Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or any intellectual property related to the Chuckverse.
Sarah versus Sarah
Intellectually she knows that the water sluicing over her body is hot, but she's numb with shock. Faintly she can hear a pounding on the hotel room door. Sarah hopped in the shower with over forty minutes to prepare for their 'date' and the wrinkled state of her fingers is proof that she's been standing under the relentless spray for the entirety of that time. Even without that evidence, Chuck's concerned voice, rising in concert with the increasing intensity of his knocking is all the confirmation she needs. The desperation plaguing his tone breaks her fugue state.
As she steps out of the tub, Sarah slips on the bar of soap which tumbled from her fingers almost thirty minutes ago. She wraps a terry cloth robe around her body and proceeds to the door, not even bothering to turn off the shower or dry her hair.
"Sarah!! Sarah, please open the door or so help me I'm gonna call…" the door swings open revealing a shell-shocked Sarah Walker and Chuck finishes the threat weakly, "Casey." He crosses the threshold and reaches out to her, "Sarah?" She retreats to the middle of the room without even offering him a backward glance, but her body language is screaming at him to maintain the distance she's placed between them.
There's a steady stream of fog pouring out from the bathroom, a detail he would ignore if not for the fact that this devastated version of Sarah is dripping wet. Compelled to do something, Chuck quickly investigates the bathroom, searching for some clue as to what's upset the most unflappable woman he's ever known. There's nothing there…at least nothing out of the ordinary. He turns off the water and without the white noise he can distinctly hear Sarah's labored breathes.
She watches him emerge from the bathroom, the question plain on his face. The fear in his eyes has somehow managed to heighten in the brief moments since his arrival and the only thing eclipsing that is his obvious concern for her. That thought is the first one to send a shiver of warmth through her since…since her discovery. He takes careful steps in her direction and ironically, she draws on her agent training to force herself to stay still. The woman inside her wants to pretend that none of this is happening…she wants to let the CIA agent fight the battle ahead. She's spent so much of her life running away from one specific memory of her childhood, and oddly, it's Agent Walker that reasons that they're going to need help to make it through this ordeal. More specifically, she's going to need Chuck.
Her arms are wrapped tight around herself and her teeth are chattering like mad. There's a haunted aura coming off her in waves as she stands there with her eyes screwed shut. Chuck braces himself and takes hold of her shoulders, expecting a slap, a scream, a sob, or some kind of reaction. When his tactile approach garners no response, he prods again, gently, "Sarah?"
"That's not my name." She opens her eyes and tries desperately to reorient herself to this new reality where her past has finally caught up with her. She never imagined telling him anything real because she liked to believe that Sarah Walker was the first time in her life that she ever was real. The idea that Chuck is the only one who's ever treated her like an actual human being is such a tempting notion, but its simply one of a thousand lies she's convinced herself of over the years. There was a time when she was more than the daughter of a con man and a weapon of the government. Those memories were all but erased. But as any good agent knows, there's always a trail….some physical evidence of things past.
"Chuck?" He breathes a visible sigh of relief that she seems to be cognoscente of her faculties, but that breathe hitches and she sees his certainty falter when she shrugs her robe open. His eyes dart to the ceiling so quickly that it would be comical under any other circumstances. His hands, however, are still resting lightly atop her bare shoulders. She takes one of his hands inside her own and uses the other to guide his eyes to meet hers. His eyes are bewildered, but the longer she holds his gaze, the steadier his breathing becomes, until they're in perfect rhythm.
He swallows the dry lump in his throat and squeezes their clasped hands. He has no idea what's happening but he knows that it's important and that it's imperative that he not break eye contact. Whatever this is, it's for Sarah.
His palm is a little sweaty inside her grasp, as she guides their hands to the outer realm of her left breast. Chuck's touch is tentative and yields completely to her guidance, of which she is grateful.
