A/N: We've made it to the next to last arc, the Thanksgiving arc. As usual with our arcs, we ease into this one. Note that some time has passed; our story resets itself.

HER GIFT

CHAPTER TWENTY

Bounden Duties

Chuck was seated in his chair beside Sarah Walker's desk. It was a Monday morning, and he had been working in that chair for most of most days since they returned from Atlanta — a little over two weeks ago.

Chuck now thought of that chair as the dead center of The Friend Zone.

Their Saturday in Atlanta ended with an almost kiss outside StoneHurst Place, but at the last second, Sarah looked away from him and Chuck lost his nerve — and Robert, the driver, had been standing there.

The next morning, Sarah was friendly, but the playfulness, the flirtation, the familiarity of Saturday were utterly lost in the gathering clouds of that Atlanta Sunday.

The only sign of Saturday had been when Sarah fell asleep against his shoulder on the plane. But other than that, although her manner was not cold or formal, a distance and a reserve reappeared in her manner. And not only her manner to him — but her manner to herself. Chuck did not enjoy thinking evil of the dead, but it was as though Chuck watched as Jack Walker, exorcized on Saturday, repossessed his daughter on Sunday.

Chuck had crossed the border of the Friend Zone numerous times in high school, crossed so often, in fact, that he came to regard it as his second home. One reason Jill affected him so strongly at Stanford was that he had never, despite the way they met, felt Friend-Zoned by her. That turned out to be rank manipulation on her part, but still, it had been nice, exciting. New.

Sarah Walker kept Chuck personally confused even as he grew professionally more competent. He had always been a quick study. He had begun to understand Walker Insurance — the insurance business generally — much better, more deeply. To keep his mind off his confusion, he had read all that Mrs. Bennet had given him, all the files, and he had asked for more and read them. He asked Sarah lots of questions when she had time to answer them. He finished reading the biography of her father. Casey had given him access to in-house documents — although Casey had told him to stay away from the Larkin investigation — and Chuck had been able to peer into the inner workings of the company, its internal history.

Chuck had gotten his first paycheck — along with an unexpected bonus for his work with Mr. Jaeger. The bonus he gave to Ellie to help with rent and daycare.

Being in the dead center of the Friend Zone would have been bad enough, but having to occupy that position while Ellie and Casey grew closer made it worse. He was happy for them, very happy, especially since Clara was so comfortable with Casey, but it only made the unrequitedness of his own feelings plainer. Sarah liked him — he knew that or thought he did. But there was no post-Atlanta proof that she felt for him at all what he now knew he felt for her. He often caught her gazing at him — but the gazes never led to anything, to any understandable word or deed. She kept him near her, in that chair, and she gazed at him. But that was all.

That Friend Zone chair was a lonelier outpost because of what Chuck had surrendered in order to occupy it.

He shifted in the chair, letting the file in his hands sink to his lap, remembering.

As he promised, he met with Hannah late Sunday afternoon, after returning from the airport. They met at a coffee shop near Hannah's apartment. She was having car trouble, and so Chuck had ridden his motorcycle to her.

Hannah was already seated in a corner booth when Chuck came in. She already had a coffee in front of her. Chuck ordered from the barista, paid, got his coffee, and walked to the booth.

"Well, well, well…if it isn't Kiss-but-Don't-Talk Chuck. How've you been?" There was merriment and real hurt in Hannah's question. Chuck remembered that it was not just Ellie who liked Hannah. He did too. A lot. But not romantically, especially not after the advent of Sarah Walker.

Chuck steeled himself and sat down. He hated hurting anyone's feelings, and he knew he was about to do that. "Hey, Hannah. Sorry about the lack of communication. New job — and a business trip."

"Keeping time with the angel, I hear?"

Chuck nodded. "With my boss. We made a trip to Atlanta. Contract signing."

Hannah gave Chuck a frank, doubtful look. "Just business?"

