Chuck vs. the Atonement
How Chuck might start fixing things with Sarah. Takes place a bit after 2.06, based only on seeing 2.06 and the preview for 2.07 shown directly after 2.06 aired on NBC.
Rating: T, for periodic use of slight language and low levels of violence. (Better to err on the side of caution.)
A/N: After the watching "Chuck vs. the Ex," I was wondering how the writers would fix all the issues that erupted with the reemergence of Jill. I started thinking of the different ways in which it would be believable for things to start returning to normal. One possibility would be Chuck and Sarah being true form, meaning that Chuck would need to start acting like Chuck again, and that Sarah would not just instantly melt back into Chuck's arms. In essence, both would have to explicitly deal with the events head on in order for anything to be believable. This story is one of the scenarios I came up with that seemed plausible to me as a Chuck fan. You, of course, are more than welcome to offer your own opinion and completely disagree with me.
I did proof the story a few times, but there are undoubtedly a few things that slipped by me, so I apologize in advance for any typos or grammatical errors. A lot of the dialog is written as if it were being spoken (as opposed to it being written with exacting punctuation). Therefore, if you're confused, try reading it aloud. (You get bonus points if you read it aloud in the appropriate character's voice.) The standard disclaimer also applies: I don't own Chuck, because if I did, I could quit the day job.
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"I realize that I have absolutely NO right to ask this of you…"
His lifeless voice suddenly broke through her silent reverie as she methodically wiped down the counters of the Orange Orange. She hadn't even heard him enter the store because her mind had been…elsewhere, despite her best efforts to focus after the lunch hour rush had subsided. Damn him, she thought, even when I'm unbelievably pissed at him…. Refusing to allow herself to finish the thought—exercising the first bit of self-control in ages, her conscious quickly piped in before she silenced it—Sarah stopped wiping the counter and looked up at Chuck as he finished his sentence.
"…but if you could at least pretend to hear me out and THEN throw a knife at me, I would really appreciate it."
The knife crack would have normally gotten a smile out of them both. At the very least, it was worth a smirk and eyebrow raise. But not today. Not even from him. She couldn't help but notice how he looked. In a word…awful. Utterly awful, in fact. And this coming from the CIA agent who had seen people shot, stabbed, blown up, poisoned, and/or tortured. She had already noticed that his voice was monotone, missing his crazy tone changes and lovably quirky delivery style. He was standing in his work clothes a good foot away from the counter, shoulders slumped, arms slack, left hand stuffed in his pocket, and a small paper bag clenched in his right hand. His eyes were completely devoid of their normal life and filled instead with an unfathomable sadness, his hair was even more unruly than normal, and his face was completely slack—lips pressed into a thin line, corners of his mouth inexplicably pulled downward (OK, perhaps not so inexplicably…, was her immediate reaction before silently cursing herself out again for thinking not-completely-relevant thoughts about Chuck AGAIN…and feeling sorry for him at that). After taking in his appearance, she amended her previous assessment. He looks really awful. Realizing that he was waiting for an answer to his question, she looked around the store: completely empty. Story of my life—never an easy out when you need one. Punctuating the thought with a forced sigh, she closed her eyes tightly before opening them again and looking at him—though through him might be more accurate—and decided to say as few words to him as possible, while simultaneously trying to keep herself in control. Getting herself into agent mode to distance herself from the emotions that were bound to run rampant, she planted one hand on her hip and the other on the counter, taking one more deep breath before answering. Knife throwing was still certainly on the table, Intersect or no Intersect.
"Fine."
Putting his hands up at chest level, Chuck took one slow step forward to bring him closer to the counter, gingerly placed the bag on the edge of the counter, making sure to place it out of Sarah's reach, and then took a step back again, planting both hands firmly back in his pockets. Giving Sarah a reason to skewer him on sight—for moving too quickly—was not exactly something he desired…even though she had ample reason already commence skewering. The fact that he was still alive was a miracle in itself. While she suspiciously eyed the bag, he unconsciously mimicked Sarah's steps earlier—a much smaller, but forced, sigh, eyes shut tightly, and eyes open again—before he began to talk. He was hoping that the routine would at least make the words hurt less, and if they didn't hurt less, he would settle for them coming easier. Beginning to speak, he felt the ache in his chest again. So much for painless or easy.
