Thanks for all the support and reviews for my other story, The Road Not Taken, I was overwhelmed by the number of uber quick replies I got after only one or two days :)
I have no idea what's up with my depressing and angsty writing these days...shrugs. Sorry.
This is more of a muse that goes round in circles because the depth that can be written about Sarah's emotions intrigues me.
When I've finished, I'll post my other so-far-uncompleted fic, at least that one's relatively feel good.
I'm currently working on a multichaptered story, haven't found much motivation for that one...must be my commitment issues coming into play into my writing as well ;)
Does anyone read Eragon? Brisingr came out today!! (A/N: Well, it did when I wrote this). Need to go pick one up (A/N: yeah I have one now lol).
kayla101blue: THIS TIME- PLEASE DON'T 'SCROLL DOWN' LIKE YOU DID FOR THE OTHER FIC. lol
Disclaimer: Chuck is not mine. Sob.
Sarah vs ...
"I'll talk to Chuck." She looks down, soft voice tapering off, and biting her lip slightly, shrugs. "If I can't fix this then- I'll ask for a reassignment."
And she did. Talk to Chuck that is.
They sat down like civilised adults under the Christmas Tree at the Buy More and agreed to stay professional- while oblivious partygoers around them danced and sang to the spirit of Christmas and the joy of love. How ironic.
And it hurt her.
It ached, rather like a hollow feeling resounding through her empty chest. It was lonely. They deliberately missed Ellie's social events, telling his sister something different each time, told her that Sarah was sick, she had work, her family had an emergency that Christmas, on the New Years, on Easter, Valentines, her birthday, his birthday, their anniversary, at breakfast, dinner; stayed alone in a cold apartment, Christmas again. And on it went.
Their cover was steady, even with all the non appearances ... so steady Ellie seemed to be nudging Chuck to buy an engagement ring next.
Their real relationship ... nothing could be said about it. Because it didn't exist.
And that hurt the most.
Losing his friendship. Their slow meandering walks along the beach. Lunches at the Weinerlicious. Conversations. The comfort and familiarity they had.
Sometimes she wondered if it would have been easier to ask for a relocation. That way she wouldn't have to work in constant proximity to him; seeing the affection in his eyes, the warmth in his touch, the nerdy jokes- but not being on the recieving end of any of them.
But she didn't trust anybody with his life. He was safest under her protection.
She couldn't have mustered enough courage to leave anyway. There was no way she could have drawn herself away from him; they were rather like a moth and a glowing lamp.
It was his beam, revealing the glint of his straight white teeth: chased away her nightmares and the blood, the murder that haunted her at her weakest moments in her sleep. His irresistable goofy charm that warmed whatever was left of her heart, delaying the frostbite that had started to set in after her last few assignments. That golden aura that always seemed to surround him, the gentleness of his actions that she brang home with her to light up her dark apartment.
Or maybe it was him. Chuck Bartowski. His personality that drew her to himself, the magnetic attraction that she was defenseless to. He intrigued her, the many sides to him that made her so aware that those were the ones she was lacking in.
"Good haul today." He commented.
She couldn't help but notice almost obsessively: the politeness, like they were simply strangers working together; his glance as he spoke to her, lacking in anything but friendliness; those eyes that she could not peer in to read his emotions.
She noted the way he sat casually next to her, no nervousness, the distance between their bodies, the fact there no signs of anything other than a hello-and-goodbye-until-next-time conversation. Nothing that signified that talking to her was anything special or worth savouring.
"Yeah." She looked straight forward again, at the huge crates containing illegal weapons, watching as the two smugglers were led away by black clad men. "You did well today, Chuck."
He shrugged, his cheeks clear of any blush or incessent fidgeting. "Thanks. All in a day's work."
It was so, so different.
Their heads weren't closer together than they needed to be. No quiet voices from either of them, not to discuss private things, but just so they could be in their own little world. She didn't touch his arm briefly when talking. He didn't look up anymore when she called a greeting to him as she walked into a room.
Nowdays, her joints, bones, muscles hurt with a phantom illness that ate away at her. The iron band around her heart was now a permanent fixture that squeezed painfully in his presence. It sent a sour sensation to her stomach, a burning, prickling behind her eyes, and seized her throat ruthlessly.
It was all so unbearable.
But what broke her in the end, was the utter blankness in his eyes as he died in her arms.
There were no words, even in the last few minutes they had left together on this earth.
He had left a will. Written- individual letters to the people he loved most. There was no need for her to pass on any messages, unlike his supposed extraction almost a year and a half ago. He had made sure to be prepared this time.
And so they sat there: him cradled in her shaking limbs, torso in her lap, head propped gently against her breast. A sob tore itself from her throat. She bowed her head over his chest, the long, fine golden strands of her hair creating a barrier between them and the chaos erupting around. It hung there limply with the fresh downpour of rain, protecting him, keeping him, from the impending loom of death that threatened.
Nevertheless, even with all the cacophany and panic-
It was so utterly silent.
She tried to speak, but the anguish and shock melted into a constricting ball and stuck itself at the base of her windpipe. All that came out was a weak choking noise.
All that had been said, had been said a long time ago. All she wanted to say, was lost to the wind howling around them.
Her fingers had turned icy numb a while ago, but were vices around his body.
They were cold, and wet. The crimson blood that boldly stained the front of his business shirt could not be mistaken, the fabric quickly becoming translucent, the gap in his chest that the bullet tore into his flesh becoming visible, his precious life blood refusing to clot despite all her frantic attempts to stem the flow.
Just before he died, his pale fingers weakly attempted to touch her cheek. An indecipherable look flickered in his doe brown eyes, his skin brushed tenderly against hers.
The look he gave her without words, was so heartrending that she refused to make sense of it in order to keep her sanity intact.
She had no words for him either, because soon after he died-
There was nothing.
... Nothing.
ZACHARY LEVI AND YVONNE STRAHOVSKI, if you're reading this: JUST GET MARRIED ALREADY!!
I thought that since I already have a 'happy' Chuck/Sarah ending, I need to have a angsty/sad one for balance...teehee
I don't like this as much as my first one and I didn't spend as much time on it. This time I'm focusing not on short sentences- but making oblique references of emotions instead of stating them (yeah, confusing, I know). And again: ARGH, my tenses.
Is anyone else excited (gross understatement) that DAVID BECKHAM'S coming to NEW ZEALAND! Auckland no less!! Wooooo! I flew down to Welly for his first game here, and on my life- Nothing's gonna stop me from going to this one as well :D cackle and manical grin
Hmm, I was thinking of writing some chapters using some of the intel about the second season from the trailers and plot synopsises...but I'm lazy. That pretty much explains everything.
Some one needs to send me the vid for the first episode for the first season!! I can't watch it outside the US on hula.
Reviews & advice are love. (God knows how much lurrve is needed in the world today...especially with the choice for prime minister between twiddle dum and twiddle dumber).