Too honest for his own good, Chuck stalled for a moment, silent. Hannah answered for him. "Not all business. That angel get-up was not all business. She showed up at Ellie's to claim you, Chuck Bartowski. Do you understand that?"

"Claim me? Is that an insurance pun, because it can't mean what it ordinarily means. She wasn't there to claim me, she hasn't claimed me," Chuck said, the memory of Sarah's head on his shoulder, her hand on his leg fresh in his mind but their meaning unclear. "She has no interest in claiming me."

"You know, Chuck, as annoyed by her as I was and am, I think I can speak with greater authority here than you can. A woman like that doesn't show up uninvited at an event, displaying acres of beautiful skin, just because. I know I shocked you a little when I kissed you," Hannah smiled, "but I wanted to see her reaction."

"Her reaction was to leave."

"Yes, it was. And that should tell you something too."

Tired of being confused, spoken to in words he understood but did not understand, Chuck blew out a long breath. "Just tell me what you're trying to tell me, Hannah."

"She wants you, Chuck. Is that plain enough. Now, here's some more plain talk. I want you too. You see, knowing that Sarah Walker wants you irritates me, but it doesn't change anything for me. But how you feel about Sarah Walker — that could change things for me. I've waited a while for you to come around, Chuck, and you were worth it, but I can't wait forever. I have a life to live that's tick-tocking away all the time too. So, what I really need to know is not anything about Sarah Walker's feelings, but something about yours. — Are you interested in your boss?"

Chuck thought he kept his peace, his composure, but he was mistaken. Hannah's face fell, although she tried quickly to gather the pieces. "You're not just interested, are you, Chuck? You're gone." Hannah was silent, mulling it over.

Chuck had protested against his feelings in vain, and too many times. He finally nodded. "I am. It's stupid. Hopeless. Despite what you said about claims, about Sarah. And it seems even more stupid — given how you feel. You're great, Hannah, but…"

She smiled sadly, interrupted. "But…that's the operative conjunction, Chuck. It would be better if it were and — but it's not. Hannah gathered her jacket and purse and stood. Chuck started to stand but she shook her head.

"No need for gallantry, Chuck, though I appreciate the thought. I'm a grown woman, and attractive; I can roll with a punch, even a gut punch." She leaned down and kissed Chuck's cheek. "Don't think I won't get over you."

She was out of the coffee shop before he knew what else to say. He watched her walk away.

Sarah glanced up at Chuck.

He was in his chair, a file folder in his hands, but he was lost in thought. Sarah let herself gaze at him.

She had done that a lot since Atlanta.

Mainly it was because of what she had not done in Atlanta. Almost done — but not done. An act of omission, sort of.

She and Chuck got back to StoneHurst Place after the Tasjan show at Eddie's Attic.

Sarah had not slid across the backseat when she got into the car. She stayed in the middle and rode pressed against Chuck, hoping for him to touch her but he had not.

The banter, the music, Chuck's nearness — it had all gotten to her, and she has started the day wrapped in lavender, literally, figuratively. She and Chuck awkwardly parted company from each other, and Chuck said goodbye to Robert, the driver, just before going inside.

Chuck went into StoneHurst, up to the Eaves. Sarah watched him go. Robert, who was still holding the door, was looking at her.

"He's a keeper, Ms. Walker, and I don't just mean as an employee. I like that young man. And so do you. More than a little, I reckon."

Sarah sighed. "I've stopped dating, Robert."

"So what do you call today?"

She faced Robert and allowed herself a brief, wavy smile. "Pretending."

"But pretending what? Were you pretending to be on a date, or pretending not to be on a date?"

Sarah had no answer.

Robert chuckled. "You should work that one out if you don't mind me saying so, Ms. Walker. — I hope you call for me if you come back to Atlanta."

"Yes, certainly. Thanks, Robert."

The car pulled away and Sarah walked slowly to the carriage house, swinging her bag. When she got inside, she walked directly to her suitcase and opened it. She took off her clothes and she dug the lingerie out of the side pocket of her bag.

