wendolf

Chuck vs. The Second Kill

Tue, 26 Jan 2010 22:09:15 GMT

His skin tingled almost painfully. The scalding spray from the shower had been pulsating on the exact same spot on his shoulder for 10 minutes. He knew he should move, turn off the water, get out, dry off, try to sleep. He knew he should but instead he just stood there.

He closed his eyes and tried to block out the memory of Paulo’s eyes milliseconds after Chuck had pulled the trigger. Chuck had, unfortunately, been close enough to see the surprise there, the look of fear and shock and regret. Or maybe those emotions were just constructs of Chuck’s over-emotional mind. Maybe those feelings were reflected from his own eyes – his own shock and regret. But even if they weren’t, it helped him to think of Paulo as incapable of regret.

He had crossed the short distance to Sarah in two long, frantic steps, still acting on instinct. Paulo had fallen, collapsing on top of her. She was trying to catch her breath, too weak or stunned to push him off. She clutched at her neck and Chuck could see the faint bruises already forming on the pale skin of her throat.

Chuck rolled Paulo’s heavy body to the side and Sarah squirmed from beneath him, skittering away from the dead man as if he were still able to hurt her. Her panic surprised Chuck – he thought her incapable of panic. But Chuck noticed that her dress was torn, her lip bloodied. He wondered what other damage had been done that he couldn’t see, that he had been too late to stop. Had Paulo gotten closer to killing her than others had in the past? It seemed impossible that she hadn’t been in a situation worse than this before…

He asked her if she was okay, which in retrospect seemed like a ridiculous question. Obviously she wasn’t. Obviously. But she had nodded wordlessly. She had looked grateful and … something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

They hadn’t spoken much after that. Casey had stormed into the room just seconds later. His eyes darted between Paulo crumpled on the floor, Sarah slumped against the wall rubbing her throat, and Chuck with a gun still in his hand. His mind worked quickly to put the pieces of the puzzle together and then he slapped Chuck on the back proudly. It reminded Chuck of when he had hit a triple in little league baseball and his dad had done the same thing. Then Casey had registered Sarah’s torn dress, her frightened eyes, and he had softened.

"Walker?" His voice was about as concerned as Chuck had ever heard it.

Sarah had nodded again and croaked out an "I’m fine."

What seemed like moments later, the "cleanup crew" had come in and done whatever it is they do with dead rogue spies. Chuck wondered if The Ring sent anyone to notify family members, if there would be any "we are very sorry to inform you of your loved one’s death" telegram. Did guys like Paulo have loved ones? Would anyone care if he were gone?

Surely someone. A parent or sister or brother or friend. Someone who remembered what Paulo had been like as a child. Innocent. Smiling. Maybe even lovable.

That’s what got to Chuck the most – surely a bad guy hadn’t always been bad. Maybe not so long ago Paulo had been like Chuck but then one day he had shot a guy and everything that had once been horrible became easy.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Chuck turned towards the water, letting it rain down on his face. He looked down at his hands, which were spotless. Not a drop of blood on them, so to speak. But as he had gotten undressed earlier, his fingers trembling a bit with his buttons, he had noticed tiny spatters of dark red on his white tuxedo shirt and he had stripped it off and jumped into the shower as if he were on fire. It reminded him of that time he and Sarah had thought they had been sprayed by some toxic chemical and it had turned out to be powdered fruit punch. But he felt that same sense of panic tonight, that need to get out of his clothes and under the water.

How did they get used to this? How did anyone ever get used to this?

Chuck finally turned off the water. The hotel towels were thick and white, but rough and they smelled like chemicals. He wished he were at home, in his own room, with his own towels that smelled like fabric softener. Somehow he thought he’d be able to handle this better at home.

Or maybe not. Maybe it would be worse, being surrounded by reminders of his "normal" life. It was getting harder and harder for spy Chuck and regular Chuck to coexist. And now that he had shot someone – killed someone – it seemed impossible for him to go home. Ever. What would Ellie say if she knew? Ellie, who devoted her life to saving people. Would she ever look at Chuck the same way if she knew he had done the opposite?

He wished he could blame the intersect. He had flashed, sure. Diagrams of exactly where to put the bullet scrolled before his eyes. But this time wasn’t like when he had kicked Lester at the Buy More, where the flash had led to an immediate, uncontrolled response. No, this time he had hesitated. He had made the decision to shoot. There was no one else to blame.

A quiet knock on his door forced him back to the present. He slipped on a pair of pajama pants – did killers wear pajamas? – and a t-shirt before opening the door.

Sarah stood there, her hair still damp from her shower. Her hoodie didn’t hide the now purple bruises on her neck, or her swollen lip, or the pain in her eyes.

