Houses of marble, and billowing farms,
Pearls, to trickle between my hands,
Smoldering rubies, to circle my arms.
You— you'd only a lilting song,
Only a melody, happy and high,
You were sudden and swift and strong—
Never a thought for another had I.
He'd have given me laces rare,
Dresses that glimmered with frosty sheen,
Shining ribbons to wrap my hair,
Horses to draw me, as fine as a queen.
You— you'd only to whistle low,
Gayly I followed wherever you led.
I took you, and I let him go—
Somebody ought to examine my head!
Only a Lilting Song
19 NOVEMBER 2005
BUNKER 77142135
02:17 OMST
Sarah glanced over when the bunk room door opened, though Bryce, next to her, kept his eyes closed and his attention on the routine. He'd nag later, but she wasn't going to be rude. So she smiled at Chuck, craning her neck so that she could see him. She'd take her unbalanced chi and like it. "Get enough sleep?"
He rubbed at his eyes, somewhat adorably, and yawned. She could smell the shower on his skin and see a patch of fuzz on the side of his chin he'd missed while shaving. "I'm good. What are you two doing?"
"Tai Chi. Want in?"
Chuck eyed the remaining kitchen space. They'd wedged his table into the office to make space, and Sarah saw his eyes pause on the spot. A small frown worked its way through before he turned his attention back to her and smiled. "Um, one more person in there might just make that an orgy, thanks."
Sarah laughed. Something rang inside the bunk room. With a sigh, Bryce opened his eyes and went from the crane position to standing. "That'll be for me."
"Right," Chuck said as he moved out of the way to let Bryce by, "that makes sense because I left my satellite phone in my other bunker, you know. Drat." He snapped his fingers and made Sarah giggle with his sardonic look, something that had become distressingly common during her time in Bunker 77142135.
"You're sure you got enough sleep?" she asked. They'd kept Chuck up for more than thirty hours by her estimation. Though he had insisted that he would sleep when there weren't people around, she'd seen his forehead slipping toward the table a few too many times earlier. It had taken both her and Bryce to convince Chuck to grab a few hours horizontal. Even then, Chuck had only given in because Bryce had threatened to make Sarah sit on him.
Now, four hours later, Chuck stood just inside the room, bright-eyed while the fatigue wore at Sarah with every breath. She'd already deduced that it wasn't lowered oxygen levels. That only left two options: she'd been working too hard or there was a mild sedative being pumped into the bunker. Probably just enough to keep Chuck calm, she figured, and with three people breathing the air, it had dissipated enough to give him uncharacteristic energy, yet make her and Bryce feel a little lethargic. Well, her, at any rate. Bryce seemed to have just as much energy as usual.
Why the government felt such steps would be necessary, she had no idea. Maybe it was a way to fight off claustrophobia? Except it didn't seem to be doing much for her own dislike of closed spaces.
She pushed the questions from her mind, as they would only drive her crazy and she had other things to do right now. "C'mon," she told Chuck, dragging him into the kitchen. "Tai Chi time."
He eyed her movements. "Sarah, I'm over six feet of pure klutz—"
"Then it'll be good for you. Just do what I do."
"The difference is," Chuck put in dryly, "that you look great doing it, and I'll look like a drunk Eskimo."
He kind of did, Sarah thought, though she kept that (and her giggling) to herself as she guided Chuck through the moves she could by now do in her sleep. She'd started doing Tai Chi daily at Harvard, which had always included long days and longer all-nighters. Now it was just second nature, though she'd modified her routine to match Bryce's.
It took Chuck a couple of minutes to stop feeling self-conscious, apparently, and commit himself to the actions. Sarah watched him out of the corner of her eye. He'd probably never be truly graceful, but as he focused, he seemed to shed a couple layers of clumsiness.
"So, am I supposed to be feeling at one with the universe right now?" he asked.
Sarah smiled. "I never feel at one with the universe."
"That's too bad. The universe hates me, and I was hoping you could give it a message for me. Or maybe just the finger." Since they were standing on one foot, wrists crossed in front of them, Chuck stuck his chin down in the collar of his parka and poked out his lower lip. He looked like an absurdly tall turtle.
"Sorry," Sarah said. "The universe stopped taking my calls."
"Uh-huh, sure. You're probably just saying that so that you don't have to be my errand girl." Chuck frowned. "No, that's not right. Errand…woman? Errand lady?"
"Messenger's fine," Sarah said, shifting her weight and pushing outward with her palms.
"Messenger," Chuck echoed, doing a poor imitation of the same movement. He stumbled sideways a little.
"You okay?"
"Everything except my pride, yep. So what exactly is all of this?" Chuck managed to turn a two-fist side-sweep into a gesture that included the whole Tai Chi routine.
"Tai Chi Quan. Sun style because it was Bryce's day to pick. He's traditional." Sarah broke routine to shoot a grin over her shoulder. "I prefer Yang or Chen because it's a little faster and just feels more violent."
Chuck squinted. "You know, I think I picked that up about you."
