'm not there, but in a way, it saves me from displaying my muteness.
"She's been playing hard to get until tonight." Chuck's voice is different. In character. He doesn't tell her the truth, either. I wonder why.
He approaches and stands behind her. He whispers in her ear. "But you're an impatient little whore, aren't you?" Teasing. "So now I have to share."
"Lucky for us, there's plenty to go around. Get ready for the most amazing night of your life."
Amy reaches around me and starts unzipping the back of my dress while he is pulling her out of hers. Her dress falls first, revealing her completely naked body. She wore only the dress.
I hear her moan as Chuck's hands cup her breasts from behind.
Now. I shift the capsule down and bite. My mouth is immediately full of a mint flavor that burns intensely, making my eyes water.
Four, five…I grab Amy's face in my hands and kiss her, forcing my tongue deep into her mouth. She hums at the sensation of mint, moaning at whatever Chuck is doing to her that I can't see because my eyes are closed.
I've now kissed three different women, and there is no doubt, Amy is the best. Her lips are soft and pliable. It's so wet, slurpy, partially because of the serum swishing in our mouths. My dress falls during the kiss, leaving me in my g-string. I pull her closer, waiting for the sensation.
My tongue slides against hers, slips over her teeth, and I feel the prickly heat of numbness begin. Not debilitating, more the sensation left after swishing with listerine.
Chuck leans into her, sandwiching her between us. He's kissing the back of her neck when I meet his eyes. I blink once, deliberately, to let him know it's on. She's dosed.
And so am I.
At first, all I feel is the mint. But slowly creeping, starting at my hairline and moving downward, the heat moves through me. It leaves relaxation in its wake. A perfectly relaxed clarity of thought.
The last thing I remember clearly is Amy, holding my hand and pulling me down onto Chuck's bed.
I wished for a complete blackout, but for this particular cocktail, the remnants of the night remain like a hazy dream. Or nightmare. I still don't know how to classify it. Maybe both.
It's one big blur of naked, sweaty bodies. Pleasure so intense it was close to pain.
Fingers inside me, massaging me to climax…lips against my clit, tongues inside me. My mouth full, sucking and probing, doing what Chuck had asked me to do. Keeping her occupied. Working her.
In the midst of the foggy haze, a sharp image, a crisp recollection of writhing beneath Chuck's body, arching up against him as I lose complete control, his name in my mouth, and I'm unable to speak it.
Thank god I can't speak. She has no idea that he's Chuck, that I have a history with him.
He talked dirty to Amy the entire time, and sometimes to me, completely in character, an alter ego to Agent Bellini when he is off the clock. He talked about how tight I was, what an amazing fuck I was. But his arms, his hands are loving even in the midst of this debased expression. He holds me against him as I shudder with pleasure. He moans as he releases inside me.
The pictures of him with her are nightmarish. She was jealous that he came inside me first. But he's ready for her again very quickly and I'm forced to watch as he takes her from behind. She's screaming, begging him to go harder.
I remember less of this, thankfully.
Only a few bits of his interrogation, administered while he was in the midst of fucking her, are sharp.
Laudanol. Amy's mission was to retrieve the laudanol.
She explains enough that he realizes the medication isn't for pain. That Bentley and possibly Beckman have been lying to him. An ugly memory of his hand on her throat, his eyes ablaze. Her choking tears.
And nothing else. I wake alone in my room. I'm wearing a nightgown and I'm tucked carefully in my bed. I roll and hear a crackle under my pillow. I reach and pull out a small black pouch.
Inside: a passport and U.S. driver's license with my photograph under the name Sabrina Wood. Five thousand dollars in cash in $100 bills. A note.
I couldn't have done what I did without your help. Thank you. You're free. I'm going after the one who's looking. Go to the place and heal. No one will ever hurt you again.
This quickly? I struggle to clear my head. He had said that mission was the end.
I wish I could remember what she told him. All I remember is the fact that he knows about the laudanol. And his brutality that I witnessed, once that knowledge was imparted. How he almost strangled her with one hand.
How can I leave him now?
I can't.