"Hey." Her voice was still hoarse and she cleared her throat quietly before trying again. "Can I come in?"

Chuck opened the door wider for her and followed her into the room where they both settled onto the edge of the bed in silence.

After a moment, they spoke at the same time: "Are you okay?"

They half-smiled at each other, which made Sarah wince slightly in pain. Chuck instinctively reached out as if to touch Sarah’s bottom lip, but then lowered his hand again quickly.

Sarah turned her face away and stared at the blank TV. "I’ve been beat up worse than this," she said.

Chuck nodded. It was true – she had been beat up worse. But why did she seem so … fragile now? What was different?

She turned back to face him and Chuck saw that her eyes were glassy. Oh, God, something was definitely different.

Her head dropped, her shoulders sagged, and Chuck watched incredulously as a tear slipped down her cheek and dropped onto the hotel bedspread.

"I’m so sorry, Chuck," she whispered.

All at once he realized why she was sorry. She was sorry for him, for what he had done, for what this job had made him do. She was sorry for being the reason that he had pulled the trigger just as he had often been the reason for her to do it. She knew him, knew what he had been going through these last few hours, and she knew he would never forgive himself. Or maybe she knew that he would, that he would eventually find killing more palatable, and perhaps that was even worse.

"Hey," Chuck moved closer to her, his had rubbing down her back, trying to comfort her as a friend might. She turned to him and he saw that look in her eyes again, the one he couldn’t quite place from before. He realized now it was guilt.

"Hey," he said again, stupidly. "It’s okay. I’ll be okay," he lied.

She shook her head. "No. You won’t. I don’t want you to be."

Chuck stared at her for a moment, soaking in what she had said. Sarah placed her hand on Chuck’s face, her fingers along his jaw. "You’re too good for this, Chuck. Too good for this life."

"He was killing you, Sarah. He would have ..." Chuck’s voice cracked a bit and he cleared his throat. "He would have killed you, and then he would have killed me and anyone else who got in his way."

She nodded and there was that gratefulness again mixed with regret.

Chuck reached out and touched her lip lightly with his thumb. "I wish I had gotten there sooner."

"I’m fine, Chuck. Unfortunately, I’m used to this."

She dropped her hand from his face and looked down again. Chuck understood her meaning – that she didn’t want him to get used to any of this. He wasn’t sure what to say. After all, he didn’t want to get used to it either. But he realized he’d do it again in a heartbeat. If he had to kill a guy like Paulo in order to save Sarah, he’d do it. He’d do it to save Ellie or Awesome or Morgan or probably anyone that he loved. When it came down to it, he’d probably do it for an innocent stranger, too. And maybe that’s how Sarah was able to make peace with this violence: maybe she compared the life she was taking to the life she was saving and made a judgement call. Maybe that wasn’t such a terrible thing.

Sarah inhaled deeply and blew it out. "Are you going to be able to sleep?"

Chuck exhaled, too. "Highly unlikely."

"Do you want me to stay?"

Despite their agreement to be "just friends," and despite his current emotional state, Chuck’s heart rate sped up slightly. She always had that effect on him.

But there was no double meaning in her question. She was asking as a friend. And that was probably what he needed more than anything at the moment.

"Do you mind?" he asked.

"Of course not."

So they climbed into his large bed, a bit too carefully and awkwardly. Although it had been over eight months since they had slept in the same bed, his feelings and his desire for her were still there. But more than anything, he had missed the warmth of someone close to him at night. He had missed her. Chuck reached out his hand to find hers and she immediately intertwined her fingers with his. And after several more minutes, she slid closer and they wrapped their arms around each other. Her embrace was knowing and understanding and forgiving and the longer and tighter she held him, the more he felt his throat tighten up.

Oh, God. He had killed someone.

As if Sarah knew what he was thinking, she made a soothing sound in his ear and squeezed him tighter. She pressed her lips against his hair, but the warmth of her body against his barely registered. He still felt alone.

He swallowed, but the lump was still there.

Chuck vs. The Birthday

Sun, 23 Nov 2008 03:01:19 GMT

This story takes place between seasons 1 and 2, before the Wienerlicious became Orange Orange. I started writing it before watching Chuck vs. The Cougars, so in this story Chuck and Sarah are a tiny bit older than they probably should be based on the actual intel we’ve gotten in season 2. I think that’s all you need to know. Thanks for reading – hope you enjoy it!

~*~

Sarah had been dreading the day for weeks now, the heavy feeling in her chest increasing steadily as it approached. It was so stupid, really. So ridiculous that she’d be upset about a date on the calendar but … there it was. She was human after all, no matter how hard she sometimes tried not to be.

Of course, Chuck sensed something almost immediately when he stopped by the Wienerlicious at lunchtime. She was a little disappointed in herself – that she wasn’t a good enough actress to hide her feelings. Or maybe Chuck just knew her well enough by now to see past her careful theatrics.