"You should probably just be glad it's not a 'Pushing Hands' day."
"Huh. Probably."
They fell silent again, Chuck continuing to mimic her. Normally, she would have been annoyed at the break in concentration, but with Chuck, she didn't mind. He was adorable, frowning intensely as he tried to follow her exactly. She wasn't sure she'd ever had such an attentive student.
Chuck's frown deepened into the real thing. He stopped moving.
"What? What is it?" She glanced around immediately for signs of danger. Bryce would have teased her for it, as very little could attack in such a limited space, but she didn't care. Her reflexes had saved her life too many times for her to ignore them.
"What'd you do to your neck?" Chuck reached forward and gently pulled the back of her parka collar away from the nape of her neck. It was Sarah's turn to go absolutely still. Chuck didn't seem to notice. He winced at whatever he saw.
He was also standing close. So incredibly close. She could feel his body heat against her back. And after being cold for so long, it felt divine. But Sarah didn't let herself lean back. She kept her stance rigid, though she did twist her head around to meet his eyes. "What are you talking about?"
"You've got a really bad rash." Chuck winced again in sympathy, sucking air through his teeth. "What'd you do?"
What? Why was he asking her anything at all? With him standing so close, she could barely remember her own name—any of them, actually. Did he actually expect her to remember what she might have done to her neck?
Oh, right.
"It's just my parka." Carefully, she reached around and pulled the collar away from him. Or tried to. He had a pretty firm grip on it. "It's new and I didn't get a chance to break it in. It's no big deal—ooh."
He'd poked her. It wasn't pain—though there was some of that—so much as surprise. She glared. "Don't do that again."
"You flinched. It's hurting you," Chuck said, ignoring her glare. "C'mon, I've got some ointment for that."
"Chuck, it's no big deal—"
"Can't hurt to be safe." Chuck released her and stepped back. She hid the wave of disappointment under an annoyed look. "It'll take two minutes, and you can go right back to doing the world's slowest kung fu routine, I promise."
"Tai Chi is actually very beneficial for your health," Sarah said.
"Mm-hmm." Chuck opened up the cabinet that had been over the table and reached for the top shelf.
"And it's relaxing, and it helps you clear your mind. It's a good way to start the day."
"I'm sure it is."
"You're not listening to me."
"I am. Tai Chi is good for you, et cetera et cetera. I'll add it to my morning play-list," Chuck said as he pulled a green tackle box down. He set it on the one free bit of counter space and flipped the catch. "Well, get over here and let me play nurse."
Sarah didn't move. Her mind, of course, had flitted through every response to that statement, including the very important, "Oh, so you want to play doctor now? Let me see your stethoscope," proposal, but one thing occurred to her, and terrified her with its implications. "Chuck, those are your medical supplies. What if you hurt yourself and you're trapped in the middle of nowhere without supplies because I used them up?"
Chuck had his back to her as he rifled through the kit. "First off, if I'm badly hurt, I doubt a little ointment and gauze is going to do much. And before you worry, Miss Mother Hen, I'll put in a request for more when I send in my requisitions form, okay? Josh over in Logistics and Supplies owes me more than ointment. Actually, he promised me a Christmas present this year. I'm a little excited. I'm hoping it's nine ladies dancing rather than just the three French hens." He grinned, inviting her to share his mirth. She tried to smile back. "C'mon, get over here."
"Chuck, still, those are your supplies, meant for you. I don't want to—"
Though she had suspicions that Chuck could move quickly when he wanted to, he advanced on her very slowly, a determined look on his face. "We've been over this," he told her. "C'mon, that rash has to hurt, and I can't let one of my guests go around in pain."
"It's okay, really."
"I bet you make for a terrible patient at the doctor's office, too," Chuck said, still coming toward her.
She refused to back away. It would give him far too much power. So she tilted her chin, folded her arms, and glared, ignoring the fact that the movement made the parka rub against her neck. And his drawing attention to the rash meant that it was bothering her again. Damn it.
When Chuck grabbed her wrist, she gave him the icy look of death, as Bryce had once coined it. Chuck just grinned. "I was right," he said, and began pulling her toward the counter. "You're a bad patient. I'm going to have to tie you down, aren't I?"
Oh, if only.
Sarah shoved all of the X-rated thoughts to the back of her mind, refusing to blush. "You don't have to do this."
"Emily Post says so. It's in her Bunker Etiquette Rulebook, fourth edition." Chuck smiled at his own humor.
"Yes, because Emily Post has so much to say about neck rashes," Sarah muttered.
"Chapter three, fourth page, second paragraph. Don't believe me, look it up. C'mon, take off your jacket. I won't let you freeze to death, I promise."
Sarah just scowled at him and peeled off the garment. At least she'd packed her nice long-johns for the trip rather than the ratty ones at the back of her closet, though without the parka, the silk felt all too thin. It was hardly glamorous, though it did cling to her like a second skin. That thought sent sparks of nervousness and guilt up and down her arms. She was probably going to give Chuck a heart attack, given the way he'd been reacting to her all through the visit.
