A/N (1) Previously on Chuck versus The Journey: Chuck and Sarah successfully managed to convince everyone that they are honeymooners by faking their conjugal duties, but it came at a high emotional price for Sarah, who is suffering from haunting memories of her past. They are forced to spend the rest of the night together, which, as it turns out, ended in a peaceful snuggle on Chuck's side of the bed, both contemplating their life and each other. We now need to interrupt the slumber they eventually found. We can't watch them in bed together indefinitely. Well. I shouldn't have said that – now I'm waiting for a deluge of Charah fans explaining that's exactly what they want. Yes, yes, I see your point, but as the woman said, one mission at a time.
Looking back, does it seem,
That when you've planned,
And when you've dreamed,
You forgot the most important thing?
Got a troubled mind, friend?
Did you let too much worry rule your days?
When you look back,
Do you feel like something precious slipped away?
"Smell The Flowers" (Jerry Reed)
Chapter 17: Sarah vs. The Breakfast Martini
"Room service!" a male voice announced from outside. Polite knocking finally brought both of them to reality, Sarah faster than Chuck. Before he even could open his eyes, she partly left his embrace, which had given her one of the best nights of sleep in her life. In mutual understanding, they had kept snuggled up and made sure to be well covered as the morning sent a few rays of light through the curtains, but now she was about to throw away the duvet. Both experienced the missing contact painfully. Chuck blinked. She seemed fast and determined. He could feel the muscles in her legs tense where they were still touching each other.
Before Sarah could leave the bed, the key lock clicked, and the door swung wide open. Neither of them had said a word. Chuck was making a mental note about room service for their guest book entry. I thought this was a luxury hotel, but the manners leave something to be desired. He forgot about it quickly as he realized that this situation could turn out dangerously similar to those last night when they lost some of the agent couples.
The first thing coming into view was a tea wagon that seemed as heavy as Casey's mind when the Republicans lost the White House to Bill Clinton. The upper deck carried breakfast while the view to the one below was blocked by a white cloth hanging down. It was an unsettling sight as they only could guess what was behind it.
A tall man solicitously pushed the tea wagon along. He looked dapper in his double-breasted hotel jacket on which all ten buttons were closed neatly, leading to a short stand-up collar.
Chuck swiftly reached out and kept the covers back up to their chins, unintentionally thwarting Sarah's attempt to jump out of bed and confront the intruder only in her purple teddy, with bare hands and bare legs.
That would get the better of me faster than knives and guns anyway, Chuck pondered. Yet, nobody who possibly still watched, even if only cursory, should notice that Sarah was not nude as our faked loveplay had indicated.
The valet finally acknowledged them as the tea wagon came to an almost screeching halt, a clinking emitting from whatever was covered by the white cloth. An apologizing expression appeared on his face, and he embarrassedly prodded his cap up.
"Oh..., sir,… miss... I'm sorry. Breakfast was ordered for 8 AM, and I didn't expect you to be still… or do you want me to serve breakfast to your bedside?" the elderly man asked as the smell of fresh coffee reached their noses.
Chuck and Sarah looked amused at each other. The servant apparently considered that the honeymooners would prefer to feed each other and also seemed very capable of pouring coffee themselves, so continued without waiting for an answer: "Of course not, no. I'll just leave this here and be out in an instant."
Retreating, he looked around at nothing in particular and stated: "But it's certainly rather chilly in here. We don't want anyone to catch a cold, do we?"
Once more, he did not await an answer but stepped back to the door. He grabbed the remote control of the air conditioner that stuck in a small plastic holder next to the light switch on the wall.
"I will take care of the temperature if you allow," he eagerly explained while fumbling around with the device. He pointed it at the conditioner, scrutinized the remote control a second time, pressed a button or two, and checked the effect it had. Nothing happened. Then he turned around with a by now desperately apologizing look.
"I'm so sorry again, that doesn't seem to work, probably the batteries are empty. I guarantee that, usually, everything is perfect. I will be out in another instant. This is a full-service hotel, and I promised to take care of the temperature, and I will…" his voice trailed off.
…if it's the last thing I do, Chuck completed the sentence in his mind and had a hard time not to snicker, sensing how Sarah relaxed next to him. He still missed the contact with her body that ended a few moments ago, as if a part of him was missing.