"Something wrong?" he asked when she rang up his lunch. Maybe it was the way she closed the cash register drawer a little too firmly, or the fact that she had sighed heavily when she had fumbled with the mustard bottle, as if being a little clumsy were the worst possible sin. Whatever had given her away, somehow he knew. He always knew.

"What do you mean?" She avoided eye contact and handed him his change.

"I don’t know. You just seem…" he trailed off and shrugged.

Sarah looked at him for a moment and blurted it out before she could think better of it. "It’s my birthday."

A slow smile spread across Chuck’s face before it froze and faded a little. "Wait. Your real birthday or your, um, secret cover birthday?"

"My real birthday. My real, actual 29^th birthday." She didn’t figure there was any harm in him knowing her birth date. He didn’t know anything else real about her – her name, her birthplace, her social security number – nothing that he could use to trace her somehow. Not that he had access to certain government databases like she did anyway. Her birth date was just one tiny piece of information which, by itself, was really insignificant. No big deal.

But Chuck’s broad smile told her that it was a big deal to him.

"Wow," he said. "Happy birthday." He was sincere in the way that only a person who had had happy birthdays his whole life could be. She waved a hand to dismiss the sentiment as if it were ridiculous and impossible, like telling a chronic insomniac to sleep well.

"Twenty-nine," she reminded him.

He nodded, undeterred, still smiling. "We’re almost the same age," he said, a giddiness in his voice that was almost infectious. "I’ll be 29 in May."

She nodded. She knew exactly when he’d be 29. She’d known before she’d even met him face-to-face. Charles Irving Bartowski, born May 14, 1980. Back then he had just been a black-and-white photo attached to a dossier of information that she had read quickly with her typical detachment. Back then she had formed a generic image in her mind of what he’d be like: smart but dull, too serious, unfortunately average in lots of ways. She found it interesting to compare that initial impression of him on paper with how she felt about him, the real live Chuck, now. Chuck was lots of things, but dull, serious and average weren’t words she’d use to describe him anymore.

"Of course, you already know that," he nodded, tucking his change into his pocket. "You know everything about me, I guess. You probably know when I lost my virginity."

Sarah smiled and blushed a little in spite of herself and opened her mouth to tell him that even the government didn’t have that kind of information. Although she was curious… had he been 18? Or younger? Was it with that Jill girl he had dated in college… the one that had dumped him for Bryce? Chuck held up his hand before she spoke, cutting off her thoughts.

"Nope. You know what? Don’t even… I don’t even want to know."

She smiled, quickly shaking thoughts of Chuck’s sex life out of her head, and reached for a stack of napkins to fill up the dispenser. Anyway, she felt a little better now, just being around Chuck. He always made her feel better.

"So. I take it you don’t like birthdays?"

She shrugged, busying herself so she wouldn’t have to look into his eyes. They sometimes had the effect of truth serum on her, tempting her to spill out all her secrets in an embarrassing rush of verbal purging. If she weren’t careful, she might let slip that she hadn’t celebrated a birthday since she was 17, hadn’t gotten a card or a gift from a family member in more than a decade, a fact she knew would be unfathomable to Chuck. Or she might accidentally tell him that being 29 reminded her that time was passing by and that being a spy didn’t seem as glamorous or as fun as it once had, that she wished she had more of a choice in where her life was going. Or, worst of all, she might tell him that this assignment – this simple cover of being his girlfriend and integrating herself into his family – often frightened her much more than life-threatening missions.

She never knew this existed outside of those TV shows with the smiling happy families who told each other everything and then hugged it out after every tame, little argument. She’d never seen these kinds of authentic, loving relationships up close before; in fact, she’d never thought they were even real. And even if she had thought it was possible to be that "normal," she certainly would never have admitted to wanting such a life. But here she was, seeing it all for herself – like a farfetched fairy tale come true. And like a little girl who longed to be Cinderella, Sarah now knew she wanted this. All of this. Family, friends, a home, some kind of meaning in her life that didn’t revolve around the government and its cold, calculated indifference to everything.

"Well. You’ve obviously never had the Bartowski birthday experience. Trust me – Ellie’s devil’s food cake will turn you around. Casa de Chuck. Tonight. We’ll celebrate it up right."

"No." Her voice was a little too firm as she set down the stack of napkins and finally looked up at him. "Chuck. We can’t. I probably shouldn’t even have told you." She put her hand on his, stressing her words. "You can’t tell anyone, okay? It could compromise my cover. Promise me."

He stared down at their hands until she pulled hers away. Then he looked up, the disappointment so obvious on his face. "Well, dinner at least. Something. I mean, it’s your birthday."

