It's late November 2003, and Agent Sarah Walker has been summoned to a meeting with CIA Director Graham. The CATS have just been disbanded, and Sarah hopes that this discussion will be the beginning of her career as an autonomous agent with more responsibilities—after all, hasn't she proven herself? But when she arrives in Graham's office, she discovers that he has something very different in mind … a mission that will lead her to question everything she thought she knew about herself, and compel her to choose between fulfilling her duty and following her heart.
Disclaimer: We don't own Chuck…
Chapter 4: Thanks-Misgivings
Hope.
Even though so much felt balanced on the head of a pin—being partnered with Chuck's nemesis; the lies about myself that I'd already told Ellie; the ultimate goal of this mission—there was a newfound light within my heart. Right now it was merely a spark of hope, a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds … but I could feel its warmth seeping in, permeating every cell of my body. Maybe this feeling was just naïve optimism, the anticipation of good things that might never come to pass—but it was a sensation I hadn't had in such a long time, it felt as foreign as it was welcome.
In part, that spark of hope stemmed from my phone call with Graham, which had gone much better than I'd anticipated. Not only had the director been receptive to my request, he'd had the same notion since the inception of this mission, and had put the wheels in motion long before Bryce and I had come to his office. Chuck could be the final puzzle piece he needed to make Omaha a success, after all, and Graham knew how to play the long game.
It bolstered my spirits to know that my presence in the Bartowskis' lives would have more than one purpose—a sub-mission, if you will. Yes, I would still have to lie to protect the cover I'd created for myself—but something good could come out of it, especially for Chuck. If Bryce had a problem with the outcome … tough shit. He had it coming.
I hummed as I stood under the spray of the shower, letting the hot water wash away the stress of the past twenty-four hours. A promising conversation with Graham, a gorgeous new dress, and an evening with a guy who made me believe in the possibility of new beginnings—what could've been better, given the situation?
The intoxicating scent of vanilla and lavender swirled, clinging to the mist that filled the room as I stepped out of the tub. I'd shaved, exfoliated, washed and conditioned my hair, and scrubbed every inch of my body with the overpriced, fragrant soap I'd picked up from Whole Foods. Tonight, I would be the woman beneath the mask, not a temptress sent to lure an unsuspecting mark. Tonight, I was just a girl, trying to gain the attention of the boy who'd captivated me.
And I had no freakin' idea how to do this. But I was willing to learn.
I wiped steam from the bathroom mirror and took a good look at my face. My cheeks were flushed from the hot water, my eyes overly bright. I didn't recognize the woman staring back at me. Was it my imagination, or did I look … different somehow—less jaded, more like I had before Graham had gotten his claws into me?
As I reached for my Alba Botanica body lotion, my thoughts lingered on the dress I'd bought for tonight. The moment I'd seen it, I'd known it was the one. It was a shade of blue that matched my eyes, with a midi-length skirt that fell to mid-calf and a keyhole neckline. The material was a soft jersey, hugging my curves without being obnoxious. I already owned the perfect shoes—silver-and-blue kitten heels that complemented the dress as if they'd been custom-made for the occasion.
When I dressed up, I liked to do it from the skin out. I hadn't been able to resist buying some sexy new lingerie … not that I thought Chuck would be seeing it any time soon, but sliding the silky material over my skin made me feel confident. Taking the dress from its hanger, I slipped it over my head, then dried my hair, shaping it into flirty curls that framed my face.
I did my makeup carefully, going for elegant but understated: navy blue eyeliner, mascara, and a hint of blush. Then I slipped on my heels and stood in front of the mirror.
I looked … excited. Almost like a normal girl going on her first date with a guy she liked, not a CIA operative infiltrating a family dinner. And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.
Grabbing my black clutch and the burlap bag that held two bottles of wine, I stepped out into the courtyard. As I passed the fountain, I thought about my wish from the night before. It had taken on color and weight in my mind, so much so that I felt like the possibilities were no longer all that far-fetched. At least there was hope.
