Song: "All I Want for Christmas Is You," by Mariah Carey (written by Mariah Carey and Walter Afanasieff).
A/N: I know this is kind of late for Christmas, but it's technically still the holiday season, right? Lol. Happy holidays, everyone! Also, I'm working on the fifth chapter of Seven Times. I'm not sure how soon it will be up, but I wanted you to know that I hadn't forgotten about it. I wanted to finish the Christmas-themed chapter and get that out first. :)
Sarah stares at the darkened ceiling and pulls the sheets tighter around her. The room is warm, the body next to her is warm, but she's cold. She's been cold for so long – one year, four months, two weeks, and two days – that she's amazed her body, her heart haven't gone numb yet.
She thinks she'd prefer the numbness to the overwhelming, aching cold.
"Drew?" she whispers.
He groans, stirring a bit.
"Are you awake?"
"Sarah," he says softly as he opens his eyes and props his head up to look at her.
His tone is confused, because they don't do this. They're on a mission, which means they're partners now, not friends. And she shouldn't be wasting valuable sleeping time with idle talk of dreams.
But she decides to ask anyways, because this is the only outlet she has.
She doesn't turn to face him, doesn't need to look him in the eye. She doesn't want to see the accusation in his gaze.
"Do you ever think we're meant for something else?" she asks quietly.
Quiet reigns for so long that she thinks he's fallen back asleep.
But then he responds, "You mean something other than the killing and the lying?"
She nods, trusting that he can see her in the dimness.
"No."
Sarah turns her head sharply. Even in the shadows, Drew's expression softens at her distress.
He sighs. "We're molded into what we are. In that sense, we're not meant for anything else. But if you're asking if I ever wanted a different life, if I ever desired to be something I'm not, something other than a monster, then yes, I have."
She turns on her side, her hands falling on top of his. Before she can speak, he lifts his eyes to hers and continues.
"A few years ago, almost three now, in Cadiz, I met a young woman, a civilian. The assignment was fairly long, over four months. We fell in love, and the whole time I was lying to her about who I was, what I did." He purses his lips, swallowing a lump in his throat. "It ended when the mission did. I left a note on her pillow, didn't even have the courage to tell her goodbye to her face."
Sarah is almost at the point of tears herself. She brushes back a stray curl of Drew's straight, dark hair, her hand lingering on his clammy cheek.
"Oh, Drew," she breathes.
Regret fills her heart as she realizes how long she's known him without really knowing him. He's been carrying around the weight of this, the same as she's been carrying around the weight of her own lost love, without breathing a word of it. If only she had opened her eyes a bit, been less blinded by her own pain, she may have understood him better.
He gains control of his breathing, then asks, "You have someone?"
"Yeah," she nods. "He was an asset of mine a year and a half ago." Her expression falls as she recalls the morning she left. "I didn't even give him the dignity of a note."
Drew grips her hands. "Do you think it's worth it? Abandoning our humanity for the greater good, for some abstract ideal never realized?"
"I'm not sure I had any to begin with," she admits softly. He looks at her questioningly. "To be honest, he was the first one to recognize it in me, to awaken my humanity." In a rushed whisper, she confesses, "I didn't deserve him."
"Do you think he's waiting for you?"
Sarah swallows, putting off her answer. "The foolish, selfish part of me hopes he is. But the part of me that knows he deserves more hopes he's moved on and found someone who can actually give him everything she has."
The shadows across his face deepen, and his voice is quieter than she's ever heard it. "Do you think she's waiting for me?"
She puts a hand over his. "I have no doubt of it."
I don't want a lot for Christmas
There's just one thing I need
I don't care about the presents
Underneath the Christmas tree
I just want you for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
All I want for Christmas is you.
"What are you doing here?"
She hopes the question isn't rude, hopes the curious inflection in her voice overrides any offensive one. Drew walks into her apartment, a charming smile on his face.
"You hate September 24th," he says matter-of-factly. "I don't know why, but you do, and since we probably won't have another mission for a while, I'm here to make sure you don't get wasted and do something stupid."
Sarah rolls her eyes. "Like?"
"Streaking," he suggests, laughing. "Drunk dialing the Director." His smile fades and his voice is no longer joking when he says, "Resigning."
When her gaze moves to meet his, she can see that he's completely serious. She walks into the living room and falls onto the couch. He follows suit, sitting on the opposite side.
Her head leaning on her hand, she looks at him and asks, "You really think I'd do that?"