She almost felt like crying at his sweet sort of innocence. He didn’t realize, of course, that she was usually alone on every holiday, major or otherwise. She didn’t acknowledge holidays at all if they weren’t somehow part of her cover. Often she hadn’t even realized it was Valentine’s Day or Thanksgiving until after the fact, when she saw candy hearts or cranberry sauce on clearance at the grocery store. It was only now, with this stable, pretend life, that the routine of things made her pay attention to dates. And it was only a few weeks ago, when she put her Wienerlicious hours on the calendar, that she realized her birthday was approaching, the date familiar in a vague and haunting sort of way like the anniversary of a loved one’s death.

"C’mon. Come over tonight. We’ll at least have dinner. Okay?"

She hesitated for just a moment before smiling and nodding, grateful that he was persistent. He knew her well enough to know that, despite her hard shell, her stiff-lipped denial, she didn’t really want to be alone. Not any more.

~*~

When she got to Chuck’s that night, she found he had still invited Ellie and Awesome, Casey, Morgan and Anna – basically the only "friends" she’d had in the past 11 years. Chuck had made up some excuse to get together, but he hadn’t betrayed her, hadn’t told anyone it was her birthday. Even so, Casey pulled her aside at one point.

"You told him?"

She looked at him, genuinely confused. There were so many things she could have told Chuck but hadn’t – she wasn’t sure what secret Casey thought she had let slip.

Casey was impatient with her confusion. "What today is," he hissed.

She was surprised that Casey even knew it was her birthday, or that he remembered. But then again, Casey knew everything. Casey remembered everything. When she didn’t answer and looked down at her glass of wine, Casey shook his head. "Be careful, Walker," he warned.

After everyone left and Awesome and Ellie went to bed, Chuck walked Sarah to the couch and pressed lightly on her shoulders until she sat. She looked up at him suspiciously. He was up to something.

"Okay. Close your eyes."

She knew it. Instead of closing them, she rolled them and smiled, feeling just a little drunk and happy now under the influence of a few glasses of wine and the warm glow Chuck’s attention.

"Come on. Close ‘em."

So she played along. She hated to admit how much she enjoyed Chuck doting on her. It was probably the most genuine interest anyone had shown in her since she was a child, and she couldn’t seem to get enough of it. Although, it wasn’t like she never got attention, but the kind she usually got was from the likes of Lester: the leering, intrusive kind that was more about her "assets" than it was actually about her. Chuck’s interest in her felt genuine. Real. He might still appreciate her assets, but it felt like there was more to it than that.

With her eyes closed, she heard him shuffle around a bit and within a moment he was back, sitting on the coffee table across from her. His long legs bumped up gently against hers.

"Okay, you can open them."

She did, and Chuck was in front of her holding a huge, beautiful pink-frosted cupcake bearing a single lit candle.

"Make a wish," he said quietly.

Sarah forced a smile, biting her bottom lip so that Chuck wouldn’t see it quiver. She probably hadn’t blown out a birthday candle since she was 13 and now she was supposed to make a wish? She wasn’t even sure she knew how to wish anymore. Or maybe she wasn’t sure she could narrow it down to just one, to reduce 16 years of unspent wishing into one single chance. Before she could come up with something generic and simple, she felt one form in spite of herself: that Chuck would never get the intersect out of his head, that the government would need her to protect him forever. She rarely thought about forever – CIA agents always focused on the here and now – and the word gave her a rush of a feeling she didn’t recognize. Happy anticipation? Hope? But then it was quickly followed by dread at alternative – Chuck being free and moving on, her going back to the impersonal, solitary life she had led before. That thought was almost unbearable at the moment.

She quickly reprimanded herself for being so selfish, so horrifyingly stunted. Chuck deserved more of a life than that. He hadn’t asked to be stuck with this burden, stuck with her, forever. He deserved a real life with a real girlfriend, so she forced herself to modify her wish to something less selfish but just as pitiful: to not be alone. That she wouldn’t always feel so alone.

She blew out the candle quickly, feeling a little silly. Chuck set the cupcake down and she was grateful when he didn’t ask her what she wished for.

Instead he reached behind him and pulled out a present. "Okay, so I didn’t have a lot of time, but …"

A second wave of emotion hit when she saw the box, neatly wrapped. "Chuck. You didn’t have to—"

"I know. But … just … well, it’s not a big deal. Just open it."

She took the package from him, amused and touched by how nervous he seemed. She shook the box lightly. It was small, lightweight, didn’t make any noise.

"I tried to get you a card, but I couldn’t find any ‘Happy birthday to my fake-girlfriend-secret-agent-protector cards’." She laughed and Chuck smiled. "Hallmark is obviously missing out on an untapped demographic."