"I know you know what happened…"
An ever-so-slight eyebrow raise was all the response he got. Of course she knew what happened. It was hard not to know. His ex-girlfriend, Jill, had whirled back into his life nearly a month ago after a chance meeting at a conference. Chuck was not over her, and Jill was smitten with "Agent Carmichael." Things had quickly spiraled from there. This in itself bothered Sarah, given her feelings for Chuck (feelings that were the worst-kept secret since Israel's nuclear weapons, but feelings nonetheless). She would maybe even use the word "jealous" to describe how she felt. MAYBE. What bothered her most, though, was how Chuck flaunted it. And oh, did he flaunt it. He didn't think before speaking, said the most insensitive things when she was present, totally lost all sense of reason, and made completely irrational decisions that threatened all of them (Worse than normal, opined her conscious). In essence, he was being a total jerk.
The incident he was referring to, however, was the event that had transpired just over a week ago. An event that she (Regrettably?, interjected her conscious, making her wonder if it was possible to throw a knife at said conscious to get it to shut up) had not witnessed because she had cut off all contact with Chuck except in a professional capacity after Jill and the jerk known as Chuck had appeared. Instead, Casey heard "the incident"—both with and without the bugs—and had been one to tell her what had happened. The discussion to end all discussions. An argument that even had Casey wincing. Chuck had assumed that their renewed relationship meant that Jill would be staying in Los Angeles longer, if not permanently. It was apparently a very bad assumption to make. The erroneous logic was made painfully clear when Jill calmly informed him that the "vacation" had been very nice, and that it was great to see him again and "reconnect", but that her boyfriend would be wondering where she had been and that she had best be returning home. "Floored" would be one word to describe Chuck's expression. "Heartbroken" would be the word to describe his feelings. "Livid" would probably also be in the mix. Unlike the breakup discussion at Stanford, which was more of a notification than a discussion, there was discussion this time. Chuck refused to back down without a fight. Jill was happy to oblige. Words were said. Voices were raised. Ultimately, things were thrown (…at Chuck, sadly enough). Jill stormed out of Chuck's bedroom, and Chuck just collapsed onto the bed, not moving for hours, staring at the ceiling with a sort of shocked grief expression. When Sarah had heard the entire story, she seriously contemplated hunting Jill down for a little…talk. Contemplating Jill hunting was quickly followed by thoughts pertaining to Chuck, her initial reaction (sympathy and wanting to be there for him) quickly outweighed by anger, each thought enraging her more than the last. How stupid must be feel, given the past month's behavior toward the entire world? How could he have fallen for her again? Didn't he learn from last time? And, even more importantly, how could he have chosen Jill over h… (she promptly stopped this line of thought before the last word could get out. There was no way that she was having that talk again, either with Chuck OR herself.) The angry Chuck thoughts ultimately won out. Jill would live, so long as she never stepped near Chuck again. Chuck, on the other hand.... If she ever spoke to him again, it would not be a pleasant conversation.
The day after The Argument, Chuck started working triple shifts at Buy More, telling Morgan and Anna to take some time off and that he'd cover for them both. The only time Chuck went home was to shower and attempt to sleep. Too much downtime, it seemed, would allow him to think—the one thing he did not want to do anytime soon. The triple shifts had been going now for a week. Casey was drained from Chuck's sudden mania, but refused to ask Chuck to tone it down or ask Sarah to help with "protecting the Intersect"—he had no desire to set off more fireworks, which seemed bound to happen if he brought up Jill or if Chuck and Sarah were placed in close proximity. Chuck walking into the Orange Orange was the first time they had been alone together since the night on Chuck's back porch after the satellite-missile scare.
Reflecting on all of this took seconds, and Sarah quickly focused back on Chuck, who had continued his sentence after Sarah's acknowledgement of recent events.
"…the reason I haven't been over sooner is because…I didn't want you to think that you were, you know…like my rebound or anything, because I don't think of you like that at. all."