When I drummed up enough courage to knock on the Bartowskis' door, I was surprised to find a short bearded man with an uneven bowl-cut standing on the other side, a look of wonderment filling his eyes.
"Vicki Vale," he whispered reverently.
What the hell?
Ellie's voice cut through the soft jazz playing in the background. "Morgan," she said, sounding irritated. "What did I tell you about answering my front door?"
So this was Chuck's long-time best friend that I'd read about in his dossier. Not wanting to be rude, I held out my hand. "Hi, I'm Sarah. Chuck and Ellie's new neighbor."
With a sheepish grin, Morgan shook my hand. I could have sworn I heard him mutter the word 'jackpot' under his breath.
He tried to recover, standing on his tiptoes to overcompensate for our height difference. "Enchanté." He backed far enough away to let me enter and bowed, giving a Vanna White flourish of his hand. "Right this way, m'lady."
Was this guy for real?
"Sarah?" Ellie made her way out of the kitchen, wiping her hands with a dishrag. "Come in … come in." She walked up to Morgan and shoved him out of my personal space, nearly tipping him over. "Don't mind him. He's actually harmless. We like to keep Morgan around to scare away the other rodents."
"Aw, Ellie. You know you love me." His sappy tone and the look of yearning on his face confused me, especially given her demeanor toward him and what I knew about her boyfriend, Devon. I glanced over at Ellie to see if this was just playful banter.
Nope. Her look said it all … almost.
"Yeah, Morgan … about as much as listening to a self-help audiobook narrated by Fran Drescher." I had no idea who Ellie meant, but it didn't sound like a compliment. "Come on, Sarah. Let's head to the kitchen. I'd hate for you to catch something standing out here."
I followed her, walking past Morgan. His shoulders slumped as he flopped on the couch, picking up a controller with a huff and resuming the video game he must've been playing when I knocked. I almost felt sorry for the guy.
"Here … a little libation for the occasion," I said, handing Ellie the bag holding the wine as we made our way into the kitchen. The room smelled amazing, like every idealized Thanksgiving I'd ever dreamed of as a kid, eating frozen dinners with my dad in front of the TV: herbs and roasting meat and the sweet, tart scent of hot apple pie.
A man stood with his back to us, bent over the stove. He turned, closing the oven door, as he heard us come in. I knew at once this must be Ellie's boyfriend, Devon: tall, with the build of an athlete and the piercing gaze of someone who hid his fierce intelligence behind a frat-boy exterior. Completing the picture was the forest-green apron tied around his waist that read, in big white letters, KISS THE COOK.
He'd been basting the turkey when we walked into the kitchen. Setting the baster down on a ceramic spoon-holder next to the stove, he held out his hand to me. "I'm Devon, Ellie's boyfriend. You must be Sarah."
"Nice to meet you," I said, shaking his hand. His grip was warm and confident.
"Sarah brought wine," Ellie said brightly, extracting it from the bag. "Pinot Noir and Chardonnay."
"I didn't know what you liked," I said, suddenly feeling shy. "I hope it's okay."
"Pinot is Ellie's favorite." Devon turned back to the stove, grabbing a jar of spices and sprinkling it over a baking dish. "As are these party potatoes. They're whipped with cream cheese, sour cream, and chives … topped with butter and paprika. I make 'em for her every year. They're delicious—but I gotta say, it's a good thing we've got a cardiovascular surgeon in the house. Right, babe?" He shot a smile Ellie's way.
"They're a heart attack waiting to happen," Ellie said, giving me a rueful look. "But my mom made them every year when I was little. I didn't get a chance to tell you much about our family, but … well, my mom … she left us a long time ago. I don't have much that belonged to her, except this recipe. I hope you love it as much as I do."
"I'm sure I will. It looks amazing," I said, which was nothing less than the truth.
Devon widened his smile to include me. "The stuffing's almost done, too—but I need fresh sage to finish it off right. Where's Chuck, Ellie? He took off for the grocery store almost an hour ago."