She smiled at him until finally he inhaled deeply and gestured to the present. "Go ahead. Open it."

She pulled off the paper slowly, carefully, trying to draw out the pleasure of this gift as long as possible. She wasn’t sure when she’d ever get a birthday gift again and she wanted to make it last. Finally the paper was off and she opened the box to find a simple silver watch – delicate and feminine, not expensive, necessarily, but pretty.

"It’s just a watch," Chuck pointed out quickly. "But… no tracking devices, no bugs, no … built-in explosives. Just in case you … you know … you ever want to go out. Just … as Sarah. Not CIA agent Walker."

She lifted the watch out of the box and admired it, turning it over in her hands, and she noticed the tiny engraving on the back. She held it up so she could read it:

Sarah,
Thanks for the time of my life
-Chuck

Sarah swallowed and turned her face to the side, hoping Chuck wouldn’t see the rogue tears she felt pooling in her eyes.

"It’s corny. I know. But since… you know … since I’ve been dealing with this whole intersect in my brain thing, I’ve almost died more times than I care to count…" He trailed off before taking another deep breath. "But it’s been … surprisingly fun." When she rolled her eyes, Chuck knocked her leg with his. "It has! And I’m just … really lucky that the CIA sent you because you have made this whole …" His searched for words again. "Well, you’ve made it … better. You make everything better."

Sarah nodded, wishing she could talk, wishing her emotions weren’t so dangerously close to the surface.

Chuck noticed. "Hey." He put his hand on her knee and pivoted so that he was sitting next to her. "Sarah…"

She waved her hand, feeling silly now. "I just… I’ve had a few glasses of wine and …" she cleared her throat again, not wanting to admit too much. "I haven’t gotten a birthday present in a long time. And this is … just ..."

Chuck tilted his head, looking at her seriously.

"Thank you. For all of this."

He smiled a little but still looked concerned by her emotional reaction. "You’re welcome." They looked at each other for a moment before Chuck cleared his throat and looked away. "Um. Do you want to stay here tonight? I mean… maybe you shouldn’t drive home."

She hesitated, then nodded. She wasn’t really that drunk, but it probably made sense for her to stay with him anyway. They’d been sleeping together a couple nights a week for awhile now. Not sleeping together sleeping together, just passing their nighttime hours in the same bed. For their cover, so that Ellie and Awesome wouldn’t get suspicious. That first night they had tried – the night she had worn the sexy purple nightie and Ellie had been poisoned – they had never actually slept and instead had spent the night at the hospital. And then things had gotten a little crazy, with Chuck fake breaking up with her and going out with Lou, and then there was that kiss – spontaneous, stupid, reckless, hot. God, that kiss…

Then Bryce had shown up, back from the grave and for awhile her and Chuck’s cover story seemed secondary to all of the real, confusing emotions she was feeling. But then Bryce had left and things had settled down and Sarah knew she had to take control of the situation once again. Be professional. Her job was to maintain their cover, protect the asset. Period.

When she broached the subject of spending the night again, she had expected Chuck to balk, to stutter, to be embarrassed, especially now that they had kissed, but instead he had nodded as if he had been waiting for her to suggest it. He didn’t seem nervous or anxious and Sarah felt her feelings bruise a bit under his indifference. Perhaps he was growing tired of the game. Maybe she was, too.

The first time and every time after that, they had climbed under the covers next to each other, careful not to touch, to each stay on their side of the invisible line down the middle of the bed. She had foregone the sexy lingerie, realizing almost immediately that it had been a mistake. When Chuck had compared her to a prostitute, she saw she was trying too hard, not playing fair. She had known what Chuck’s reaction to her would be and she had selfishly wanted to see it. She had wanted him to look at her like that, to want her, and that realization now made her feel ashamed. She was a tease – trying to entice him and then telling him ‘no.’ She had often been a tease in this job (although she didn’t often have to say ‘no’), but this was Chuck, and despite their cover she was not supposed to seduce him. Her not-so-subtle nightie was frankly unprofessional and mean. She realized that now. So now she wore shorts and a tank top, her hair up in a ponytail. It was probably more realistic sleepwear for a girlfriend of six months anyway.

But really, what did she know about being a normal girlfriend? She often felt as out of place in Chuck’s "normal" life as he felt amidst gunfight and the spy world. In fact, she was starting to think that Chuck was more a real spy than she was a real person.

But today she had given him a tiny piece of herself. It wasn’t much – just the day she was born – but he had smiled that brilliant smile and acted as if she had spilled all her secrets. And he had bought her that present – not the kind of present that Bryce had always given her. Expensive, impractical jewelry bought to impress others as much as to please her. Chuck had bought her something personal, sweet, something that showed that he knew something about her, that there was a part of her that longed to wear a normal watch that only tracked time. Such a simple thing, but… it was something.

