chuck fic: not a robot, but a ghost [2/3]

[synecdoche]

not a robot, but a ghost
[2/3]

it's weird to think of sarah inside his apartment. life post-intersect. chuck/sarah, pg-13, 3770 words. spoilers and au for chuck vs. the ring.
part one



Turn the light out, say goodnight,
No thinking for a little while.
(Let's not try to figure out everything at once)
It's hard to keep track of you falling through the sky:
We're half awake in a fake empire.
-- The National, Fake Empire

Chuck taps his fingers against the steering wheel in time to the music on the radio. Sarah's asleep in the passenger seat, her head against the window. He turns the dial, wishing he hadn't left his iPod back at his apartment. He'd forgotten what crap the radio is. It's almost enough to wake Sarah up, it's her fault he's driving her car back to Seattle instead of on an airplane. But he'd seen the dark circles under her eyes all yesterday, and it had been almost impossible to get her up early this morning. So he settles on an oldies station playing the Rolling Stones and tries to focus on the road. It's starting to get dark. They're maybe an hour outside Seattle.

It's weird to think of Sarah inside his apartment. The walls are still bare, and he hasn't bought so much as a sofa. For some reason it's always seemed like a place he'll only have for a little while. Maybe Sarah will help him buy some furniture.

But it's too weird that she's here. It's amazing, yeah, but how the hell could she leave the CIA if Beckman was willing to walk in on them mid-coitus to drag her away to the Intersect project? And if it's over, why won't she even mention the Intersect? And Sarah seems different. Something went wrong with the project. But if he somehow managed to have that computer in his head, it should've been chump change for Bryce.

So how is she here? A few drops of rain spatter the windshield. Of course it's raining in Seattle.

He can hear Sarah moving in her seat. Just in time -- the radio's on commercial break, and who knows how long that would've lasted?

"Chuck," she says, no trace of sleepiness in her voice, "I need you to get off at the next exit and take a left turn."

"Okay. But can I ask why?" He flicks the windshield wipers on.

"I saw the car behind us three hours ago. I think it was there this morning too, but I was asleep so much I'm not sure. This exit should work."

Chuck tries not to groan as he pulls over. Why can't he just get the girl he wants without a national security crisis? But maybe it could be someone else driving from LA to Seattle. What if somebody just wanted to see the Space Needle?

"They're taking the exit," Sarah says, glancing at the rear view mirror. "I should've switched cars between DC and Burbank. I thought a new car would be enough."

He can feel his teeth clenching and his fists tightening against the steering wheel.

"Sarah, do you think you can just, you know, maybe tell me what's going on? People haven't followed me for six months, since --"

Her fingers are pressed against his mouth and for a second Chuck forgets they're in danger, just inhales the smell of her hand lotion. He wasn't meant to be a real spy.

"If we're being followed," Sarah whispers, "the car could definitely be bugged. I need you to turn the way I point, okay? And talk to me like this is normal. You can do this, Chuck." She moves her hand to the inside of his elbow. "You can do this."

"Okay, sweetie," he says, trying to keep his voice from sounding to hearty and failing miserably. "So do you want to get some Thai or Indian food tonight?

Sarah points her free hand right.

"I don't know, sweetie. I didn't know you liked Indian food!"

She points left.

"Oh, I went out to lunch with the guys last week when you were visiting your dad. It was incredible." She points left again. "How have we never had Indian food before?"

"Well, darling, with you the food isn't the point." She slides her hand down from the crook of his elbow, down to the inside of his thigh and this is so not kosher. He lets out a groan before he can think how to hold it back. "What do you say we maybe pull over, sweetie, and make a pit stop before dinner?"

"Um, sure." He definitely doesn't need to really pull over anywhere. Sarah's gotten him into a residential neighborhood, some Seattle suburb. But she's slipped her hand under his belt and he probably slams the brakes a little hard.

"If somebody knocks on your window," she whispers, somehow practically straddling him, her back against the steering wheel, "just open the door, don't roll down the window, okay?"

There's probably some physics involved, but she's kissing him and they had last night and everything, but being with Sarah Walker is kind of like some incredibly distracting miracle. Like, how in the world is her sweater so soft? Or how can she do such crazy amazing things with her tongue when there's probably some bad guy coming for them?

Sure enough, there's a knock on the window and he might be pretty useless, but he can open a door. Sarah lurches out, her knees hard against his thighs.

He can sort of see maybe three guys outside, each of them at least twice as big as Sarah. Although maybe the rain makes them look bigger? Because she can definitely handle them -- in the time it takes Chuck to unbuckle his seat belt, one guy is unconscious and she's karate-chopping the second.

