I'm back. Just can't help not to write again. I decided to do some sort of POV versions for Chuck and Sarah and I'll see where this story goes. I will credit The Vow for putting this idea into my battered brain.(:
P.S. "Happily Ever Afters" are not my cup of tea but I always give my readers a satisfying ending..
But don't judge the first chapter by its ending.
Again, I don't own Chuck Bartowski.
It's Over
Sarah's POV
I'm beaten. I'm bruised. It was a tough mission and fortunately I got one lucky day to have survived it. My cuts deeply hurt. My right eye is a bit swollen while my upper lip is bleeding. But it doesn't matter because Chuck is treating me right now. I just got home at 1 a.m. I tried my best not to wake him when I entered our room. He was sleeping on the couch probably waiting for me. But for some of his spy instincts too, he woke up. So here I am sitting on our bed and he's doing everything he can to keep me from cut pains. I can sense his worry over me. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't even ask. He doesn't even look me in the eye. I know why, because I can't even do the same for him. Whenever I look into those chocolate eyes all I see are brokenness, pain and love. I can tell that he is hurting but he doesn't show or say me that. He doesn't have to because his eye speaks volumes of emotions that I couldn't just even take all in.
It's been seven months since the kiss on the beach. Seven months and I still can't remember exactly everything for the last five years. Seven months that I've been going in and out for missions. Seven months that we lived like this and seven months that I haven't seen him smile or him do the Bartowski eyebrow dance. Wait. Bartowski eyebrow dance? I think I remember something. But all in all for seven months is just like there is nothing has changed for both of us. I'm still not me. I'm still not the Sarah who he keeps telling me. I'm still that spy I'm used to be. I'm still the CIA's top agent and I just can't let go of that. Believe me, I like the life he's showing me. It seems comfortable. No. It seems normal. Well, more than that. It feels like home. But I'm afraid to accept it. I'm afraid to embrace it all for I may like it too well that I in one moment won't be the spy that I should be. After all, this is all I know and this is the only thing I'm good at.
Today, I feel the need to better end this. I feel that he deserves better than me. I'm not even sure who that Sarah Walker he fell in love with and I can't stand to see him in pain every day. Sure, I think I'm falling for him but it's always been the cardinal rule that spies are not allowed to fall in love. I even wonder how we became a couple knowing he is my asset and I'm bound to protect him while burn him in the end. But maybe, just maybe he did something or maybe because he is Chuck that is why I fell in love with him like how I'm falling for him now. But I can't do this to him. I can't be that wife he wants or has known to be. Most of all, I can't see him like this. I can't keep his hopes high and I can't stand to look into his eyes and see the longing within. And so I have to do what I must do to save him but most to protect me from getting vulnerable.
Gathering all the strength that I have left, I took the deepest breath and inhaled what little air my lungs need to have the courage to tell him the words I know that will all the more hurt him. I don't know how will he take it but knowing Chuck, he'll probably understand it. Probably understand our situation and probably understand me. This life and all that I am is all that I ever have so before I destroy him and before I destroy me, I have to start with this. "Chuck". I calmly called his attention and there again his eyes look straight into mine. Instead of looking back, I gaze down on his lips so I'll be able to say and do this. And with all bravery mustered up, I let the words fell out of my lips like a hammer that just pounced on my chest telling him "I want a divorce".
Thanks for reading. Should I continue or should I not? Depends on my free time and your reviews.