But he just started humming.
Humming.
Okay, maybe no heart attack. She wondered what Chuck was humming. Music really wasn't her thing.
"Okay," he said once he'd read through the instructions on the tube and had checked her neck for broken skin. She'd never actually met anybody who read the directions word for word. She wasn't sure what to think. "So if I'm reading this right, this is going to feel really, really cold or it's going to sting a little bit. If it's the former, I'm sorry, and if it's the latter, I'm really sorry."
"Just do it," Sarah said. She tensed.
He was right. It was really, really cold, which contrasted heavily with the fact that Chuck himself burned like a furnace. She could feel his warmth again, much closer now that she had stripped down to her long-johns, and she felt the swirls of delicious heat every time his fingers stroked the back of her neck.
She stayed rigidly still until Chuck taped the gauze into place. "That should help," he said, patting her shoulder. It was a brotherly gesture, which meant that it shouldn't have left a fire-burst of heat and made her tingle. "You should probably put your parka back on. You're shivering."
She wasn't sure that was necessarily from the cold, but she donned the garment again, zipping up quickly. She fixed a smile onto her face. "Thanks, Doc."
"No problem. Just try and keep it clean and dry, and get some more ointment on it when you get back to…" Chuck frowned. "Wherever it is you're going next."
And just like that, the proverbial six-hundred pound gorilla lumbered back into the room. As the time for the close of their visit drew nearer, Bryce and Sarah had avoided mentioning leaving. He seemed so happy to have visitors that it killed her a little every time she thought about leaving him behind. Bryce seemed to echo her thoughts, if his similar silence was anything to go by. She imagined that they would just not talk about it at all until she and Bryce were several miles away, but Chuck had now brought it up.
"DC," she told him, surprising herself. "I'm from the DC area."
Well, Sarah Walker was from the DC area, at any rate. It was close enough.
Chuck gave her the slow smile, the one that took a few seconds to fully take over his face. "Yeah? That's home?"
It was a home, so Sarah shrugged. "I've got a place there."
"What's it like? I haven't been to DC." Chuck sounded just a bit wistful. "I've always wanted to go see—"
"The Smithsonian?"
"I guess I'm that obvious, huh?"
"Only a little," Sarah assured him. "If you're ever in the area, drop by. We'll have drinks—hopefully no Tang this time—and I can show you around. I haven't actually gotten to play tourist at all. Might be fun to try. I've always been too busy."
"It's a date," Chuck said. Thankfully, he missed the way Sarah jolted because he'd turned away to search through the drawers by the tiny sink. "I think I have something to help with that neck problem of yours. I'm not sure the gauze is thick enough to hold off the parka collar, so…ah, here it is." He yanked a long strip of pale blue out of the drawer. "Brent left this here, and I really don't look good in pastels, so…"
Sarah took the scarf warily.
"It's clean, I promise. I washed it." Chuck smiled. "It should hold off the rubbing, and even help keep you warm on your trip back. You can just toss it in the trash somewhere when you're done with it. I'm sorry it's so cheap."
"Are you always this nice?" Sarah wanted to ask. People who just gave and gave as Chuck continued to do while she and Bryce stayed with him made her cautious. What did they want? What were they aiming for? Everybody wants something, her father had always told her. The trick with him had always been finding that one thing and exploiting it.
Of course, Sarah was doing the same thing years later, but at least she had questionable legality on her side now.
"Thank you for the scarf," she told Chuck, shoving the conman's daughter back into the Sam slot in her brain. She kept her caution out of her smile, which was easy to do when he smiled back.
They heard Bryce's footsteps approaching from the bunk room. Smoothly, Sarah turned that way as she put the scarf around her neck. Chuck fixed his attention on tidying up the medical kit on the counter, so that when Bryce came in, he found them both at work. He glanced at the medkit and back at Sarah, raising an eyebrow. She merely knotted the scarf and returned the look. "Who was that on the phone?"
"Nobody important."
A lie. Interesting. Sarah decided that she'd just get a better look at the phone later, while Chuck had Bryce distracted.
Behind her, though, Chuck snorted. "Don't lie, Bryce."
He didn't jolt visibly, but to Sarah, who knew his actions better than her own most of the time, he might as well have. "What?"
Yeah, Sarah thought. What?
"It's Sheila Rowanson, isn't it?" Chuck smirked as he closed up the kit. "She's found a way to stalk you internationally. Don't deny it."
Bryce rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Sheila was not a stalker."
"Dude, she covered our dorm room door with pictures of herself."
Sarah tilted her head. "Naked pictures?"
She wasn't expecting both men to turn confused looks on her, but they did. In fact, the puzzled staring went on long that she wanted to shift her feet. She stayed still. It was a fair question.
"No," Chuck finally said, his eyebrows knitting together.
"Yeah, too bad she didn't. Chuck might have actually had to look at nudie pictures of a girl in college, then."
Chuck threw a dish towel at his friend. "I had a girlfriend, you ass."
