A/N: This fic is written for ndnickerson/ulstergirl as part of the Holiday Fic Exchange Challenge. She asked for Chuck with a backbone, some adventure, lots of romance. She didn't want the story to include slash, character death, bottomless angst. The requested pairing was Chuck/Sarah, and the prompt was "picking out a tree for the house / apartment / hotel room".
A/N 2: When I first chose this prompt, I did so because I figured I could write introduce some smut into this challenge. Unfortunately, as the story unfolded, the smut just didn't have a place in the finished result. So even though it isn't what was originally intended, I hope ndnickerson enjoys the finished (incredibly fluffy) result. Call it a backlash from writing all that angst for "A Chuckmas Carol". ;-)
Disclaimer: This show owns me, not the other way around. ;-)
~*~
A world of wonder spreads out across the sprawling Christmas tree farm, full of glistening pine trees, freshly cut mistletoe, and buckets of every type of peppermint one might wish to eat. A jolly Santa Claus holds court nearby, laughing merrily as children of varying ages sit upon his lap and confide their deepest holiday wish before posing for a photographer dressed as an elf. Dazzling multi-colored lights are strung across the lot, row upon row of glittering garland hangs above the trees, and the sounds of Christmas music wafts through the air. And amidst it all, in the center of the chaos, in the hub of the festivities is a determined Sarah Bartowski. Walking quickly through the rows of thick green trees with narrowed eyes and furrowed brow, her long blonde hair blows around her shoulders as the Burbank wind whistles through the pines. "Come on, Chuck," she prods, rubbing her hands together in an effort to warm herself. "Just a little bit further."
Sweat beading upon his flushed face, his breath emerging in short gasps, Chuck leans forward onto his knees and stares at his wife in consternation. "Sarah, we've seen every tree here. Can't we just choose one?"
"None of these trees are right," she returns, her lips puckering into a frown. "And we have to find –"
"The perfect tree," Chuck breaks in, wiping his arm across his forehead. "I know. But there are so many of them. I'm sure just one of them is –"
"The first one was too short," Sarah replies, glancing in annoyance at the offending pine as she taps her foot. "The second one was –"
"Too tall," Chuck supplies, standing up straight and sighing. "And the third one was –"
"Too fat," Sarah finishes, huffing slightly as she crosses to her husband, straightening his shirt and pushing aside a stray curl.
And even though the annoyance is still present within her eyes, and even though she continues to tap her foot in anticipation of finding the quintessential tree, she can't ignore the wave of longing which wafts through her chest when her finger brushes against Chuck's face and sends a mild burst of electricity coursing through her wrist. Her features softening, she cups his cheek and looks into his eyes. "You're looking a little tired, Mr. Bartowski," she teases, leaning over to plant a kiss upon his nose.
"Tired?" Chuck replies, continuing to gasp for breath. "Me? No, I'm just getting used to the three hour walk through the Christmas tree farm. It's not every day that you look for the perfect tree."
"Mmm," Sarah murmurs, smiling impishly as she grabs hold of his shirt collar and pulls him to her for a prolonged kiss. Brushing her lips against his parted mouth, running her tongue across his lower lip, she causes his breath to quicken and his heart to pound for an entirely different reason as he wraps his arms around her slender frame and falls into her embrace. As he relishes the way she leans into his touch, at the way she gives into his kisses, so different from the way she'd behaved during the first few years of their relationship, yet so very welcome at the same time.
"What I don't understand," he finally says breathlessly, breaking the kiss and leaning against her forehead, "is why we're reenacting Goldilocks and the Three Bears."
"Goldilocks and the who?" Sarah inquires, her forehead creasing in confusion.
"Your father never read you a single fairytale, did he?" Chuck replies in astonishment, arching his brow as he kneads her lower back.
"Not unless it involved cheating the stock market or swindling the latest mark," Sarah replies, smirking and playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
"Okay," Chuck states, trying again, "What I don't understand is why we can't just choose a tree? I mean, all we're going to do is stick a bunch of decorations on it anyway."
Unfortunately, it soon becomes apparent that this was the wrong thing to say. "What are you saying, Chuck?" Sarah asks, causing him to swallow visibly when he hears the warning tone reflected within his wife's voice.
"I'm saying . . ." he bites his lower lip, considering his next statement carefully. "I'm saying that it shouldn't matter if the tree is perfect, Sarah. No one's going to notice."
"I'm going to notice, Chuck," Sarah returns, and his chest clenches when he notices the glimmer of hurt enter her bright blue eyes. "I'm going to care."
"But why?" he inquires blankly, his arms still wrapped gently around her muscular frame.
Blinking, Sarah's gaze drops to his left shoulder as the old familiar mask descends upon her features and the emotion within her eyes becomes slightly obscure. "It's our first Christmas together, Chuck," she says guardedly. "It's the first time we've celebrated in our new home. I just thought that it would be nice to have a good tree."