He made sure to emphasize the last two words of the sentence, to show that he respected her, that he in no way was trying to insult her or be presumptuous by assuming she would always be there as a "backup." Silence followed after. Vulnerable Chuck was doing an excellent job at beginning to chip away at agent mode; he was slowly testing her cold façade and constructed emotional walls. Slowly was the key word. It wasn't like she was going immediately go and melt into his arms (Give me SOME credit, she thought, and mainly directed that toward her know-it-all conscious), but she definitely felt her defenses weakening ever so slightly. The things this man does to me… She strictly reminded herself had good reason to be pissed at him. Good. reason. Yeah, pissed because he blatantly chose her over you, Walker, said the mini-Casey voice in her head. That very same mini-Casey voice was usually in agreement with her conscious. Today was no different. Just what I need, she thought, both a conscious and a Mini-Casey teaming up against me. Great. The silence continued, and seeing as he was not skewered, Chuck took this as a sign to continue and did finally did so. While he still looked completely miserable, he started to slightly gesture and vary his tone while he talked—the first signs of life out of him yet.
"Oooook, so you don't have to answer me, that's totally cool…and totally understandable, I could understand if you never want to talk to me again, so I'll just keep talking."
He paused again to make sure that she didn't want to add anything, both not wanting to be impolite and talk over her…and allowing her the chance to talk for the simple fact that he felt incredibly lucky that she was letting him talk to her period. It was all she could do to keep from smirking (or perhaps slightly smiling) at the reversion. The Chuck she knew at least seemed to be back—his manners seemed to be back in full force and then some. Perhaps making up for the month where they were not present AT ALL. The slight gestures stopped as quickly as they started as Chuck launched into (what she assumed was) the planned part of his talk. The lifeless voice returned, as if what he was about to say reminded him of how bad things had been lately.
"I know you must be so tired of hearing me say this…"
Just like everyone else on this planet, probably, the mini-Casey voice quickly retorted.
"…but I am so so so so so sorry about the whole…Jill thing. God, just, SO SORRY. I don't know what's wrong with me, just seeing her again and then the whole talk with Bryce and just EVERYTHING and just…I completely fail at everything."
She snapped out a response before she could even stop herself.
"Yes, yes you do."
He looked even more miserable than when she was giving him the terse silent treatment and hadn't said anything. Something about his previous statement—not the part she had snapped at—had caught her attention. What Bryce talk? She specifically noticed that he hadn't said "Bryce thing" or any other similarly worded phrase, which would imply her relationship with Bryce. Chuck had specifically said talk. Had she missed something?
Chuck expected the conversation with Sarah to hurt; he just didn't realize that it would hurt so much. While Sarah wondered about the Bryce remark, Chuck shook off her biting remark as much as possible before continuing.
"Yeah…yeah…I know, I totally fail. And I totally don't expect your forgiveness, because that's so much to ask when I've messed up SO SO bad…"
His voice cracked at the end of the sentence, taking Sarah by surprise. He coughed a few times while rubbing his eyes quickly before running a slightly shaky hand through his hair. She had no doubt that he felt bad. As he should!, chimed in her conscious. The depth of Chuck's feelings, though, never ceased to amaze her, as well as how much he wore his feelings on his sleeve. He honestly, truly, 100 percent felt bad. Really bad.
Not one to generally be surprised by things, Sarah was surprised again a few seconds later, reflexively taking a step back from the counter as Chuck slowly raised his hands up again, like before with the paper bag, and took a step toward the side of the counter to walk around it. He stopped immediately when he noticed her reaction. With a grimace, he started slowly walking again while talking.
"I'm not going to try to hug you or anything to suddenly make it all better. This next part's just easier without the counter between us"
As she stepped back up to the counter and turned around so she was leaning against it, Mini-Casey was giving her what would have, no doubt, been real Casey's opinion if he were there: Awww, no hugs, Walker. Try not to be disappointed! Mini-Casey's commentary was going to get Real Casey in trouble pretty soon. Hugs were seriously the last thing on her mind. Refraining from strangling Chuck now that the counter didn't separate the two of them was going to be enough of a challenge. Deciding to fold her arms over her chest in attempt to suppress the urge, she continued to watch Chuck as he finally made his way around the counter and planted himself about a step away from where she was, burrowing his hands back into his pockets as soon as he stopped moving. If she stood up straight instead of leaning against the counter, he would easily be within arm's reach. Looking into her eyes before firmly shutting his own and scrunching his face, he set his jaw before speaking.
"Slap me. As hard as you can, please."