Well, that answered the question I'd been burning to ask. I'd been trying to figure out how to frame it without sounding too eager. Luckily, Devon had done it for me.
"He called me fifteen minutes ago. Said the first place he went was out of sage, so he had to go to another store. He'll be here in a few minutes." She sighed. "We're missing flour for the gravy, too. Every year, we forget some kind of crucial ingredient. I'm beginning to think it's a holiday tradition."
The idea of a holiday tradition—especially involving the Bartowskis, who were like some kind of sitcom family, despite their less-than-ideal beginnings—sounded too good to be true. The only tradition my dad and I had had involved watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade while he went on and on about how easy it would be to steal the spectators' wallets when they were distracted by the floats.
I shook my head, dispelling the memory, just as the front door of the apartment swung open. I heard Morgan greet Chuck, and then the latter came walking towards the kitchen, talking as he went. "Ellie? I got the sage, but it was the last bunch and it's seen better days. And they only had these giant bags of fl—"
His voice cut off abruptly, swallowing the rest of the word, as he walked into the kitchen and saw me. "Hi, Chuck," I said, as his eyes opened wide, his mouth followed suit, and he dropped the paper bag of groceries onto the floor.
Apparently, the dress was a hit.
God … the look on his face—his candid adoration—it undid me. Struggling, I bent down to help retrieve the items that'd spilled and give myself time to recuperate from the warmth that'd flooded through my body. The blush that was snaking its way up my neck was not something I wanted Chuck … his family … or the surveillance to pick up on. His reaction to me was simply the cutest thing I'd ever seen.
We nearly butted heads as he bent down to clean up the mess. With him in such close proximity, I finally picked out the smell that'd calmed me yesterday when I first stepped into their apartment. Turned out … it was Chuck. I couldn't tell if it was his cologne, body wash, or just the man himself, but whatever it was, it hit me like a drug. Who the hell needed Xanax when they could just spend time with him?
"I'm so sorry," Chuck said, scooping sage leaves off the linoleum. The plastic shell that housed them had split open, and the aroma of crushed sage filled the air between us. "I'm not normally this clumsy. I mean, sometimes I am, but not like this. I don't normally just … drop things. Usually I have better control over my limbs, I swear to God."
I had to fight back the urge to laugh. "Why are you apologizing?"
"I don't know. For making a terrible second impression, I guess?" He shrugged, sealing the plastic clamshell shut. His fingers were shaking, though, and some of the leaves spilled back onto the floor. I reached for them at the same time he did, and our hands brushed. Electricity jolted up my arm.
Chuck wouldn't meet my eyes as he scooped up the plastic container and the flour. "Here," he said to Ellie, straightening up. "Take these before I end up pulverizing them."
I stood too, stepping away from him just in time to see Ellie and Devon regarding us, wearing identical amused looks. "You all right there, man?" Devon said, his mouth quirking up at the corners.
"Fine," Chuck mumbled, his gaze fixed on the counter, where Ellie'd set my hostess gifts. "Hey, look, wine! Who wants a drink?"
It was the most transparent effort to change the subject I'd ever witnessed, but I didn't care. I didn't want their attention focused on us either … and right now, I could certainly use a drink.
In the ensuing kerfuffle—drinks all around, Devon's decision to practically sterilize the sage, and then the ritual carving of the bird—my awkward encounter with Chuck was soon forgotten. Well, I hadn't forgotten it—and from the way Chuck kept glancing over at me when he didn't think I was looking, I didn't think he had, either—but at least no one was staring at us like we were some kind of adorable zoo exhibit.
We sat down to dinner at last, Ellie at the head of the table and Devon opposite her. That left the three of us; Morgan, unsurprisingly, chose one of the seats adjacent to Ellie, and Chuck sat down next to him … which put me opposite Chuck. I didn't know if this was a gift or the worst seating arrangement ever. How would I handle looking into those gorgeous brown eyes of his all night long without squirming in my seat?