"I will set the temperature right here at the device itself," the valet commented on his actions as his six-foot-four figure clumsily but easily reached up. His white uniform with contrasting black trim and yoke had looked too formal for the time of the day anyway, but his antics added a comical twist to it. Chuck heard a low and amused grunt next to him and quickly checked on Sarah. Her lips were a little thinner as she pressed them together to keep silent. Her hand over her mouth successfully stifled laughter, but she could not avoid the grunt Chuck had heard. She did not take her gaze away from the spectacle but quickly shot a jolly look at him out of the corner of her eyes.
In the meanwhile, the little dramedy at their door continued.
"Ooops, that came off. I think I broke something there, and it fell down."
The man half raised his hands defeatedly.
"I'm so, so sorry again, I just find what fell down and will be gone in a minute and – "
Something nastily cracked under his shoe.
"Too bad, I stepped on it!" he exclaimed in despair, searched the floor, and then another cracking, bursting sound gave the distinct impression that the device he stepped on had turned into an unsolvable 3D puzzle.
"Now it is broken for good, I'm afraid."
The man lost his clumsy stance, straightened to an elegant figure, and after closing the door, he relaxedly strolled back to the tea wagon. He pulled the cloth away, unveiling a parade of Gins and Vermouths on the lower tray. The bottles accurately stood at attention as if they expected the President to take the salute. The valet offered a winning grin.
"Nothing as invigorating as a proper Breakfast Martini after a night of sin. How would you like yours?"
Chuck had followed the whole scene open-mouthed.
"That was pure genius, Roan!" he exclaimed. "That's what people get an Academy Award for! No one will doubt that some left-handed hotel employee destroyed their observation camera. I just wish I could have seen their faces as they watched that scene unfold on their monitor until you broke it!"
"I don't expect that I will get a special recommendation from them on their feedback card, but I'm glad we got rid of that cam in an unsuspicious way!" Montgomery replied, only to walk into the bathroom and come back with two white fleece bathrobes he threw on their bed. He then turned to the tea wagon to give them a moment to don the robes, busying himself by pouring the coffee.
Sarah had slipped back into agent mode when Montgomery knocked on the door, which had severed the traces of magic still lingering from last night's cuddling. As the comedy part of their morning came to a close, she felt the innocent intimacy they had shared vanishing, like it was something alien that could not exist in broad daylight, disintegrating to dust the morning breeze would take away. She was not sure if it was better that way or if she should try to save it, and if Chuck experienced something similar.
She chewed nervously on her lower lip and looked over to him from a bowed head, ready to drop the contact immediately if she wouldn't see anything in his eyes that she could read as at least the tiniest affirmation that he was with her at this moment. The instant their eyes met, hers fluttering from the readiness to break contact, she lifted her head speechlessly.
Chuck Bartowski beamed at her. While she found some of her own nervousness mirrored in his eyes, he did not avoid her gaze but returned it with a diffident loving expression. Sarah's eyes turned the blue of a beautiful sunny day, and she could feel her lips part and the corners of her mouth slowly twitching upward. The nervousness in his eyes disappeared, and Sarah felt the same happening to her. What remained was a fragile but genuine understanding between them - she didn't know how, but she felt closer to him, and she realized he knew it.
Not knowing what to do with that discovery in their current situation, she reluctantly broke eye contact eventually and turned to Montgomery. He was still busy with the tea wagon, and it seemed he would be as long as the two needed.
"Anything new, Roan?" Sarah asked, walking over to the tea wagon and inspecting the breakfast, taking the cup of coffee from Montgomery, and obviously looking for something specific.
"Hardly anything helpful," Montgomery said in his easygoing, conversational tone. "Another male agent has disappeared. But Casey would have more. Head over to his room for details."
Chuck nodded. "Why don't you have breakfast and…" he gestured to the bathroom, "…while I check the news with Casey in the meanwhile."
Sarah squinted her eyes at him. He is giving me some off-time after last night. There had been a time not so long ago when he would have cornered me in dire need to talk about what happened, hardly able to contain his gabbling and wanting to analyze each and every word and what it all meant to our relationship that he wanted to be real.