Drew shrugs. "You're one of the best, Sarah. And you're undoubtedly the best partner I've ever had. But something about this day messes you up. I'm just here to make sure it doesn't mess you up beyond repair this year. Call it selfish for not wanting to lose my partner, but there it is."
Sarah bites her bottom lip, not knowing how to respond. No amount of words could express it, so she simply says, "Thank you," and the look in his eye tells her he understands.
After the moment passes, he slaps his knees and asks, "Well, Walks, the usual? You get the drinks and I'll pick the movies?"
"Uh-uh," she shakes her head. "You have awful taste in movies."
Drew feigns offense. "You told me you loved Howard's End!"
"That was only to keep you from 'accidentally' shooting me on the mission the next night," she teases him.
Grumbling under his breath good-naturedly, he gets up and walks into the kitchen. She watches him into the other room before walking over to the television and the cabinet beneath. The paltry DVD collection it holds is comprised of older movies starring Jimmy Stewart, Marlon Brando, and Gregory Peck. There's none of the movies she became accustomed during her LA assignment, because Chuck had owned all his favorite movies and television seasons. They'd watched Firefly, Star Trek, Lord of the Rings, every sci-fi and fantasy movie she'd ever heard of and even more that she never had.
Grabbing Roman Holiday from the small set of movies, she realizes with a pang that those days are over. As she pops the movie into the DVD player, Drew comes back into the living room carrying two over-sized margaritas. An hour later, they're curled up on the couch, both having had too much to drink already.
As Sarah chuckles for the hundredth time, Drew throws his hands up in mock indignation and exclaims, "I don't get it! What's so special about Gregory Peck?"
She regards him sadly, "Drew, if you don't understand why Gregory Peck is the epitome of man, you will never understand any woman."
He laughs. "Maybe you should explain it to me then."
Sarah takes another sip of her third margarita, looking at his image on the screen. "I don't think I can explain it without making him sound incredibly boring. But just keep in mind that the root of Gregory Peck's attractiveness is the fact that he is unfailingly a perfect gentleman. Always."
Drew nods solemnly, sinking further into the couch cushions. When they finish the movie, he protests the ending. Her objection, that it's not sad but "satisfyingly bittersweet," slurs off her tongue.
She can't explain what happens in the next moment. Her mind is fuzzy from alcohol and heartache, the lights are dim except for the blue glow of the television screen, and Drew's so close that she can smell the tequila on his breath. There's no thought process that takes her from point A to point B. She's simply rational one moment and kissing him the next.
She's surprised at how gentle his lips are, but before she can think about it any further, he draws away.
"Sarah," he breathes. "We're not thinking straight, and we'd both regret this in the morning."
He's right, of course. He is always infuriatingly right.
Drew is her best friend. She has no right to compromise that friendship, and being with him would only help her forget about Chuck for a few hours at most.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks. His tone is so caring and thoughtful that she just wants him to wrap her in his arms and let her beg for his forgiveness. She's an idiot, and she doesn't deserve a partner, a friend like him.
She stares at the TV screen and replies despondently, "No, I want to forget."
"Kissing me isn't going to help you do that. It may scar your brain, but it won't help you forget." She looks over at him, meets his eyes. "Trust me," he adds softly, "I know."
"His name's Chuck," she tells him in a whisper. "Chuck Bartowski."
Drew sighs and, his voice barely audible, says, "Her name was Elena."
They stare at each other in silence, and she's left wondering why two of the CIA's deadliest agents are so terrified of love.
I don't want a lot for Christmas
There is just one thing I need
I don't care about the presents
Underneath the Christmas tree
I don't need to hang my stocking
There upon the fireplace
Santa Claus won't make me happy
With a toy on Christmas day
I just want you for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
All I want for Christmas is you
You, baby
She hates waking up next to people, because in that brief moment between sleep and waking, she so easily mistakes the situation for her days in LA. It's so easy to convince herself that she's waking up beside Chuck, especially when Drew, with his full head of dark hair and his lean body, is beside her.
Panic sets in when she sees Drew and remembers the brief kiss last night before she registers that he's sitting up in bed, a laptop open across his legs. When he notices that she's awake, he leans over toward the bedside table and then turns toward her, holding out a glass of water and three pills.
"Here. Aspirin. Water. Go to town, Walks."
"I love you," she mutters sleepily.
Drew chuckles. "The feeling's mutual."
When Sarah has downed the pills and half the glass of water, she fluffs the pillow and sits up against the headboard. She tilts her head toward the laptop. "What are you doing?"
He looks over at her, a slight smile on his face. "I'm not sure how much you remember of last night, but you told me his name."
