A/N (1) Previously on Chuck versus The Journey: After all we learned in 39 chapters, with giant steps, the solution of the spy element of this story is nearing.
Another one bites the dust,
And another one gone and another one gone.
Another one bites the dust,
Hey, I'm gonna get you too.
Another one bites the dust.
"Another One Bites The Dust" (John Deacon)
Chapter 40: Sarah vs. The Spartan
Aside from minor collateral damage that the quickstep did to Sarah's toes, the dance night went smoothly but turned out hard work for the Carmichaels, with a handful of tender moments sprinkled in-between, concealed from the other listeners. Or so they thought.
"I've heard enough," General Beckman eventually decided, and Chuck thought for a moment that she was referring to Sarah's constant but subtle flirting. "We're going in in ten. Walker, you call the shots - this is your party."
As Governor Kowalski invited Sarah for a dance right that moment, his son's Robert fiancée Ginger stepped up to take her place for a song. Sarah was not unhappy as she could keep an eye on Chuck. Simultaneously, she had the Governor near to avoid any possible embarrassing moments of him being handcuffed or similar when the raid began. Better to keep the head of the state out of trouble.
While dancing, Ginger asked Chuck for a favor.
"It's my soon-to-be father-in-law's birthday tonight," she explained with a trusting look, "and I got one box each of his favorite white and red wine from Napa Valley in the trunk of my car. I want to surprise him, and I don't trust either of his boys not to blab it early, so I need a strong man to help me to get these boxes up here."
The boy scout in Chuck awoke. He was a nice man anyway, and the impressive confirmation that Sarah loved him - the words she spoke, not the physical expression of them - had put him in a mental condition ready to spread good deeds most generously, even in case Bryce Larkin should require assistance. At least if he needed to leave the continental United States. So Chuck immediately agreed, and they danced to the exit of the ballroom, Ginger leading him as she had noticed that Mr. Carmichael was not a practiced dancer. Chuck offered a half-thankful, half-abashed face, but she ignored it with a friendly smile.
"I'm so grateful you'll help me out," Ginger sputtered. Chuck politely smiled as they entered the elevator and then pressed the button for the hotel garage. The last year had not exactly formed him into a man of steel regarding muscles and nerves, but he knew he had to be cautious. Chuck tried to figure out a way to let Sarah and everyone else know. He again wore the microphone cufflinks, so while the doors closed, he acted as if checking his bow-tie. Gingerly mimicking to put it in proper appearance and holding its ends, he delivered a message that Sarah would understand, and Ginger accepted as directed at her.
"So you have smuggled a birthday gift into the hotel and hid it in the garage without anyone noticing, Ginger? Very clever!" he said.
When they exited into the garage and the ballroom's noise and the nondescript elevator music that seemed to be a tape from the 1960s faded, Chuck sensed his earwig was dead, which he credited to their location in the building. He would be out of reach for two or three minutes only anyway. It still made him nervous. They walked along parked cars, engaging in idle chat.
"I love how you two met," Ginger blathered. "That was so romantic. I thought these things happen only in romcoms, but real life beats the screen every time, right?"
You have no idea how much real life beats TV and movies, Chuck thought. Those writers could never invent something as ridiculous as a nerdy nobody uploading the complete intelligence secrets of the United States into his brain. Then that poor fellow would get an NSA bodyguard with as much charm as the leftovers in the Buy More personnel icebox. Finally, he would be tied to a CIA babysitter making Vicki Vale look like the Grand High Witch of All the World – as played by Anjelica Huston in the 1990 movie, mind you. The CIA wonder woman could have every man on earth but eventually falls in love with the nerd. … No, not the sickest mind could invent something as weird as that.
"Don't get me wrong, Charles…" Ginger began while they let a car on the way out pass by and then gestured into a far-end corner of the garage in between. "…over there."
It was a dim spot in the garage he liked as much as vampires liked the daylight.
If this turns out well, I'm never going to come to the rescue of any damsels in distress before having written permission by Sarah, two carbon copies included.
He fumbled on his bow-tie for real as he began to sweat.
"You know, there are better parking lots than this. You shouldn't park in such a dark spot. I know it's the Palacio, but still, safety first. If you don't mind me saying, always find a bright place near the exit," he explained, hoping that the problem about his earwig, which had been silent since they were down at the garage, was only on his side. But the technician inside him knew that, most probably, this interruption was both ways.