"Good idea!" she agreed before she took too long to ponder about him.
"Ok," he confirmed. "I dig out some sweats from the suitcase, and will be gone in a minute."
Such was the case, and Sarah found herself alone with Montgomery, who had helped himself to a Breakfast Martini, sipping his drink and evidently reading her like a book.
"What?" she eventually asked.
"Crossroads," Montgomery said friendly. "It's your decision."
"Roan, I don't understand," she uneasily lied.
"I can see how you look at him."
"How do I look at whom?"
He ignored her question, for a few seconds playing with the swizzle stick.
"When the Berlin Wall fell, I stood at the crossroads of Europe and my own life. I made my decision. Loving the spy life too much – I still do – it was an easy decision back in November 1989. I don't have regrets per se, but I live with the vexing question of What if for two decades now. There seemed no way to have it all."
"I love the spy life too," she said, only to say something because she did not know if she liked to proceed with the conversation.
"Who wouldn't?" Montgomery grinned. "The money is great, at least if you're entitled to a proper expense account. If you survive, the missions are exciting, and the constant dance with death makes you feel more alive than any other person can ever understand. You see the loveliest and the dirtiest places in the world. You can indulge in sex with no strings attached because within mere hours, days, or weeks, you would be somewhere else, no responsibilities but to serve Uncle Sam."
"I'm not like that," she said. Biting her lower lip, she added: "I never was like Carina, or, as I understand, you. No offense, Roan."
"None taken."
If Sarah thought he was going to add something, she was wrong. She knew the game he was playing, and she somehow felt that he knew that she just lied and bent the truth a little bit. She conceded nonetheless.
"And still," she began. "Sometimes, I wonder if there is satisfaction in the lifestyle we protect."
"A smiling face, a fireplace, a cozy room, a little nest that's nestled where the roses bloom?" he asked over his glass.
"It must be something important," she insisted, ignoring his quip. Sarah understood way more cultural references than everybody expected from her. She was not a dumb blonde, and way more than a martial arts trained bimbo. Harvard does not educate its students badly, and the CIA made sure she learned to survive on every parquet, as tricky as it might be. "Not for you, not for me, but for enough citizens that our government thinks it is worth shepherding."
"And said government makes us lead a life that could end any day to accomplish that goal," Montgomery complemented.
"The danger is one thing, many other people have dangerous jobs and lead a life that could end quickly," she evaded the real issue by striking another from her list. This time, Montgomery didn't give her time to marshal her thoughts but drove home the harsh facts.
"But we live a life that anyone on the sidelines would discard as immoral, and they would deem us, living it, as misfits."
Sarah hid her shock behind her agent mask. Roan Montgomery just summarized her dilemma in less than five seconds.
"I never was like Carina," she heard herself repeat her earlier words, "but I did not live a life as a good American family would expect from their favorite darling daughter. … I never had a chance to live such a life! I protect the American Way of Life and am prepared to give my own for it, but I'm barred from living it myself."
The friendly, relaxed smile on Montgomery's face stayed there.
"I understand," he replied eventually, and she didn't precisely know what he meant and didn't dare to ask, "but that's not important. You ran into a problem with your asset."
Sarah inwardly crawled a bit deeper into her shell as if she could evade hearing his words that way. She wasn't so easy to read, Sarah told herself, but she also knew that Montgomery was a legend. The qualities that made him a living legend were evident, at least to her working in the same trade, now that she spoke with him.
"Why do you think you know so much about me?"
He gave her a C'mon look. "I didn't survive this biz so long just because I can mix a Martini, Agent Walker."
She took a long pause and wondered why he patiently waited instead of having done his job to remove the surveillance camera and then pick up his other spy duties. She eyed his now empty glass and made a decision.
"I think I'm ready for a breakfast Martini."
"Attagirl!" Roan attested with gladness. "Mind if I join you for another one?"
Sarah's look wandered over the selection of bottles.
"Absolutely not. But which one…?" she asked, her voice trailing off and inquiring assistance in the choice of ingredients.
Montgomery pursed his lips benevolently. "We begin there at the left and work our way through to the other side."
"You're pretty much pragmatic," she laughed.