"Seriously, he's a prude," Bryce told Sarah, rolling his eyes again. "The other guys would make it a game and leave 'Penthouse' magazines all over the house just to see him turn red. Kind of like that, actually."
Indeed, Chuck did look a bit flushed in the dim lighting. "I had a girlfriend!"
Had, Sarah noted. She cleared her throat. "So because this girl, Sheila Rowanson, covered your door with pictures of herself, she was a stalker?"
"Well," Chuck said, drawing the word out as he exchanged a look with Bryce. "There was the dead flowers incident."
"The two a.m. drunk dialing for three months straight," Bryce countered.
"The time she sang that song she wrote herself to your whole accounting class."
"God, don't remind me. Let's see, she followed us down to San Diego for spring break."
"The run-in with the Chihuahuas."
"She threatened to cut three of my Friday night dates."
"Keyed my car."
"Keyed Chuck's car," Bryce said. "Sorry about that, buddy."
Chuck shrugged as he mixed up a new gallon of Tang for their morning meal. "I'm over it. It was a crap car."
Sarah gave them both a puzzled look. "Why would she key Chuck's car?"
"She thought it was my car. I didn't want to keep my car on campus, so Chuck and I just both used his. And Sheila…did not take rejection well." Bryce winced.
"At all."
"I guess the door covered in pictures is pretty tame, then, all things considered," Sarah said.
"Well…sort of." Bryce shuffled his feet as he took a glass from Chuck. "The pictures were from inside our room. While neither of us was there."
"My teddy bear was never the same again," Chuck said, his voice solemn.
"This woman sounds crazy. What did you do about it?"
"What any self-respecting pair of college sophomores would do," Bryce said.
"We bought a dead-bolt and hid under the covers," Chuck finished. His eyes sparkled. "Sheila was a halfback on the women's soccer team at Stanford. She could split a man's skull with her thighs alone."
"It would probably have been worth it," Bryce said. He high-fived Chuck and set his glass down on the counter. "Hey, let's get the table back in here. Got one more surprise for you."
Though Sarah moved automatically to help Bryce, Chuck beat her to the door and nudged her out of the way. "Guess the womenfolk will see to the food, then," she said. "Any preference, boys?"
"Whatever's fine."
"Just half of one for me," Chuck said, grunting a little as he and Bryce worked to maneuver the table out of the cramped office.
That worked for Sarah, as she definitely didn't feel up to eating an entire MRE. She opened up the food cabinet and began rummaging. Bryce could take out an MRE by himself for every meal of every day, given the option. Where the man put it all, she'd never know. He kept his panther-lean build through constant workouts and conditioning, but the man could pack away junk food like nothing else. She looked the wrong way at a donut and she'd have to add an extra mile to her run.
She moved to set the table, but Bryce held up a hand. "Time for the surprise." He vanished into the bunk room and came back with a small tube.
"Is that—"
"Yep."
"Holy hell," Chuck breathed.
As Bryce's last surprise for Chuck had been picture-cards that had led to a three-hour tournament, Sarah understandably eyed the tube with some trepidation. What sort of nerdish tradition were they about to unleash on her? When the tube revealed a few square feet of a grid and a well-used leather-bound notebook, her suspicion didn't ease. In fact, it increased at the apparent joy on Chuck's face.
"And," Bryce said with relish, reaching into his pocket, "I didn't forget these." He tossed a velvet pouch on the table. Something metal inside clattered. When the dazed happiness on Chuck's face only increased, Sarah sighed inwardly. Well, maybe she could read her book.
But Chuck turned a dazzled smile toward both of them, including Sarah in its warmth. "You're going to love this," he said, and ducked into the office. He was back in less than thirty seconds clutching a hardbound book. It almost looked like a textbook. "Here, sit, sit. This is going to be amazing, I promise."
At the men's insistence, she joined them at the table, digging into her half of the MRE. When she got back to DC, Sarah decided, she was going to treat herself to a nice spring salad and salmon, with something chocolaty for dessert. She honestly didn't know how Chuck could eat the same thing day in and day out—though she supposed it explained all of the extra padding beneath his parka. High calorie, high protein meals all the time. It was a wonder he wasn't bulkier.
Bryce put a hand on the leather journal. "This book," he said, "contains an extensive—"
"But not exhaustive."
"But not exhaustive accounting of our tales through the Fearsome Forest of Gilder."
"The Sickly Swamps of Symeria."
"The Deadly Desert of Despair."
"The Kingdom of Cortell."
"And most importantly—"
"The Palace of Pythagorum," Chuck and Bryce said together.
Sarah looked from one grinning geek to the other and said the only thing that came to mind: "Um, okay."
Chuck took pity on her first. "It's our old Dungeons and Dragons campaign from junior year. Our friend Phil was the DM, and he was a creative writing major, so it was always interesting to see what sort of new nightmares could come out of his head every week."
Sarah, who had no idea what a DM was, said, "Okay."
"Hey, remember the time he tried to take credit for the hork-bajir?" Bryce asked.
