She wills her breathing to slow down as she approaches his hotel room. She has absolutely no reason to be nervous, right? It's not like she just got back from a date with a member of an ambassador's inner circle who may be selling government secrets to the highest international bidder. No, nothing like that. She squeezes her eyes shut, and knocks firmly on the door.
The twelve seconds that it takes him to answer are absurdly brutal for her. She shifts back and forth on her feet, sighing anxiously. He finally opens the door, toothbrush in his mouth and a towel slung over his shoulder. They freeze, and she's not sure who takes the first breath. He scratches his head, then turns and disappears. She's about to protest when she hears him spitting out the toothpaste into the sink. He takes his time gargling water before returning to the door, a hardened look on his face.
"I'm sorry, Miss Meadows, was it? But you're standing a little too close to me."
His tone is cold, nothing like she remembers it. It's not like him to be bitter and vindictive, and the pang she feels is even greater when she realizes that he's bitter and vindictive because of what she's done to him.
It's a turning point, she realizes. Either he can let her in, and they may have a chance at starting over, or he can turn her away, and her life will end. Metaphorically, of course. Because ever since she left L.A., she's thought of him as her life force, as this abstract entity that somehow kept her sane throughout the missions and the killing and the spying.
"Chuck . . ." she breathes, and her voice is shaky and uneven. She tells herself that she couldn't use her training – to slow her breathing, or anything else – against him, but in reality, his presence is so great that she just can't concentrate on it. She lets the thought of him wash over her and guide her actions. Because if she wants to win him over, she has to be honest, even if that means being vulnerable.
His eyes soften a bit at the pain expressed in that one word. He sighs loudly and, after a moment's debate, shifts to the side of doorway, allowing her space to pass into the room.
She smiles weakly, and steps through the doorway. As she walks past him, her hand brushes his arm accidentally. Pulling her hand away quickly, she ignores the shock of electricity that jolted through her body at the contact. He doesn't close the door, maybe hoping she'll have an easy escape route, or maybe not wanting it to get too personal.
Once in the bland hotel room, he offers her a seat on the bed, but she takes one in a regular chair, afraid of the actions that might result from being so close to him and a bed at the same time.
He makes no effort to initiate the conversation, just leans awkwardly against the table. She's at a loss for how to begin. But what did she expect? That he would answer the door and sweep her into his embrace and they would live happily ever after? She scoffs silently at her foolishness. She looks around the room desperately.
"You have a nice view."
Damn. Damn.
She's an idiot. A moron. A fool.
He nods slightly, waiting to see if she redeems herself.
Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath and tries to think of a way to phrase her apology that doesn't make her sound like a total jerk.
"What brings you to Boston?"
Seriously? That was almost as awful as the first attempt. She gazes at the floor, lost in her awkwardness and missing the days when he was the one whom she felt most comfortable around.
He seems to take pity on her, though, and offers an answer. "I'm here for a computer convention. I work for a video game company now."
His voice is soft, but to hear him speak is heavenly. She breathes again, and has the courage to look up at him. He's staring at the wall, but at least his eyes aren't as cold as she's already seen them tonight.
She smiles slightly. So he finally got out of the Buy More. "Yeah?"
He nods. "It's a small company, but we're working our way up."
"I'm glad." There's another pause. Should she pursue this course of conversation? It's civil, but how long will that hold out? Sighing, she jumps in again. "I Googled you once." He looks up in surprise, and it's a relief to finally make eye contact with him again. "In a public library. Just to see how you were doing." He's speechless, so she explains a bit more. "I couldn't risk using agency resources to check up on you. Graham's been suspicious of me ever since I left L.A."
Silence descends upon the room, and her last few words hang in the air between them. He still looks shocked, and she's still nervous.
"I . . ." she falters, and when she begins again, her voice is barely above a whisper, "I wanted to contact you."
He takes a step closer to her, but before he can say anything, there's a knock at the door.