She swiftly led the way, the sound of her high heels pronouncedly echoing and her bright yellow gown adding a refreshing dab of color to the grey of the garage, like a goldfinch flapping through.
Ginger only nodded to his advice and stayed with the topic she had begun.
"Your story was so sweet, but I sometimes wonder what makes us choose a certain partner. Why did I fall in love with Robert?" she mused. "And Samantha Lisa? What has she got that others don't have?"
"My heart," Chuck replied without hesitation, then repeated with conviction, "My heart!"
Ginger made an 'Aw' sound. "Good answer, Charles! So the honeymoon is in full bloom! I can't wait until Robert and I get married."
She stopped at a black SUV with darkly tinted windows.
"Not that we, … uhm, save up, but I hope it's as magical as you and Samantha's eyes tell us," she continued while she used the remote and the doors unlocked. She finished with a stilted cough. "You know… ahem… making whoopee and all."
The smile fell from Chuck's face as an ice-cold finger seemed to skate over his back. The jolly goldfinch morphed to a tawny owl, the bird of the dead.
Making whoopee.
He didn't need to rummage in his memory to know where he heard the term most recently. It was a bit dated, and one didn't hear it that often. It had been when Casey observed whoever had put a camera in their room. The bad guy at the computer called the boss man and quoted him, repeating the words 'making whoopee.'
Or the boss woman.
Chuck, you're an idiot, he thought gloomily. And in huge trouble. Why did you gullibly follow her down without making sure that Sarah knows?
His glance darted to Ginger, who opened the driver's door and reached inside. As the trunk door swung open, like the jaws of a big white shark about to devour him, his gaze switched, and he agitatedly scanned the content of the trunk.
"Oh," he peeped, surprised at the sight of two boxes of wine bottles.
"It's wine," he stated the obvious, dumbfounded how his always spiraling mind had played a trick on him. His relief was immense. The realization that the impressive turnout of bad guys upstairs had to do with him had made him a bit paranoid. He turned to Ginger with a smile.
"Yeah, I see that's a bit heavy, but no problem, I will-"
Chuck stopped, cursing himself that a movie buff like him had not anticipated the surprising plot twist following the equally amazing plot twist right before that. He swallowed heavily.
"Don't puke at the wine, Charles!" Ginger said coldly.
He nodded at the compact gun pointed at him, noticing how Ginger's small hand routinely held the short grip stock as if she was used more to guns than lipsticks. He remembered Carina identifying the caliber during that dramatic Thursday night.
"Is that a 10mm?" he asked just to wipe out any doubts. As a nerd, he had to make sure. Detail is everything. He owed that to himself.
"Glock 29, actually," she replied casually, the friendliness on her features gone and her face as hard as the lump in Chuck's stomach.
His voice turned higher and accusing as he fought with himself not to freak out.
"You shot the woman on the fifth floor."
"I removed an enemy agent from the list of possible threats to our mission," Ginger corrected Chuck, and he thought that his wording had hit the finality of her deed better.
"Enemy agent?" he asked, hoping that denial would probably bring him a bit of time, and Sarah would go looking for him. She was looking after him for a year now. It would be not so clever to stop now, right?
"I'm no agent. What kind of agent? What do you want with that gun?"
"So how do you know I killed her then?" Ginger asked. "But I know you're not an agent. You're the Intersect."
Chuck hesitated a jiffy too long before he tried to play for time.
"If you tell me what an Intersect is, I could call you if I see one, if that'll do."
"No need to waste your breath. I am sure."
Right this moment, Chuck hoped he would have a lot of breath to waste, for a long, long time.
"Sure of what?"
As always when in trouble, the bad guy - or bad woman this time - thought to have the right to dominate the conversation, so his question was ignored.
"Listen, Charles, or whatever your name is. That was a nice show you and your partner staged, that fight with her supposed ex-boyfriend."
He wasn't sure if a quick guffaw was advisable. He could laugh in Ginger's face and tell her that Sarah actually was Bryce's ex. He wasn't sure if that was what he preferred to ponder on his last moment. Shouldn't he die with the memory of the lovelight in Sarah's eyes on his mind?
"He was her ex-boyfriend, and I can testify that under a polygraph," Chuck confidently replied, sure to have the upper-hand on this point but wondering what good it would do to him. Ginger was quick to dispel any hope that he could talk himself out of this.
"So why did Mr. Ex, after your partner beat him up, leave the hotel and climb a CIA surveillance van?"
