A/N: Ookayy....Altonish i learned my lesson about posting on Friday. =(

Please don't prove me wrong about Sunday.

Chapter 21:

They spend the afternoon together but they barely say more than a few words to one another. He lies on the couch and she sits on the opposite side, watching and waiting. It's as if at any moment someone would burst through the door and threaten to harm him again.

She's already missed her chance though; this was like holding out her hands long after the baby's already been thrown with the bathwater.

Chuck checks the messages on his phone and sighs.

"You're not going to let me go back tonight, are you?" It's not even posed as a question; his voice remains flat and indifferent.

"I don't think that would be a good idea, do you?" It's not a question either when she responds. She knows Chuck's expected to network in the evenings at these conventions; vendors, advertisers, distributors...and if that were what he truly wanted, she wouldn't hold him back.

But he doesn't even put up a fight. It's like he's using her as an excuse not to go.

And you aren't?

Sarah sighs as she recalls her earlier conversation with the Director. She needs to get back at the convention every bit as much as he does but she doesn't want to either. When she's here alone with Chuck, away from the distractions, away from reality, it's as if she can have it all again. For a few brief seconds, she doesn't have any responsibilities and neither does he; they're just two people together because they want to be.

_

The fridge is down to bare bones and neither of them feels like putting in the effort to go out for dinner—especially not when one of them has a black-eye and the other's still staving off a prodigious migraine.

When they look at one another, it's almost like they share the same mind.

"Pancakes?" they ask in unison.

Chuck smiles. "I'll make the batter..."

"...and I'll make sure you don't mess it up," she finishes. She hasn't said the phrase in so long and yet it rolls right off her tongue, as if she's said it every Sunday for the last five years.

Sarah hides the wave of sadness that hits her as she retrieves the morning's newspaper from the recycling bin. Together they eat a quiet dinner over the kitchen island with the daily crossword between them.

She handles the 'across' and he tackles the 'down' and they meet between 'time to kill' and 'classical conclusion', their pencils crossing paths as they fill in their respective blanks.

Sarah forgets herself and leans forward absent-mindedly. Only when Chuck doesn't follow through does she realize her mistake. The kiss isn't coming.

Well of course not. You don't torture someone for five years and then expect them to kiss you over the crossword. It used to be a thing they did when they crossed paths and now it was just a thing of the past.

Chuck hasn't forgotten though. He drops his pencil and looks at her, the question clear in his eyes.

It had certainly felt like a moment out of their old lives. There were a million emotions swirling in those deep brown orbs, everything from lust to bitter hatred.

"Sorry," Sarah finally offers. Chuck doesn't look entirely sure of himself either but to his credit, he tries to shake it off. He picks up his pencil again and leans back over the crossword.

Sarah forgets the puzzle—the one on the table—and stares enamoured across at the one sitting opposite her. Five years and he still treats her with respect and care, even after she's come traipsing back into his life at a moment's notice.

He's absolutely remarkable and sitting here today, she can't seem to believe she couldn't walk away from a crappy government job for the chance to be with him.

He's the only person in this world who's ever really cared about her; Sarah, the girl and not the person she's spent years personifying.

Sarah tries to quell the voices in her head—this is a mistake. You're on a mission.

But he's her husband. And he still cares for her.

The director will fire you. You're supposed to be at the conference.

Maybe he's just too nice to say anything. Chuck's always been better with words over actions.

Just KISS HIM!

Sarah listens to the last voice, the one that screams the loudest and before Chuck can pull away, she tips his head towards her and presses her torn and ragged lips against his.

It's five years of separation and distance down the drain.

She kisses him like the famished to a bread crumb; she's starved herself for as long as she can and now she wants it, wants what ought to be hers.

Five years of denial all switch gears at once. She wants this. She wants him.

Sarah closes her eyes as Chuck raises his hand to stroke the side of her cheek.

If this is a mistake, then let it be.

She'll deal with the aftermath tomorrow.

Let's pretend there won't be a tomorrow, she implores with her eyes. All we have are these hours and that's it.

