all the color drains out of the frame, for incir (Chuck, PG-13)
Title: all the color drains out of the frame
Author: aphrodite_mine
Recipient: incir
Fandom: Chuck
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Post-season 2.
Warnings: Violence, character death.
Summary: This is a story about Ellie. It is also a story about the end of the world. (canon pairings).
Thanks: to midnightxgarden and curt_tone for beta reading. To Mid Cheshire Hospitals for hackish use of their Hospital Outbreak manual.
--
Don't be so amazing or I'll miss you too much
I felt something that I had never touched
...
It comes to me in fragments, even those still split in two
-- Bright Eyes, "Lime Tree"
--
She has a nightmare once, a female voice over the intercom "Paging Doctor Woodcomb" and she smiles--her dream self--thinking of Devon, and goes on her way. But of course, the dream nurse means her, and alarms sound down a hallway in a room she was far too far from, and everyone dies, everyone, and Ellie wakes to her heart pounding and Devon's arm around her, loosely. Three hours before the alarm, she shakes him awake almost breathless, and tries to explain.
"I'm keeping my name," she mumbles, sharp in her mind, "Bartowski, at least around the hospital." Her hand is tight against his sleep-slackened shoulder.
"Whatever, babe," he says slowly, already drifting back to sleep. He hadn't seen the death (the slow, leaking bodies), heard the alarms. Another hour closer to time to waking up, and she finally finds a way to relax against his chest, counting breaths between them. Counting syllables and whispering diagnoses.
--
"Oh god," she says, barely under her breath. Still, the guy -- Mr. Gunther -- has to know how bad this looks. How bad he looks. Nurse Catherine has a panicked look in her eye as she questions him carefully, trying to keep the story straight. Ellie only pauses a moment before stepping in beside Devon and adding her voice to the many ordering the crowd for bandages, sutures, morphine.
Gunther's leg oozes a thick mixture of blood and... something that Ellie can't identify, though she does her best to staunch the wound. She refuses to allow herself to consider the hows and the whys involved, those will come later. Devon -- Dr. Woodcomb -- takes the frightening masses of cuts and boils on the man's face. His hands shake as he leans close to do what he can.
Gunther coughs, and Nurse Catherine backs slowly against the door, avoiding the sudden spray of dark brown blood. Devon flinches, but continues his work, cleaning and covering.
"They said I wouldn't suffer," Mr. Gunther growls out, gripping the sides of the operating table. "They said I would be safe...!"
"If you'll just hold still for a moment--" Devon says, his voice a brand of soothing that Ellie doesn't think she could even approximate right now.
Gunther shakes and raises a hand in anger. "No, I can't wait any longer," and before anyone can stop it, he reaches up, rakes a long, harsh scratch in Devon's skin, tearing it open, but worse, letting something inside. The doctor blinks and steps backwards, staring.
Catherine whispers into the wall intercom system and it clicks in response.
"All personnel should step into the clean room: this unit is closed. I repeat: closing procedures are initiated."
Catherine grabs Ellie's arm, leaving Devon standing, dazed. It acts quickly.
--
Devon leans over the back of the couch and kisses Ellie's mouth, sideways. "How's your wine, babe?" His eyes are intense blue, and she reaches up to touch his cheek--freshly shaved, she brushes her thumb across his lips in a facsimile of another kiss.
"You should join me," she says, not answering his question. Sometimes they don't need to. They can go for days, having half-conversations. Eye-rolls and touches saying all they need.
He looks hesitant, his hand playing at her hair. "I was going to run something by the hospital, but..." A smile. "It can wait."
"Perfect," Ellie grins, setting her glass on the coffee table. "I've been wanting to give you a quality foot massage." She's joking, of course, but Devon's face splits into a smile and he gleefully presents bare feet onto her lap.
"Awesome!"
--
"Ellie, what's going on in here?" Poor Chuck, he looks so out of his depth, eyes big and brown.
"You shouldn't be here!" Ellie clutches the paper mask to her face, sucking in a filtered breath, stretching her fingers out towards him as if she can push him away, physically.
He blanks, freezes--staring off at... something. "You shouldn't either, El. We need to get out."
She shakes her head, shrugging his hand off her shoulder. "We can't, Chuck. We can't."
--
Ellie takes the flush of red dots across Chuck's chest very seriously. This is absolutely not a laughing matter. She fishes in her plastic Doctor's Bag for the real working stethoscope she got for her last birthday and hooks it up to her ears, huffing on the metal like she's seen the real doctors do hundreds of time. "This might be a bit chilly," she tells her brother, who just frowns and scratches at his side.