"No, I remember," she replies, her voice soft.
"I thought I recognized it, so I looked him up in the directory."
She sits up straighter. "You did what?"
"I'm sorry," he says, "but I knew that I knew that name. I knew I'd heard of him."
He turns the laptop toward her so she can see Chuck's file on the screen, a picture of him near the top. His familiar curly hair is sticking out at odd angles, but the smile she loves so much is absent.
"I don't understand," she says, shaking her head, unable to keep her eyes off of Chuck's picture.
"From what I can tell, it looks like the agency's set up a branch out in LA. They've got a small group of agents and analysts stationed out there. Your Charles Bartowski, who also goes by Carmichael and the codename Scarlet Jedi, seems to be the head analyst."
Sarah swallows, finally has the courage to tear her eyes away from Chuck's piercing ones and meet Drew's. "Is that all you can find?" she asks, desperate for more, anything at all.
"In the directory, yeah," Drew sighs. "But do you remember my friend Hayden Frick? You've met him a couple times. We went through the Academy together." She nods. "Well, I sent him an e-mail late last night . . . er, early this morning, I suppose, and, judging by his reply, it looks like we've been out of the loop."
She regards him curiously, her head at an angle. "What do you mean?"
A smile on his face, he leans forward. "I mean that while we've been doing our thing in the world's seediest countries, your former asset has become the most sought-after analyst in the agency."
"What? How?" she sputters.
"I don't know how," he shakes his head. "But apparently everyone in the agency wants to work with him. He works almost nonstop, both in LA and going everywhere and anywhere the CIA needs him to."
Sarah is speechless, completely dumbfounded by the new life Chuck's carved out for himself. She feels an intense surge of pride for him, irrational though it is, but at the same time is unable to fathom how he keeps it up, how he's able to fly all over the world for missions without raising alarm bells for his sister.
When the image of him as a true analyst sinks in so does the impossibly miserable feeling that they missed their chance to become a unique, effective couple – the Spy and the Analyst.
She falls back against the pillows with a groan, staring at the ceiling.
"Hey," Drew says, his voice thick with concern, "I thought we were making progress here." He prods her gently in the side.
"You know why I hate September?" she asks softly, turning to gaze at him. Drew shakes his head, but his expression tells her how interested he is in learning the answer. "It's because yesterday was his birthday. He's 31 now." Her voice cracks with despair. "And not only that, but I met him four years ago today. And the end of the week is the anniversary of our first and only real date."
Drew lets out a low whistle. "Damn. That's quite a history you've got there, Walks."
I won't ask for much this Christmas
I won't even wish for snow
I'm just gonna keep on waiting
Underneath the mistletoe
I won't make a list and send it
To the North Pole for Saint Nick
I won't even stay awake to
Hear those magic reindeer click
'Cause I just want you here tonight
Holding on to me so tight
What more can I do
Baby, all I want for Christmas is you
You
She wakes up in the hospital, the nauseatingly clean smell of antiseptic assaulting her nostrils. Groggily, she opens her eyes to find Drew sitting in a chair by her bed. He looks up when she stirs.
"Hey!" he says, his voice bright but soft. "You're awake."
She swallows with difficulty and reaches for the cup of water on the nearby table. After swallowing a third of the glass, she asks, "How long have I been out?"
Drew shrugs. "Last night and most of the morning. Do you remember what happened?"
She nods, wincing as the pain shoots through her bandaged shoulder. She has no wish to recall the previous night. "Are you okay?"
"Of course," he replies, giving her a dazzling smile. He bends over and retrieves something from beneath his chair, then walks over to the bed. "Come on, scoot over, Walks," he says with a chuckle. "And these are for you." She laughs as he hands her a box of Mike 'n' Ikes.
"My favorite!"
He smiles; she moves over to give him room to sit down next to her. She digs into the box of candy but stops and casts a suspicious eye at him.
"Wait . . ."
He holds a hand up innocently. "What?"
"You're trying to bribe me, aren't you?"
Drew frowns. "Sarah," he begins uncertainly, and she knows bad news is coming because he hardly ever calls her 'Sarah' anymore. It's 'Walker' on missions and 'Walks' during downtime, but only 'Sarah' when they're having a serious conversation.
"What is it, Drew? Just say it."
"The doctors said your shoulder should be healed up in a few weeks," he says, taking her hand and squeezing it lightly. "You just need rest and maybe some therapy. We'll be back on a plane to the States by tomorrow afternoon."
She quirks an eyebrow. "I thought you had bad news."