But there's a third one, and even in the rain and dark, Chuck can make out the glint of metal in his hands. He hasn't worked for the government for six months, and still the gun in his hands is unmistakable. It's pointed right at Sarah. And if she's doing her ninja thing, there's no way he could just be freaking out over a cell phone or something.

Glancing wildly around the car, a similar glint catches his eye. There's a gun in the passenger seat. Sarah must've forgotten it.

She's still struggling with the un-armed thug. And that big dude is coming closer to her. So Chuck grabs the gun and rolls down the window.

"Hey," he calls to the armed guy, waving like it's an everyday thing to beat up thugs on suburban cul-de-sacs, "You know, my friend S-Jenny has been really nice to you and your buddies. Mind aiming the gun away from her?"

"Why should I do that?" Why, Chuck wonders, fingers sweating against the gun in his lap, do bad guys always have such deep voices? Is it requirement or something?

"Why should you drop the gun? Well, let's just say you don't want to mess with Charles Carmichael." He can't quite manage the trademark Carmichael sneer, but hey, it's dark.

"Charles Carmichael?" The guy starts walking towards the car, and Chuck wishes he was less familiar with the look on his face. "You're Orion's --"

He's not sure what happens next, but Sarah's still struggling with the other guy and Chuck hasn't heard his dad's codename for months. He flinches.

He flinches and points the gun out the window and everything explodes. The gun kicks back against his cheek and the guy outside sort of slumpingly falls to the pavement and there's a splatter of something against his face and the side of the car.

He can see Sarah finally knock out her guy. It looks suddenly far away. Her steps to the car seem like they take a half hour.

"I need you to give me the gun, Chuck." Her hair hangs over her shoulders in wet clumps and her mascara's running down her cheeks.

But his hands don't work quite right. He opens his fingers to give her the gun, and instead it slips and clatters to the ground. Sarah has to bend down and pick it up.

Then, like this isn't the most terrible, bizarre thing she's ever done, she walks over to the two unconscious thugs and shoots each of them in the head. In the dark he can't see the expression on her face.

"Hey," she calls, "We need to move the bodies into the trunk."

When he climbs out of the car he realizes there's blood spattered all over the window. Sarah's dragged one guy halfway to the car by the time he gets over to her, the rain soaking into his shirt.

"Chuck, my suitcases are in the trunk. Can you put them in the back seat? It's going to be tight, but I think we can fit all three in the trunk." She's talking through gritted teeth.

Somehow they manage to heave three massive bodies into the trunk, cram them in, and slam it shut. He tells himself it's just something big, just something heavy. He won't let himself think about what he's lifting and shoving and straining against. It's just a weight he has to lift.

Chuck tries to stare at his hands on the steering wheel. They're streaked with blood. HIs fingernails are stained dark red. He'll just stare out the windshield. He'll figure out how to get back to his apartment. He'll just pretend.

There's a hand on his shoulder and he hears Sarah's voice saying something, only he can't quite figure out the words.

"...You okay? Chuck, are you all right? Can you talk to me?" Her hand runs up and down his arm.

"I - I killed a guy. I killed someone, Sarah. He's in the goddamn trunk. He was alive a half hour ago." He drums his fingers against the steering wheel. "What happened to CIA detention cells?"

"We can't -- You had to kill him, Chuck. They were agents from the Ring. And they would've killed us."

She wraps her arms around his shoulders. And it hits him, sudden like a punch in the gut, why there are three dead men in the trunk.

"You're on the run from the CIA."

The way she stiffens, she doesn't have to say anything.

"So do we have dead CIA agents in the trunk? Please tell me we don't have three dead CIA agents in the trunk of your car. Please tell me I'm wrong, Sarah." There's blood all over his hands. It's stickier than he'd remembered from his Intersect days.

"They weren't CIA agents," she says, rubbing his shoulder. "They were agents from the Ring."

"I thought it was Fulcrum. Didn't we destroy them?"

"They were just a part of the Ring. I'm not on the run from the CIA. I'm on the run from the Ring, but I thought... This location isn't secure, I can't say much more. We need to find a pier or something. Can you do that?"

"We're going to throw three dead Ring thugs off a pier?"

He can hear Sarah try to hold back a sigh and feels her rest her head against his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Chuck. I didn't think this would happen."

Eventually, he thinks, the rain will wash the blood off the car.

When Sarah wakes up she can hear the shower going at full blast. Chuck took a shower last night, too. She almost goes to pull him out, but her training stops her. There's no reason for his apartment to be bugged. Still, she won't know unless she checks.