"No itching! Mom! Chuck's itching again!" Ellie's voice is shrill, echoing through the small room and down the hallway.
He squirms away from her, scratching like crazy now that permission has been granted in some way. Ellie remembers what this is like, getting in one last hurrah before the chamomile lotion comes and the itching goes down deep and he won't be able to reach it anymore.
"Hold still, Charles Bartowski. Lemme hear your heart."
--
A man's voice over the phone, sounds deeper and more monotone than anyone she cares about: "Report to Castle," the connection fizzles, "...tly."
Chuck's eyes, wide. "Is it safe to get there? The air, outside, it isn't--"
Everything blurs out past Chuck's hand in hers, and the world in slow motion. A scream, muted. A pin dropping. Blood rushing through her veins.
The man speaks again: "Just come in your little Nerd-mobile. We'll get the doors open without alerting anyone. There's a vial in the glove compartment."
A pressure on her hand, and she looks down. He's squeezing.
--
Another morning comes too early and Ellie rolls over, tangling her legs in the sheets, noticing the other side of the bed is empty. Another blink of her eyes (seconds pass, or minutes) and Devon appears in the doorway, covered in a light sheen of sweat, tugging headphones from his ears. "Coffee, El, or might I interest you in the banana-wheatgrass smoothee I'm about to blend up?"
Stomach-twist. "Ugh, coffee, please."
"As you wish, gorgeous."
She half-smirks without meaning to. "Don't call me gorgeous when I'm morning-gross, Devon. It sounds insincere."
"Of course, beautiful."
--
"I've got to call Sarah," his voice is twinged with need, and Ellie is doing everything she can not to simply dissolve, not to simply stare at the crude bandage around her hand, and the red seeping through.
"Tell me, Chuck, why--how--would having Sarah here help the situation? People are dying! Don't you want your girlfriend to be safe?" She can't quite function on the professional level required here, be the staunch, saluting, order-following doctor she needs to be. Not when flashes keep bubbling up under her eyelids of Devon, or what-was-Devon, bloody, and his hand, smearing against the glass.
Chuck must sense something breaking down because he grabs her by the shoulder, squeezes. "It... it would just help, okay?" and the way his face is set makes Ellie almost believe him. She wants to believe him; it would be nice.
--
"Could you pass the salt, please?" Sarah asks, looking at Ellie, her face open.
Ellie smiles. "Are you implying that my cooking isn't seasoned properly?" she replies, smirking, even while handing the shaker off via her husband.
Chuck snorts, cutting into his meat.
"Of course not, if you ask me. But Chuck's been dying to ask for the salt for at least fifteen minutes now, so I thought I'd do him a favor."
Ellie mock-gasps, smacking her brother on the shoulder, making him cough on the bite of loaf he just swallowed. "Jerk!"
"Polite jerk?" Chuck attempts to correct, when he regains use of speech, smiling at Sarah, and taking the salt.
"Yeah, we'll see about that later," Devon says, not bothering to look up from his own plate, his hand on Ellie's knee.
--
She can't tell at first if the blood belongs to Gunther or to Devon, but then, slowly, it becomes apparent. As the doors close between them, and one by one Ellie can only see Devon through panes of glass, she makes out fresh boils and lesions tearing at his flesh--his perfect flesh.
She trips on the memory of his touch, knowing it is disintegrating before her eyes. He knows what's happening. She doesn't know if that makes it better.
It doesn't make it okay.
--
"You took the vial? Chuck?"
She's never been here before. They came through the yogurt shop where Sarah works, but this isn't a storage room.
"Of course. We split it. Ellie needed it more than I di--"
"Chuck, you idiot!"
There are computers on the walls and everything is black and metallic and hard. Ellie can't get comfortable. Everyone keeps talking like she's not here, like she can't hear them. John injects Chuck with something clear.
"Chuck?" She wishes someone would tell her what's going on, and why she feels dizzy.
And why is John here? He looks so angry.
"It'll be okay, Ellie," Chuck says, frowning. It won't be okay.
One of the computers is talking, or maybe its a movie. She looks angry too. Ellie doesn't feel so good. Devon would take care of her, if he were here. But he doesn't know where she is, does he?
Ellie doesn't even know where she is.
"Contain it, Agent Casey."
--
"Ellie." The quiet voice in her ear doesn't cause her to stir, not at first. Instead, she rolls over, groaning a little into the cool pillow, stretching her body out against the mattress. His hand along her spine sends tremors down to her still sleeping legs and upwards, tingling herself awake.
"Hi," she whispers, not ready to let her voice out for real.