"Well, the bad news is that next week is Christmas, and the agency's giving us a month off."
Closing her eyes, Sarah leans her head back against the pillow. "Forced leave? They know how much I hate time off. And holidays." She groans, and he squeezes her hand again. Without opening her eyes, she asks, "There's worse news, isn't there?"
"You're going back to LA," he tells her softly.
Her eyes snap open. "What?"
"I mean, I think you should. You need closure."
Sarah can see that he's not going to let up any time soon, so she weighs her answer. "Fine. I'll go." Drew breaks out into a smile, but she quickly adds, "But only if you go to Cadiz."
His smile's gone in an instant. He swallows and turns his face away. "I don't – I don't know," he stammers softly.
She takes his chin in her fingers and gently turns his face back to hers. "What are we so afraid of?" she whispers.
Drew looks at her intently and moistens his lips. "We do this together?"
She flips her head back and forth, imagining herself in LA and him in Cadiz trying to work out their tangled love lives. "Well, in spirit."
He chuckles. "And if it doesn't work out, we've still got each other, right?"
"Always," she promises.
"That's a little pathetic."
Sarah chuckles. "More than just a little."
All the lights are shining
So brightly everywhere
(So brightly everywhere)
And the sound of children's
Laughter fills the air
(Laughter fills the air)
And everyone is singing
(oh yeah)
I hear those sleigh bells ringing
Santa, won't you bring me the one I really need
Won't you please bring my baby to me?
Sarah takes a deep breath and wipes her palms on the thighs of her jeans. She shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't. She has no reason to have expected him to wait. So why is she here, in the courtyard of Ellie's apartment like nothing's changed?
She shakes her head, turns around, and stops again. Christmas music blares from the apartment, barely concealing the hum of lighthearted conversation and laughter. She's not asking for anything beyond one last look. One glimpse, one glance to know that he's all right, happy, doing well, and she'll disappear from his life. That's all she's asking for.
With one final burst of courage, she swivels on the heel of her Converse low-top and marches toward the door. Swallowing, she knocks deliberately, loud enough to be heard over the noise.
She only has to wait a minute before the door is opened by a very pregnant Ellie. The smile leaves the doctor's face quicker than the courage drains from Sarah's heart.
"What are you doing here?" Ellie inquires.
Sarah's somewhat heartened, because her tone isn't as icy as she expected. But it's not exactly welcoming either.
With no good answer for that question, she asks one of her own. "Is Chuck here?"
Ellie purses her lips, crosses her arms. "He's moving on, you know. He has a good job now. He's doing well for himself."
Sarah nods, her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, and looks down at the ground. "And you think I'm going to screw that up. I understand."
"I just want to know what you're going to do," she says, her tone slightly softened. "Are you here to tear his heart out again?"
Sarah looks up again, directly at her. "I honestly don't know what this is. I just knew I had to see him."
Ellie scrutinizes her, leaving her feeling more vulnerable than she's ever felt. Finally, the brunette gives a small nod. "I'll go see if he wants to talk to you."
"Thank you, Ellie," Sarah says, but Ellie's already turned her back.
She rocks on her feet as she waits, nervous energy coursing through her. When she feels like she's about to burst, the door opens again, and he steps through, taking her breath away.
The picture in the online directory must have been old, and she almost doesn't recognize him. The only thing that's the same is his shoes – his typical black Converses. But everything else has changed in some way. He's wearing black dress slacks, a gray pinstriped shirt with a black vest, the buttons open, and a solid, silk red tie loosely knotted around his collar.
And his hair! What has he done to his hair? He's chopped off all his delicious, adorable curls! She wants to cry out in anguish when she sees how short it now is, the straight, smooth locks sticking up with gel, but realizes she relinquished that right almost two years ago. The short hair is no where near as shocking as his full beard. It's trimmed short, but it stretches from ear to ear.
He carries himself differently, too, more confidently. His straightened, self-assured posture allows her to see that he's filled out nicely, the taut muscles of his arms and chest straining against his shirt.
But his eyes. There's a look in his eyes that she no longer recognizes. Recovering herself, Sarah takes a step toward him but pauses when he recoils.
"What do you want?" he asks, his voice more sad than hateful.
Feeling lightheaded with his rebuff, she forces the air in and out of her lungs with a deep breath. "Don't be angry with me," she pleads. Sarah Walker has never before pleaded for even her life, and here she is pleading for mercy from a man who probably hates her.