If his eyes were open, he would have seen the blank look that was on her face replaced by the same look present when Roan Montgomery told her to kiss him. The tone of her voice was also exactly the same. As was the phrase.
"Excuse me?!"
Since he had walked into the Orange Orange, she had been trying to specifically NOT cause him bodily harm, and here he was giving her permission! Unbelievable. Chuck was still tensed, waiting for the strike, despite her response. She decided to try using more words to convince him of the fact that she would not be slapping him anytime soon.
"Chuck, I'm not going to slap you."
He still didn't move a muscle.
"Please. It's deserved."
She wasn't moving a muscle, either.
"No."
One of his eyes opened and focused on her as he relaxed slightly, seeming to weigh something in his mind before letting out a small sigh while tensing up again and shutting his eye again.
"I don't believe it. With all the stuff I've pulled recently, there's no way you don't want to smack me. Between never staying in the car…
With his eyes being closed, she did give him a slight smile for that one, a smile that quickly disappeared and was replaced with growing anger as Chuck continued his list.
"…the ENTIRE Jill thing, making you go out to dinner with people from your past, making you go to your high school reunion where you had to deal with your past, learning about and then ignoring everything about your past…"
It was how he kept saying past. The last time did it. Without even realizing it, she wound up and gave him the hardest slap she had ever given anyone. Despite anticipating a strong slap, nothing could have prepared Chuck for this particular one, with at least four weeks' worth of livid CIA cover-ex-and-sort-of-real-ex-girlfriend strength behind it. With his hands in his pockets—removing a way to keep his balance—the slap sent him tumbling over, resulting in his head making direct and hard contact with the edge of the counter. Surprised at her own strength, Sarah's hand immediately went over her mouth as she spoke and bent over to help Chuck, who was sprawled across the floor.
"Oh my God, Chuck! Are yo…"
Hands finally free from his pockets, she let her sentence trail off as he vehemently waived off her help, crawling away from her and toward the wall parallel to the counter. Managing to right himself, he leaned up against the wall, shaking his head a few times as if to clear the cobwebs and blinking the tears out of his eyes. With a sort of morbid curiosity, he slowly poked at where his head had hit the counter, wincing as he did so. Sarah had returned to her previous position and was eying him with obvious concern. The run-in with the counter had left a decent gash near his eye, a gash that was dripping blood at a slow, but steady rate. Certainly nothing that required a trip to the ER, but something that should be taken care of sometime in the near future. The slap had left a very distinct mark on his cheek that would not be going away any time soon. His eyes finally met hers.
"Guess I do bring out the worst in you after all."
The concern in her eyes evaporated immediately, replaced not by the cool, collected, dispassionate agent stare, but the "if looks could kill…" stare instead. She was almost as angry with him as before. Pushing up off the wall, he continued to blink away tears as he positioned himself in the exact same position as before —right in front of her.
"I asked for that and deserved that. That's why I didn't want your help getting up. And that slap was for calling you a robot at the restaurant. I'm so sorry."
Her eyes had gotten slightly wide. She had almost forgotten about that remark. Almost. He, obviously, had not forgotten. Bracing himself better than before, he spoke again while shutting his eyes again.
"Slap me again, please."
When the slap didn't come, Chuck slowly opened his eyes to look at Sarah, anticipating another argument. His breath caught when he saw the look he was on the receiving end of. One of anger to be sure, but one of absolute awe as well. Closing his eyes and scrunching them shut even more than before, she caught him off guard, the awe in her voice obvious, as was the undercurrent of anger.
"Where did you come from, Chuck Bartowski?"
Where did he come from?!, asked both her conscious and Mini-Casey at the same time. She had nearly just given him a concussion, blood was visibly dripping down the side of his head, and here he was again, requesting the exact same thing. Was he seriously this stupid, or did he really care this much? His emotionless response saved her from having to silence her own thoughts again; the answer was obvious.
"My parents were sadists."
A small laugh escaped her lips before she could even stop it, though both of her hands audibly smacking over her mouth afterward made it obvious that the laugh was not intended. The line was from when they had first met at the Buy More. What a difference a year makes, she thought.
Despite the laugh, Chuck did not crack a smile at all. His expression in general remained exactly the same as it was when he entered the Orange Orange. Miserable. Sarah's expression returned to a less friendly, but slightly more neutral, one than before as Chuck continued.