Despite the fact that Sarah is directing his fingertips across her skin, there's nothing erotic about this exchange. He's afraid of the path she's laying out before him because he's got a sick feeling about their final destination. Suddenly, Sarah stops and just presses his fingers down. The soft tissue of her body spreads away under the combined pressure of their touch, exposing a large solid mass. Chuck almost vomits in his mouth. Her eyes are watering with unshed tears and her voice carries a fragile edge he's never heard, "My mother died of breast cancer when she was one year older than I am now."
Sarah lets her eyes close and feels the first tear fall. She's not sure who she's crying for in this moment…her mother or herself…probably a little of both. It's beyond improper to allow an asset to see you vulnerable, but Chuck is the only person in her life who's made her feel unique and special the way her mother could. It's not a connection she ever made before today and suddenly trying to not love him seems completely ludicrous. Her mother would be ashamed of her for squandering such a precious gift. She unlocks the painful memories, letting them spill out like water.
"My mother's hands were papery thin and pale from the chemo, but somehow they never lost their warmth or strength. She held my hands insider her own and I remember crying so hard that I couldn't breath. My father couldn't take it; the sounds of both of us struggling for breathe in that room. That's what broke him...not the day she died, but that afternoon when I understood that she was dying. After that day, he never wanted to be that man again...a husband and a father. I think that's why he became a con man, he felt cheated by the world and his petty schemes let him extract revenge, while being whoever he wanted." She laughs darkly, "It's probably why I became a CIA agent too. I fight against the invisible enemies who'd burn away the best things in our lives. And I never have to be me…I never have to be Sarah's little girl."
His stomach knots so fiercely at her admission that he has to swallow back the bile which rose up his throat. She bore her mother's name for her cover, perhaps in homage, never once thinking it would foreshadow a shared destiny. He pushes the cruel irony to the back of his mind and focuses on the broken woman before him. She's still shivering, but he doubts that it's due to the chill. Regardless, Chuck pulls her robe closed and leads her over to the bed. She sits like an obedient child and he kneels before her, keeping vigil, determined to let her purge these caustic secrets.
"I dropped the soap. I was just taking a shower and thinking about our last mission when I felt it. And I couldn't hold onto that stupid bar of soap, it just kept slipping through my fingers. I heard it clatter in the basin, but I couldn't pick it up. It all happened so fast and then it was like time stood still. Then I heard you knocking." She smiles blithely, "Banging really. No matter how hard I try, no matter what I'm going through," she caresses the side of his face, her awe outstripping the underlying accusation, "you won't stay out of my life Chuck."
"I'm not going anywhere." Too many people have left her…too many lessons have taught her that it's best, if not easiest, to be alone.
"I wish you would." The tears she cries now are for him, because she knows that he loves her and she knows what lies ahead if he chooses to stay. She doesn't want Chuck to become broken, like her and her father. But the scared six year old girl, sobbing at her dying mother's bedside, desperately and selfishly wants him by her side. She has no one…no one to care for her, no one to talk to, and no one to miss her. But Sarah Walker has someone…Sarah Walker has Chuck. And he's never going to leave her.
"Do you want me to go Sarah?" The name trips off his tongue before he can think to stop himself. Her head snaps up, appraising him with sad criticality.
She reaches out, cupping his face, while sliding off the bed to kneel across from him. Sarah shakes her head and places her forehead against his before kissing him softly. He allows her to command the kiss. Chuck deftly follows her lead from gentle coaxing, to raw need, to loving restraint, and unbridled passion.
It's erratic and inappropriate, but it's what she needs. He feels her chest press against his torso and admits to himself that he needs this too. They draw away from each other, panting but comfortable in each other's embrace. Unlike all those times before, this is a respite, not a retreat.
Fear of the unknown is daunting…fear of the familiar is far worse, but whatever tomorrow brings, Sarah Walker takes comfort in knowing she won't be facing it alone.
Author's Note: I can't even tell you where this came from because I have no idea. I know it's sad and depressing, but sometimes life reminds you that tragedy brings us together. Given all the zaniness that comes at the Chuck/Sarah pairing externally, I just couldn't help but explore this little dark corner of 'normal life' that brave friends and families in the real world have to deal with every day.
Thank you for reading.