She put it on with exponentially escalating excitement. She tore off the tag with trembling fingers.

Remembering Carina's LA remark about her jacket, Sea of Love, Sarah picked it up and put it on over the lingerie. She could not remember a time when she felt so sexy, so completely aroused.

She buttoned the jacket and decided to hazard her short journey on bare feet.

Moving quickly and quietly, she left The Fowler Suite and went up to the main house. Inside, a light was burning on the front desk but no one was stationed there. Smiling at her luck, Sarah hurried to the stairs and padded up them. A moment later, she had reached Chuck's room.

And then she froze, iced over.

Glaciated.

Sarah had come to Chuck's room to seduce him, to realize her visions of them together, — but she couldn't go through with it. Her internal resistance stopped her.

This was not her plan. This was an impulse, not considered action. She was no longer dating. Romance always turned on her, cheated her, bilked her. There were no charts, no tables, no schedules, no rules. But, but she, Sarah Walker, was prudence personified, caution personified; she had been raised to incarnate a certain sort of order.

Plan, execution, order.

This was disorder.

Chuck Bartowski had this occult property, this strange magic: he made her imprudent, incautious. He caused her to throw caution, and her clothes, to the wind, so to speak. Disorder.

She had ascended the StoneHurst stairs to be made love to.

Sarah dropped her raised hand, fisted and eager to knock, and let it swing aimlessly at her side.

As much as she desired to knock, as much as she desired to make love to Chuck, she could not, would not. She was the bounden child of Jack Walker's backward rectitude.

"Sometimes your heart tells you one thing and your whole life tells you another, and your whole life always wins." — Thanks, Dad.

She descended the stairs silently, silently cursing herself — but she was not entirely sure for what she was cursing herself.

Regardless, she felt accursed, outcast, as if she were living banished from herself.

Back in the carriage house, out of her jacket, she reluctantly peeled off the lingerie and pushed it back into the side pocket of her suitcase.

She plopped down on her bed and dropped her head onto her fisted hands, gnashing her teeth in frustration.

She confused Chuck, she knew but, God, how she confused herself!

Since getting back into Atlanta, she had stuck to her plan, keeping Chuck near her but not too near. They were friends, friendly, and she was careful not to backtrack to the Saturday in Atlanta.

Chuck seemed to understand. He accepted their new normal with no complaint. The only change had been the degree to which he had buried himself in work. That both pleased and displeased Sarah. He was smart, he learned fast, but it seemed he had decided that he would get to know Walker Insurance if he was not to get to know Sarah Walker.

He was rapidly becoming a Personal Assistant she could not do without. But her plan required that she would do without him. She had never planned to keep him as her Personal Assistant.

Sarah decided that she needed to tell Chuck about her plan sooner rather than later but she had so far not been able to work up to it. It was like being stuck at the door to the Eaves again, hand raised, unknocking.

Sarah kept telling herself it would all work out somehow, that she would be able to stick to her plan and that she could adequately reimburse Chuck for…everything.

Chuck looked at the file in his hand, then glanced over at Sarah.

She spoke. "So, Chuck, any plans for Thanksgiving? We shut down Wednesday at noon and don't come back until a week from today."

"Dinner with my sister and Clara — and Casey. I guess you know about that?"

Sarah and Chuck had not talked about it, but Casey had talked about it with Sarah — twice, more than double what she expected.

"I do. Casey is…taken with your sister. I was surprised. — Not because of Ellie, of course; because of Casey. I guess I always thought he was, well, a kind of soldier-monk. I've known him for a long time and never known him to date. I knew he wasn't gay, but he always seemed…celibate."

Chuck was staring at Sarah, and it took her a moment to realize how her words applied to her situation, to her. Given what she had told Chuck on the plane, she was a kind of CEO-nun. She blushed.

Chuck released her from his stare. "I'm really happy for Casey. The fact that he's talked to me about it indicates how happy he is."

Chuck nodded. "Yeah, what about you, Thanksgiving?"