"But I am angry with you," he scowls. "I'm angry because you didn't even say goodbye, Sarah!" His breath is ragged now, heavy with rage. "I'm angry because it's been almost two years, and you never contacted me once. Not a letter, not a phone call, not even a stupid message to say how you were doing, to ask how I was! Nothing!"
His words invoke her own fury. "What do you want me to say, Chuck? That I'm a coward, that the very idea of giving up all I'd ever known for a life with you scared the hell out of me and still does?" She compels herself to calm down, shooting down countless arguments in her mind. Defeated, she says, "You know all that already. I know a thousand apologies would never make up for how I acted, but I had to come. I had to see you again . . . to make sure you were okay."
His anger seemingly abated, he nods, contemplating that. "Well, I am. I'm doing fine. Casey and Agent Forrest took good care of me."
She winces at the casual mention of her replacement, then catches on to his phrasing. "'Took'?"
"I'm not the Intersect anymore."
She chuckles ruefully. Of course he wouldn't be. Of course the most glaring obstacle to their relationship would be torn down once she left. "How long?"
"Almost a year ago now," he shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His eyes narrow. "You didn't know?"
She shakes her head, walking toward and collapsing onto the edge of the fountain. He follows but doesn't sit next to her.
"Then why'd you come?" he asks again.
"Apparently to torture myself. I heard stories about you, wanted to see for myself what I'd given up."
Chuck sits down beside her, and when she looks up at him, his gaze is soft, almost forgiving. He's so close now that she can smell him, smell the mint on his tongue, and feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. Being near him again is intoxicating, and time and absence have only strengthened his pull on her. If she maybe leans forward an inch or so, she could just . . .
But she acknowledges with a pang that his lips aren't hers to kiss. What hurts worse is that they never were. Maybe her heart would ache less if she had gotten even one day, one night with him to justify them being torn apart in the first place.
She shakes her head to jostle the thoughts of her mind and rises from the fountain. "You're right, though," she says, sniffling away the tears. "I shouldn't have come."
His grasp around her wrist is firm, and he pulls her completely around. He's standing now, his body pressing against hers.
"Sarah," he says huskily.
So much torment and desire are held in that one word that she feels rooted to the cobblestones beneath her feet. Without letting go of her wrist, he roughly cradles her face with his other hand and pulls her to him.
It's nothing like she remembers, or like she expected. It's as rushed as their very first kiss, that night at the docks, but this time he seems to want to prove something to her. She can taste the peppermint martini on his tongue, she can feel the roughness of his beard. That's not Chuck's taste; that's not Chuck's feel either.
But even through all the wrong elements, there's a lurch in the pit of her stomach that tells her that everything about this moment is so, so right.
And that's why, when Chuck takes her hand and leads her away from the apartment, she follows willingly.
Oh, I don't want a lot for Christmas
This is all I'm asking for
(all I'm asking for)
I just want to see my baby
Standing right outside my door
Oh I just want him for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
Baby, all I want for Christmas is
You
The bed's empty when she wakes up. She can't stop the sinking feeling in her stomach until she turns over and notices the sliver of light falling on the opposite side of the mattress. Following it to its source, she reasons that Chuck must be in the bathroom adjoined to his bedroom.
But she can't hear any sound.
"Chuck?" she calls cautiously as she reaches to the nightstand for her gun.
The door creaks open, revealing Chuck wearing only boxers, shaving cream on his chin and a razor in his hand.
She smiles. "Morning."
"Good morning." His returning smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.
And as wonderful as last night was, she can't help feeling unwelcome this morning. Maybe this was all a mistake . . .
She gets out of bed, thankful that she had enough sense to toss on some shorts and a tank top before falling asleep last night. As she crosses the room, she can feel him watching her in the mirror. She digs through her duffel bag, locates some jeans, and pulls them on straight over her sleepwear. A sense of shame suffuses her, her face reddening, when she realizes that their relationship has been boiled down to a one-night stand and that neither is doing anything to stop it from happening.
After she pulls on the jeans, she takes a long look at him, still in the bathroom shaving. His gaze meets hers in the mirror, his eyes pained.
"You don't have to leave already, you know."
She sighs. "I think I probably should."
It's a veiled plea, one she's not even sure she has a right to, but one she makes anyway.
He says nothing as he washes his face, and she can't bring herself to move. He comes out with a towel around his neck, drying off his chin and cheeks, and she can tell now that he's shaved off most of his beard, leaving just a small patch near his chin, the beginning of a goatee.
"Where will you go?" he asks. "I mean, do you have a mission already?"
