Disclaimer: Chuck belongs to NBC.
Note: I made some little editing changes to this, hence the update. It's probably still not perfect, but at least now its readable.
Our Hands Together
He always wants to have a piece of her. He wants to be able to smell her hair, he wants to feel the pressure of her side leaning into his own. He wants to see into the depths of her bright blue eyes, he wants to hear her voice speak his name. He wants to hold his hand in hers.
It doesn't happen often. None of it does. Of course, she does speak his name quite a bit; getting his attention, calling him over, yelling at him, (Stay in the car, Chuck!). And sometimes she brushes by him, sparking a connection for a painful half second. She looks at him all the time, it's kinda in her job description. But these occasional, accidental, incidental moments never compare.
They don't compare to the times she whispers in his ear, her lips on the side of his face moving so gently he can pretend its a kiss. They don't compare to the times she looks so firmly in his eyes to say that she's lying when her mouth utters that they. can't. be. together. They don't compare to the times she holds him in her arms so that the world can fall on both their shoulders.
They don't compare to this time: with her hand in his. They don't have to be, of course. Hand holding, that is. He isn't emotionally distressed, and no one is paying enough attention to be concerned about their cover. She isn't dragging him to safety and the General didn't just order her to caress his hand. They're holding hands because... because...
She just told him that she is sorry that she let her spy persona tear him a new one. She just told him that she doesn't understand because she doesn't have anyone that cares about her like that.
And he said, "Yeah, you do."
His eyes bore into the side of her head, begging her to face him. He needs it all, the scent the sight, the sound. He needs her to see the love in his eyes. That not only does he care about her, he cares about her above everything. That he loves her.
But she can't. She knows what he wants, it's impossible to deny it, but if her eyes seek his then she knows she'll lose control. Her crumbling walls will collapse, her heart will open, and her plane ticket to D.C. will arrive within the hour. All because she wouldn't be able to resist a very cover-like peck on the lips.
So she stares ahead, loving him so much that it hurts. She stares at the oddly entertaining band in front of her, wondering if he knows that she cares about him too. Wondering if she's breaking his heart all over again.
That's when hesitantly slides his hand into her own, to let her know that he understands. He feels her almost jump away out of shock. He feels her relax and contently settle her palm into his. Their fingers intertwine, a bond they would need the Jaws of Life to break. He wonders if she understands the oh so vitally important meaning. He's never going to give up on her, he's always going to care for her. Nothing can bring them apart.
The band plays on, singing that there's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do. The crowd sways to the music, in either shock or nausea. His best friend seems to have reconciled with his girlfriend, her partner seems to have disappeared.
And when his best friend says something along the lines of: It doesn't get any better than this, they both look down at their hands, still held, and agree.