Title: Slow Dancing Barefoot on the Beach
Rating: K
Summary: At Ellie and Devon's wedding, Sarah has a mysterious conversation with an unexpected visitor.
Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck!
A/N: Thanks to Go Chuck Go for beta-ing. Also, I'm toying with the idea of making this a loosely connecting series, with each story being a wedding conversation between two different characters. Hmm . . . let me know what you think.
Sarah allows a small, contented smile appear on her face as she watches the guests at the reception, delighting in the feeling of the ocean waves rushing over her bare feet. The guests are dancing, some already tipsy, in the waning daylight. A safe distance away from the wedding tent, she lets her eyes fall on Chuck, who is chatting animatedly with Morgan and Anna and absentmindedly kicking at the sand.
He stands there, wearing a pair of khakis and a loose, brown button-down – perfect for the elegantly casual Woodcomb wedding – and she can't help but admire his lean, handsome form. A light blush suffuses her cheeks as she realizes that she's been staring a bit too long.
Devon walks up to the small group and leans over to Chuck, talking in his ear. The amusement quickly fades from Chuck's face. Sarah stifles a chuckle. He's been taking his best man duties so seriously. With a sheepish smile, she looks down at her feet and at the waves rolling over them. As the maid of honor, she should probably be in there by Ellie's side, attending to her every need. But all she really wants to do is take a walk along the shoreline with Chuck and watch the sunset.
She sighs, watching Chuck rush off to take care of something dire, no doubt.
"He's a handsome fellow, isn't he?"
Sarah turns, startled. She hadn't even noticed the approach of a middle-aged woman with dark hair speckled with gray. The woman looks kindly, but Sarah doesn't recall meeting her. Unusual for a small wedding.
"Excuse me?" Sarah asks with a polite smile.
"Charlie. He's turned into a handsome man," the sophisticated woman clarifies.
Sarah stammers, "Uh, yeah, I suppose he has." Charlie? Who calls him Charlie? And who exactly is this woman? "I'm sorry, but who –"
"I knew Ells and Charlie when they were younger." She turns away and studies the wedding crowd as if this explanation should be enough. "A lot younger," she adds sadly.
Sarah stares at her. Ells and Charlie? Her jaw drops.
"Oh, my God," she mumbles to herself, almost afraid of where this is headed.
The woman – Chuck's mother – gazes at her, a plea in her eyes. She can see it now. She can see the resemblance. She bequeathed Chuck his nose, and Ellie her mouth, and both of them their ears. Sarah gasps softly when she realizes that her eyes are the exact same shade as Chuck's.
"Please," Mrs. Bartowski says. "I needed to see them."
Sarah knows what she's asking, but the amount of disdain, bordering on hatred, she feels for this woman threatens to overwhelm her. "Why should I help you after what you did to them?"
"I don't know what he's told you," she responds, "but you can't understand."
Sarah looks down at her feet. Truthfully, Chuck never talks about his mom. Though he told her the essentials once, on his and Ellie's version of Mother's Day, he didn't elaborate. But she's a spy. She can embellish.
"He's told me enough," Sarah says harshly, her voice bordering on threatening.
Mrs. Bartowski inclines her head toward Ellie, who is looking radiant in her white dress and dancing happily with her new husband. "Do you see her? That's my little girl. Do you honestly think I would leave my only daughter, and my only son, if I didn't have a good reason?"
Sarah studies her, racking her brain for any possible reason a woman could have for voluntarily leaving her husband and children. She takes a deep, shaky breath and looks toward the darkening sky, summoning courage for what she's about to ask. She knows she shouldn't be having this conversation, but her concern for Chuck, or maybe her own curiosity, spurs her on.
"Why?" she inquires hesitantly. "Why'd you leave them?"
As soon as the words leave her mouth, she regrets them. Does she really want to know? She's not even sure if Chuck knows why his mom left. She has no right to know if he doesn't.
Mrs. Bartowski takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "There are things in my past that no one can ever know, because it would render all my hard work entirely useless." She turns to look at a very confused Sarah, saying pointedly, "What I've done, I've done for them. My only regret is that they'll never know how much I love them."
Sarah's speechless as she tries to define a new feeling that's nagging at her. And Chuck's mother seems to have said more than she wished to. She turns away, gazing longingly at the reception festivities. Sarah turns to watch also, feeling a strange connection with this woman.
Outsiders, she reflects sadly.
"You can't hide it, you know," Mrs. Bartowski says quietly, startling Sarah out of her unhappy contemplation. Sarah glances at her, surprised at the knowing smirk that's risen to the other woman's lips. "It's written all over your face," Mrs. Bartowski continues.
Sarah cocks her head, a silent query in her look.
"You love him, don't you?" she prods.
"What? Oh," Sarah falters, shocked at actually being called out on it. She knows that Casey's had his suspicions recently, but so far he hasn't said anything. And no one else has any reason to question her relationship with Chuck. "I just, it's, he," she splutters, toying with the necklace hanging around her collarbone. She pauses, taking a breath to collect herself. She finally responds quietly, "It's complicated."