"Oh, no plan. Carina may be in town that day. Her mother invited her — but she and Carina don't mix well, two personalities, each way too big for her mother's small apartment in San Diego. If Carina doesn't go, we'll probably just spend the day at my apartment.

"I haven't seen her since coming back from Atlanta. She left on an impromptu business trip to our Chicago and New York offices on the same Sunday you and I got back from Atlanta. She's due in town tonight."

"I had heard she was gone. Mrs. Bennet told me. — Impromptu? Was there a problem? I haven't heard anything."

Sarah shook her head. 'No, no problem. Carina visits our other major offices about three times a year. She usually goes in the Spring, Summer, and Fall. This was her Fall trip, her least favorite. She hates being in the Midwest and the Northeast when it's cold, but there were some unexpected personnel shake-ups in our Sales offices; she went to see about them. I've heard from her by email a couple of times; everything's fine."

"Well, if she goes to see her mother, or if the two of you want company, join us. Ellie's really excited for this year. My new job, Casey…she always makes too much and I guarantee she'll do it again this year. You should come, one or both." Chuck grinned to himself, then at Sarah. "I'd actually pay to see Carina and Ellie together."

Sarah laughed. "I don't know Ellie well, but from what you've told me, that would be an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object."

"You said it. Boom!"

Sarah smiled.

Thanksgiving was a good idea. She would go — and bring Carina along if Carina was in town. It would keep Sarah from being the turkey to Carina's ax, Carina's sole target, for the holiday — and Sarah had wanted to get to know Ellie better.

Sarah had a feeling that they could be friends.

And Sarah might need Ellie in her corner when she told Chuck her plan.

Ellie had delayed telling John about Ricky. She intended to tell him but she kept delaying.

Why?

She fiddled with her coffee cup in the ER break room. — Part of the reason was that, as far as she knew, Ricky had not been back in her apartment — he never showed on camera. He had been lurking around outside, though; Ellie had seen him disappear around corners. But another part was that Ellie was ashamed of the whole situation, ashamed that her life was so compromised — a dumpy apartment, a skeezy apartment manager who not only leered at her but snuck into her house and stole her panties and her dryer lint.

Can you steal lint? Do I own my dryer lint?

She hated dragging John into that, admitting it to him. It was distasteful. She was embarrassed to need help, she was independent and proud of it, but mostly she was embarrassed to need this help, to have found herself in this quandary.

But she was certain that John was the man for the job. She just hated the job. There were other things she wanted to talk about and to do with John.

She and John had gone out three more times since their first dinner date with Clara. The first and last of the dates had been on their own. Chuck had watched Clara. The middle date had been as a threesome, Ellie, Clara, and John, an outing to a restaurant, one of the kid-themed ones with make-believe pizza and an over-expensive arcade. But the three of them had a great time. Casey competed with Clara at game after game, kept her fully involved, delighted, and still managed to lose to her while seeming to try to win. Ellie had been so impressed with John. The last date had ended with a series of heated, very unsisterly kisses, and a little tactical groping and Ellie had been just as impressed with John during that.

She set the coffee cup square on its bottom.

She had dithered long enough. She needed to tell John about Ricky.

Alex poured a coffee for herself and sat down at the counter of Endless Pi. Derrick the Jaw was seated there too.

It was her break, and Derrick had come to see her with his first report about her father. Since he was doing the job as a favor to Hannah, and so for little pay, Alex had not expected it to be Derrick's priority; she figured the investigation would take a while. She was a little surprised when he called and said he wanted to meet.

"So, I've been digging, Alex, trying to find anything I can on your father." He took a small, spiral-bound notebook from his jacket pocket, flipped it open. "To review: as you told me, his name's not on your birth certificate or in any hospital record I could find, and your mother's not talking to you or to me, so all I've really had to go on is your birthday, and your memory of a slip of your mom's, her saying your dad was a Marine, and your suspicion that you were named after him; that his name is Alexander. Now, you hunted for him a few weeks ago but could find nothing. — That all sounds right?"