"Sarah, please, just slap me. I know you're already mega-pissed at me, and I really don't want to have to bait you every time to get you officially angry enough to do so."
The slap this time was more consistent with previous slaps doled out over a lifetime by a fairly attractive woman. It was not soft and stung quite a bit, but it wasn't in the same league as the first one. Trying to not show any overt reaction from the slap, he only tensed his jaw muscles a few times before speaking.
"That one was for turning the bug off in the hotel room so I could kiss Jill, totally disregarding the mission. I'm so sorry."
That one she hadn't forgotten about. All's fair in love and war, Walker. You now know exactly how Chuck felt each time he saw you and Bryce kissing, Mini-Casey taunted with far too much delight. The anger was slowly returning. Mini-Casey was not helping. Chuck braced himself again as he spoke.
"Slap me again, please."
There was no hesitation this time. Blood drops flew off the side of his face with this particular slap. I wonder how prudent it is to slap him with an open head wound.
"…that one was for then TALKING about kissing Jill in front of you. I'm so sorry."
…perfectly prudent, actually, she thought. Her conscious and Mini-Casey, for once, agreed.
"Again, please."
Another slap. More flying blood.
"For protesting way too much when Jill said she would present the research at the conference, but not saying a single word when you said you'd give the presentation. I'm so sorry. Again, please."
And the litany continued: for kissing Jill in front of her, for risking the mission over Jill, for allowing his priorities to be clouded, for not learning from his previous mistakes…the list went on and on. He would request a slap, would bait Sarah if she hesitated or if the slap wasn't sufficiently hard, the slap would then come, and he would then explain what the slap was for and would apologize, his eyes tightly shut the entire time. I should be able to stop and walk away from something so simple, this is ridiculous, said her mind, but something about how he was atoning for his actions was tragically alluring and cathartic. In a way, it was like a tragic car accident—there was no way not to look. Chuck was not letting himself off the hook. He knew every single time he had erred over the past month. And he was naming every single one of them, keeping his voice flat as he named each transgression, but starting to show more and more emotion each time he apologized. The tears silently running down his face, from both pain and emotion, were eventually matched by her own silent tears. After at least two dozen decent slaps, the list drew to an end.
"Again, please."
(slap)
"That was for being completely insensitive to your feelings…which you may or may not have for me, I know. 'We refuse to officially confirm or deny any feelings toward the Intersect.'…
A pained look and sad smile slowly crossed Sarah's face. The hurt emanating from her eyes bounced directly off of his closed eyes, eyes that are closed but still facing her despite the numerous slaps. Using only the counter to steady himself, Chuck still refused to look down at the ground or anywhere else while he talked.
"...I forget that you're consciously choosing to make the sacrifice to protect something larger than any of us, even if that means denying yourself something you may or may not want. I'm so sorry."
She was still incredibly aggravated with him. But it was becoming increasingly hard not to be. Especially after statements like that.
"Again, please."
(slap)
His voice became considerably quieter, betraying so much more emotion than it should. Clearing his throat quickly once, he tried his best to keep his tone as level as possible.
"For forgetting that while we can't have a future together, it doesn't change the way I feel about you, nor does it affect the way you may or may not feel about me. Pretending that it does change the way we feel is insensitive and unfair to us both. You deserve so much better from me. I'm so SORRY!"
Chuck's voice finally cracked at the end of the sentence, the tears flowing more freely than before, mingling with the blood coating half of his face. She was forced to actually sit down on the counter as the tears start just as silently and just as freely.
"Again, please."
Again?! After that statement! You must be joking! Somehow, she managed to find her voice and actually speak in a somewhat firm tone. It is a voice that does not match her expression at the moment in the slightest.
"No, Chuck. Absolutely not."
His eyes finally shot open to prod her into slap. Focusing on her, he barely managed to stifle a sob when he registered how upset she was as well. The contrast between her voice and her actual expression shocked him the most, prompting a bit of self-scolding. Great job, Bartowski. Ab-so-frickin-lutely great. Now she's a mess too. Work of genius. Clearing his throat slightly, he tried again.
"Sarah, please. Slap me again."
"No."
Slowly, he reached for her hand, which she made no effort to move. Placing his own behind it, he firmly and solidly connected it with his own cheek one last time. He kept his eyes open and made a point of maintaining eye contact the entire time.