"And a romantic at heart," he answered as if that would explain why they had this conversation. It does, she suddenly realized. "Traditional style? Conservative to the bone?"
It took her a second to get it, then she agreed. "Yes, please. I would be a fool not to try the way the purists have it if a master serves me."
Montgomery silently began as she watched him. He selected one of the vermouths and filled the cocktail glasses almost to the rim. From a black ice cube tray, he added a generous amount of ice into the shaker. He unerringly chose a bottle of Gin, poured a healthy helping into the shaker, and went to work. When he was satisfied that the alcohol was cold enough, he opened the shaker and put it aside for a second. He emptied all of the vermouth in the glasses into a Champagne bucket before pouring the gin. Two olives speared on swizzle sticks followed.
They raised their glasses. The ever-present humor was still on Montgomery's face, but his voice was calm with a touch of concern.
"Here's to Sarah Walker," Montgomery toasted. "May she keep her head while losing her heart."
She didn't know what to say and took a sip. It was as cold as coming straight from General Beckman's heart, it had a bite, and it had a fascinating flavor, strong and delicious.
Sarah understood that there was no way to convince Montgomery that his assumptions were wrong. It was useless to deny – at least to him - that something was developing between her and Chuck. Friendship they had, so what was on the table now - romance, love, carnal desire?
"For the record," she sighed with a gesture to the bed behind them, "we didn't-"
"Please, Agent Walker," Montgomery interrupted her. "None of my business. But I know."
She felt the drink having an effect on her quickly and took smaller sips. An empty stomach wasn't the best way to start drinking Martinis. Loose lips sink ships, she reminded herself, don't tell him too much, your ship already is half sunk!
The senior spy continued after a moment.
"The boy is madly in love with you, in limbo about the status of your relationship. That's a risk. You can get into serious trouble regardless of how you decide." … about him, she understood him saying.
"Trouble is my business," Sarah shrugged it off, but Montgomery didn't let her off the hook so quickly.
"That's the kind of trouble that gets agents killed – even the best of them," he warned.
"There's no way out," she picked up Roan's train of thought. "The only thing I'm expected and allowed is to keep him safe and cooperative. He's my asset, not my partner. He's an item on our inventory list, and the CIA owns him."
She didn't add, and I don't know how to handle all that anymore, as she feared she could not hide a tremble in her voice. Sarah described how the agency viewed Chuck and how she was supposed to see him. But she did not see him that way at all – not more than she could see Russia from Wasilla, Alaska.
"We're back at square one," Roan said with forbearance. "Crossroads. It's your decision."
"Are you telling me to give up the agency?" she asked aggressively. She didn't know another life. Giving that up was like asking Roger Federer to put away his tennis racket and try something else. Or to tell Casey to stop polishing his guns. Montgomery looked surprised.
"No, I don't. As long as it's in your blood, every other way of life you'd choose wouldn't work out for you. But you should not regard the CIA's regulations as the Holy Bible."
He made a pause. "Your ass belongs to the agency, but your soul doesn't."
She stared at him for a long time as they sipped their martinis. For her duty-bound mind, that sounded like the mutiny on the Bounty.
"Do what you can do best," he finished his glass. "Make it a mission!"
She perked up. "A mission?"
"Yes," Montgomery confirmed. "Work with your skills. Make your own life your most important mission."
She looked at her drink with understanding. While the objective would be new, she was very familiar with thinking in mission parameters.
"Why not?" Montgomery asked with a shrug and turned grave as he continued. Or as gravely as someone continually bolstered up with the divine spirit could get.
"Sooner or later, one of you or both will end up in the morgue if that tension is not relieved in whichever way."
Sarah sensed a blush coloring her cheeks and turned her head away for a short while. Montgomery was as friendly as serious, and there was nothing lewd in his language or meaning, but Sarah could not help to think that she very much knew how she yearned to relieve the tensions between her and Chuck.
Once and for all. Earth-shatteringly decisive. Breath-takingly passionate. Mind-blowingly satisfying.
Turning back to Montgomery, she found him watching her, attentive, and almost fatherly. "I realize the mission has already begun," he simply stated.
