Merry Christmas, Hannah! I'm so happy that we got to talking all those months ago, and I'm really glad that when you started watching Chuck that you enjoyed it as much as I do! It's hard to believe that Christmas is just around the corner now, that we're only three weeks away! I know I'm a bit early with your Christmas present here, but I wanted to get it written for you early, so you can have it. I hope you enjoy this read, though out of the three or so times I've looked it over, I can't determine whether it's sweet, bittersweet, or what. So, hopefully, it's a gift that you'll cherish whatever way it is.
It's like sunlight gently coming to rest on her face with how gently his hand moves across it. It would be easy to close her eyes and forget that it's a hand that is leaving her warmer, and not the sunlight. He touches her now carefully as if she may just flinch or react defensively if his touch is anything other than featherlight. He touches her like he loves her, and with that, her heart responds, a beat, two beats, three, four faster than normal if not more. A gradual climb it is, as if even her heart is gentle in the moment.
And Sarah doesn't know what to think, just that there's something so beautiful here or maybe that there was something so beautiful that he, that Chuck, responds to in kind. And she wonders for just a moment, if it would be okay to let herself fall for him, all over again, though she doesn't remember the first time. It would be different this time, because he's grown through knowing her and she's back at square one, offering a chance that feels half there.
Yet, Chuck doesn't make her feel uncomfortable in her own skin, just she's caught in between all of the things that she doesn't remember, the way he cherishes each memory, the way it means a lot to him. It's surreal, weightless like a daydream. And a spy is all hardened, a perfectly executed lie, a fable of encounters, last minute smoke in the air, a firing gun.
And Sarah's not used to not being a spy all of the time. Chuck reminds her briefly of saving a baby's life, letting her live the normal life that even Sarah had walked out on once. And yet, Chuck is like the forever chance, and Sarah isn't quite sure what to make of all of this yet. Just like she's not sure what to make of Molly, so much older now, what to make of her mom being a part of her life all over again, what to make of the hit or miss almost memories.
And Chuck's touch is like a lighthouse drawing her back to shore, and Sarah still isn't sure if she wants to go back to shore yet. And when she tilts her chin slightly, reveling in the gentle touch like sunlight, his hand stills, a million questions within the pause, a million questions sparked by her motion.
"Can I kiss you?" Chuck pauses, fumbles with words that don't want to come right away, "Do you want me to kiss you?"
And Sarah's lost in the almosts, a little unsure of just what she wants. But she remembers a kiss on a beach, a million little fireworks so close to popping, yet they lay just as dormant as they explode. It's weird, because emotion comes forward then, but with it, memories don't flow.
"You can." And Sarah's still living in between her past, false memories, and the memories that Chuck cherishes. They are not a connecting puzzle piece, and then he leans down and it's like sparks flying all over again, her skin is a million fireworks, and Sarah responds.
Kissing Chuck is so different than kissing anybody else. Chuck kisses her like he knows her, like he's known Sarah for a long time, and like he can speak to the spaces between them, like a million memories unfolding like origami between them. And Sarah wonders.
Though something unlike a kiss comes to mind briefly before Chuck pulls away, the image of a dance, a Christmas one, and it isn't romantic, but it is something. And Sarah briefly considers what must have been awkward turned to gentle fun. And she ponders memories that still remain just out of reach.
Maybe one day, they'll all come back, and she'll understand Chuck the way he knows the little things about her, things that experience teaches, things that are different than personality. It's a strange waiting game, and Sarah wonders all the time what it is that she's after.