"Hi," he says back, and brings her to life with his touch.
Author: aphrodite_mine
Recipient: incir
Fandom: Chuck
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Post-season 2.
Warnings: Violence, character death.
Summary: This is a story about Ellie. It is also a story about the end of the world. (canon pairings).
Thanks: to midnightxgarden and curt_tone for beta reading. To Mid Cheshire Hospitals for hackish use of their Hospital Outbreak manual.
--
Don't be so amazing or I'll miss you too much
I felt something that I had never touched
...
It comes to me in fragments, even those still split in two
-- Bright Eyes, "Lime Tree"
--
She has a nightmare once, a female voice over the intercom "Paging Doctor Woodcomb" and she smiles--her dream self--thinking of Devon, and goes on her way. But of course, the dream nurse means her, and alarms sound down a hallway in a room she was far too far from, and everyone dies, everyone, and Ellie wakes to her heart pounding and Devon's arm around her, loosely. Three hours before the alarm, she shakes him awake almost breathless, and tries to explain.
"I'm keeping my name," she mumbles, sharp in her mind, "Bartowski, at least around the hospital." Her hand is tight against his sleep-slackened shoulder.
"Whatever, babe," he says slowly, already drifting back to sleep. He hadn't seen the death (the slow, leaking bodies), heard the alarms. Another hour closer to time to waking up, and she finally finds a way to relax against his chest, counting breaths between them. Counting syllables and whispering diagnoses.
--
"Oh god," she says, barely under her breath. Still, the guy -- Mr. Gunther -- has to know how bad this looks. How bad he looks. Nurse Catherine has a panicked look in her eye as she questions him carefully, trying to keep the story straight. Ellie only pauses a moment before stepping in beside Devon and adding her voice to the many ordering the crowd for bandages, sutures, morphine.
Gunther's leg oozes a thick mixture of blood and... something that Ellie can't identify, though she does her best to staunch the wound. She refuses to allow herself to consider the hows and the whys involved, those will come later. Devon -- Dr. Woodcomb -- takes the frightening masses of cuts and boils on the man's face. His hands shake as he leans close to do what he can.
Gunther coughs, and Nurse Catherine backs slowly against the door, avoiding the sudden spray of dark brown blood. Devon flinches, but continues his work, cleaning and covering.
"They said I wouldn't suffer," Mr. Gunther growls out, gripping the sides of the operating table. "They said I would be safe...!"
"If you'll just hold still for a moment--" Devon says, his voice a brand of soothing that Ellie doesn't think she could even approximate right now.
Gunther shakes and raises a hand in anger. "No, I can't wait any longer," and before anyone can stop it, he reaches up, rakes a long, harsh scratch in Devon's skin, tearing it open, but worse, letting something inside. The doctor blinks and steps backwards, staring.
Catherine whispers into the wall intercom system and it clicks in response.
"All personnel should step into the clean room: this unit is closed. I repeat: closing procedures are initiated."
Catherine grabs Ellie's arm, leaving Devon standing, dazed. It acts quickly.
--
Devon leans over the back of the couch and kisses Ellie's mouth, sideways. "How's your wine, babe?" His eyes are intense blue, and she reaches up to touch his cheek--freshly shaved, she brushes her thumb across his lips in a facsimile of another kiss.
"You should join me," she says, not answering his question. Sometimes they don't need to. They can go for days, having half-conversations. Eye-rolls and touches saying all they need.
He looks hesitant, his hand playing at her hair. "I was going to run something by the hospital, but..." A smile. "It can wait."
"Perfect," Ellie grins, setting her glass on the coffee table. "I've been wanting to give you a quality foot massage." She's joking, of course, but Devon's face splits into a smile and he gleefully presents bare feet onto her lap.
"Awesome!"
--
"Ellie, what's going on in here?" Poor Chuck, he looks so out of his depth, eyes big and brown.
"You shouldn't be here!" Ellie clutches the paper mask to her face, sucking in a filtered breath, stretching her fingers out towards him as if she can push him away, physically.
He blanks, freezes--staring off at... something. "You shouldn't either, El. We need to get out."
She shakes her head, shrugging his hand off her shoulder. "We can't, Chuck. We can't."
--
Ellie takes the flush of red dots across Chuck's chest very seriously. This is absolutely not a laughing matter. She fishes in her plastic Doctor's Bag for the real working stethoscope she got for her last birthday and hooks it up to her ears, huffing on the metal like she's seen the real doctors do hundreds of time. "This might be a bit chilly," she tells her brother, who just frowns and scratches at his side.