Alex nodded and took a sip of her coffee. "Right. I searched around, plugged the name and a description into various search engines but found nothing — except that the term 'alexandrine' has something to do with poetry."

Derrick smiled. "Right. Well, I've found a bit more, I think. Since your mom grew up outside of San Diego, Camp Pendleton seemed like the place to start. You know she dated your father for a while, so I managed to get a list of Alexanders who'd been stationed at Pendleton around the time your mom was finishing high school."

"I thought of that but I couldn't get any such information."

Derrick nodded, flipped a page. "No, it's not readily available to civilians. Luckily, I know some folks. So, I found a few Alexanders — not many — who were candidates. The most likely looking one: the one the dates matched best, is, unfortunately, deceased. He was killed in the line of duty not long after you were born. Alexander Coburn." He looked up at Alex sympathetically.

She dropped her head. "Dead? — But it might not be him, right?"

Derrick's jaw jutted. "It might not, but, and I'm sorry about this, I had another contact of mine dig around in the hospital records from when your mother had you. There's still a visitor's log on microfiche. The name Alex Coburn is on it."

Casey was seated in his office, pencil in hand, CCR playing low.

He had a lot on his mind. First, the constant distraction of Ellie Woodcomb and her passionate kisses. She and they made his concentration tenuous.

Second, the strangeness between Walker and Bartowski. Since coming back from Atlanta, something had changed between them but Casey found it impossible to say what it was. Everything seemed the same — but different. If they had slept together, Casey was sure he would know. Bartowski would have been no more able to hide that than a lighthouse could its light. But Atlanta had changed things between them. Walker had him near her, in her office, almost all the time. She stared at him when he was not looking, when he was working, which was all the time. But they still did not seem together. It was a puzzler.

Third, Gregory was still working on the Larkin stuff, and Casey's suspicions that Gregory might have been Larkin's inside man were stronger. They had grown strong enough for Casey to ask for, and to receive, Walker's permission to give Amber a sub-mission: keep a watch on Gregory, what he's up to.

That was enough to think about. But there was more.

His hacker friend, the one who had found the information about Bartowski, had called again. Casey had managed almost to forget a previous call from the hacker, one in which the hacker told Casey someone had been searching for him, using the name 'Alexander'.

Casey had almost forgotten that call, the same way he had almost forgotten that his name was once Alex Coburn. The same way that he had almost forgotten that he had a daughter he had never seen.

Getting to know Clara Woodcomb had made Casey remember that, remember that hard, and made him regret the decisions he had made. He had been young and idealistic, wrapped in the flag, the Corps. The decisions he made were, he now was convinced, the wrong decisions, however right they had seemed to him at the time.

He hoped that maybe, in a small way, he could redress the wrongs he had done to his own daughter and her mother by being there for Clara and Ellie.

Meeting Clara had, in a strange way, forced Casey to meet his past self, to meet Alex Coburn. He had tried for a long time to forget that name, that young man.

Gregory hit Enter just before Amber came back with coffees from the cafeteria. He thought he had finally done it, erasing all trace of what he had helped Larkin do.

And, in the process, thanks to Larkin, Gregory had made a discovery. Larkin's comment about Cyclops Walker and closed-circuits had made Gregory think. He discovered that Walker Insurance was under far more extensive internal surveillance than the few constantly shifting screens behind the lobby desk suggested. They were cameras, hidden cameras, in almost every Walker Insurance room. And they all fed, not to the desk, but to a room inside Sarah Walker's penthouse office.

Evidently, she was watching Walker Insurance. Watching everyone. It was strange, slightly creepy. Gregory was not sure what to do with his discovery, but he was smart enough to know that knowledge is power. He just needed to figure out how to use that power.

When Gregory went to the bathroom later, Amber slipped into his computer chair. At John Casey's instigation, she had installed an advanced keylogger program on Gregory's machine over the weekend.

He thinks he's so much cleverer than me he's never even checked, never even thought to check.

