Chapter 7:
She can't be angry with him.
She made decisions without his consideration and he was free to make similar decisions without hers. She had a month and a half to phone/text/email/anything but she didn't. So no, she's not allowed to be angry with Chuck.
She is angry but that's different.
Sarah wills herself to unclench her fists and sit back. The woman was giving her a questioning look.
Here she is attending her first of many mandated therapy sessions while Chuck is heaven-knows where. It bothers her far more than she's willing to admit, that at this moment he is probably being briefed for a mission of which she is to have no part in.
You can't be angry with Chuck. It wouldn't be fair. Not when he let her go expecting nothing from her in return.
Her name was Dr. (Please-Call-Me-Moira) Monroy. I don't want there to be any unnecessary barriers between us. Please don't think of me as strictly your therapist. She speaks as if they could be friends, as if addressing her by first name only would somehow allow Sarah to forget who she was speaking to.
"Are you comfortable?" the woman asks, seated across from Sarah. "Do you want to take off your jacket?" She seems like a nice person but they must all seem that way. It's probably part of their training.
"I'm fine." Sarah likes it this way. She likes to think she has the option of leaving at a second's notice. It's an exit strategy without an exit.
"You might as well get comfortable. You're going to be spending some time here."
At last. Sarah almost cracks a smile; it didn't take long for Dr. Monroy to lose the niceties though she is perfectly correct. She hazards a glance down at her watch. Five minutes down, another eighty-five to go.
"I know this visit was mandated by your superiors but please try to relax. Nothing you say here will leave the confines of this office."
Except it will go to your superiors who are my superiors.
"Thank you, I will keep that in mind," Sarah says. Dr. Monroy scribbles something on her notepad and Sarah wonders if she's made her intentions too clear.
"So, is there anything you'd like to discuss?"
Sarah stares straight ahead. She has trouble talking to Chuck much less a complete stranger. The thought gives her pause. Was that progress if she didn't consider her husband a stranger?
Dr. Monroy smiles as she holds her pen aloft. "If you prefer, I can start."
Sarah says nothing. She would rather not reveal anything if she didn't have to. Perhaps she should try to be more forthcoming; maybe they will see that as normal. Or as normal as someone in her circumstance can be.
"Why don't we start with something easy?" Here the woman pauses. "Your name?"
Sarah stares at the back of the woman's notepad. "Sarah Walker." She doesn't realize it's a trap until it's too late. Of course it was; it was too easy to be anything but.
Dr. Monroy scribbles at a furious pace. If a name could give her so much fodder, Sarah couldn't imagine what will happen when she finally has to start talking.
"I've answered incorrectly," Sarah says, trying quickly to form a more well-rounded answer.
"There are no incorrect answers, Sarah, though I think it's interesting that you would think so."
Sarah feels flush with frustration. Bartowski. She was supposed to answer that her name was Sarah Bartowski because she was well-adjusted and perfectly capable of working with her husband in the field.
"How did you get here today? Did you have any trouble finding the place?"
"No, I drove myself." Sarah bites her tongue. Was this another mistake? Dr. Monroy watches her intently but she refuses to back step and give away any uncertainty on her part.
Chuck had offered, he was quite insistent actually, but she didn't want to bother him. Therapy was an unpleasant inconvenience but hardly reason to need someone else to escort you.
Unless he was offering as an excuse to see her. The thought gives her pause. Maybe she shouldn't be so stubborn.
"You're staying at the hotel." It wasn't a question. Her life was laid bare between them in pages and photographs. That this woman should know more about her than Sarah knew about herself was about as mildly irritating as not remembering the past five years of her own life.
"Yeah, I am." She had gone to Chuck's apartment and taken some of her belongings back to the hotel. It had been his idea. It's all yours anyway, he'd said and somehow she'd convinced herself it was a good idea. He didn't argue or bargain or try to persuade, but every shirt she packed, every sweater she took off the rack was another leaden weight on her shoulders.
She had asked for his help, but she was asking for him to dismantle his life to help rebuild hers. She was sure she was going to go to hell for this.
"Do you see him?"
Sarah flinches. "I thought when I was coming in for an assessment that I was going to be asked questions related to my skills in the field."
"Do you see him?" she repeats. When Sarah still refuses to answer, she scribbles something onto her notepad. Likely it was about her lack of cooperation or attempt at diversion.
"I see him from time to time." It wasn't the entire truth but Sarah's sure the real answer would just be another can of worms. It's a compromise that's sure to please neither; she tries to get to know Chuck and downplay all the expectations that's sure to be there, and all the while carry on with her life the only way she knows how to live it. She'd like to see someone else do better.
"It must be hard to find yourself married to someone you hardly know."
It's a trap.
Sarah puts on a tight-lipped smile. "I think a lot of marriages are no different. Does anyone really know who they're marrying?"