Chuck's face fell, swearing that he would never talk another word with Bryce again. He knew that his delaying tactic of purporting not to understand what Ginger was talking about had become useless. There was something hopelessly disastrous about Bryce Larkin, and he proved not for the first time that he could deliver despair even if he's absent.
"Because he's an idiot," Chuck sighed. "Will you kill me now? If you know what the Intersect is, you wouldn't want to do that, if I may add a remark."
"Don't worry. We built a consortium of Fulcrum, the Ring, and leading crime families to kidnap the Intersect and use it – him, as I see now – as a mutual source of information. That's why we staged that faux atom-bomb deal all your agencies were busy hunting."
It's like in those movies, they will tell you about their plans, Chuck pondered. All that's missing is a burst of echoing evil laughter.
"But I'm the only one who knows. I was curious about this ex-boyfriend and checked the tapes from all the cams, and there he was, climbing a vehicle we had identified as CIA-owned a while ago."
Chuck was frightened but not numb.
"So you thought since no one else knows, you may keep the Intersect for yourself. And then what? Sell me to the highest bidder?"
Ginger grinned, and it was only half as reassuring as the grin of The Joker, and she wasn't Batman anyway.
"Thank you. You just saved your life."
Chuck looked perplexed as she elucidated.
"I believe that you're not an agent - now. I lied. I didn't know. I just had a hunch. You confirmed it."
"And that saved my life?"
"Sure. I would have shot you if you weren't the Intersect. As it is, I see a bright future for us. I will go underground and offer your services for a nominal fee. Don't worry, your cell will be comfortable, Charles."
He had enough of all the Charles gibberish.
"If we have to get along for a longer while, I'd prefer Chuck. I always found Charles too pretentious. May I ask your real name?"
Ginger laughed, waved her Glock at Chuck, and beckoned him to step to the passenger's door, but he didn't move. Every second counted.
Where was Sarah? She had not let him out of her eyes while she was dancing with the Kowalski men one second, so he had been sure she would be hot on their heels even assuming she had not heard his message. Or had she been distracted by the impending raid of the combined agency forces?
Ginger froze and brought her second hand to the weapon to hold it more steadily and shouted, "Get in the damned car!"
Chuck couldn't help himself. He held up a hand in protest.
"You can't imagine how much I hate that line."
•••••••••••••••••••
Sarah could see Chuck and Ginger dancing across the ballroom repeatedly, but they disappeared from her view during the song's last bars.
"Excuse me, Governor, I need to look for my man," she said. Kowalski commented on her impetuous departure with a quip about 'young love' and let her go with a chuckle, having the unmistakable expression of a man who yearned to be young, carefree, and freshly head-over-heels in love again. Kowalski made up his mind and headed over to his wife dancing with his older son, determined to let her know that time had brought routine but not diminished love.
Chuck was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the bright yellow dot of Ginger's dress.
Sarah wanted to turn away and contact Casey if he could see Chuck on his monitors, but passing by their table, she saw Robert Kowalski grinning at her.
"Looking for your hubby?" he asked.
"As a matter of fact, yes," she acknowledged, trying to look hopelessly lovesick for Chuck and filing every moment without him as a waste of lifetime - and finding immediately that she didn't have to try.
"He and Ginger went down to the garage to get a surprise for my dad's birthday, which is today. She doesn't trust us not to tell him, so she looked for another victim to haul up the gift," Robert laughed. "She thought she could fool us, but we played along. We knew all the while that she was up to something."
He didn't mean it that way, but the terms 'victim' and 'up to something' made the alarm bells in Sarah's head ring out even louder.
"Thank you," she curtly said and rushed away.
Robert wrinkled his forehead as he saw how Sarah literally ran towards the exit.
"What the…" he murmured as she jumped ahead on one foot, then on the other, hastily getting rid of her high heels and dropping them like useless ballast. Then she dashed out of the ballroom like a sprinter, her long graceful legs suddenly bundles of tight muscle. Full of curiosity, he got up and followed her, picking up her shoes on his way out.
•••••••••••••••••••
Chuck knew that Ginger was keen to get the Intersect, which meant he would not be shot at the spot. But other than that, his outlook was bleak. It even beat being thrown out of Stanford.
"Wait," he said, raising his hands, but Ginger did not. She stepped closer and, using her weapon like a club, struck him on the head in a smooth move he did not foresee at all. Another hit broke his cry of pain, and he felt that he was falling.