We settled in and started passing dishes around the table. The conversation turned to past Thanksgivings, which in turn led to stories about Chuck, Ellie, and Morgan's bizarre childhood.
"So, yeah. There I was in third grade, having to defend Morgan against a giant fourth grader: Tristan Ramsey," Chuck said, pouring himself another glass of wine. "Morgan kept calling him Stan Stan Stan. Really rubbing it in, too … like, 'how's it going, Stan Stan Stan?' 'Whatcha doin' this weekend, Stan Stan Stan?' I thought it was funny as hell. Apparently, Tristan didn't share my opinion."
"What can I say?" Morgan cracked open a grape soda, taking a swig. "When life gives you lemons, you should peel one in front of the other lemons. You know … to send a message."
"That's nothing," Ellie said, raising her glass in a salute. "One time, I listened to these two nerds argue—for hours on end, mind you—about whether coral was the stupidest animal, or the smartest rock." She snorted, eyes watering with amusement.
"Oh yeah?" Chuck said, his crooked smile lighting the room. "Who was it that decided she could no longer drink Kool-Aid because the Kool-Aid man carried a smaller picture of Kool-Aid and she was convinced she'd be drinking his pee? Uh-huh … yeah, Dad told me about that one, sis."
I don't think I'd ever laughed that hard in my life. As they talked, I could picture it: Chuck, cracking up while fending off Stan Stan Stan as Morgan kept running his uncensored mouth; Ellie freaked out by a fruit punch commercial, grimacing with every sip. I wasn't sure if the three of them were getting wittier as the evening wore on or if the wine just made everything seem so much funnier, but it didn't matter. I was having a blast—at least until there was a lull in the conversation and Morgan decided to direct the attention in the room towards me.
"So, Sarah," Morgan began, "where did you say you were from?"
"All over, really. But I just moved here from DC." I spooned more stuffing onto my plate, deciding tonight was a guilt-free zone. I'd exercise twice as hard tomorrow, to rid myself of the carbs.
"Yeah? Where do you work?" He'd gotten his hands on the marshmallow-topped sweet potato casserole—I didn't know anyone actually made those outside of the movies—and was ladling it onto his plate like he needed it to survive. I hoped no one else wanted some, because by the time he finished serving himself, the dish might be decimated.
This was a tricky one. I obviously couldn't tell the truth … but I didn't want my relationship with Chuck and Ellie to be based on nothing but lies, either. "I work in the intelligence community," I said, forking turkey onto my plate. "I'm looking for something new, but I haven't found a good fit yet. Anyway, the job I have right now is flexible … it gave me the freedom to move out here."
"Yeah?" Morgan said through a mouthful of sweet potatoes. "The 'intelligence community', huh? Like what? The FBI? CIA? Do you go on secret missions, Bond-style? I've always thought that Chuck here was smart enough to have a job like that, if he would just—"
"Do you want some salad, Morgan?" Chuck interrupted him, tension clear in his voice. To be honest, I felt a little tense myself. How had this idiot—and I didn't care if Chuck had been friends with him for years; his elevator clearly didn't go all the way to the top floor—come so close to hitting the mark?
"Salad?" Morgan gave him a quizzical look. "Nah, man, you know how crunchy green substances freak me out. Might as well go outside and take a bite out of a tree. Anyway, Sarah, like I was saying, Chuck here's a bona fide genius. Did you know he went to Stanford?"
"Shut up, Morgan." Chuck's voice was a growl.
I had a sinking feeling this wasn't going to end well. "No, actually I—"
"Because he did," Morgan went on, like a human wrecking ball. "And he would've graduated top of his class too, if this total asshole hadn't ruined his life by framing him for cheating and sexing up his—"
There was a clatter as Chuck pushed his chair back, his expression stricken. "Excuse me," he muttered, stalking away from the table. The front door slammed behind him, and a hush fell over the room.
Morgan glanced around, looking clueless. "What'd I say?"