She strolls around the foot of the bed and confesses, "No. I'm still on leave from . . . my last one."
He picks up on her change of words halfway through, and his expression takes on a concerned cast. "What? What happened?"
"Nothing I can't handle."
Chuck nods, his lips tight. An uncomfortable silence comes over them. Her answer's angered him, placed yet another barrier between them. The secrets and the lies were part of what tore them apart before. She swallows the tears threatening to burst forth and takes another step toward him.
"I got shot," she says softly.
He looks up sharply. She pulls the sleeve of her tank away to give him a look at a nickel-sized scar on her shoulder. His hand rises involuntarily before he drags it back down.
"It's okay," she says, taking his hand and placing his fingers on her shoulder. "You can feel it. It's just a scar."
"It's still fresh," he grimaces as his index and middle finger lightly brush over the raised skin.
"Didn't you notice it last night?"
"Yeah, I did," he replies, finally looking her in the eye again. "But I didn't realize it was so new. Does it still hurt?"
She shrugs. "It gets sore."
He takes his fingers away, and suddenly the atmosphere is awkward again. She doesn't know whether to flee forever or beg until he takes her back. Instead, she turns her eyes to the dresser, photo frames littering the top of it. Her eyes alight on one of him and a pretty brunette, smiling, their arms wrapped around each other. Of course it has to be a brunette, she thinks. It's always a brunette.
Swallowing, she points to it and asks, "Who's this?" She has the sinking suspicion it's a new girlfriend but would never voice that aloud.
"Who? Oh, that's Kate."
No explanation. Not a good sign.
"She's an analyst?" Sarah tries to keep the accusation out of the question.
"No, an agent," he laughs, and her heart nearly drops into her stomach.
An agent? He's dating an agent? She takes a deep breath, hating to ask, but needing to know.
"Is she your girlfriend?"
He turns to look at her, his eyebrows narrowed irritably. Her cheeks redden. No, he's not the kind of guy to ever cheat on his girlfriend, even if his heart, hopefully, lay somewhere else.
"She's one of the best stationed out here in L.A.," he says, his tone matching the rebuke in his eyes.
Sarah bites her lip to keep from crying out. People used to stay that about her, still do. Not only that she's one of the best in a certain city, but one of the best in the entire agency.
What she would give to hear it from his lips.
"Sorry," she murmurs, chastised, and he takes a step closer. Standing next to her, he points to a second photo, this one showing him and man with light brown hair. They're laughing, and it looks like it was taken at the same time as the first.
"She's engaged to him, Robert Carew," Chuck explains, and she's relieved to hear the patience in his voice. "He's an analyst. And one of my best friends."
She nods, trying to take it all in. Because everything about this is so far from what she had expected. But then again, what had she expected?
To stop her head from spinning, she jokes, "What does Morgan think about that?"
Chuck shrugs. "They get along really well, actually."
She pauses, finding it hard to comprehend that his government colleagues figure so prominently in his personal life. Nothing about this is right. He's not the CIA's most sought-after analyst; he's Chuck Bartowski. He's her Chuck. What happened to the simplicity she had known by his side? The normalcy?
He had been right all along. She had no business reappearing and screwing up his life all over again. She turns around and walks toward her bag.
"I never expected you to come back."
The words freeze her in place. Without facing him, she replies, "Do I not fit into your new five-year plan?" As soon as it's out of her mouth, she squeezes her eyes shut in horror. "I didn't mean it like that."
He ignores her. "All I'm saying is, maybe this is all we were meant to have." His voice is sad, resigned. "Maybe this was our one night, and we're supposed to move on now."
It's so much more final when he says it.
A tear streaks down her cheek. Wiping it away, she nods and walks again towards her duffel. So this is it, she thinks. The romance of a lifetime dies out, paltry embers instead of a blaze of passionate glory.
Kneeling beside her bag, Sarah extracts a sweatshirt and pulls it over her head. She reaches back inside and roots around until she locates a bundle of six journals. Standing, she shoulders the duffel bag and sets the books on the bed as she crosses the room.
"I can let myself out," she says sadly.
She moves to go but Chuck stops her with a hand on her wrist. "What are those?"
Their gazes finally meet, and she can see the pain in his eyes. "I couldn't write, so I filled up journals with letters to you."
"Letters you knew you'd never send?"
Sarah nods. "But if this is it, then you deserve to know. I want you to have them."
He contemplates that for a moment before pulling her over to the bed and saying, "I don't think you should leave quite yet." She regards him questioningly, and he asks, "Will you stay while I read them?"