The apartment looks nothing like his bedroom. The walls are bare and aside from a plasma screen television, sitting on the kitchen counter, there's barely any furniture. Ellie's probably complained.

And there are no bugs. Sarah checks each of the few likely hiding spots, pokes around in corners, under counters, find's nothing. She even takes apart the framed picture of the two of them from their first Halloween, but there's no bug there either. The Ring must've known Chuck's dad wrote the Intersect out of his brain. Sarah feels every muscle in her body relax.

There's still the sound of the shower. She glances at the clock. It took her nearly an hour to finish her search.

"Chuck?"

There's no response, just the sound of water from the bathroom. And she kept him safe for two years. Dammit if he's going to drown himself in the shower with her right there. She slips her t-shirt off and steps into the bathroom.

Of course there's a shower curtain. All she can hear is the sound of falling water. The mirror's fogged, and the air is humid and heavy against her skin.

"Chuck?" she tries again, then pulls the shower curtain back. He's curled up, right under the cascade of water. The skin on his shoulders is red from the heat.

"Chuck?" She sits on the rim of the bathtub, close enough to touch him, watching the water run in rivulets down his back. He doesn't raise his head.

"It was an accident, Sarah. I didn't mean -- I mean, remember when I had to shoot the lock off the Weinerliscious freezer?"

"I know. I know, Chuck. It's okay." She bends over and runs her fingers through his wet hair.

"But it's not, don't you get it. I just killed him by being me."

"He would've killed us."

He shrugs his shoulders, and she knows she needs to get the next part of this over with before it can hurt any more.

"Chuck, your apartment isn't bugged. The Ring doesn't want you. You can get out of this if you want, but you need to decide, right now?" She shouldn't touch him, this is the part where she needs to back away, but his skin is so warm against her fingers.

"What are you saying?" God, if he looks at her now this is going to be impossible.

"The Ring's after me. I'm the only member of the Intersect team they haven't accounted for. I can walk out of your apartment door and everything will go back to normal for you. You just need to tell me that's what you want and this can all be over forever."

There are fingers over hers. She can feel the ridges in his fingers from the water.

"Last night, that guy would've killed you. And he knows about my dad. Sarah, might leave me alone but they won't just go away. My dad's next on their list if they got rid of the Intersect team. It doesn't take a super spy to know that." He raises his head from his arms and despite the water running off his nose, she feels her breath hitch when he looks her square in the eye. "And there's no way I'm letting you leave this apartment to get killed by the Ring."

He pulls her hands into his, and she shivers despite the steam.

"Just tell me one thing. Does it get easier?"

She wants to say yes. It'd be so easy. But Chuck learned to red her too well.

"Sometimes," she says. "But Chuck, you can --"

"I know." But he pulls her against him like she could possibly be worth it. "It'll be all right, Sarah."

Maybe he kisses her so she can't point out that he's lying.

Living with a CIA agent on the run isn't so bad, Chuck thinks, hitting the snooze button of his alarm clock and snuggling closer to Sarah. He'd thought they'd need to leave the country pronto, but for the past two weeks he's gone to work like his perfectly normal long distance girlfriend just moved in. Nobody's called to ask about three missing thugs. This past weekend Sarah even helped him buy a sofa off Craigslist. If it weren't for the occasional nightmare, life would almost be too good.

The alarm goes off again.

"Okay, I'll make the coffee," he groans, sitting up in bed.

"I'll get the paper." Sarah leans up against him, tucking her hair behind her ears. She looks so adorable and grumpy that he can't help planting a kiss on her. Sarah's not a morning person, but really it's all right.

Luckily he could get the coffee made with his eyes closed (he tried it once) so it all goes smoothly, despite the fact that he stayed up way too late with Sarah last night. He'll bring another mug to work.

What he's not prepared for is the audible gasp that comes from his doorway. Sarah's not the easily shocked type. But when he sees the headline of the paper she dropped, Chuck thinks he'll probably be the next thing to hit the floor.

SEARS TOWER BOMBED.

There's a picture of the skyline, suddenly shorter and gap-toothed. Sarah just stares at him, mouth slightly opened. He can't think of anything to say.

But then something clicks in his head and he sprints to the bedroom for his cell phone. He scrolls through his "recent calls" list, his thumb sticking to the screen. Dad called him yesterday afternoon. What was the area code? He has a feeling like he already knows.