I wanted to hit him over the head with the sweet potato casserole. If he liked it so much, he could damn well wear it. He deserved as much, for humiliating Chuck that way. He was Chuck's best friend, for God's sake … not that I understood why, but the fact remained. He should have known better.
I wanted to hit Bryce Larkin, too, but of course he wasn't here. Well, I was sure I'd have plenty of opportunities in the future. Morgan was right on one count—Larkin gave "total asshole" a bad name.
Ellie stood, looking as upset as her brother. "I should go after him," she said, dropping her napkin onto the table.
"Let me." The words had escaped my mouth before I knew I'd intended to say them, but once I'd uttered them, there was no going back. "I know he doesn't really know me," I said, fumbling to offer an explanation, "but this is your family dinner, Ellie, and I'd hate to take you away from it. Stay here, enjoy your meal."
"That's kind of you," Ellie said, exchanging a look with Devon that I couldn't quite read, "but he's my little brother, and you're our guest. Not to mention—what Morgan let slip … well, it's a sore subject for Chuck, to say the least."
"That's exactly why I should be the one to go out there." I could hear the eagerness in my voice, but was powerless to suppress it. "Everyone else at this table probably knows this story, which means the only person he'd be embarrassed in front of is me. Maybe if I explain to him that I don't care—that none of that matters to me—he'll want to come back inside. I'm not sitting here judging him based on something that someone else did. I mean, I've just met him but I can tell he's a kind, and honest person. Whatever happened, I'm sure it wasn't his fault."
Ellie regarded me for a moment, then nodded. "You're right, Sarah. Maybe you're exactly who he needs."
Was I imagining it, or had she chosen her words carefully, insinuating I could be a good fit for Chuck—that he needed me in his life—beyond rectifying this awkward moment? The impish grin that tugged at the corner of her lips made me think that I was right. Even though I'd only known Ellie Bartowski for a short while, I had the feeling she didn't miss much … and she wasn't afraid to speak her mind. I gave her a timid smile in return as I made my way towards the door.
When I got outside, I found Chuck sitting on the edge of the fountain, peering into the basin. I couldn't help but think he might be staring at my wishful penny, connecting us in a way that transcended the explicable.
When he heard my heels clicking on the flagstones, he looked up, his face a cloud of emotion. His glassy eyes were on the verge of spilling over.
"God … what you must think of me." He shook his head, looking back towards the water. "Your pathetic neighbor who can't even make it through a family dinner without losing his shit."
I couldn't just stand there and watch him suffer like this. In no way should this incredible man feel guilty for something Bryce—and by extension, the CIA—had done to him. He deserved so much better than me, but at least I could strive to become the kind of person who was worthy of his company … and perhaps much more.
"Why would I think that?" I said, with complete candor. I sat down beside him and placed my hand on his. The jolt that had shot up my arm when I'd touched him before now claimed my whole body. This was dangerous on so many levels, but at the moment, I couldn't find a reason to care. Throwing caution to the wind, I spoke straight from the heart. "All I see is an extremely handsome and charming man who's had a lot of bad things happen to him. Morgan's lack of tact aside, it sounds like someone from your past—someone who you trusted—betrayed that trust. Am I right?"
He nodded, his eyes still on the coins glinting in the fountain's basin.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?" I asked, wanting desperately to hear his perspective on how things had gone down. "I've been told I can be a great listener. And I won't judge you, either … I promise. I know exactly how it feels to have one of your friends stab you in the back." I squeezed his hand. "Trust me, Chuck."
He spun to face me, and for the first time since I'd met him, his brown eyes locked on mine, unwavering. It was a little unsettling. His eyes were mesmerizing and filled with such emotion, turning my insides to goo. The longer I forced myself to hold his gaze, the more I could see into his depths, and the harder I fell with each passing moment. His heart wasn't merely on his sleeve … it was … everywhere, making mine beat in triple-time. I could see his wheels turning, caught between his reluctance to embarrass himself further and a deep desire to share his story with me—to share all of himself, if I'd allow it. I could see it clear as day. It was the most intimate moment of my life. I felt as if we'd merged into some kind of shared plane of existence. Deep down, in the furthest recesses of my soul, I knew that I would never be the same. I was his, for better or for worse, and that scared and thrilled me in equal measure.