She nods, and they sit on the bed. Sarah settles against the headboard, watching Chuck untie the string binding the journals together and open the first one. Before long, he rests his head against her stomach as he reads. And he reads them all – every single journal, straight through from the first page to the last. She knows she should be embarrassed – some days she had been in the pits of despair and hadn't held back at all when she had written, and many entries were intensely personal, things she'd have a hard time telling him even to his face – but it's hard to feel anything but calm when she's lying here stroking his hair.
Chuck doesn't say a thing as he devours her words. They lie there for hours, and Sarah's starting to get an ache in her lower back when he finally snaps the last book shut, stands, and paces to the window, still clutching a journal in his hand.
Watching him, she sits up. He stares out the window for so long that she's afraid he'll ask her to leave again. After a few minutes, she stands, intending to turn him around and force him to discuss this. But she looses her courage and ends up in the middle of the room, just looking at him, his frame haloed by the late afternoon sun. When he finally turns around, deep sadness is engraved upon his face.
"I think . . ." he begins, his voice soft and wavering, "I think I actually understand a lot of went through your head over the past twenty-one months now."
She nods, a slight grimace on her face. "I'm glad. But it doesn't change anything. I'll go." She turns toward the door. "And I promise not to ever bother you again." Even as she says it, she knows she won't be able to stay away from him for very long.
"No, Sarah, it changes everything," he breathes as he grabs her wrist and spins her around, pulling her into a kiss. It happens too fast for her to thwart it, but when his lips touch hers, she realizes exactly how much she needs him. So she stops fighting it and gives herself over to him, wrapping her arms about his neck, fisting her fingers in his hair. She can barely get a grasp on it, it's so short, but the contact's enough to show him everything she feels.
Chuck gently breaks off the kiss, breathing heavily as he looks in her eyes. He brushes a stray hair from her cheek. "When you left," he says quietly, "I convinced myself that you never loved me. But now I understand that you never wanted to go, and how hard it is for you to say some things to me, things you want to say."
"I'm sorry," she breathes, tasting the salt of her tears as they roll down her cheeks and against her lips. "I'm so, so sorry."
He chuckles lightly, kisses her forehead, and wipes away her tears with his thumbs. "Don't be, Sarah. You have nothing to be sorry about." He kisses her lips again, softly this time. "It's the holidays," he whispers. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to celebrate my Christmas miracle."
All I want for Christmas is you, baby
All I want for Christmas is you, baby
"Are you sure about this?"
Chuck turns around, his hand still holding hers, and closes the distance between them so that their toes are touching. He smiles disarmingly. "I already told Ellie to set an extra place. It'll be fine."
"No," she shakes her head, "I don't think she'll care about dinner, but . . . about me."
His face falls when he notices her distress, and he leads her over to the fountain. They sit on the edge, facing each other, their knees touching. Chuck doesn't let go of her hands.
He gives her a small smile and asks, "What's this about?"
She sighs. "Ellie warned me last night about . . . screwing your life up. I don't want to come back and mess everything up. I want to –"
"Wait, she said that?" Chuck tightens his lips, irritated.
"She was just looking out for you, and I don't blame her. But what I'm saying is," she takes a deep breath and looks in his eyes, "maybe I should figure out the everyday stuff, what I'm doing here, before I get mixed up in holiday . . . stuff."
Chuck's mood immediately swings from annoyed to cheerful. "Sarah, we'll figure this out. But it's Christmas Eve. Can't we just have fun and worry about everything on December 26th?"
Smiling, she nods. "But when you say that we'll figure this out . . .?"
"That's a promise."
He brushes her hair back, cupping her face, and leans down for a kiss. The touch sends a comfortable tingle through her, calming her jittery nerves. When she pulls away, out of the corner of her eye, she can see Ellie spying on them through the window. The doctor has a smile on her face, which Sarah takes as a good sign. Heartened by the sight, she pulls Chuck up off the fountain and they go inside.
Devon greets them happily, acting as if seeing her is nothing out of the ordinary. As he's clapping Chuck on the back, Sarah's able to see, with surprise, just how many people are there. She had stupidly expected only Ellie and Devon, but the addition of Morgan and Anna is no big deal. There's another couple she vaguely remembers meeting, and she decides they must be the Woodcombs' friends and colleagues from the hospital.
Two people she hadn't expected, however, were Kate and Robert. The handsome couple is sitting on the couch, wine glasses in hand, Robert's arm looped around Kate's shoulder. They're laughing at something Morgan's said, but before Sarah can recognize the twinge of jealousy in her heart, Chuck snakes an arm around her waist and kisses her neck.