He wondered if he fantasized as he noticed something black and velvety as well as skin-colored and silky flying through the air. The object collided with Ginger, and both smashed hard against the SUV, sliding down to the floor. The gun slithered under another parked car.
The object was a human being by the name of Sarah Walker.
The last thing he saw before everything went black was a shock of blonde hair that turned for a fraction of a second to him. Piercing cobalt eyes with a steely glint and a scaring determination to prevail swiped over him, and within a millisecond, returned to her opponent. While his eyes closed against his will, he knew that The Enforcer was back.
As Sarah had noticed the first evening, Ginger was strong and well-trained, and now it was clear this didn't come from playing tennis. She took the onslaught well and retaliated, pushing Sarah back.
Ginger was on her feet instantly. Sarah took two blows that told her that she faced an adversary to be taken seriously. She staggered coming up, but she responded in kind. They exchanged a series of strokes, some hits, some misses, some blocked. When the fight seemed to turn into a stalemate, Ginger disentangled.
"My, my, my," she heavily panted. "Little Sarah Walker!"
It was Sarah's turn to take a step back to get a safe look at Ginger, but she still was only Robert Kowalski's fiancée for her. She would have noticed right away if she knew her. A tinge of discomfort crept into her mind. It was a disadvantage if Ginger knew, and she didn't know vice versa.
"When did we have the pleasure?" Sarah asked, heavy breathing, hair askew, dress dirty, and mind racing.
"We've almost met once, but never did," Ginger said cryptically, apparently trying to confuse Sarah, who watched her with wary eyes. "But after I found out that your so-called ex is CIA, I knew you had to be more than the young bride, and from there, it was easy, Miss Ice Queen."
"Since you know my name," Sarah began, mirroring Gingers' motions, which brought the other woman nearer to her SUV, and ignored the resurfacing anger over Bryce's foolish attempt to re-enter the mission. "... Why don't you tell me yours?"
Sarah instinctively knew she had to keep Ginger from the car.
"You don't need to know," Ginger answered. "I'm going to kill you anyway, so why bother. I should have waited for you and kill you instead of preparing that set-up in Miami, then I would have been Graham's darling, and who knows where I would be today instead of freelancing. But it was just a job to set up that trap using the mobsters, and I had no reason to be interested in a little young nobody soon to be killed anyway. But realizing that you have to be CIA too yesterday made me investigate, and picture my surprise that I can kill you now finally."
Sarah gaped. If Ginger was the person that Graham had mentioned in his video log, the Spartan who made sure that she ran into a deadly trap in Miami, then she was...
"You're… you're Westlake! Spartan Westlake!"
When will my past finally let go of me? Will it lurk forever and jump me whenever I hope to have it left behind for good? Will it – she – take from me what – him – I only found a day ago?
Sarah didn't drop her defense, but she stopped her cat-like moves for a second or two, and Ginger suddenly was that decisive step further away from her and closer to her car. Sarah cursed inwardly realizing her feelings had slowed her down. This was no time to be a woman. It was the time to be an agent. Ginger bent over and reached inside in one swift motion, and the next moment held a knife in her hands.
Holy shit, Sarah thought. This is getting fucking brutal.
She remembered a trick question the instructors at The Farm posed, How would you defend against a knife attack? The young recruits had all kinds of tactics to offer, but the trainers turned them all down. In the end, they told the aspiring agents that everyone failed the task because nobody caught that the question was wrong in the first place – it should have been, How do you survive a knife attack?
Sarah swiftly backed away and out of reach of the knife. Trying to block or grab the weapon would end messily for her. Even incidental slashes didn't need to be deadly but would reduce her defense ability to the extent that would seal her fate. Nasty wounds like losing fingers, cutting tendons at the wrist, or getting cut as Ginger simply pulls away the arm Sarah possibly could grab were no option.
She had to stay out of reach, evade the blade, and wait for her chance. Ginger pursued her and stabbed at her. Sarah needed more space. She had no choice but to back out into the garage lane, away from the parked cars. Ginger's momentum carried the blade precisely into the direction Sarah was retreating.
Move, move, move, don't stop to move!
She evaded the knife two more times and then changed the angle, so she was on Ginger's left side.
Aw, no, Sarah thought, she's two-handed, not too surprised as Ginger equally swiftly changed the knife in her hands, thus preserving the menace of the weapon pointed at Sarah.