It was doing its work. She would study the results that night at home, where she could be sure Gregory would not interrupt her. The last couple of weeks had soured Amber on Gregory altogether. She regretted her earlier weaknesses, the nights she had gone home with him. Drinking was a cause — but not an excuse. Ditto loneliness. Having to work shoulder-to-shoulder with him, to hear him whine about Chuck Bartowski, had been enough to make Amber want to hold Gregory down and slap him silly.

But even worse, Gregory had an 'accidental' cafeteria conversation with Chuck a couple of days after Chuck came back from Atlanta, and Gregory managed to give Chuck the impression that he and Amber were still sleeping together. Amber had talked to Chuck, disabused him of that falsehood, but she could tell that Chuck's reaction to her was different than it had been at Emma's. He was still Chuck, fun and so likable, but he seemed less responsive. Of course, Amber had only seen him to talk to him twice, briefly each time. She had been busy helping Gregory — and doing other busywork that kept avalanching onto her desk, non-stop — and Chuck was swamped by work, almost always in Sarah Walker's office. Amber had waved at Chuck in passing in the hallway or on the elevator, but that exhausted their contact.

She sighed. Oh, well, at least she was getting noticed at work. John Casey asking her to help him was a big deal. And Amber's gut told her that the keylogging program was likely to bring Gregory's time at WI to an end. Maybe her days of playing second-fiddle, community college girl, in IT were about to end too.

Chuck had said goodbye and left Sarah in her apartment Parking Garage.

She watched him walk away for a moment, then she turned, frowned, and boarded the elevator. When she entered her apartment, Hilda met her at the door.

"Ms. Miller is here, Ms. Walker. She demanded that I let her in and make her a drink."

Sarah shook her head. "That's fine, Hilda, but please make me a drink too. In fact, make it a double. I need an advantage."

Hilda laughed softly and nodded as she took Sarah's things. Sarah walked into the living room to find Carina standing, staring up, up, up at the massive silver Christmas tree.

"I can never get over this thing, Sarah. It's like a Rankin/Bass Christmas monstrosity, like something the Bumble pulled out of his ass."

"The Bumble?"

"The Bouncer."

"The what?"

"You really did have a deprived childhood." Carina turned, drink in her hand already half gone, and she sat down in one of the huge black leather and steel armchairs. "So, how was Hotlanta?" Carina was working hard to suppress a laugh.

Sarah had come home, returned the lingerie to her drawer, and tried, unsuccessfully, not to dwell on it. But she had managed to forget Carina's role in the whole affair…non-affair.

"I should run you out of here, fire you, Carina, for that stunt."

Hilda came in with Sarah's drink, and Sarah waited for her to leave before continuing. "You had no right."

Carina slurped at her drink, making the sound deliberately to increase Sarah's irritation. "Of course not. What fun would it be if I had? But did it work? Did you put your Personal Assistant to your personal assistance, take a bouncing bronco ride on your sperm-wrangler?"

Sarah did not answer. Instead, she imitated Carina's slurp but extended hers even further.

Carina's wide grin turned down. "Confess, Walker! What happened? I deliberately didn't call you because I wanted to hear this in person. Cough it up?"

"There's nothing to cough up."

Carina shook her head. "Now, that's a shame. But that only exhausts one possibility…" Carina leered at Sarah.

"Carina, nothing happened. Nothing. Nowhere. No shared…parts."

Carina put her drink down on the table next to the armchair. "You mean you wasted that trip, wasted it? When have you voluntarily taken a day off?"

"I had a…very nice day off, I'll have you know." Sarah was annoyed with herself for smiling as she said this.

"But you didn't bed Bartowski?"

"No, Carina." I sure thought about it. So close. Your plan almost worked. "But we visited interesting places in Atlanta. A great coffee shop, the High Museum, the Botanical Garden, a BBQ place, — and we heard a singer/songwriter that night."

"Wow, Bartowski planned all that?"

"No, Carina, I did."