"Ha. Yes. He always was kind of a hack. What'd he call them, again?"
"The Brotherhood of the Heavenly Blades."
"Ha. Hack," Chuck repeated. He opened the pouch and a group of multi-sided dice fell into his hand. He jiggled them between his fingers. "I think you'll like this, Sarah. See, it's pretty easy to learn—we'll do a mini-campaign, just play through one of Phil's old levels. Here, you can be…" He took the journal from Bryce and paged through, still rattling the dice. Sarah was tempted to grab his hand. Also, the noise was putting her on edge.
"You'd make a good rogue," Chuck said. "Why not take Aeryth?"
"Oh, Aeryth," Bryce said. "Good choice."
Sarah, who still had no idea what was going on at all, except she was pretty sure none of those words were actually real, blinked at the sheet of paper Chuck pulled out of the notebook and handed to her. It was columns of different things—STR, DEX, Balance, Bluff, Climb, etc.—and somebody had drawn a pretty realistic woman clutching a crossbow and a rune-etched knife along one free edge. She might have fit in any medieval movie, save the blue hair.
"Becca came up with Aeryth," Chuck said. "She never finished the campaign—organic chemistry that semester—but she racked up some pretty impressive stats before she had to quit. Bryce?"
"Meat shield!" Bryce crowed, pumping a fist in the air.
Chuck handed over a sheet. "Drago Von Merrekesh'asun, as requested."
"I'm the guy in the front that gets beat on a lot," Bryce explained when Sarah gave him yet another confused look. "But I get the cool armor." He turned his attention to Chuck and pressed the fingers of one hand to his temple while the other hand waved in the air in front of him like a mystic's. "And you're going to be…Jon."
"Aeryth, Drago Von Merrekesh'asun, and Jon?" Sarah asked. She'd finally put it together. Roleplaying. Really? It could get awkward with three of them, unless this was one of those roleplays that didn't lead to sex. But what was the point of those? So, she wondered, what the hell did Dungeons and Dragons have to do with sex?
Chuck misunderstood her question. "My character's phenomenal cosmic powers speak for themselves," he told her, sniffing haughtily. "He doesn't need an outstanding name."
"Uh-huh, nice try," Bryce said. "Now tell her Jon's full name."
Chuck sighed. "The Most Noble Sir Jonathan du Mimsel-Poppington Frakes."
"And we called him?"
Another sigh. "Riker. But his name was supposed to be Jon."
Sarah waited a beat. "You two do realize that I don't have the first clue in hell what you're talking about, don't you?"
Instead of explaining, however, the man she was sleeping with and the man she was dreaming about sleeping with exchanged a grin. "We're going to make a lifer out of her," Bryce said.
"Definitely." Chuck turned to Sarah. "See, here's how you play…"
19 NOVEMBER 2005
BUNKER 77142135
03:17 OMST
"I don't understand," Sarah said for what felt like the fiftieth time since their party—a wizard, a rogue, and a troll, though she had no idea what a rogue actually was—had started exploring the Caves of Calcutta's Dream.
"There's a wall here," Chuck said before Bryce could launch into yet another technical explanation that would have involved words like "hit points" and "stats" and "level." The men had taken turns handing off the nerd torch, so that Sarah was never sure which one would give her a straight answer. Chuck's turn now, apparently. "You can't shoot through a wall."
Sarah stared at the grid paper on the table. She was the salt packet, she knew, but that was about it. "So how the hell do I know there's a wall there?"
"Good point." Chuck pulled a pen out of his pocket.
Bryce grabbed his wrist. "What are you doing?"
"Helping. How's she going to know there's a wall there?"
"You're not drawing on the graph paper, dude."
"'Dude,' it's really not a big deal."
"It's sacred paper."
"With a sacred nacho cheese stain?" Chuck shook his head. "C'mon, Bryce."
Sarah recognized the look on her partner's face. That particular expression meant that she either had to give up or change tactics. So she touched Chuck's arm. "Um, just point out the wall line, I'll remember."
"You sure?"
"Damn near photographic memory," Sarah said, tapping her temple.
"Okay." Chuck put the pen away and showed her the wall line. Crisis averted.
Sarah inwardly rolled her eyes, and wished for coffee. She was tired and a nap would be the smart thing to do, but they had to leave in a handful of hours, and no way was she giving up any time with Chuck.
19 NOVEMBER 2005
BUNKER 77142135
03:59 OMST
"Can't we just go around the crystal?" Sarah wondered.
"Crysmal," Chuck and Bryce corrected her. Bryce went on, "And no, we can't just go around it, it's guarding jewels, if I remember right. We have to get them."
"And carry them how?" Sarah picked up her character sheet, and the sheet of notepaper Chuck had given her for scribbling notes on. So far, it was a mishmash that wouldn't make sense to her later, but she was proud to have figured out the contents of her pack. "I'm pretty sure that in reality, the Forbidden Shaolin Orb of Elesin actually takes up most of the pack and weighs a ton. Do we really need jewels?"