"For anything that I forgot. I'm so sorry."
He hadn't forgotten anything. Typical Chuck. Or at least anything she could think of at the moment. Leave it to him to insert the catch-all, just in case. Needing to steady himself again, Chuck let go of her hand and placed his back on the counter. Alarm bells started ringing in her head as she couldn't help but stare at her hand on Chuck's cheek. Drop your hand, Walker!, screamed Mini-Casey. Her conscious was quick in backing Mini-Casey's order: Remove your hand before you do something incredibly stupid, like you usually do. Both Mini-Casey and her conscious yelled in unison as she caressed his cheek instead. He leaned into it slightly before suddenly dropping to both knees, grabbing the edge of the counter with both hands for balance. Her expression, which reflected her initial concern that he'd just apparently collapsed, was soon softened and augmented by a fresh batch of tears as he closed his eyes again and launched into a long, yet slightly rambling, final plea.
"This is me on my knees begging. I don't know what's wrong with me, Sarah. I mean, God, why do I keep doing this? Why do I keep seeming to dump you for no reason? Why do I keep being a jerk to you on purpose, when you're the best thing that's ever happened to me? I don't know. I know this can't keep happening. It's just that when I'm with you I can't get you out of my head, and when I'm not with you it's even worse. Maybe Lou and Jill and all of this stupidity are very lame attempts to distract myself. They're all REALLY stupid reasons, and are totally not acceptable. I hate myself for doing it. Not to mention it doesn't work. We both just seem to hurt even more. Bottom line is that I don't know what I'd do without you, and I know we'll have to deal with that eventually, but eventually's not now. I am, and continue to be, so so sorry, and I know forgiveness is so much to ask after how badly I've messed up and how selfish I've been. I don't think I'm worthy of it for a while, if ever. I'll deal with it if you never speak to me again, but, please oh please…"
And he punctuates the next four words by slightly slamming his head against the counter for each word.
"…please. don't. hate. me. God, please don't. I just…I couldn't function knowing that you hated me. I'm begging you. Please please please don't."
She had been holding the edge of the counter tightly with both hands as soon as Chuck had dropped to the floor, in an attempt to do something with her hands that wouldn't anger her, her conscious, or Mini-Casey. Without granting them explicit permission, she suddenly found her fingers running through his hair soon after Chuck was done speaking. Touching him is probably a bad idea—she didn't even wait for her conscious's snide remark on that one—but she couldn't help it. Jerk Chuck had officially left the building. Her Chuck was back. Finally. She felt it. A hurting, barely functional Chuck, but her Chuck. Since when do you own Chuck?!, Mini-Casey and her conscious screamed. A firm voice answered them back: since always. Slightly pulling on his hair to force his eyes up, their eyes met and the look between them quickly involved into an intense gaze tinged with hurt, pain, and sadness. She had just finished formulating her response to….everything, basically…when a new voice pierced the silence of the Orange Orange.
"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh, like, can I get some, like, ice cream or something?"
Neither had noticed that a customer had entered the store. Both immediately reacted to the unfamiliar voice. Startled, Chuck launched to his feet far too quickly and managed to stumble backward into the wall parallel to the counter again. Sarah had immediately reverted back to agent mode, quickly sliding off the counter before smoothly spinning around and squaring her shoulders with the customer, all the while fingering the throwing knife tucked away near the small of her back. The glare associated with agent mode was sufficient to send the customer scurrying out the door, glancing back over his shoulder with a petrified look that implied that the man's desire for ice cream had been replaced by a desire to live. She continued to stare holes into the back of the fleeing customer's head as she suppressed an extremely aggravated sigh. What the hell?!, she thought, Where was that guy 10 minutes ago when I was looking for an excuse to avoid talking to Chuck?! Preparing herself again to answer him, she was spared again by another voice breaking the silence—Chuck's voice.
"Wow, OK, so, that was probably a good thing. I really don't deserve an answer from you right this second, so you take as much time as you want to think about it or whatever. If you want to even give an answer. Because we know that I pretty much don't deserve it right now. And that's even if you want to ever talk to me again. Because never talking again seems like a possibility right now, too."