Carina stood. "But you don't go to coffee shops, you live in a museum, you're practically a vegetarian (if I have to eat another bowl of Dahl soup here I'll choke you) — and the only songs you can hum are songs that play on elevators."

Sarah reddened. "Yes, — but I planned it for him. He'd never been anywhere. And I enjoyed it all, a lot."

"How did you know what he'd like?"

"I looked at social media, the internet.."

"You did? Sarah Walker condescended to look at the Book of Faces? Instagram? You stooped to google Chuck Bartowski, googled him yourself?"

Sarah nodded her head.

Carina drank the rest of her drink in one gulp. "Oh my God, this is so much worse than I thought. Bartowski's turning you into a real girl. Why not go all the way, Sarah, put on that lingerie, and make love to the poor schmuck? Make his eyes pop out of his head."

Sarah felt the sting of sudden tears and she could barely comprehend herself, her own words. "Because I only understand one way to live."

Carina stared in silence for a moment, then spoke softly, carefully. "You've never admitted that before, you know."

Sarah wiped her eyes.

Carina went on. "Bryce seemed to satisfy you for a while because he fit into your life, like a premade puzzle piece. Right look, right background, right everything, except for being all wrong. He was not just a plus-one at parties, he was a plus-one in your life. Your life. An add-on. He lived it too, or pretended to live it too. Your life." Carina seemed to understand something as she spoke. "Bryce was not about to dethrone Jack, Jesus, he was another Jack, just low wattage! But not our boy Bartowski…to choose him you'd have to unchoose Jack, dethrone daddy."

Sarah stared at the ground and then took a long pull from her drink. "That's silly. Freudian babble."

But Sarah could hear the lack of conviction in her voice.

Chuck took advantage of the warmer California evening to sit outside on the steps leading up to his apartment. He felt like he had been trying to clear his head for days. Sarah, Hannah, Amber, Sarah, Sarah, Sarah.

The woman he loved was unavailable. Separated from him by an uncrossable gulf. Two women he liked but did not love were very available.

The temptation to try to rid his heart of Sarah by means of Hannah or Amber was strong, strong enough to almost make him yield. But he would not use anyone, especially not women he did genuinely like. As far as he could tell, he was stranded in the dead center of the Friend Zone.

"Good evening, Chuck!"

Chuck looked down. Dr. Liang was standing next to the garbage can, a tied bag in his hand. "Lovely evening. You seem pensive. Sorry I have been missing the last few days. Edits on my new book are due, so I have spent a lot of time staring at a computer screen."

"No problem. The new Confucius book? Secular Rites, Sacred Rights?"

"That's still the title, yes. Not exciting but apt."

Chuck nodded. "Does Confucius have much to say about matters of the heart?"

Dr. Liang put the garbage in the can and came around to the foot of the stairs. He looked up at Chuck. "He who chases two rabbits catches none."

Chuck burst into laughter. "That's so true. Any other words of wisdom?"

Dr. Liang shook his head. "Confucius was very concerned about the heart, but not so much as a romantic organ, rather as the living center of human beings. He thought that it was crucial to develop what we might translate as the sincerity of heart."

"Sincerity?"

"Freedom from hypocrisy, disguise, or false pretense. It has little to do with a certain feeling or degree of feeling that accompanies thought or speech or action. It means something more like candor. An openness of heart, particularly in self-dealings. After all, Chuck, if you can't open your heart to yourself, how can you open it to anyone else?"

Chuck nodded thoughtfully. Dr. Liang chuckled. "Of course, opening your heart, that's a lot harder than it sounds. The heart is notorious for lying to itself, taking itself captive, closing."

"More Confucius?"

"No, a wise woman, my wife. She taught me to live Confucius, and not just to love him."

"Thanks, Dr. Liang."

"No thanks necessary. Enjoy the evening, Chuck. Evenings like this practically think for you, if you let them."

Dr. Liang went inside and Chuck sank himself in the darkening sky, letting it do his thinking.