To her dismay, the guys burst out laughing. What had she said now?
"Try not to take it so literally," Bryce said. "And we've already had points removed from our speed and movement because of the packs. If you like, Chuck, as the DM, could take a couple of points more..."
Sarah frowned. "I'm good, thanks. But after that hit Aeryth took fighting off those baby skeleton whatsits while Drago was busy trying to get himself killed against the copper dragon, shouldn't we rest or something?"
"Jon healed Aeryth," Chuck said. "She's fine."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." Chuck smiled.
That was awful damn convenient. Maybe she and Bryce should add a wizard healer or mage or whatever it was called to their team. It would certainly have helped her avoid being on medical leave for two months after the fractured ribs, dehydration, and complications. She was going to have to think twice before she let Carina call the mission specs again. Of course, she and Carina were probably banned from working together after that particular disaster in Pakistan, so it wasn't like she had to worry.
"So," Bryce said, "let's go get some jewels, right?"
19 NOVEMBER 2005
BUNKER 77142135
04:32 OMST
"I still don't see how that's physically possible," Chuck argued.
"It is," Sarah and Bryce said.
19 NOVEMBER 2005
BUNKER 77142135
04:47 OMST
The die hit the table. "Yes!" Sarah said when it finally stopped rolling. "Ha, take that 'saving roll for diplomacy!'"
Neither Bryce nor Chuck did the cheering little dance they did whenever a twenty was rolled. Cautious now, Sarah peeked at them from under her eyelashes. Had she done something wrong?
They were staring at the d20 on the table.
Finally, Chuck broke the silence by clearing his throat. "Did she just—"
"Yes. Yes, she did."
"And was it—"
"The fifth one, yes."
"In a row?"
"Yes."
Bryce and Chuck, as one, turned their awed stares toward her. Sarah wondered if she should draw her gun and shoot the pod-people that had replaced her friends. Or was it zombies? They had so many subcategories of things that could go wrong, she couldn't keep it all straight.
She nearly did draw her gun when Chuck and Bryce, again as one, laid their hands flat and pressed their foreheads to the table. "We are not worthy," Bryce said.
"Not worthy," Chuck echoed.
Sarah gave them twenty seconds to return to normal. When neither did, she reached out, grabbed a handful of Bryce's hair and Chuck's collar, and hauled. "What the hell are you two on about now?"
"You just rolled a twenty five times in a row," Bryce said.
"You're like a goddess."
Sarah ignored the flush of warmth at Chuck's open admiration. "I am not. It's just a matter of odds and I got lucky, that's all it is."
"Nope, you've officially earned gaming goddess status," Chuck said. "Can I have your autograph?"
"That's ridiculous. Cut it out."
Bryce grinned, leaning back in his chair. He'd tilted his ski cap over his hair at a rakish angle and had spent the game juggling random things inside the bunker, never one to sit still for long unless it was for work. "She's getting cranky," he told Chuck. "That either means we should feed her—"
"Not hungry. And sitting right here."
"Or maybe switch games."
Sarah was all for that. She'd had fun tromping around as Aeryth, but a couple of hours of understanding maybe a tenth of the conversation had begun to wear on her. So when Chuck took the character sheets and began to lovingly pack everything up, she sighed happily inside. "Something without a crazy name, please," she said. "My head's reeling from all of the terminology."
"Sorry about that." Chuck flashed her a dazzling grin, just briefly. It was like a blast of heat. "You can take the nerds away from the D and D manual, but then they take damage. We weren't too much for you, were we?"
They were, but not the way he thought. So Sarah shrugged. "It was educational."
"Poker?" Bryce offered, pulling the well-used deck toward him. "Watch out for Walker, Chuck. She cheats every chance she gets. Pretty sure she was a card sharp in another life."
"Oh, trust me," Chuck groaned. "I know."
Sarah stuck her tongue out at both of them.
19 NOVEMBER 2005
BUNKER 77142135
09:37 OMST
As was inevitable, time flew until they were nose to the nose with the point where Bryce and Sarah would have to leave or miss the rendezvous. About an hour before they were due to leave, Sarah excused herself from the game, giving all of her winnings to Chuck and making Bryce sputter, "Hey!" She claimed she needed a catnap, but the truth was, she just wanted to give the friends some privacy to say good-bye. Bryce never talked much about his family, but whenever he had, his eyes hadn't lit up the way they did around Chuck.
Brothers, she figured. And she was sleeping with one—sometimes—and dreaming about sleeping with the other. Damn it.
So she lay on the cot, fingers locked together behind her head, and tried not to think. Tried not to wonder why they would pump sedative gas into the bunker, why they would stick Chuck out in the middle of nowhere. She'd tried to broach the subject with Bryce, but he'd just shaken his head and echoed Chuck's line about mysteries. He'd pulled strings so they could visit Chuck, she knew. Strings that would come back to haunt them, favors they'd both have to repay.
