First of all, I'd like to say a huge thank you to those lovely people who took the time to review or favourite my first two Chuck stories. It made me very happy!
So, I started to think about the lack of music in Sarah's life. The idea of not liking music is so alien to me that I figured maybe there's a reason. It gets kind of fluffy in the second half. Just sayin'.
Spoilers up to 3x14.
I don't own Chuck.
Sarah Walker doesn't really do music.
This hasn't always been the case; as an adolescent she was a keen violinist, and not even the taunts of her peers were able to dent her enthusiasm for the instrument. Even her father teased her gently about the classical compositions she practiced diligently three times a week after school, but she refused to give up. She loved the routine of the practice sessions. To her, the music represented a world to which she yearned to belong; a world of measured rhythms, certainty, predictability. Those were qualities she felt were sorely lacking in her world.
A world of cons and quick exits; of hastily packed suitcases and near misses.
The day she returns home to find out that this time isn't going to be a near miss; that her father's being taken from her, she's listening to the radio. She vaguely recognises the Chumbawumba song from a college football game she's been to with her dad, but it's not remarkable enough to make a particular impression on her. From that day onwards though, she can't bear to hear it, and it becomes easier to just stop listening to music altogether.
Even her beloved violin ceases to play a role in her life. She throws herself into her new role at the CIA, finding the routines and certainty she has always craved. She allows this new life to absorb her, moulding her into someone new.
Someone better.
Sarah doesn't think it's strange at all, this aversion to music. In her carefully constructed new life there isn't room for it. She shuns it to avoid the memories, and if that means missing out on the good memories along with the bad, then she's prepared to make that sacrifice.
After all, she's been making sacrifices her whole life.
But occasionally, during the dance classes she has to take in order to create the perfect spy, she allows the latin rhythms to control her and her body moves with an almost desperate intensity.
Much to the delight of her new partner, Bryce Larkin.
"We should do this more often," he suggests one lesson, his hand sliding dangerously low on the small of her back on the pretext of guiding her around the dance floor.
Sarah smiles, but removes his hand and places it two inches higher. "Why would we want to do that?"
Bryce's breath tickles her cheek as he chuckles softly. "Because we're so damn good at it".
Eventually Sarah and Bryce discover that dancing is not the only thing they do well together.
She discovers that she is intrigued by Chuck Bartowski. Striding back to her car after their first encounter, she wonders if things could have possibly gone more differently to what she'd been expecting. The Chuck Bartowski who works at the Buy More is not the kind of guy to help a rogue CIA agent steal government secrets.
Not unless he's playing a character in a computer game.
She finds herself smiling as she thinks about the way he helped that poor guy out of a spot by recreating his daughter's recital in the middle of the Buy More. Unconventional, but effective. A bit like Chuck himself. Her expression becomes wistful as she remembers how easily he reassured the little girl; light years away from his reaction to seeing Sarah for the first time.
Surpressing a laugh, she Googles Vicki Vale out of curiosity, and finds Prince's Batdance. A broad grin spreads across her face at the memory of Chuck's performance, and she finds herself wishing that she didn't have to break into the guy's apartment. She's already finding it difficult to think of him as just a mark, and she closes her laptop abruptly.
What is it with this Chuck guy? Doesn't she always go for men like Bryce? The suave, confident, square jawed hero type? The type whose knowledge of her ends with what she likes in the bedroom, because that's all they need to know.
And that's how she likes it.
She sinks onto the bed in her hotel room, exhausted from spending the night on the beach. She asked Chuck to trust her.
Now she needs to trust herself.
She curls up on her side and closes her eyes, but sleep is elusive. She thinks about the previous night, about how easily she found herself opening up to Chuck. It had felt so comfortable, sitting there with him. She told him she liked him. The trouble is, she meant it so wholeheartedly that now, in the cold morning light, it scares the hell out of her.
Sarah sighs and turns over, plumping the pillow a little too aggressively and earning herself a sneezing fit for her troubles.
Lying there in her bed, her attempts to get some sleep are thwarted by one crazy thought: Chuck thinks it's weird that she doesn't like music.
All through her training and beyond, her colleagues (not friends; there are no friends) have told her the same thing. But she's never cared before.
Not till now.
"I think I've found the one," he says softly, placing the needle on the vinyl. If it's possible, the fact that he still plays records makes her love him even more.
"This is going to be your favourite song," he continues, turning around to gauge her reaction. She recognises the song, knows she's heard it before, a long time ago, and she allows the beautiful voice of Nina Simone to pierce her soul. It feels like coming home. This is the song she will choose for her wedding day, for her first dance as Mrs Sarah Bartowski. The certainty of this should terrify her.
It doesn't.
Sarah smiles, wishing she could share with Chuck how overwhelmed she feels. But all she can manage is, "I like this."
His smile matches hers, and she sees in his eyes that she doesn't need to say any more, he understands her completely and she finds herself falling for him all over again.
"Well that's a good start."
Sarah leans in to meet his kiss, and they lie together on the bed, enjoying this peaceful moment together.
Chuck turns to look at Sarah and she instinctively moves to close the gap between them. His arms enfold her and she tucks herself into him as closely as possible, breathing in his scent, loving the feeling of her body pressed against his tall, lean frame. Chuck places a tender kiss on her temple and she tilts her face up to his. His mouth meets hers in a soft kiss, and she pours every ounce of the love she feels into reciprocating. When they finally break apart, Sarah notices that the needle on the turntable is scratching against the end of the record.
She misses the sensations the music were awakening in her, and searches her brain for a suggestion. A memory from two and a half years ago floods her mind, and a mischievous smile spreads across her face.
"Hey, Chuck?"
He strokes her arm absently. "Hmm?"
"Do you remember that Arcade Fire album you told me about? The one that's..." she hesitates, her face scrunched up as she tries to remember the exact words.
"Forty two minutes and fifteen seconds of auditory aphrodisiac?" He flushes at the memory, but his gaze holds steady and he treats her to a lopsided smile.
Sarah's own smile widens as she nods, curling her fingers into his unruly hair. "I remember you told me then that I wasn't ready for it."
Sarah bites her lip, suddenly nervous.
"Do you think I'm ready for it now?"
Chuck's hand cups her cheek and he captures her lips in a reassuring kiss. His warm, brown eyes sparkle and her smiles automatically returns.
"You know what, Sarah Walker," he intones solemnly, "I think you are."
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