Original condition re-established, nothing won, nothing lost, she thought, pondering her options against an enemy that was not only formidable but probably trained to the same perfection as she was. She couldn't make any high-risk assaults as she had told Chuck she did in Miami. Here was a foe with the same level of skill set, possibly an identical one.
Sarah got one advantage – she had dropped her high heels before attacking Ginger. No matter how agile the other woman could move with her shoes, Sarah would be a tad quicker.
Sarah dodged to the side and bumped against a column and something protruding. A fire extinguisher.
To tear it from the wall and bring it between her and Ginger was the work of a moment. There was no way to use it as a battering ram. It was too heavy, and her enemy was too adept at being hit. For a few seconds, Sarah used it as a shield, and Ginger slowed down in attacking her. Sarah pulled the safety pin and sprayed her attacker. The outcome was better than nothing but didn't give her a deciding edge. Sarah threw, or due to its weight, instead dropped the extinguisher in Ginger's direction.
I need an idea. I know what a girl with a knife can do, and I can't dodge her indefinitely. The SUV! It was the car of an agent, so it should contain arms!
Sarah used the one or two seconds she had gained and ran back to the car. The proximity would be much closer there, less room to move, but if she found any kind of weapon, the fight would be balanced.
Sarah checked the open trunk. It was neat, orderly, and, given its size, relatively empty. A medical kit and a car trunk box with cleaning cloths, a full and a nearly empty glass cleaner, a clean blanket, and a large flashlight, stood next to two boxes of wine bottles.
This is not Hollywood, Sarah knew. Grabbing the neck of the bottle and smashing it against the car, thus creating a weapon, worked only in movies so effortlessly. In real life, nine out of ten times, the bottle didn't break as was planned, and the shards injured the person doing it.
Spontaneously, Sarah gripped the flashlight. She knew several ways to use it as a weapon, but all but one required a few seconds of preparation. The only available option was to use it as a bludgeon. She gripped it at the top, so she would hit with the battery-heavy bottom-end and began her counter-attack.
Sarah turned back just in time to block a stab at her back. At least, she had something to defend herself now, which meant she didn't have to keep the same absolute distance anymore. She was reminded how good Westlake was as the knife hit the flashlight repeatedly, and Sarah could hardly follow the lightning-fast moves.
Chuck. I can not leave him alone. He saves my soul, I save his ass. Perfect labor division. The Happy Couple Labor Union would be glad. You won't falter on your part of the partnership, Walker!
A holler of utter disbelief rang out, startling both of them.
"Ginger! Samantha! Are you crazy?"
Robert Kowalski stood a few yards away, Sarah's high-heels in his hands and an incredulous shock in his eyes. But the Kowalski's were a hard-charging family. He dropped the shoes and ran to the two women, trying to intervene and step in between them.
"Bob, you idiot," Ginger shouted. Sarah saw the decision in her eyes.
Fuck, she is serious. This is her endgame. She is going to kill her fiancée, me, and then take off with Chuck to her own vision of fame and fortune.
As he moved between them, Ginger did not hesitate to stab at him. Sarah pushed him away. The knife cut open Robert's shirt, and added a nasty slash to his chest. As he fell with a cry of pain, he took Sarah, whose arm he grabbed, with him. She stumbled and wrestled herself free from him, but Ginger's knife missed her only by the thickness of her thin dress, ripping it open at hip level and ever so slightly scratching her skin.
But not stabbing her to death meant that Ginger's outstretched arm was a gift. Sarah hit Westlake's knuckles with the flashlight and could see how she flinched with clenched teeth. While Ginger's other hand moved to block the next blow, the flashlight came down again and smashed hard against the inside of her elbow, where a sensitive nerve ran more or less directly under the skin. The crucial part of the maneuver was that this nerve was connected to the hand, the ring finger, and the little finger. Someone else's hand would have opened in a muscle reflex and a bolt of pain, the knife dropping to the ground, but Ginger was obviously one of the best. Still, her fingers twitched, half-opened and her grip on her weapon softened.
Sarah knew that this was her chance to go into the in-fight, which otherwise was an absolute no-go as long as a sharp blade was in skilled hands. They wrestled for the knife. Ginger risked her stance, drove her knee into Sarah's stomach, and was remunerated as the blonde agent fell to her knees.
That must be like the moment when you look up and see that piano crashing down on you, like in those comedies. The moment when the officer shouts, "Fire!", to the firing squad. The moment a bomb timer clocks down from One to Zero.
The moment you know you are going to die.