She didn't mind. Hell, she'd get to use that new bikini some other time. Maybe next year she could call up Carina, and if Carina wasn't too busy with DEA and other alphabet soup issues, they could have a girls' week in Aruba or something.
A knock made her crane her neck to look. "It's open!" she called. Must be Chuck. Bryce was comfortable enough to just walk in.
Sure enough, Chuck poked his head in. "Got a minute?"
"Sure." She pushed herself up to a sitting position and hugged her knees so that Chuck would have room to sit on the bunk. Otherwise, he'd just hover. The thin mattress dipped a little as he sat. "Where's Bryce?"
"He's installing my new satellite phone. Chances are, I'm going to have to reinstall it when he's done, but he likes to think he's—"
"Helping," Sarah said at the same time, and smiled. "Yeah. He's like that. He set up my entertainment system. I had to call the Nerd Herd to come and fix it. Don't tell him, though."
"It'll be our secret," Chuck agreed.
That was strange, Sarah thought. Why hadn't Chuck had a satellite phone before? Wasn't it pretty much essential when stuck out in the middle of nowhere, alone? What if he had fallen and hurt himself? What if somebody had come to attack him? How on earth was he supposed to receive help all the way out here, all alone?
Chuck cleared his throat and glanced at the wall. Nervous, Sarah thought, her worries shoved back to where she could think about them later. Focus, Walker. She sat up a little straighter. What on earth did he have to be nervous about?
Although that was a little hypocritical on her part, she admitted, as the things wriggling through her midsection could definitely be attributed to nerves.
"I asked Bryce to give us a minute, really," he said, and licked his lips. "I wanted to say thank you."
"For what?"
"Bryce told me about Cabo." Chuck's eyes met hers and held. He had a way about him of making people feel like they were the center of his universe, Sarah had figured out early on. It was almost spooky. "He also told me about how he dragged you all the way out here without any warning, and even though I really appreciated the company, I'm sorry he did that to you."
Sarah reached out to touch his shoulder, the closest thing to her, before she really thought about what she was doing. "You don't need to apologize for Bryce. He's his own person."
A small smile twisted half of Chuck's mouth up. "Old habit. He's a big personality, and sometimes it's hard for the rest of us to keep up."
Old habit? How many times had Chuck apologized for his friend before? And why?
"And I wanted to say thank you for coming, even if it was under hostage circumstances." Chuck grinned a little at his own joke. "I don't think I could have had better company than I did. Even if you're a horrible cheater."
Sarah shoved him. He teetered sideways, laughing. "It's okay," he said. "I forgive you."
"Uh-huh."
"Even though I know you'd do the same thing all over again, given the chance."
"In a heartbeat," Sarah agreed, smiling. Once a conman's daughter, always a conman's daughter.
"I know the nerd haze got a little strong," Chuck went on, his voice apologetic once again.
"It was fine."
"Your eyes started glazing over during the Magic tournament."
That was true, but Sarah just smiled and moved a shoulder. She realized belatedly that she still had her palm against Chuck's bicep, and very casually drew it back. "I had a lot of fun as Aeryth. And 'Riker' was such a stand-up guy, always willing to heal anything Aeryth did to herself."
"Jon," Chuck stressed. "And it probably would've been easier if Aeryth hadn't insisted on leading with her chin."
"It's a nerd's world. We girls just live in it."
"Yeah, right."
Sarah swallowed hard. "Look, Chuck, maybe I should be thanking you."
But instead of looking confused or openly mocking her, he gave her the easy smile that just seemed to live so naturally on his face. "Yeah? Why's that?"
Sarah paused. She always chose her words carefully—you never knew when they could come back and bite you in the ass, even from the most innocuous statement. And even if there was something about Chuck that both relaxed and excited her, even if he was the warmest person she'd ever met, at the end of the day, he was still a CIA agent. He still had multiple loyalties. Someday, he might have to burn her. She might have to burn him. So, she had to be careful with what she said now. She opened her mouth, though to say what, she wasn't sure.
Bryce tapped once on the door jamb, drawing their attention away. He was frowning at his watch. "We'd better move. Storm heading in from the west—if we're going, we have to go now."
"Oh." Chuck seemed to swallow active disappointment as he looked from Bryce to Sarah. "Yeah, I guess you'd better go. Don't want to get snowbound."
Even as her mind shuddered at the concept of being trapped in such a tight space under feet and feet of snow, the rest of Sarah could admit that the prospect wasn't entirely terrible. It was greedy, she knew, but she wanted to stay here in the cold and the dim, all because Chuck smiled at her and that felt nice. It was both the most stressful and the most relaxing vacation she'd ever had.
And when the hell had she turned into a sappy, sentimental freak, again? Maybe they were pumping crazy gas into the bunker as well and she'd sucked up more than her fair share of it.
Bryce grabbed his pack and headed out into the kitchen, tapping his watch as he left. Sarah rolled her eyes at him and pulled her pack from under the cot. She rose just as Chuck stood, and tried to get around her. Except there wasn't enough room to squeeze by her without an adult content notice. He seemed to realize that; he leaned back against the heat tube door and crossed his arms, watching her pull her cold weather gear from the top pouch of her pack.
