Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck!
A/N: Although I was very disappointed that the gang went to England and there was nary a mention of one Cole Barker, I was very intrigued by Vivian's character, lol. This popped into my head this afternoon, so I chose to jot it down. :) Hope you enjoy it!
"Yes, truly, for look you, the sins of the father are to be laid upon the children." - The Merchant of Venice, 3.5.1
"Vivian?" Sarah questions as she opens the living room door. Their new acquaintance is on the front step, a lost look in her eye as she shuffles from foot to foot. Recovering from the surprise enough to remember her manners, she steps aside and says, "Oh, I'm so sorry. Come in."
The young Brit gives her a grateful smile as she steps cautiously inside. "I apologize for barging in like this."
"It's not a problem," Sarah assures her. "Please, sit down. Would you like something to drink? Tea maybe?"
"No, thank you," Vivian replies, though she does take the proffered seat on the couch, perching on the edge of the cushion. "I was actually hoping we could have a chat."
Sarah stammers wordlessly as she sits down in the armchair. After her disastrous attempt at 'hanging out' with Morgan last week, she's not quite prepared to try again with Vivian. The whole team likes her, and she doesn't want to be the one responsible for ruining this friendship. She's still battling the guilt from her role in Morgan's departure from the apartment.
"Uh, well," she begins carefully, "Chuck should be home from work soon. You're welcome to hang out until he gets back. We've got drinks . . . chocolate-covered strawberries . . ."
Vivian's lips quirk the tiniest bit. "Thank you, but it's really you I came to speak to. It was very good of Chuck to tell me of his past, to make me feel less alone, but the fact of the matter is, I don't feel comfortable speaking about this with him."
Sarah's eyebrows go up in astonishment. "And you'd rather talk to me?"
With a nod, Vivian explains, "He told me about your wedding, about how you're a little . . . wary about inviting your family. I thought . . . I thought you would be good to talk to."
Sarah is starting to get it now. To Vivian, a guy like Chuck has it all together. He has a good career, a healthy relationship, supportive friends and family. They may have a lot in common, but it's Sarah who shares the one thing she needs most right now.
"This is about your father?" she asks quietly.
Frowning, Vivian says, "Boris said something to me, before I . . . before I shot him. He said my father was grooming me to take over his empire."
Sarah leans forward, resting her arms on her knees. "You know," she begins, "just because you know how to shoot a gun, and know a handful of languages . . ."
She stops, closes her eyes for a second. Isn't this the exact same thing she's asked herself time and time again? Not since Chuck walked into her life, but every day for years before. She was the product of her upbringing. Everything her father taught her gave her a head start in the CIA. So what exactly was there to separate the agent in her from the con artist? They were one and the same; she was just a con artist masquerading as an agent. It took a long while for her to realize all that was wrong with that mode of thinking.
Sighing, she tries again. "Your father may have had his intentions for you. He may have taught you everything you know. But that doesn't mean you have to follow in his footsteps." She gives her friend a slight smile. "I've learned lately that you don't have to be defined by what you are, or where you came from. It's what you do that matters, who you choose to care about, what you believe in."
"I've spent the past few years trying to figure out what to do with my life," Vivian tells her, shaking her head. "Now, though, all I can think about is if I can even overcome what my father tried to make of me. What if it's just . . . an inescapable fate, a self-fulfilling prophecy?"
"Sorry, Vivian," Sarah smiles gently, "but you're talking to someone who doesn't believe in destiny."
"No?"
"No," she confirms. "If I did, I'd still be a small-time con artist, scamming fat, bald business men."
Vivian tilts her head. "Your father . . . ?"
Sarah nods. "He taught me everything I know. After he got arrested, the CIA offered me a deal. I spent years thinking I was living on borrowed time, that my past would come back to haunt me." She pauses before saying, "It wasn't until I met Chuck that I realized a person doesn't have to be just the sum of his parts."
She knows better than anyone that a person's character isn't defined by his lineage, that ancestry is not the way to judge a person. Chuck was a prime example of someone who had overcome parental disappointment and misplaced expectations. He'd also been the one to convince her that these past ten years with the CIA have allowed her to do the same. Maybe she wasn't the best at comforting others, but hopefully Vivian would recognize the empathy in her.
Sarah reaches out to lay a hand on her friend's forearm. "You may have Volkoff blood in you," she says quietly, "but you're Vivian MacArthur, and she can be whoever she decides to be."
Smiling now, Vivian muses, "So the solution to not being haunted by my past is to simply not let it haunt me."
"I've learned that's the best way," Sarah nods.
"Thank you, Sarah. You don't know how much I've needed someone to talk to."
"I think maybe I do, and you can talk to me anytime," Sarah assures her, because she knows what it's like to be alone, what it's like to have no one to really trust. She knows this isn't the type of concern to be banished so quickly, but at least this is a start. With a smile, she asks, "Maybe you could use that drink now?"
"Sure," Vivian smiles, "but first, there's one more thing I have to tell you about."
Curious, Sarah watches as Vivian unclasps her necklace and removes it from her neck. She pools it in one hand, breathes out a long sigh, and looks up at Sarah with heavy eyes. And Sarah waits patiently for what she can tell is going to be a long, interesting story.