Could she speak to Roan on those terms? What if he told anyone? She decided to take the risk. The Sarah Walker of yesterday would have had chosen differently.
"I better not charge in with brandished weapons…?" Sarah said, leaving the question mark dangling in the air, translated to, I better not allure him right away, right?
"It's a delicate mission that will need the careful, diplomatic approach to allow the other party to accept that your agenda is based on honesty," Roan confirmed, and Sarah heard, you better take it slow and innocently flirt with him first, so not to scare him with a U-turn in behavior that he wants but at the same time will question if it happens too fast.
"The other party has to believe that all your proposals are made in the best interest for an optimum mutual benefit. Every doubt on both sides about any misleading intentions has to be dispelled," Roan elucidated, and Sarah thought he would have made a good politician as well.
Montgomery knew, of course, that Bryce Larkin was meant to be her cover husband, and he most probably had had an earwig too that night and heard her light-hearted, heavy-loaded banter with Chuck at the Kowalski table. He certainly picked up the soft undertones. With a pang of uneasiness, she also guessed that Roan registered that there was more – and no fun stuff! - to herself than meets the eye. His words seemed to say, whatever you carry around with you, whatever is standing between you and Chuck, you have to get it out of the way first, you both have to be assured of each other's honesty if that should be more than a fling.
"If negotiations go well, when is the best moment to sign the contract?" Sarah asked with curious eyes, her words hardly concealing what she talked about.
"In every bilateral talk, there comes the moment when an agreement is reached," Roan said. "You should not miss that moment as it passes quickly. When the big issues are cleared, and mutual consent is tangible, you pull all your tricks to seal the deal immediately."
She blinked over what she thought was between the lines. When you're sure that you are on the same wavelength, and both of you want it, don't waste any time and put all your charms to work to leave Chuck no other option but to make love to you.
She took a deep breath. "Do you think I am equipped with all the skills to carry out such extensive negotiations?" she asked, and this time, Roan seemed genuinely amused.
"Agent Walker, I have not the slightest doubt - you're a natural," he replied. "But as easy as the beginning of such talks is, always remember that-"
Sarah interrupted and finished for him: "-it takes a lifetime to perfect!"
•••••••••••••••••••
A/N (2) A smiling face, a fireplace, a cozy room, a little nest that's nestled where the roses bloom: Quote from "My Blue Heaven", written in 1924 by George A. Whiting and Walter Donaldson. First a #1 hit for Paul Whiteman in 1927, it again climbed to #1 in the charts at the end of the same year in Gene Austin's version, which remained the best-selling record for 15 years (until Chattanooga Choo Choo). Younger audiences will remember Fats Domino's cover, and Jazz fans will be able to quote a series of cover recordings as the song turned into a Jazz standard.
A/N (3) Loose lips sink ships: World War II poster slogan to remind all those carrying valuable knowledge to keep it to themselves.
A/N (4) Trouble Is My Business: Sarah is mouthing immortal words with this one. It's the title of a private eye novelette by Raymond Chandler from August 1939, the man who invented a genre still being copied nowadays again and again (and again). The story contains epic lines like, "I felt terrible. I felt like an amputated leg." And the full quote from the story goes, "'Trouble is my business,' I said. 'How else would I make a nickel?'"
A/N (5) But she didn't see him that way – not more than she could see Russia from Wasilla, Alaska: As you probably guessed, Wasilla, Alaska, is the place Sarah Palin calls home. One of the most infamous political quotes of the 2000s, Palin never said, "I can see Russia from my house!" It was Tina Fey in SNL who did, based on Palin's actual words about Russia: "They're our next-door neighbors, and you can actually see Russia from land here in Alaska, from an island in Alaska." And that statement actually is true.
A/N (6) It takes a lifetime to perfect: That, shamelessly abused, is, of course, the second part of Roan's explanation of how to properly drink a martini from s02e02 Chuck Vs. The Seduction, "It takes a moment to learn, and a lifetime to perfect."
A/N (7) It doesn't take a lifetime to drop a short review. And I want to take the time to thank all the good folks who review and PM from the bottom of my heart, whether you agree with my scribblings or do not. It is really the Uisge Beatha, the water of life, for a FF writer, so thank you all very very much.