He seemed to regain his balance and footing as he moved back around the counter and started moving around the store. All the while, he continued to nervously talk to fill the dead air, particularly after giving Sarah the perfect excuse to not answer him anytime soon, if ever.
"Uhhhh, because I'm a total jerk and made you cry, you're totally going to need some tissues…or…something…uh…"
She gave a quick, slight smile as she started wiping at her eyes and sniffling a bit, trying to get back some modicum of self-control. As he walked from table to table, Chuck continued to nervously ramble.
"The paper bag contains some Advil and a bottle of water. I thought your hand might hurt after smacking me around…not that you aren't tough or anything, because you're Sarah Walker, Super Spy and you're awesome and could kill me right this minute with your thumb, but I know I'm kind of…hard headed."
Ah, there it is. Her expression remained neutral, but she couldn't stop her eyes from lighting up. A ghost of a smile had crossed his face when he said the last two words of the sentence. The first non-frown she had seen on Chuck Bartowski's face all day, or weeks, for that matter. When he walked back toward the counter, she noticed for the first time that his arms were full. She hadn't noticed that he'd been collecting the napkin dispensers from every single table in the store. Somewhat clumsily dumping them all on the counter, he looked down at them before looking up at her.
"Napkins are going to have to pinch hit for tissues today. I'm really really sorry I didn't pack any."
There was a slight pause as they both looked down at the huge stack of napkin dispensers. Chuck didn't want to seem to try his luck.
"So, uh, yeaaaah, I'm just going, uh, to go…hope the rest of your day goes OK."
He was out the door before she could even consider saying goodbye. Finally letting the pent-up sigh out, she reached over for the paper bag and peeked into it. Sure enough, there sat an unopened bottle of water, a large package of Advil, and a single flower. A gardenia, specifically. The flower prompted a spontaneous smile to break out on her face, one that was quickly suppressed as a thunderous headache suddenly set in. Grabbing for the Advil, she tried to figure out how many she should take. Two Advil should be sufficient. It was then that she noticed that her hand was covered in Chuck's blood, complements of the slap fest. Happening to look behind the counter, she then noticed the random blood spatter all over the floor and walls. Again, complements of the slap fest. All of it needed to be cleaned up. Now. …on second thought, three Advil sounds better.
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She still hadn't decided how to deal with Chuck and everything that he'd said. She was enjoying a not-at-all restful night's sleep when a knock on her door officially woke her up the next morning. It was a flower delivery man, who, with a quizzical expression, handed her a card before gesturing toward his delivery. Wide-eyed, she let the deliveryman into her hotel room as she opened and read the card:
Five gardenias for every one thing I messed up recently. Please don't hate me. –Chuck
There were more than 100 flowers, all arranged in multiple beautiful vases. By the time the deliveryman had brought them all in, there was not one open spot left anywhere in any of the rooms.
It wasn't until before closing time later that day that Sarah had, after seriously considering what Chuck had said and all her options, decided what her response to Chuck would be. Walking into the Buy More, her eyes quickly found him manning the Nerd Herd desk. He was squinting at the circuitry of some small electronic device, poking at it with a guarded expression. It was possible that he looked slightly better than yesterday—he was no longer perpetually frowning, but had only upgraded slightly by adopting a "sadly neutral" look—but any possible appearance improvement from expression alone was mitigated by the well-tended, but very obvious, gash on the side of his head, and the fact that his cheek looking like it had lost a fight with a gang of meat cleavers.