"You were going to say something before Bryce came in," he prompted.
Sarah pulled her facemask on and rolled it down so that it was around her neck. "I wanted to say thank you for being such a good host," she said, somewhat lamely. She didn't look up from her pack. "You're one of the few nice guys left in the world."
There was a pause, but Sarah, busy pulling on her gloves and snapping her sleeves closed over them, didn't look over. Finally, Chuck cleared his throat. "I'm not sure that's a good thing. They say nice guys finish last."
"Who says it's a race?"
"Isn't everything?"
Sarah adjusted her goggles and moved them up to her forehead. It was dark enough in the bunker without them. "Maybe the reason nice guys finish last is because they stopped to enjoy the journey." She risked sneaking a peek at Chuck as she pulled her snowshoes and ski poles from the bag. He was frowning, but not at her. She turned to zip up her pack.
When she turned back, he had moved so that he was right beside her. She jumped. She hadn't heard him make a sound. Or had she? Was she suddenly so comfortable around him that she'd stopped cataloguing his every movement? She doubted it.
He picked up one of the snowshoes and hefted it in his palm. "Wow. Lighter than it looks. How fast can you actually go in these things?"
"I'm not sure. I've never clocked myself, but Bryce would probably know." Sarah took a deep breath and faced Chuck.
Bad idea. The limited space in the bunk room meant that there was maybe a millimeter of air between them. Just a simple shift in balance would mean no air at all.
Her throat closed. No space. She could feel the walls moving in, the lighting dimming. Twin urges sprang up. Shove Chuck away and gasp in a deep breath. Yank him closer and let neither one of them breathe for quite a long time, possibly hours. Yank him close? Yank him onto the bed, more like it, and finish that damn dream on the beach.
Chuck tossed the snowshoe back onto the bed. "You'll make good time."
Get it together, Walker. She forced her mind to focus. "Because my life is a Bond movie?"
"That's right. C'mon, I'll walk you out." He picked up her pack before she could and gestured for her to lead the way. She scrambled to collect snowshoes and ski poles. Like her, Bryce had his mask dangling around his neck and his goggles perched on his forehead. He shouldered his pack as they moved silently to the outer hatch. The air seemed heavier now. Maybe she was projecting, or picking up the heavy thoughts of the man behind her. Telepathy, Chuck had said was the official name for it.
Maybe she'd just spent too much time around nerds. It was more than a possibility.
As she passed the table, Sarah spotted the deck of cards lying on the corner, and brushed her hand over it. She stuck her hand in her pocket and called herself foolish.
Chuck moved past her—a brush of heat—to open the hatch. Sarah noticed that he paused on the threshold, but he took a deep breath and stepped out. He walked them all the way to the end of the tunnel, stopping just as his boot toes touched the edge of the snow. "This is where I leave you. You two sure you'll be okay out there?"
"Don't worry, buddy," Bryce said as he and Sarah sat to don their snowshoes. "I've got Sarah. She's like a blonde good luck charm."
Sarah rolled her eyes.
"With many other admirable qualities," Bryce said, hardly missing a beat. He adjusted his goggles, turned to Chuck, and chattered out a random string of syllables. Klingon again, Sarah figured. The nerds had been lapsing into it all throughout their stay in the bunker, sometimes unconsciously, sometimes to talk about her. She probably could have cracked it had she been paying attention, but she had let them have their little code. It was cute, in a way.
She waited while Chuck replied and gave Bryce a hug. A real hug again, Sarah noted. Not one of those handshake-hug hybrids that men claimed were an appropriate greeting or farewell. It made another spurt of guilt shoot through her. She shouldn't be reacting so strongly to Bryce's friend when Bryce was the one who had saved her from certain death in the Congo, and Bryce was the one she'd thanked later in the shower.
But her traitorous heart still sped when Chuck let go and turned that slightly sad grin toward her. He held out a hand. "Well, Miss Walker, we'll have to have a rematch sometime. I'll bring the cards, as I'm sure your deck will be marked or something."
"You apparently know me well." Sarah ignored the outstretched hand and hugged him. Though she felt him tense at first, he returned the hug, even squeezing her ribs a little. She had to let go far too quickly. "Take care of yourself, Q."
"Watch out for the bad guys, Bristow."
He kept up the smile, though it wavered as they pulled on face masks, adjusted goggles, gloves, hats, and ski pole straps. One brief look and Sarah and Bryce set out together. A dusting of snow had covered up their tracks from two days before, but Sarah could see the ghostly outlines in the white, leading them back to the sensor. Leading them away.
Had it really only been two days? It felt like a lifetime.
As they struck out, she felt her muscles relax for the first time. Air, blessed, open air. Breathing immediately grew easier. She felt the usual excitement about brisk exercise begin to loosen her muscles as they started to jog. Still, she glanced back, just once.
Chuck, a dwindling figure in the distance, waved.
She waved back.
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