A/N: Once upon a time, Sm93Starbuck and Mikki13 were ensnared into an addiction that could only be called Chuck Fanaticism. And along with that addiction came the overwhelming urge to write fanfic. To make a long story short, they had the idea to combine forces and write one awesomely awesome multi-chapter fanfic. Today, dear readers, you have the opportunity to read the beginnings of that story. But take heed: this isn't the usual reunion fic. No, it's something much more complex . . .
Beta: Much love and cookies to the fantastic yokaputo for her help with this fic.
Disclaimer: We don't own Chuck. Instead, Chuck owns us.
~*~
Biting her lower lip, she stares out the window of the small taxicab, absentmindedly kneading the faux leather seats with slightly shaky hands. Her breath is emerging in short bursts, her pulse is racing through her veins, and she has the feeling that she's somehow been plunged backward in time. She knows she should leave the car; she knows she has somewhere to be. But every time she attempts to reach for the door handle, every time she attempts to even extract her hands from the safety of her seat, she finds that she cannot move. And with each passing moment, it becomes even harder to leave the car.
"This your stop, Miss?" The driver cranes his head around to look at her, his features formed into a quizzical expression.
"Um, yeah," Sarah replies, and has to keep herself from rolling her eyes at her own reluctance. Damn it, Walker. Get it together.
The silent reprimand jars her back to the present, and her teeth sink back into her lip as she lets out a frustrated huff. Wrenching her hand from its position on the seat, she finally reaches for the door handle and pops open the door, ignoring the icy fingers of apprehension that course through her chest when her feet hit the pavement. Her senses are immediately flooded by the sounds of passersby mingled with the smell of hot dogs and the feel of the wintry Burbank wind, once again heightening the feeling that she's somehow gone back six years in time. The entire effect is surreal, and she's hit by an almost overwhelming urge to get back into the car and order the driver to leave. But before she can act on the impulse, her professionalism takes over and she forces herself to climb the rest of the way out of the car, handing the driver his fare and slamming the door shut with a bang.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Her heels beat a steady rhythm against the asphalt, much more steady and much more rhythmic than the rapid beating of her heart. So focused is she on the shop ahead that she barely notices the chill wind whipping her blonde hair around her shoulders, biting into her skin and leaving her cheeks a rosy pink. And when her hand finally connects with the handle of the yogurt shop, when she hears the jangle of the bell above the door, she has to take a deep breath and force a calm mask into place before she enters the well-known store.
A wave of nostalgia assaults her senses as she takes in the familiar surroundings. It's as if nothing has changed. The tile, the linoleum, the machines . . . everything is exactly as it was six years before. The only difference is that she no longer works here. Instead, there's a different person standing behind the counter, stern and muscular and a few years older than the last time she saw him.
"Welcome back, Walker," he grunts, crossing beefy arms over his chest. A playful glint is reflected within his eyes, and she has the distinct impression that he's been looking forward to the impending reunion. He always did enjoy watching chaos unfold.
"Hello, Casey," she says quietly, her words clear and distinct as her lips curl automatically into a small smile. "How've you been?"
How've you been? It's such a simple phrase, it's almost like she's never been gone. But she knows that's only the case with Casey, and it won't be easy with the next person she is set to meet. Once again, that acute pang of apprehension fills her heart.
Casey shrugs. "Good, I guess. We've held up pretty nicely."
Since you left. He doesn't even have to say it, but Sarah catches it in his eyes.
"So everything's been good?" This time, Sarah's searching for the answer about one person; one amazing person she's never stopped missing, never forgotten. Her raised eyebrows and the way she leans forward slightly tell Casey exactly what she means.
Something crosses Casey's face and Sarah instantly feels panic bristle within her. But then, as quick as it came, the look leaves, and Casey grunts.