"What's there to complicate it? He's head over heels for you. And you seem to feel the same way. End of story."
The words irk Sarah. What right does she have to pass judgment on a relationship she knows nothing about? Perhaps she would know something about it if she had been there for her son. Sarah's brows narrow, and she's contemplating walking away when Chuck's mother speaks again.
"I always hoped he would find a nice girl like you. He was such a sweet boy, if a little awkward."
Uncomfortable, Sarah really just wants to get back to the reception now, spend time with the people whom she's come to recognize as her friends. She jiggles her leg impatiently.
"I saw you during his speech."
Sarah freezes, but a shy smile unexpectedly creeps onto her face.
Yes, his best man's speech. She lets out a soft chuckle. He'd been working on that speech for at least three weeks, and he hadn't allowed any one to see a word of it. She was actually a tiny bit worried, because she had never heard him speak in public before. She should have been more worried about her reaction to his words, though.
His gaze had flicked over to her while he talked about family, and it had taken all her willpower to keep the tears from rising to her eyes, mostly because she could actually imagine starting a family with him. No other man had ever made her feel that secure.
"It's okay, you know," Mrs. Bartowski says. Sarah looks at her curiously. "He's an incredible man," she continues.
They're quiet for another moment while Sarah contemplates her words. Chuck is an incredible man, probably the most incredible man she's ever met. And yet here she stands, as far removed from him as ever. She sighs, silently cursing her emotional cowardice.
She sneaks a glance at Chuck's mother, wondering how she could ever leave him, leave Ellie. Swallowing, she thinks nervously of the possibility of having a child. Would Chuck be the father?
She rolls her eyes, admonishing herself. Of course he would. She could imagine no one else.
She'd never thought of herself as the maternal type, but somehow, Chuck's given her hope for a normal life. He's gotten under her skin and become this irritating influence that's forced her to reevaluate her priorities, her hopes, her dreams.
"Let yourself," Mrs. Bartowski advises cryptically.
Sarah stares at her companion, amazed. The cool, salty ocean water continues to roll over her feet, the one constant throughout this unreal conversation. She digs her toes into the wet sand, distracting herself.
Let yourself?
Let yourself what?
Mrs. Bartowski finally gazes back at her, and Sarah understands. She's about to protest when the older woman turns away abruptly.
"Wait," Sarah chokes out.
She turns back, and Sarah can see the sorrow in her eyes. "I can't stay."
The two women stare at each other for a moment, an unspoken agreement coursing between them. Mrs. Bartowski nods, giving Sarah a smile, which she returns. Chuck's mother walks away, the sand sliding away under her footsteps.
Sarah turns her gaze back toward the wedding tent. Her smile grows as she watches Chuck talk to his sister, both of them laughing. Ellie leans forward and says something. Chuck assumes a more serious expression, glancing around the tent. Spotting Sarah on the edge of the beach, he points her out to his sister. Ellie gives him a little push, causing him to break out into a grin. He sets his drink down on a nearby table and exits the tent, ducking under the flap.
She watches him approach with a heavy heart. The evening sun lights up the sincerity in his eyes, and she feels herself falling in love with him all over again. But this time, she has one more secret to keep from him, one more lie that will divide them.
"What are you doing way out here?" he asks with a smile, his voice playful.
She inhales deeply, breathing in the salty air. "Just . . . thinking."
"Hmm . . . well, that's good and all, but you haven't danced with me yet."
"I may be your date, Chuck Bartowski," she chastises, "but that doesn't mean you don't have to ask me to dance."
He laughs – a bright, carefree laugh – and the sound washes over her like a balm, soothing her restlessness.
"Fine," he replies, reaching out his hand. "Sarah, may I have this dance?"
She beams. "Of course you may."
Chuck takes her right hand in his left and wraps his other arm around her waist, holding her gently. Surrendering to the comfort of his embrace and the peaceful sway of the dance, she sighs contentedly.
But an agent's life is never simple, and it's not long before an indefinable weight settles on her heart.
"Chuck," she whispers, "Promise me something?"
He nods. "Anything."
"Promise me that whatever happens, you'll always remember how I felt in your arms."
Chuck stops dancing abruptly. He stares at her and shakes his head, not understanding. Honestly, she's not even sure where her misgivings are originating from, or what they're referring to. But her suspicions, so vague, are real enough that she wants him to realize how much she cares for him.
"Promise, Chuck," she emphasizes.
He nods, his face serious and his expressive eyes unspeakably sorrowful, and they begin dancing again.
She gives him a grateful smile before leaning her forehead against his.
"But I'm not going to let anything bad happen to us, Sarah," Chuck whispers confidently.
She can feel his love – so much warmer, so much fuller than anything she's ever experienced. She cups his face with one hand, caressing it lightly with her fingertips, and the touch calms her.
"I know, I know," she replies softly through the tears that are threatening to spill. Despite his reassurances, she cannot banish the heaviness in her heart. Instead, she concentrates on the music, and the movement, anything but a life where she wakes up each morning without seeing his face.
Against the backdrop of the setting sun, two figures slow dance barefoot on the beach.