"Sarah," Chuck replies, grinning slightly as he traces her lower lip with his thumb, "Do you really think a perfect tree is what we need to enjoy Christmas?"
"Of course not," is her quick response, as she kisses his exploring digit. And then: "I don't know. I've never had a real Christmas tree before. We were always too busy with the con, too busy running from our latest job." Too busy ignoring each other, ignoring the holiday. Ignoring the fact that it would have been nice to be a family.
Chuck's heart twists at the suppressed dejection contained within her words, the concealed regret reflected within her voice. "What if I promised you," he says, sucking in a sharp breath when her tongue flicks across his thumb, "That this will be the best Christmas of your life, Sarah Bartowski?"
"What makes you say that, Chuck?" Sarah asks, gazing intently into his eyes as she slowly moves toward his lips.
"Because," Chuck replies, abandoning her mouth and stroking her cheek before she can wreak any more damage to his exploring thumb, "We'll be together. And I'm going to do everything in my power to give you the best Christmas you've ever had."
"Really?" she asks, smiling gently. "And why would you do that?"
"Because, Sarah," Chuck replies, going slightly cross-eyed when her mouth comes within millimeters of his own, "You've already given me the best life I could have ever asked for." And with that, he closes the distance between them and pulls her flush against his solid body, caressing her mouth with his warm lips and threading his fingers through her long blonde hair as the chaos of the Christmas tree lot dims and he simply enjoys being wrapped within his wife's embrace.
~*~
"It's missing something," Sarah states, frowning at the towering pine. It stands as the centerpiece of their living room, its glorious limbs framed within the large glass window of their bright yellow house, its evergreen pine needles sending a pleasing aroma wafting through the air. A plethora of ornaments hang from its branches, some store bought, some homemade by a much younger Chuck Bartowski, but all combining with the strands of red garland and the multi-colored lights to add a brilliance to the beloved tree. The problem is, as Sarah continues to stare at the sight, as she continues to take in the glittering decorations, her chest twists when she realizes that she has nothing to contribute. She has nothing to share.
"What's it missing?" Chuck asks, coming up to wrap an arm around Sarah's torso as he places his chin upon her shoulder. "It looks good to me."
"I don't know . . ." Sarah says slowly, studying the pine. "Just something."
"Hmm," Chuck replies, brushing his lips against her neck and causing her to shiver slightly. And then he pulls his other arm from behind his back and slowly opens his fist. "How about this?" he asks with a gleam in his eye as a pair of turtle doves are revealed within the palm of his hand. Small and white, the porcelain birds are molded in flight, a single name engraved into either breast. One bird with wings outstretched sports the name "Chuck," while the other has been engraved to read "Sarah".
"Chuck," Sarah exclaims, twisting in his arms to stare in stunned affection at her husband. "When did you get these?"
"A few days ago," the computer nerd shrugs. And then, his brown eyes turning slightly serious even while the loving gleam continues to radiate from their cinnamon depths: "Do you know what they mean?"
"They're turtle doves," Sarah replies thoughtfully, fingering the bird which depicts her name. "Aren't they supposed to symbolize something about partnership?"
"Close," Chuck nods, brushing a kiss against Sarah's cheek. "When turtle doves mate, they stay together for life. Nothing can ever come between them, nothing can ever break them up. Kind of like us," he says as she bites her lower lip to keep it from wavering. "So a long time ago, someone decided that they symbolized true love and faithfulness."
"When did you turn into such a sap, Mr. Bartowski?" Sarah asks, even as her own eyes begin to gleam and she gently takes her bird from Chuck's hand.
"Since I married you," Chuck replies simply, smiling the heart stopping grin that makes Sarah's pulse race. Leaning in to give her a gentle kiss, he stops just before their mouths meet and asks, "Have I told you lately how much I love you, Sarah Bartowski?"
"Hum," Sarah replies, pretending to think even as her free hand rises to the back of his head so that she can push his mouth closer to her own. "Not lately, no."
"Well," he replies, grazing her mouth with his lips, "I'm so in love with you that I can't think straight." And then he pulls her into his arms and begins a passionate, loving assault on her mouth, the turtle doves still clasped gently within their hands as he leaves her just as breathless as she left him during their four hour search for the perfect Christmas tree.
Hours later, when they stand gazing at their tree, the soaring turtle doves hanging in the center of garland and ornaments and lights, the consternation has disappeared from Sarah's eyes, the desperation has vanished from her face. Instead, as she threads her fingers through Chuck's hand, their wedding rings glinting in the mild December sun, she realizes just how lucky she is to be standing with the man by her side. Just how thankful she is that she gave up the CIA, even after everything she went through, even after years of building up her career. Because spending Christmas with Chuck is worth a dozen missions and a lifetime of rewards. In fact, being with Chuck is a reward unto itself.
"So," he says, leaning his cheek against her blonde head. "What do you think? Did we find the perfect tree?"
"No," Sarah replies, leaning into his touch. "The perfect tree found us."