"Find out for yourself, Walker." He starts for the familiar door that leads down into Castle, and Sarah feels like the piece of metal has its own life. The machines humming gently, the bright lights shining down on it all, and the memories, the memories of this place . . . It almost takes the breath from her. She inhales deeply, as her heels clack against the metal floor. She instantly hates her decision to wear them, even though she knows it's just the adrenaline in her system that's heightening her senses and she's not really being that loud. She just doesn't want to make a big entrance.
Even if he's already waiting for her down below.
Her eyes search the room as she descends the stairs, part of her dying to see him again, part of her dying to not see him again. But when she does see him again, when her eyes finally land on his lithe, slightly muscular figure, her throat goes dry and she swallows painfully.
He stands at the table, leaning against it with his hands. His own eyes rise to lock onto hers, and in that moment, Sarah sees nothing. No sadness, no anger, no regret. Just nothing. And that scares her more than anything.
What did they do to him?
Casey brushes by Sarah, interrupting the moment, and the blonde is glad for it. She comes to stand by the table, and she can barely keep her eyes off the man in front of her. The air around him has changed and there's an edge to his stance. His curly hair is no more, instead cut short and professional. But it's his eyes that hold most of Sarah's attention. His chocolate eyes that once held such life, such vivaciousness, are now dark and spiritless. They haunt her.
Chuck, what happened to you?
She finds herself hurting for him, hurting for what she fears has happened to the man she'd fought to keep unchanged.
"Sarah," Chuck starts, his tone even. "Welcome back." There's nothing in his tone that suggests he feels anything towards her. Nothing in his tone that suggests he ever did. The effect is so different, so unlike Chuck, that it leaves her baffled. A deep ache pierces through her core, so sharp and so poignant that she has to place her hand on the table to steady herself. Clenching her teeth, she forces that same mask into place, compelling herself to remain professional. Compelling herself to remain detached.
Not that she's ever succeeded in remaining detached when it comes to Chuck.
The thought causes her stomach to tighten, and she wills herself to answer. "Thank you," she replies, but the words seem distant and out of tune. She considers saying something else, but everything seems feeble and inadequate. Instead, she gives him a shaky smile (one which he does not return) and takes a seat, staring at the monitor directly ahead. But even despite the shift in her attention, she can feel him beside her, feel his every move as she waits for General Beckman to come online. So when the General finally does appear, she has to keep herself from jumping in surprise.
"Welcome back, Agent Walker," the General begins crisply, echoing the by now familiar sentiment. "I trust you had a smooth journey."
"Yes, General," Sarah nods automatically, shooting a quick glance toward Chuck. Her heart plummets when she realizes that he's staring solely at the monitor, the same empty expression present within his eyes.
"Good," Beckman leans forward in her seat, clasping her hands on the table. "I'm not going to mince words, Sarah. You know why you're here. Agent Bartowski has recently undergone a procedure to remove the Intersect from his brain. Thus far, the transition has been seamless. But now that he's no longer top secret, it's your job to make sure that he remains safe."
Again, Sarah nods almost woodenly, her mind fixated on Beckman's words. Agent Bartowski? She knows she's missed many things; she knows that she only received the most vital pieces of information. But looking at Chuck now and hearing those words emanate from Beckman's mouth causes cold tendrils of panic to wind their way through Sarah's frame. Once again, she has the sudden desire to ask what's happened in the last six years, to demand to know what's happened to the man sitting across from her. To scream at the CIA, at the world, at Chuck himself, insisting that they tell her what's gone wrong.
How is it that the man who had once been so innocent now looks like he's nothing more than an empty shell?
But as the thought reverberates through her mind, as the panic intensifies within her slender frame, she thinks back to the last time she had been entrusted with Chuck's safety.
~*~
"You're leaving?" he repeats, his voice cracking slightly. "I . . . don't understand." His face is creased in confusion, his lips are parted in shock. But something else catches her attention, causing a sharp pang to echo through her chest. Reflected deep within his chocolate brown eyes is an emotion so heart wrenching that it nearly knocks the breath from her.