She clings to him, keeping one hand full of his shirt, pulling him right up against her so that she can feel the heat of his body burn against hers.

Chuck is hesitant at first, but there isn't much resistance. She can sense his defenses breaking down and she pushes him onward.

He wraps his arms around her and lifts her and she instinctively ensnares one long leg around his waist. His hands feel like a fire that's burning across her skin, she feels herself fall apart under his touch as he rediscovers the terrain he once knew so well.

It's a combination of longing and the promise of what she's denied herself for so long, but when he finally kisses her, it's as if every synapse in her brain has fired simultaneously. She's overtaken by a frightening burst of euphoria, and then the harrowing threat of a shattering low when he pulls away.

Just a second more, a touch longer, and she'll lose it.

He presses her up against the wall and there's nothing gentle about the way he holds her. There's a deep hunger and even deeper pain that's joined them together.

Sarah closes her eyes so the tears won't spill.

Don't speak. Don't think.

Just hold me and promise never to let go.

She moans his name, softly in his ear, and just as when she thinks he's as far gone as she is, he pulls away.

It's as if she's underwater and someone's just cut off her air supply.

Chuck gasps, out of breath, a horrified look on his face.

Sarah slinks against the wall, wondering what the hell happened.

"Chuck?" she asks, full of concern. The man clutches his chest, looking as if he were seconds from having a heart attack. "Chuck, what's the matter?"

"Don't!" he warns, when he finally manages to speak again. "Don't come any closer."

Sarah feels the cold hand of reality slink from the dark recesses of her mind and take hold of her.

She had been so foolish and now she finally sees. There's a fundamental difference between them; he's not Humpty Dumpty. He can't do this to himself over and over again. He's not self-destructive. He won't ignore tomorrow just to have today. He's normal.

"There's something I've been meaning to give you," he finally says, refusing to meet her eyes. When he has regained his composure, he disappears from the kitchen.

Her feet can barely function under the crushing disappointment and humiliation, but Sarah feels like she has no choice but to follow him.

_

Chuck enters the office, extracts a key and opens a drawer in the desk. He pulls out a sheaf of papers and hands them to her. Sarah takes the sheets from him, letting them fall to the side without so much as a glance.

"What is this?"

He eyes her uneasily and points to the papers. It was all self-explanatory, if she only allowed herself to look at them. But she won't. She wants the answer from him.

"You haven't signed them."

Sarah wrinkles her brows.

"You haven't signed them," he repeats. "I wanted to tell you...but I kept thinking maybe you didn't mean..."

Sarah's heart goes from sixty to well over two hundred. She raises the sheets to eye-level and notices the yellow-tag stuck over the blank line next to Chuck's signature.

"I mean, it's a stupid thought," Chuck explained. "But you never wrote back to any of my letters; I didn't know how to contact you. And I thought..." He threw his hands up in the air. "Well, it doesn't really matter what I thought.

"I get it, Sarah, I finally get it." Chuck twisted the band around his finger uneasily. "And I think I'm finally ready."

This was it. Not that morning five years ago but here. Now.

Sarah braced herself but she felt her entire frame tremble with the realization. All this time, she thought he was the one holding back.

But it had been her. She'd been the reason he was alone, the reason he'd never moved on. The reason his life was still on hold.

"I drew up a new one and put it behind the original. So...whenever you get the time..." She could have it signed in a second, but he's giving her another reason to stall.

"Got it," she says, her voice unnecessarily forceful. Her emotions are as brittle as glass; just one nick and she'll shatter.

Chuck takes a step back. He can see what he's done, but it was inevitable, was it not? This was the road she'd driven them down. It was her choice, never his.

"Sarah..."

"I said I got it," Sarah repeats, holding up the papers. She takes a step back before he can think of comforting her.

She needed to prepare herself for the end. She'd thrown the ball into his court but he's tossed it right back. And now she has to wake from this dream and face reality.

You knew it was going to end. You've always known.

And yet, knowing made it no less painful.

.

aaaaand that's Monday. If you're not satisfied, you'll have to wait until "Tuesday" for another heart to heart. Or...there's always BP.