Dr. Monroy frowns. Probably not the right answer.
Sarah tightens her grip on the armrest. She was getting sick of all these personal questions. "Perhaps there's been some misunderstanding. I agreed to these sessions so that I could be approved for active duty."
Dr. Monroy looks down at her notes. "That's not what it says here." She points her finger to a spot on a page only visible to her. "You want to be cleared to work with your estranged husband."
Sarah tenses. "We're not estranged," she says. A little too sharply.
The woman gives her a reproachful look.
"We're not estranged," she repeats, softer.
Dr. Monroy points to her notepad. "But you live in separate residences, you've just said that you hardly know him and you only see him from time to time."
Sarah barely has the will to hold her tongue. There's something to be said for an agency that will clear her for just about any mission except the one that really matters. Suddenly when it involves their most valuable agent she's not mentally fit, unprepared and too overwhelmed to be involved.
She's angry and she doesn't think she's hiding it very well. "I'm doing everything that's asked of me," she says in her best level tone. "I just hope you are clear what I'm asking in return."
The woman smiles at her. "Of course, Sarah, you've been through a lot, there's no denying that. But I hope you understand why we need to take these precautions."
It finally occurs to her then that this has nothing to do with her. Not really. While Sarah is fully aware that there are unresolved issues between them; Chuck is important and she is a danger to him.
She sees now what this must look like from the outside. Why would a woman make plans to leave for good suddenly return and want to reconcile with a man she barely knows? She can't even explain it to herself; she can't pretend to be any more in love or any happier than she is.
She need not be reminded of the spectacular failure she made of the agency only a few short months ago. She's since been pardoned of all offenses but that doesn't mean they've forgotten. While she is exceedingly competent, she is nevertheless a weapon and while her loyalties are satisfied she can always fall into the wrong hands.
It makes her wonder if they ever intended to let her back into the field or if all this had been an elaborate ruse to play her into their hands.
"I would never harm Chuck." She tries hard not to let her voice waver so, but she is terrified of the things she's capable of. She's sure she's made the same vow before and to what effect?
Dr. Monroy nods. "I'm glad to hear it. You understand why we need to take these precautions then?"
To them, she's just an agent off-kilter; suspect until proven innocent.
Sarah assents. Slowly she shrugs off her jacket and lays it on the cushion next to her. She has to prove them wrong. She has to prove herself wrong. And to do that, she might as well get comfortable. It's not likely she'll be leaving any time soon.
Dr. Monroy smiles approvingly. "Good. Let's get started then."
At last, she was free and that alone was reason enough to smile. She heads to the parking lot, eager to leave this place behind her. There's a quickness in her step; she feels compelled to move even though there's nowhere for her to go. She tries to think of some banal errands she needs to run but her life is succinct. She's not quite without purpose as she was during her hiatus but she has to work just as hard to fill the space in her days.
For a brief moment she almost wishes therapy had taken the entire day.
As she walks towards her car, she realizes that Chuck is waiting for her. She doesn't think it's him at first but her heart knows better. When he waves at her, she feels an emotion so briefly overwhelming she's weak in the wake of it.
He stares down at his feet as if embarrassed to be found near her car. He doesn't say anything until she's closer and even then it's a rush of apologies.
"I know what this looks like. I know you said you wanted to go alone but I thought you'd be done by now and I was just driving by. I swear I wasn't following you or keeping tabs or anything like that."
Sarah smiles and for a brief few seconds she feels wicked enough not to reassure him. There's something terribly endearing about him when he's in a panic.
"It's alright," she finally says before he starts to spiral. "I know you weren't…following me." Even saying the words sounds ridiculous, especially since he's always given her her space.
"Good." He smiles in relief. "I just…" He stops, searching for the right words. "I mean…" She keeps her eyes on him, waiting, which only seems to make his speech pattern worse. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he finally blurts, staring at the ground again.
She doesn't imagine that she was much different before, so of course Chuck would be concerned. "Why wouldn't I be? I was only talking about my personal life with a stranger." She has to smile so he doesn't take it the wrong way. She's angry but not at him. She could never.
"Sarah." Even the way he says her name is apologetic.
Sarah turns away. She can't face the way he looks at her sometimes. "Stop." She takes a deep breath. "We've been through this before. You promised."
They both made promises. Some things are better left unspoken.
Chuck seems to catch himself. "Right. Well, I came because I wanted to see if I could take you out for a drink."
A drink? She'd love a drink but it's only eleven in the morning.
"A drink of coffee," he says in clarification. "Unless you did want a drink because I would not judge either way." Sarah doesn't say anything but they are already slowly walking towards his car. Without speaking they're somehow aware of each other's physical reactions. "In fact it would be perfectly understandable if you wanted a drink."