"I've been given orders," she explains. Even as she says them, the words seem feeble and inadequate, perhaps made more so because of the emotion that deepens within Chuck's eyes. Quickly glancing down at her hands, she focuses instead on the water cascading into the fountain, creating a distinct rhythm as it splashes into the cool pool of clear liquid. The same pool that had been present only a few short days before, when he'd told her they could never have a real relationship.
But the more I think about it, the more I realize that you and I can never have a future together.
No. She can't do this. She can't think about that speech. She has to remain firm; she has to remain resolute. She has to end this, if not for herself then for Chuck. Taking a deep breath, she pushes her thoughts aside and continues. "I'm sorry, Chuck. They don't think that –"
"You can protect me," Chuck interrupts, leaning forward as his brow furrows. "But I don't get it, Sarah. You've always protected me before."
"I almost let you get shot, Chuck," Sarah replies. "You need a handler who can actually protect you."
"I need you, Sarah," Chuck returns. "Please, don't do this." His voice cracks again, causing Sarah's heart to crack along with it. And for a moment, she considers telling Beckman that she isn't leaving, that the General will have to come up with another plan. For a moment, she wonders why she's actually doing this. Is it really because she's following orders? Or is it because she's running away?
But again, she pushes the thoughts from her mind, pursing her lips as a sense of resolve courses through her once more. "They're going to find you another handler, Chuck. Someone who will be able to protect you even better than I did." She regrets the words the moment they leave her lips, because the emotion finally floods within Chuck's eyes. And in that instant, she realizes what he's feeling. Reflected in his eyes is a flash of betrayal accompanied by the strongest sorrow she's ever seen. "Chuck –"
"No," he says, waving off her hand as she places it on his shoulder. "It's okay. I get it."
He got it? What did he think he understood, exactly? Did he really understand that as a CIA agent, Sarah had to obey General Beckman's order? If she didn't, Chuck could be taken away. All it took was a couple of false steps and Chuck would be thrown into a bunker, far from his family, far from everything he'd ever known. Even imagining such a life for him was unbearable.
Bristling at Chuck's rejection, Sarah swallows hard and allows her hand to fall back to her side as her eyes once again seek out the safe haven provided by the fountain. And as she watches the rhythmic arc of the water, she blinks back hot, bitter tears and tries to forget the sorrow which fills Chuck's eyes. The simple memory of its presence there sends chills racing down her spine.
"I never wanted this to happen, Chuck." Sarah states softly. How could he imagine for a moment that she'd want to go? That she wouldn't have done her best to persuade Beckman that she was still adequate in her task of protecting Chuck? The very idea is so absurd she almost has to bite back a sardonic smile.
"But what you want isn't important, is it?" Chuck replies heatedly, glaring at the pavement. "It'll never be important."
The sound of his voice combined with the weight of his words causes Sarah to wince as a flush of anger floods through her slender frame. Despite years of building up walls to keep people out, she's sitting here now, trying to let him in. Trying to let him see past the bravado, past the lies. Trying to let him know that she still cares, that she's willing to leave because of how much she cares. Yet here he is, accusing her of not caring at all, of putting the government ahead of him. Why can't he just understand?
"Chuck, I'm doing this for you." She can hear the frustration slip into her tone, can see the way Chuck stiffens because of it. But even despite this fact, she can't help but ball her fingers into loose fists at his quick response.
"How is this for me?" he shoots back. "I thought I could trust you to always have my back." The words escape Chuck's mouth, setting Sarah's reaction into stone. Using her sorrow as anger, her desperation as fury, she hesitates a half second before finally speaking.
"Would you like to be locked away for the rest of your life in some God forsaken bunker, Chuck? If I don't go, then Beckman will throw you into the nearest hole she can find!" Anger flashes through her eyes, and she has to take a few seconds to steady her breathing. To keep things civil between them, even in this crazy moment when he's looking at her like she's betraying everything he believes in. "Chuck, it's not that I won't stay. It's that I can't stay."