"No itching! Mom! Chuck's itching again!" Ellie's voice is shrill, echoing through the small room and down the hallway.
He squirms away from her, scratching like crazy now that permission has been granted in some way. Ellie remembers what this is like, getting in one last hurrah before the chamomile lotion comes and the itching goes down deep and he won't be able to reach it anymore.
"Hold still, Charles Bartowski. Lemme hear your heart."
--
A man's voice over the phone, sounds deeper and more monotone than anyone she cares about: "Report to Castle," the connection fizzles, "...tly."
Chuck's eyes, wide. "Is it safe to get there? The air, outside, it isn't--"
Everything blurs out past Chuck's hand in hers, and the world in slow motion. A scream, muted. A pin dropping. Blood rushing through her veins.
The man speaks again: "Just come in your little Nerd-mobile. We'll get the doors open without alerting anyone. There's a vial in the glove compartment."
A pressure on her hand, and she looks down. He's squeezing.
--
Another morning comes too early and Ellie rolls over, tangling her legs in the sheets, noticing the other side of the bed is empty. Another blink of her eyes (seconds pass, or minutes) and Devon appears in the doorway, covered in a light sheen of sweat, tugging headphones from his ears. "Coffee, El, or might I interest you in the banana-wheatgrass smoothee I'm about to blend up?"
Stomach-twist. "Ugh, coffee, please."
"As you wish, gorgeous."
She half-smirks without meaning to. "Don't call me gorgeous when I'm morning-gross, Devon. It sounds insincere."
"Of course, beautiful."
--
"I've got to call Sarah," his voice is twinged with need, and Ellie is doing everything she can not to simply dissolve, not to simply stare at the crude bandage around her hand, and the red seeping through.
"Tell me, Chuck, why--how--would having Sarah here help the situation? People are dying! Don't you want your girlfriend to be safe?" She can't quite function on the professional level required here, be the staunch, saluting, order-following doctor she needs to be. Not when flashes keep bubbling up under her eyelids of Devon, or what-was-Devon, bloody, and his hand, smearing against the glass.
Chuck must sense something breaking down because he grabs her by the shoulder, squeezes. "It... it would just help, okay?" and the way his face is set makes Ellie almost believe him. She wants to believe him; it would be nice.
--
"Could you pass the salt, please?" Sarah asks, looking at Ellie, her face open.
Ellie smiles. "Are you implying that my cooking isn't seasoned properly?" she replies, smirking, even while handing the shaker off via her husband.
Chuck snorts, cutting into his meat.
"Of course not, if you ask me. But Chuck's been dying to ask for the salt for at least fifteen minutes now, so I thought I'd do him a favor."
Ellie mock-gasps, smacking her brother on the shoulder, making him cough on the bite of loaf he just swallowed. "Jerk!"
"Polite jerk?" Chuck attempts to correct, when he regains use of speech, smiling at Sarah, and taking the salt.
"Yeah, we'll see about that later," Devon says, not bothering to look up from his own plate, his hand on Ellie's knee.
--
She can't tell at first if the blood belongs to Gunther or to Devon, but then, slowly, it becomes apparent. As the doors close between them, and one by one Ellie can only see Devon through panes of glass, she makes out fresh boils and lesions tearing at his flesh--his perfect flesh.
She trips on the memory of his touch, knowing it is disintegrating before her eyes. He knows what's happening. She doesn't know if that makes it better.
It doesn't make it okay.
--
"You took the vial? Chuck?"
She's never been here before. They came through the yogurt shop where Sarah works, but this isn't a storage room.
"Of course. We split it. Ellie needed it more than I di--"
"Chuck, you idiot!"
There are computers on the walls and everything is black and metallic and hard. Ellie can't get comfortable. Everyone keeps talking like she's not here, like she can't hear them. John injects Chuck with something clear.
"Chuck?" She wishes someone would tell her what's going on, and why she feels dizzy.
And why is John here? He looks so angry.
"It'll be okay, Ellie," Chuck says, frowning. It won't be okay.
One of the computers is talking, or maybe its a movie. She looks angry too. Ellie doesn't feel so good. Devon would take care of her, if he were here. But he doesn't know where she is, does he?
Ellie doesn't even know where she is.
"Contain it, Agent Casey."
--
"Ellie." The quiet voice in her ear doesn't cause her to stir, not at first. Instead, she rolls over, groaning a little into the cool pillow, stretching her body out against the mattress. His hand along her spine sends tremors down to her still sleeping legs and upwards, tingling herself awake.
"Hi," she whispers, not ready to let her voice out for real.
"Hi," he says back, and brings her to life with his touch.