They walked to his room together and he pulled a t-shirt from a drawer and handed it to her. It was soft and worn and smelled clean, like him. He turned his back while she slipped it on and then they took turns in the bathroom. She supposed it felt a little like they were a real couple, sharing this bedtime routine, climbing into bed next to each other after an evening "date."

But when Chuck’s weight settled into onto the mattress next to her, her loneliness was almost unbearable. He was right there, his body so close that she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. She could smell the familiar scent of his soap, his toothpaste. He felt comfortable and safe, almost like a real boyfriend. Almost. But not quite.

"Good night, Sarah." His voice was quiet, intimate, rough with sleepiness.

She inhaled deeply and halfway through tried to make it sound less like a sigh by clearing her throat. She wasn’t sure she had fooled him. "Night, Chuck."

"Happy birthday."

She smiled, even as she felt her throat tighten again. "Thanks." She barely got the word out. It had been a happy birthday. Probably the happiest she’d ever had, and that was just… too much to deal with. They looked at each other for a moment and she thought maybe he might kiss her. The tension was there like a rubber band stretched taut between them, the memory of what it had felt like to press their mouths together hungrily. Or maybe it was just there for her, because he didn’t kiss her. Instead he sighed and shifted and closed his eyes. Within a few minutes his breathing steadied and he was asleep. He always slept soundly, the sleep of someone who wasn’t constantly watching his back, afraid for his life. The sleep of a civilian. She slept like a typical spy – hardly at all.

She watched him for awhile. Watched the rise and fall of his chest, watched the shadows play across his features. He faced her, his hair falling over his forehead in the crazy way it sometimes did and she reached out and touched it, carefully pushing it back. He slept on, undisturbed. She held her fingers a millimeter from his mouth, feeling his breath puff lightly on them. Made bold by how deeply he slept, she touched his lips, just barely, remembering what it had been like to kiss him. God, his intensity, his immediate reaction had surprised her. She was used to kissing men like Bryce, men who knew how to never give too much away. Men who could reign in their passion carefully, tactically, almost effortlessly. But Chuck had kissed her the way he did everything: honestly. She had tasted his hunger and his adoration and his … awe as his mouth slid against hers. In that moment, she had realized she was in trouble because she felt something. Something real and frightening. She had been trying to forget that feeling for weeks and it obviously wasn’t working because when she touched his lips now, she remembered.

But still he slept. She ran her thumb lightly against his full bottom lip and then slid her hand along his jaw, cupping it and letting the tips of her fingers touch the soft curls at the back of his neck.

"What’s wrong?" His voice startled her – she hadn’t realized he had opened his eyes, that he was awake. There was worry in his voice and maybe a little panic. He clearly thought there was some sort of spy emergency, some specific mission-related reason she was touching him. She suddenly felt sad that was the case – he wasn’t able to accept her touch without questioning her motivation. But why would he? How many times had she touched him because she wanted to – held his hand, pulled playfully on his tie – but passed it off as part of their cover? Of course he didn’t trust her. She herself could barely tell what was real and what was pretend anymore. The lines between who she was and who she was supposed to be were so blurred.

"Nothing," she whispered, but she was pretty sure her voice betrayed her lie. Sometimes it felt like everything was wrong.

Chuck stared at her for a moment in the near darkness and she stared back. They were at the edge of something, she thought. Dangling their toes over a precipice, wondering what it would feel like if they just … jumped.

"Sarah?" He whispered her name, a slight question in his voice, but before he could continue, she kissed him. Before she could think, make excuses, back down, she pressed her mouth against his lightly. Her fingers still rested on his face and she kissed him again, letting her mouth open just slightly against his. He was hesitating this time, unlike the first time they had kissed. She supposed he was gun shy now, wondering what kind of crazy stunt she was pulling.

He pulled away from her, his eyes dark and confused. "Sarah, what—"

She pressed her fingers against his mouth and leaned close to his ear. "Shhh," she breathed. "Casey."

She knew Chuck’s room was heavily bugged, knew that it was possible (although maybe unlikely, given the hour) that Casey was listening to them at that very moment, or would listen to the surveillance tape later. But she knew that wasn’t the only reason she didn’t want him to ask questions. She just didn’t want to have to analyze this yet, to talk about it or explain herself. She just wanted, that was all.

Her lips brushed against the velvety skin of his earlobe and she heard his sharp intake of breath. She tasted his neck, his jaw, inhaling the clean, warm smell of him. Sarah knew he wanted to touch her but wouldn’t let himself. She could almost feel the effort of his restraint, like a coiled spring, as her mouth found his again.