His eyes dropped, and, haltingly, he began to speak. He told me everything—how he'd met Bryce on his first day at Stanford, their close friendship, his two-and-a-half year relationship with Jill … and then how Bryce had betrayed him, getting him kicked out of school and sleeping with his then-fiancé. His words came slowly, each syllable ragged, as if they'd been ripped out of him.
"It was a little over six months ago," he said finally. "And I've been … well, I've been kind of messed up since it happened, if you want to know the truth. My best friend, the girl I loved—it turns out he wasn't my friend at all, and she obviously didn't love me back. My education, my career … all of it, up in smoke. When Morgan said what he did, I just reacted. I'm so sorry you had to see that. You'd think I'd be over it by now. But no, I'm still poking around in the wreckage like some kind of apocalypse survivor, searching for life." His eyes flicked to mine, scanning my face. "So, now you know the whole pathetic story—why I'm destined to fail at whatever matters most."
It took me a moment to find my voice. My heart ached for him … now, more than ever, I wanted to punch Bryce's smug, chiseled face. Actually, I wanted to drop-kick anyone who'd even think of hurting Chuck again. Jill, Graham … his parents for leaving him … they could all get in line.
"You're not a failure, Chuck." I twined my fingers through his. "You said it yourself. You're a survivor."
"Yeah, well, I suck at it." His jaw clenched. "I wouldn't have to be any kind of survivor if I hadn't trusted the wrong people, but I don't want to be the kind of guy who's paranoid about everyone he meets. I want to believe there's good in people. I think that's the worst part … feeling like Jill and Bryce almost took that from me. I don't want to be cynical and bitter. But it's hard, when everything I worked for all my life is gone."
Shifting his weight, he looked down at our joined hands. Silence fell between us for a long moment, and then he spoke again. "Sitting here with you, Sarah—it's like being next to the sun. I can't explain it, but being with you makes me feel better, like I've been all alone in a dark room and now the light's shining in. You probably think I'm an idiot for saying something so cheesy when I've just met you, but I've felt so shitty for so long and I just—well, I really—"
"Shhh … I don't think you're an idiot," I said, reaching up to cup his face. "I think you're sweet."
And then I kissed him.
It wasn't the passionate kiss I craved—just light pressure of my lips against his—but when I drew away from him, my whole body shook. He stared at me, his expression dazed, like I was indeed a star or an angel. "Why—" he began, but I interrupted him again.
"Because I believe in you, Chuck. You're amazing, and don't let what those bastards did to you make you think otherwise." I squeezed his hand for emphasis. "Your life just hit a speedbump, that's all. You may have swerved, but you haven't derailed … if you'll forgive the metaphor. I'm sure things are about to get much better."
His mouth curved upward in a wicked grin. "They already have."
God, that smile of his … I would do almost anything to see it again. Chuck thought I was the sun, but he was wrong; it was the other way around. I needed to find a way to tell him the truth about everything—to step out of the shadows and into his light. Sure, I could get fired … or sent to prison, even … but it was my only path forward.
My father had always said that doing the right thing—being noble and altruistic—usually cost more than it paid. I used to believe him—but of all the choices in my life that held lasting significance, those 'right things' shone the brightest. I never claimed to be a saint, nor a hero, but I liked to think I'd learned the meaning of honor and integrity. Perhaps my father had it backwards. It was doing the right thing that really paid, because making any other choice could cost you your soul—maybe not all at once … or in chunks you could notice.
But just a sliver at a time.
A/N: So, how are we doing? Should we keep the ball rolling? Please leave us some feedback—even if it's just a few words. We read all your comments and take each one to heart. Sometimes, they even influence our writing—more than you know.
As always, thanks for reading—and please keep your reviews, follows, and favorites coming our way! They really do make this all worthwhile.