"You've hardly even tried, Sarah!" Chuck exclaims. Immediately he realizes how loud he's becoming and quiets down, a wave of dejection washing over his features. "How do you know what will happen? How do you know that Beckman will throw me into a bunker?"
Sarah's eyes narrow at the question, her lips forming a thin line. "How do you know it won't happen, Chuck? Do you really think I'm willing to take that chance?"
He stares at her hard for a long moment, his hands clutched tightly in his lap. Finally, the emotions swell within his eyes once more and he averts his gaze, staring straight ahead. "Of course not," he says quietly. "You don't take chances."
He doesn't have to finish his thought. She knows exactly what he means. She doesn't take chances. If she did, they wouldn't be in this situation. For some reason, the words he doesn't say rile her almost as much as the words he does say. But this time, she refuses to lose control. This time, she simply allows her selfsame mask to slip onto her face, her selfsame façade to color her hurt, angry expression with one of pure calm and decisive resolve. "I'm sorry, Chuck," she repeats firmly, and she has to work to keep the lump out of her throat. "If there was any other way –"
"It's fine, Sarah. I understand," Chuck interjects tiredly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "You have to leave. I get it." And with that, he rises to his feet, leaving her alone at the fountain. Forcing herself to look up, she has to keep herself from blanching when she looks into his eyes. "Thank you for letting me know."
He turns to leave then, and she feels an overwhelming urge to shout at him to stay. To tell him to come back, to talk to her, to let her explain things. But she's already explained things, and he's already proved that he doesn't want to talk to her. What more is there to say? And really, isn't this the best thing for all involved? A clean break, a fresh start. A new life.
And so she lets him leave. She lets him walk into his condo, leaving her dejected and alone by the fountain. And once again, she tells herself that this is for the best.
The only problem is, she can't stop the pain from filling her chest when she hears the slam of Chuck's front door, echoing through the night with utter finality.
~*~
The high-pitched sound of Chuck's chair scraping against the floor jars Sarah out of her reverie. Blinking away the haunting memory, she takes in her surroundings, realizing with a slight sense of self-rebuke that Beckman has disappeared from the screen. Pushing away all thoughts of their parting conversation, she wonders for a moment if he feels as strongly about her departure now as he did then. But then he shoots her a quick look and begins to walk toward the door, leaving her to mutter a brief goodbye to a grunting Casey and follow after him in his wake.
As she follows him out to his car, her suitcase bumping along behind her, she racks her mind for something to say, for anything to bridge this enormous chasm between them. Unfortunately, nothing comes to mind, and she's left with a twisted feeling of déjà vu as he unlocks his white station wagon. Here she is, with Chuck in the parking lot of the Orange Orange just after a briefing with Beckman, and she's his handler once again. The only difference is, he won't talk to her. He'll barely even look at her. And as she settles into the passenger seat of his vehicle while he places her bag into his trunk, she's so busy focusing on these incongruities that she doesn't notice the teddy bear in the backseat.
Leaning back against her seat, she looks over at the man beside her, her heart pounding wildly. She can't believe that she's actually here again, at his side, after everything that has happened. How many times had she found herself wishing that she was right where she is now? It's something she can't place a number on, and right now, being beside him with this immense yet invisible wall between them, it's almost worse than not being with him at all.
A gentle breeze lifts Sarah's golden hair off of her shoulders as Chuck slams his door, and she looks at him again. He shivers against the bitter wind, reaching one hand to pull his coat more tightly around himself as he uses the other to maneuver the car out of the parking space. Her gaze drops to the ignition, and she notices that the same pink brain still dangles from his keychain. Fighting back another wave of nostalgia, she realizes too late that Chuck's eyes have found hers, locking onto her own disturbed blue. The darkness is still present there, giving Sarah another excuse to shiver in addition to the unnatural Burbank chill.