This is it, Sarah thought. I hate to leave you behind, Chuck, my love. Will you know where they buried me and visit me? Will you put some gardenias on my grave now and then?
Ginger bent over, her arms hanging down as she gripped the knife and stabbed it a last murderous time at the kneeling woman.
Oh my God, Sarah realized. She's putting too much weight in that!
Shortly before, she had ruled out a high-risk maneuver. Now it was her last hope.
In a move Sarah thought was impossible, she let herself fall back, painfully twisted her right leg out of the kneeling position, and kicked at Ginger's left leg. It gave in.
Ginger fell. There was no way to finish her attack, and instinctively, she let go with one hand of the knife and tried to cushion the fall with that hand. Sarah, falling already and not caring about it, wrestled the weapon out of Ginger's other hand successfully. Ginger came to lay on her and tried to get the blade back.
For Charah, Sarah thought as she rolled them around and hovered slightly over Ginger, the knife already pointing at the former Spartan's chest. All she had to do was put her full weight on it, and the blade penetrated Ginger with a hideous, squishing noise all the way to the hilt.
It was over. Purely due to training, Sarah swiftly rolled to the side, watched her opponent's lifeless and stiff eyes to be sure Ginger was dead, and then got up. Heavily panting, she wanted to rush to Chuck, but he had come to a few seconds ago and watched at her with an expression she had never seen before and could not read.
Oh my God, she wanted to scream. No stories, no tales, no flashes, no words. Now he has witnessed Sarah Walker at her best, a killer turning sure defeat into bloody victory. A human being, or not human enough anymore, a deadly weapon disguised by flesh and bones, by a rosy complexion and blonde hair.
Her heart began to race, and it reminded her of the last time it beat so fast and hard. It was only a few hours ago, she had been in Chuck's arms, and she had wished they could go on forever like this. She had almost inaudibly snickered as she knew she could, well, not forever, but still, she had to give him time to recharge. Even that time, he had made oh so heavenly for her. Now, within thirty seconds or so he witnessed, he had faced the brutal truth about her gentle hands and comely body. She knew she loved him and was confident he loved her, but part of her feared she had shocked him too much. Ginger still lay there on her back, strangely peaceful, the heft of the knife obscenely sticking out of her chest. Sarah knew it was not a question of forgiving – it was a question of accepting the bitter facts about her job. Or not.
Chuck opened his mouth, but not a sound came out. Instead, he pointed behind Sarah. She closed her eyes for a second.
My Chuck, to a fault.
She turned to Robert Kowalski, leaning against the next car, an arm over his ripped and bloody shirt. His eyes widened when she approached him.
"Sarah Walker, federal agent," she introduced herself and quickly saw that his wound was not severe. She hurried to the trunk of Ginger's SUV, grabbed the medkit, and placed it next to Robert.
"We can't stay, but you're not seriously wounded. Just clean the cut. I'll send a medic down. Don't touch anything. … And… I'm so sorry, Robert. We'll talk about it later."
Sarah took Chuck by the hand, and he held hers firmly. She looked up at him as they walked to the elevator.
"That's different from the video games you play with Morgan, isn't it?" she asked. Her words shook him out of wherever his thoughts were trapped.
"Oh my God," he whispered. "You killed her."
Sarah became frantic. He had flashed on some of her solo missions, and while it seemed he had taken it in stride, still had begged not to tell her anything more. But now she had shown him herself how brutal she could be, striking so much harder than a flash from the past. Had the deed of saving his life as well as hers and Robert's, eliminating a threat in the most ultimate way in front of Chuck's disbelieving eyes, been too much? Was the life she saved now one that they wouldn't share together? She pleaded with him, as calmly as she managed imploring how inevitable it had been.
"I couldn't let her hurt you, Chuck. Trust me, I did what I had to do. But I'm still the same woman, I'm still Sarah… I promise."
Her eyes were desperate to make him believe that the woman he loved had not vanished.
"You saved me," he whispered. Sarah hopefully wanted to emphasize the thought he expressed and picked it up, needing to explain that she also saved their future.
"Chuck, I saved-"
"Sarah?" he interrupted and she stopped, waiting for him to continue like the flower waits for the sunlight to give it the strength to grow and bloom. "The elevator ride up is short and you'll have to be the SAIC pretty soon again, so - shut up and kiss me!"
•••••••••••••••••••
A/N (2) I'm honest: There aren't many chances now to put in a review anymore. We enter the home stretch of the story. So if you want to say something, now is the hour.