"You okay?" he asks.
"Mmm-hmm."
"I'll introduce – and reintroduce – everyone in a few minutes, but let's go in and say hi to Ellie, all right?"
She nods, and he takes her by the hand and leads her into the kitchen. Ellie, putting the finishing touches on the ham, looks up as they walk in. She squeezes her brother in a hug, then turns to Sarah and squishes her as well.
"I've missed you," Ellie says, sounding much happier than she did last night.
Sarah, who had thought about Ellie almost as much as she had thought about Chuck over the past two years, lets herself fall into the embrace, somewhat awkward because of the swell of Ellie's belly. "I've missed you, too, Ellie." She pulls back, her eyes shining with tears. "Thanks."
It's not much, but it's all she can say, and Ellie seems to understand all the implications behind it.
Chuck, leaning against the counter, pulls her against him, his arms around her waist.
"So," Ellie says, regarding them with a dazzling smile, "you two worked things out?"
Chuck nods. "We've still got a long way to go," he says, "but I'm confident in our future." He kisses her cheek, and she can feel the goofy smile on his face. "Right, Sarah?"
In that moment, Sarah feels as if everything is right with the world. She knows things have changed, that time has passed, but she also feels as comfortable, as included, and as loved as she did two years ago. And Chuck's laugh is the same ridiculous laugh it was back then.
In this moment, she knows she's where she's meant to be.
And when she wakes up the next morning, pillowed on his chest, there's no doubt or misgiving, only contentment, and hope that they're going to work everything out.
Placing a light kiss on his sleeping lips, she slips out of bed and into the hallway, grabbing her cell phone from the nightstand as she goes. She navigates her way to the unfamiliar kitchen, leans against the counter, and dials Drew's number. He picks up on the second ring.
"Walks," he says, and she immediately recognizes the happiness in his voice. "How are you?"
She smiles. "I'm fantastic."
"Me, too."
Nothing else needs to be said. It's enough for her to hear the happiness in his voice, to know that he's found what he's looking for.
After a few seconds of comfortable silence, he says, "I wish you could meet her. I know you'd love her."
"We still have three weeks left of vacation, you know."
"So it's a 'vacation' now, is it? No longer 'forced leave'?"
Sarah laughs quietly. "Why don't you come to LA for a week or so?"
"Yeah," he says thoughtfully, "I think she'd like it there."
"Would you like it?"
Because that's the final piece of the puzzle. She couldn't bear gaining Chuck only to lose her best friend in Drew.
"Are you telling me that we've been transferred?"
She can practically see him smiling.
"Would you be okay with that?" she asks.
"I think I would love that. I haven't been surfing in years."
"Great," she replies softly. She glances around the darkened kitchen, feeling a slight chill, missing the warmth of Chuck's bed. "I should go, but I'll see you soon?"
"Count on it. And Walks?"
"Yeah."
"Merry Christmas."
"You, too, Drew. You, too."
Hanging up the phone, she tiptoes back to the bedroom and opens the door soundlessly. Chuck's sleeping peacefully, his lips fluttering the slightest bit with his steady breathing. As much as she loves simply looking at him, she loves being beside him, feeling his warmth, even more. So she sneaks under the covers, scooting close so she can lean over him. Carefully, she reaches a hand up to his face and lightly brushes her fingers over his forehead and through his hair.
She places a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, her heart soaring when she feels his smile beneath her lips.
"I'll grow it back out if you want me to," he says without opening his eyes as he reaches an arm around her waist.
Curling her fingers into his hair, she kisses him again and murmurs, "Keep it however you like it." Chuck smiles at her. "Would you mind if one of my friends came to visit soon? Probably next week."
Instead of taking time to think about it, like she expects, he smiles even wider and says, "Are you kidding? I'd love to meet any of your friends."
She twirls one of his longer locks of hair. "This one's pretty special. He's been my partner for the past twenty-one months." She pauses before adding, "And he was the one who talked some sense into me when I was too afraid to come to LA to find you again."
Chuck grins. "He's my best friend already." She chuckles lightly. "But seriously, thank you for trusting me enough, for trusting in us enough."
Sarah leans down to kiss him softly, and that's all the understanding they need. It's a trust in a shared future, a promise to do everything to see that future through.
She settles her head against his chest, feeling a warm comfort as he wraps his arms protectively around her.
"Mmm," he murmurs sleepily, "Merry Christmas, Sarah."
"Merry Christmas, Chuck," she whispers. "I love you."