Chuck's circuitry poking, while productive, was giving him time to reflect on yesterday's events. He had planned the showdown at the Orange Orange because he knew he needed to apologize. A lot. Only then would things have the possibility of returning to normal. In apologizing so relentlessly, he needed to show Sarah that he meant it everything that he said. The only way he could think to do so was atoning for each stupid act with a slap—words only went so far, and actions always spoke louder than words. After the actual showdown at the Orange Orange, he had walked directly to the Herder and drove home, calling the store to let them know that he'd be taking the rest of the day off. He also called Morgan to tell him and Anna to start taking their shifts back starting tomorrow. When he walked through the front door, Ellie thought he was dying—in retrospect, the assessment wasn't completely unfair, between the dried blood everywhere, the fact that one entire side of his face was bright red from being repeatedly slapped, and the dried tears. Ellie had immediately slipped into doctor mode, ordering him to go shower and change, following which she tended to the gash on the side of the head. Shrugging off inquiries about how he got his injuries from his loveable, though stubbornly persistent, sister, Chuck had passed out on the couch, sleeping more than he had over the previous week, but not by much. He kept assessing how the talk went, returning repeatedly to a few key points: She had at least listened to what he had to say. That was a definitely plus…probably the only plus, actually. The simple act of seeing her had made the tightness he felt in his chest noticeably better. (The source of the chest constriction was no secret to him—worrying over Sarah and how badly he'd messed things up—but he could at least pretend like it was a reason wholly unrelated to Sarah. Like lack of sleep.) But there were other, not so positive points: she was rather livid at him (understandably). She had less than two dozen words to him the entire time (understandably). Most importantly, he had made her cry (not understandably). That multiplied his jerk factor by 50. His jerk factor had already been pretty high. It had to be astronomical now. The fact that he hadn't heard back from her yet seemed to support that thought, and while his chest was better, he felt like there was an enormous weight perched right on top of it because of the uncertainty. Trying to focus more closely on the circuit board in his hand, he started asking more questions. What if she really never talks to me again?, he thought while starting to furiously poke at the board. What if she really does hate me? The potential answers to his questions suddenly caused the tightness in his chest to explode, causing him to quickly drop what he was working on and grab for his chest with one hand and the desk with the other. Shutting his eyes, he tried to force himself to be calm. Come on, Bartowski. Breathe in….breathe out…in…out… He was so intent on breathing in and out that he didn't notice Sarah enter the store, nor did he notice her watching his every move as she approached the Nerd Herd desk.
The service bell ringing broke his concentration. There was obviously a customer waiting. The tightness was almost back to its annoying, but manageable, levels. He needed just 5 more seconds to relax, and then he'd be fine. But he could certainly start talking to the customer in the meantime.
"If you could just hold on one moment, please, I'll be right with you."
The voice that answered made his chest explode again. Five more seconds of relaxing was suddenly not enough. Perhaps five hours. Or days. Or years. Or lifetimes.
"Take your time."
His eyes flew open to reveal Sarah in her Orange Orange uniform standing right in front of him with a completely indecipherable expression on her face. He had the sudden impulse to say something, anything, to postpone the inevitable. Though if she walked over here to see me, the news could be good, right?
"Oh, uh, hi ther…"
"Chuck."
…or not. Her cutting him off in mid-sentence confirmed his worst fears. How could this woman manage to make one word, his name, sound like such a final, foreboding statement? A voice kept saying not good, not good, not good over and over again in his head before coming to one clear, bone-chilling thought: I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe I messed this up for good. Oh my God oh my God oh my God.
The voice in Sarah's head was being as clear and insistent. Just hurry up and say it, Sarah, before you lose your nerve. Or before your conscious or Mini-Casey add their two cents' worth. Her statement ended up being short and sweet.
"Chuck. I'm still very unhappy with you, though not as angry as I was before. As you said, your behavior the past four weeks was absolutely ridiculous. While I'm curious about what 'Bryce talk' you were referring to, everything you said yesterday was true, and I agree with every single word of it…"
…particularly the part about not having a future together not changing the way we feel about one another. She quickly resumed what she was saying, lest Chuck start rambling again like he always did when he was nervous.
"The fact that you apologized for it means something. I know that you meant it. And, as I said, I'm still not happy with you. I can't forgive you right this moment, but…"
Chuck had been feeling progressively worse as Sarah talked. Specific mention of Bryce hadn't helped matters any. When she paused to make sure that they maintain good eye contact, he suddenly had a sinking feeling. This was not going to end well.
"…I could never hate you. Ever."
A nervous laugh escaped him as he looked up at the ceiling and took one, big, deep breath. It was the same laugh that had come out right after he'd defused the hotel bomb with the virus. He felt like he could breathe again for the first time in a week. His chest no longer felt like it was going to burst. Focusing on Sarah again, she couldn't help but notice how much more relaxed he looked. A smile, at long last, graced Chuck's face as he took another deep breath. It was not the huge Chuck grin, but it was progress. She felt one creeping across her face as well. The implication of her statement was very clear. Both were aware of it. He was not going to be skewered anytime soon. Things at the moment were not normal, but things were fixable. Things would be fine. Things would, in time, return to normal.