But even as they gaze into each other's eyes, and even though she swears she sees a slight hint of emotion burning within his brown depths, they don't say a word. And when Chuck looks away a split second later, she has the uncanny feeling that he's hiding himself from her. That after all this time, he's adopted her ability to build up walls and keep everyone outside, Sarah included. The idea makes her chest ache and she sighs, looking out her window as a strong sense of unwanted solitude washes over her.
Get it together, Walker. This is an assignment. A charge. Nothing more.
Even as the thought echoes through her mind, she knows that it's futile. But still, the silent reprimand causes her to straighten in her seat as a small sense of resolve builds within her gut. And as they move out onto the road, she attempts to relax her muscles, to calm her breathing – both tasks made more difficult by the tension she can feel radiating off the man sitting only a foot away. Glancing over at Chuck, she notices that his hands are curled tightly around the steering wheel, his knuckles nearly white. And she wonders if this is as hard for him as it is for her.
Immediately, she feels a desire to end this silence, to say something, to say anything that will get him to talk to her again, to look at her again, to be Chuck again. But her mind goes blank in her search for words, and she simply cannot say what she wants to say. Even now, six years later, she's still the same.
But Chuck isn't, which is the real problem here. After six years of wanting to be with Chuck, in the space of an hour, she's beginning to realize that her Chuck no longer exists. This new Chuck, this Agent Bartowski, is anything but the man she remembers.
The Chuck she knew would be trying to talk to her right now, stuttering and blushing and doing his best to make her feel better. The Chuck sitting beside her now, the stranger by her side, is apparently content to let them suffer, content to let the silence build until it's almost unbearable.
Not that she can really blame him. She is, after all, the one who did the leaving. Which is why she isn't angry; instead, she's struck by a deep sadness, a powerful sorrow, a feeling she's only known one other time in her life. Perhaps it's this feeling that causes her to talk, or maybe it's simply that the silence really has become unbearable.
"Chuck." His name escapes her mouth, and her eyes widen in surprise. She hadn't meant to say anything. But when he finally looks at her, when he finally tears his gaze away from the road, she can't help the feeling of relief which courses through her body. Even if his face is completely composed.
"Yeah?" he answers, his tone just as even as it was back in Castle.
She stares at him for a long moment before she finally looks down at the dashboard, his empty eyes too much to bear. "Do you mind if I..." she looks over the console, "turn up the heat?" She finishes lamely, and mentally kicks herself for her foolishness. She shouldn't have said a word.
Chuck nods, and Sarah finds herself missing the bouncing of his curls. Instead, his short, bristly hair lies limp along his head.
Reaching for the knob controlling the heating unit, she stops suddenly when Chuck reaches over to do the same thing. Their hands brush, causing Chuck to jump and sending electricity coursing through Sarah's arm. Neither is prepared for the contact, and both freeze at each other's touch. His hand is slightly warm, but Sarah can tell he's nervous, because it's also moist. Her lips part when he doesn't pull his hand away immediately, when that same hint of emotion flickers within his eyes.
But like it's been throughout this whole painful day, Chuck is the first to withdraw, leaving Sarah's hand cold from loss of contact. And when she realizes that she misses his touch, she grows angry at herself. She needs to stop this, she needs to put an end to her melancholy rush of emotions. She's a professional, a spy. One of the best in the CIA. And she has a job to do.
So when Chuck stares straight ahead for the remainder of the drive, his jaw clenched and his fingers tight around the steering wheel, she simply stares outside the window. And when they pull up to his condo several moments later, the sight once again so familiar that Sarah has to force herself to remain composed, she quietly opens her door and pulls her suitcase out of the trunk. And when Chuck marches past her and into the entrance of the condominium, stepping over a tricycle along the way, she tells herself that it doesn't matter that he's ignoring her. She tells herself that it doesn't matter that he's different, that he's changed. And she tells herself that the burning ache within her chest is only indigestion, caused by the food she consumed during the long flight from Langley.
After all, she's used to living the con.