She pressed against him, enjoying how they fit together, how the hardness of his body betrayed his outward calm. Their kiss deepened and when Chuck’s mouth opened against hers, she fought the urge to moan out loud. Damn Casey and his fucking surveillance. Damn having to second-guess everything about this.

Chuck’s hand found its way to her waist, his fingers bunching the soft cotton of her t-shirt. She let one of her hands snake underneath his shirt to find his skin, hot and smooth.

Their kisses became restless, hungry, and Sarah’s hand slipped higher so that she could feel the lean muscles of his back, his shoulders. Chuck rolled on top of her and her breath caught as his leg pressed the ache between hers. He kissed her deeply and then softly and then he was looking down at her again. God, those eyes. He could never hide anything. They were like a direct conduit to his every feeling, laid out clearly and simply. He seemed to be searching her, looking for something and when he didn’t find it, he pushed himself up and off of her. She missed the weight of his body on hers immediately.

He climbed off the bed and pulled her up next to him and then tugged her almost roughly out the door and into the bathroom. For a moment Sarah was surprised and a little intrigued by his forcefulness. It reminded her of how he had pulled her against him when they both thought they were going to die. But when the bathroom door closed behind them, he didn’t push her up against the wall and kiss her. He didn’t spin her around so he could watch her in the mirror as he touched her. No, he just looked at her, searching. Studying. Finally, Sarah looked away.

"What’s going on?" He asked it quietly, but it was more like a statement than a question. She realized now why he had brought her into the bathroom. There were no bugs there. Even Casey didn’t find it necessary to listen in on the noises emanating from that room.

"You said this could never go anywhere." Chuck’s voice was soft and confused. "So … what is this?"

Sarah shrugged, slipped her hands under his t-shirt, felt the warm, firm skin of his stomach, his ribs. Chuck closed his eyes for just a second and Sarah felt a flash of victory. Whatever this was, she wouldn’t have to explain it if she could make him forget the question. And she was good at making men forget the questions. But then Chuck’s hands were on her wrists, hesitantly tugging them from beneath his shirt.

Her feeling of victory was quickly replaced by humiliation and impatience. What the hell? Was he really going to insist on a meaningful conversation when all she wanted was to just—

"Sarah." His voice was still gentle, almost a whisper. "I know…I know today was…" he searched for the right words. "Hard for you. And I get that. But this." He nodded, kind of gesturing to the space between them. "Is this real? Or is it just…"

Loneliness? Fear? Desperation? Love? Sarah felt that now-familiar ache in her throat. Before he could see her tears again, she pulled her hands from his grasp and reached for the door knob.

"You’re right," she said calmly. "I’m sorry. It has been a weird day." And she opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway.

~*~

Sarah grabbed her purse and her jeans from Chuck’s room and left before he was even out of the bathroom, escaping into the courtyard in only her underwear and Chuck’s t-shirt. She slipped on her jeans next to her car and hopped in quickly, hoping Chuck wasn’t following her. What the hell was her fucking problem lately? Was she really willing to sacrifice her cover, her job, her safety and Chuck’s, for a … a … crush? Just because she couldn’t get the thought of him out of her head, couldn’t help but wonder what their bodies would feel like, hot and electric against each other? Sex was sex. What was the big deal with Chuck? He probably wasn’t even very good in bed anyway. It wasn’t like he’d had all that much experience; the intel on him had told her that much.

But her bravado wore off on the drive back to her hotel and the tears inevitably came. She hadn’t cried in years – or at least not sobbing, ugly, uncontrolled crying that made it hard to see the road. What the hell was happening to her? Why was she so confused and unsure and just … sad these days? Why, after years of successfully turning off her emotions were they now always so close to the surface?

Chuck. He was why. He was the kind of guy that she had forgotten even existed. A guy who was gentle and kind and thoughtful, who didn’t think he was God’s gift to the world. A guy so utterly himself that he made her feel more like herself than she ever had before. Something about Chuck reminded her of who she had once been – a girl who just wanted to be loved, who wanted a simple life without lies and secrets and constantly running away. And he was within her grasp and he wanted her and she couldn’t have him.

And on top of his sweetness and kindness, there was something physical between them – something almost tangible, like a current or a vibration. Whenever they were close to each other it was like the air was charged. She remembered being in Yari Demetrios’ trunk and, even when she was frustrated and angry and jealous, the feeling of his body pressed against her back, his breath on her neck, had shuffled up her normally orderly thought process. He confused her, made her forget what her role was supposed to be. The energy between them had pulled her towards him twice, now, and she seemed less and less able to resist the gravity they had created. And she almost hated to admit that, if the way he kissed was any indication, he was probably just fine in bed. What he lacked in experience, he probably made up for in enthusiasm and attention to detail. She shook her head, trying to stop thinking about it, about him.