"Sarah, do you know where a 312 area code is from?" He's shouting at her across the apartment, but then he feels her hand on his arm. She's not looking him in the eye. So he knows the answer. He feels his hands clenching into fists.

"Chuck --"

"I talked to him yesterday afternoon, Sarah. For ten minutes. I said 'talk to you later' because he said he had to run. God, what am I going to tell Ellie? I thought I'd never have to lie to her again."

He can feel Sarah's fingers press into the inside of his elbow.

"Chuck, the bomb exploded a little after midnight. You don't know where your dad was. He's probably fine. He had hours to get out of town."

He can't look at her, so he stares at his boring white walls and tries not to freak out.

"That gave the Ring almost ten hours to torture him and then blow him up." But maybe... Dad escaped an exploding helicopter once. He could've gotten away.

"Chuck," Sarah says, so reluctant he suddenly can't see straight, "There's another problem. After 9-11 the CIA and NSA took extra precautions to protect national landmarks, especially in big cities. It would've taken an agent with top-level clearance to get anywhere near the Sears Tower with this kind of firepower, let alone find a location to set up a bomb unnoticed."

"They have the Intersect." Fulcrum almost had him, a half-dozen times. He can't think about Bryce. "But how --"

"There was something wrong with the programming on the new Intersect. A few times Bryce would flash for no reason and start reporting government secrets, like he was talking about the weather. Under the right conditions they wouldn't even need to torture him, and if they have..."

Her voice trails off and all Chuck can think to do is pull her into a hug, so tight against him he can feel her heart beating.

"But why the Sears Tower? Couldn't they just --" He can't say kill my dad.

"We don't know enough about the Ring." The words are muffled by his t-shirt. "But they don't even pretend to be patriots, like Fulcrum. They want chaos so they can take over. They'll stop at nothing."

"But what if Bryce, I don't know, what if he, you know --" He can't say that, either.

Sarah just presses closer against him. He runs his hands down her back.

"It was a good two weeks," he blurts out. "We even bought a sofa."

She looks up at him, then, almost smiling. But maybe he's just imagining it, because in a second her expression sets into the face you'd imagine for a CIA agent on the run from terrorists.

"You're going to have to call in sick for work." She twists her hair into a bun. "Tell them you have a bad case of flu and you don't think you'll be in for the rest of the week."

"You don't think there are Ring agents at Apple, do you?" But there's his operating system, and pretty much everyone in his life has turned out to be a spy somehow.

Sarah shakes her head. "I don't think so. They don't seem to want the Intersect technology, only the information. But it gives us a week to get away."

"Get away?" Okay, so he's never completely moved in, but he still hasn't seen the Space Needle and there's Ellie and Awesome and Morgan --

"I'm not safe here anymore. If they think they've taken care of your dad, I need to get of here. And you've been seen with me."

Here's the thing: he could probably still walk away from this. He's a wimp and a nerd. Who would think he knew the whereabouts of one of the CIA's top agents?

But never seeing Sarah again. Once she'd said he'd forget about her once the Intersect was out of his head. She was wrong. How's he going to forget her smile or the way she feels against him? And what kind of guy would he be, to leave her to crazy thugs and terrorists? How could he forget that, either?

"I still have all those fake passports," he says. "Under the bed. Who do you think I should be, this time?"

It's not a real vacation, but if everything's ending, at least it's something, right?

Sarah squeezes his hand. He can feel himself trying to smile.

What else could he do?

Out of context, it's something to remember: Chuck's silhouette at the window, against the Warsaw skyline. He told her on the plane that he'd never been out of the country, and now he presses his fingers against the glass like he wants to appear on the other side by sheer force of will. They'd bought tickets for the soonest international flight, Frank and Beth Dawes.

"The crazy thing is, this could practically be America!" Chuck's voice echoes slightly against the windowpane. "Except, did you see those old apartment buildings when we got here?"

She props herself up on an elbow. Miles away, she presses this picture into her head. Not the blood on the floor at Intersect headquarters, or the way Beckman looked, slumped and silent against her desk when Sarah ran back to report to her. Not the way she'd walked through the DC streets, hands shoved into her pockets to hide the blood on her fingers. There are days between then and now, and miles. There's Chuck looking out the window in a hotel in Warsaw, eyes wide with concern as he turns to glance at her.

"Or do we have to leave tomorrow? Please say we can at least have a day to eat -- I don't know, what do Polish people eat, anyway?"

He turns back to the window, so he can't see the grin forming on her lips.

"As long as there's no trace on us and no bugs, I think we have a week."

Chuck turns from the window and she can just make out his smile, his hand still on the windowpane.

For now, she has this.