He leaves the conversation open for her to respond but she just nods. "A drink would be great. Either way." And leaves it up to him to choose.
He ends up taking her to a café a short drive away. Is he cognizant of the fact she could walk back to where her car is parked if things don't go well? Is that why he's chosen somewhere close? She shuts the thought away because she thinks they've progressed beyond that. He isn't a stranger to her; she's just not quite sure what he is.
They order their usual fare and Sarah likes that about him. Maybe he does it for her benefit but it's reassuring in a world filled with so much uncertainty that she at least knows how he likes his coffee.
He raises his take-away cup. "We should celebrate."
The notion takes her aback and she doesn't try to hide it. "What are we celebrating?" She frowns but Chuck is far from discouraged.
"You." He smiles at her and touches his cup against hers with all the effect minus the usual celebratory clink. "I know how difficult this must all be for you and today was a big step."
She takes a deep breath. "Well I think it's a bit early for celebration. It was only one session." She realizes she's not sure what event will mark her progress and whether it's the same for Chuck. She tries not to think of the magnitude of his expectations because she knows she will always fall short. Even if he says he has none for her, they were married once (still, she reminds herself). There has to be expectations.
"I know. And I'm not trying to put any pressure on you. I'm sorry if I did." Frowning he lowers his cup and stares down at the table. It happens so easily, this fall from the fine balance of what is between them and what is between their past lives.
Quite without meaning to she realizes she's said the wrong thing. Through all this he's never tried to force her to be anyone but herself. He sees the distinction between who she is and who she was. If there are expectations, it's her own fault for making them grander than they are.
"I'm sorry," she says. She reaches across the table and takes his hand, which he gives not unwillingly to her. The surprise on his face though; Sarah forgets sometimes that this is just as hard for him as it is for her. "I don't like change so it just doesn't feel like something to celebrate. But you're right. Today was a big step."
He warms to her again, his smile though faint, is encouraging. "I should have asked earlier but how was it?"
Sarah withdraws. She doesn't even realize she's done so until she's leaning against the back of her chair, both hands now in her lap. If Chuck's noticed he doesn't let on. Sometimes she thinks he's not cut out for the life of a spy but then, just when she needs to, she realizes she can't read him at all.
"It was fine." Like ripples in still water, her non-answer causes a discord between them. They drink their coffees in silence. Chuck doesn't pry for more and she's not apt to elaborate but she has to.
She has to stop building these walls. She could lose herself (it's a probability more than a possibility) but if she doesn't stop pushing him away, she will lose him. And that's a fact. Chuck is a man, not a Saint, and he's not going to wait forever.
Even if it's not love, she knows that there is something. Something told her to come back even when she was hell-bent on staying away. If there's any chance, any chance at all, for that to become something more than just a sixth sense, she has to stop destroying what little there is left between them.
She doesn't need a therapist to tell her that much.
"It's always unpleasant when someone happens to know more about you than you do about them. When they ask you questions that you don't even ask yourself." Her gaze switches back and forth between her completely drained take-away cup and his hands. His right hand shields over the left and she hides her hands in her lap; they are both trying to protect the other in their own way. "But you know, I think it's for the best. I'm glad that they're giving me the time."
She is wary to catch his gaze. A part of her wants him to be unguarded with her but the other is afraid of what she'll discover. She doesn't really know the true depths of his emotions; love, despair, guilt, joy. She has no idea.
"Really?" His voice takes on an incredulous tone but when she looks into his eyes, they are not accusatory. They are, she thinks, hopeful; like she's given him something and he can't quite believe it.
She doesn't quite want to admit it herself. And it doesn't mean she's not angry about the probation or the therapy because she still is, even if it's for her own good.
"Yeah. I do." He smiles at that, and she thinks, for the first time, she's seen that smile somewhere in a photograph before.
Hours pass. They loiter far beyond what is appropriate and she honestly couldn't say what they had to talk about. A whole bunch of nothing, really. But everything felt like something important at the time; every subject thought-provoking and perhaps a bit nostalgic.
They dance around the past but by now they've gotten rather good at the steps. She opens up a bit more about Italy, about Carina, and he opens up a bit more about what he really does in his spare time (no details, of course).
Finally they make plans to leave. She suggests, as they walk out, that they should walk back to her car rather than driving his.
"I'll drive you back," she says. It's not a very subtle plan but he goes along with it. Later in the evening she will ask herself why she couldn't have just said goodbye to him but it's far too complex for her introspection.
They walk side by side, close enough to touch but never breaking their unspoken truce. He is so near she can feel the shadow of his arm over hers but just far enough for her to remember who she is to him.
"Chuck." She's gotten more familiar with saying his name and it's lost some of it's awkwardness. He no longer looks so alarmed to hear her say it. "Tell me again how we met."