She took the elevator up to her hotel room, the room she had grown to hate lately. Chuck’s place – or, really, Ellie and Awesome’s place – was always so warm and comfortable and smelled like vanilla or cinnamon or … home. Or what she imagined home might smell like. Her room was cold and tidy and smelled sort of like industrial cleaning fluid. There wasn’t a trace of anything personal beyond her clothes – no photos, no knickknacks, no touch of who she was.

Well, that made sense. After all, who was she, anyway? Who the hell was she these days?

She splashed water on her face and slid off her jeans, leaving Chuck’s t-shirt on, and collapsed onto her bed. What the hell had she done? Talk about an existential crisis. She seemed to be smack in the middle of one.

When she heard the knock on her door, she knew it was Casey. He had probably heard something over his precious little headphones – the sounds of kissing, Chuck’s confused questions, her barely stifled moans. Maybe he had bugged the bathroom after all. God, Casey would sell her out to the general and she’d be reprimanded and relocated to another assignment as far from Chuck as possible and they’d send in some other cute young spy to play his new girlfriend. Because, clearly, if she hadn’t compromised herself before, she certainly had now.

She yanked open the door, prepared for Casey’s tirade or even his mocking.

"I know." She said without looking at him. "I just—"

But it was Chuck’s arms that wrapped around her, Chuck’s mouth that lowered onto hers, cutting off her words. He walked her backwards and shut the door with a shove.

God, he kissed her just so … right. He put every bit of himself into it, every bit of who he was and who he wanted to be. She was surprised at how good he was at just being. Not acting, not pretending – just … being. The way his hands found her face and cradled it, the way his mouth was soft and warm and teasing without a hint of manipulation. So often the men she had to kiss in her line of work kissed like they were playing some kind of game, like it was a challenge, a cat and mouse thing. But Chuck was just there. In the moment. Real.

He pulled away from her and she opened her eyes reluctantly. His shirt was still bunched in her fingers and she couldn’t quite seem to open her hands to let it go. His voice was quiet and rough when he spoke.

"Since Stanford, I’ve been kind of waiting around for my real life to start." He reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Just… waiting for things to fall into place, you know? For me to not feel so unsure or … scared."

Sarah nodded and she released her grip on his shirt but kept her hands pressed against his chest so she could feel the thumping of his heart, the hard swell of his chest, beneath her palms.

"But this is my real life. Right now." He held her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing her jaw. His voice was lower when he spoke again. "What are we waiting for, Sarah?"

She didn’t answer. Instead she slid her hands up into his hair – God she loved his hair – and kissed him. She would give him right now. Either of them could be killed tomorrow by a Fulcrum agent or a Russian spy or a simple traffic accident and they would never have this. So even if she couldn’t offer him a simple life, a house with a picket fence and a happy little family, she knew they both wanted this. They both needed this.

His hands found their way under her t-shirt and slid from her waist up her back. Hers did the same, running all over his torso until there was nowhere else to touch. She yanked at his shirt and he lifted his arms so she could pull it over his head.

She reached for the button of his jeans, ignoring the warning bells in her head of how this might compromise her judgement when it came to "the asset." But he was more than an asset to her. And she deserved this. It was her birthday, damn it, and she deserved one real thing, one real time, with someone who might love her. Someone she might love back.

She pushed his jeans down over his narrow hips and he stepped out of them. He pulled off her t-shirt and leaned her back onto the bed and the feeling of his hot skin against hers seemed to heal something inside of her. Anything else he had to say he said with his hands and his eyes and his amazing, amazing mouth on her skin: I want you. I know you. I love you.

He kissed her again and again, her mouth, her neck, her collarbone. He paid such attention to her. He always did, always made her feel like a real person and not like someone pretending to be someone else. When he touched her, it felt like he was touching the real Sarah Walker – the one with a different name she almost didn’t remember, the one with a history and feelings that mattered.

The few remaining pieces of their clothes came off and they were pressed so close together that she felt like him – like someone authentic and whole, someone that someone could love. His hands smoothed over her skin, pressing hope into her. Things could be different. With someone like Chuck, her life could be different.

He paused then, his breath warm against her skin. He pushed up on his elbows and looked down at her, brushing her hair back from her face. He pressed his forehead lightly against hers and closed his eyes for just a second before pinning her with his gaze. Under it, she felt the hardest, stingiest core inside of her melting. God, it really was so simple. She loved him.

She pulled him down to kiss her and then they just breathed against each other, their mouths almost touching. She kissed him again, her bottom lip catching his and holding it for a second before letting go.

They looked at each other again, eyes locked, hearts pounding against each other. Everything he thought or hoped, that’s what this meant to her as well. And then he was moving over her, inside of her, and she let herself be loved for the first time in years. Maybe for the first time ever.

~*~