The Trapped Assassin
By SarahsSupplyCloset
Author's Note: I really wasn't expecting so many reviews, let alone all of the positivity. Thank you very much to all of you. I am grateful to have readers after the show's been off the air for a few years now. :-)
Disclaimer: I don't own CHUCK. I don't make money writing CHUCK fan fiction.
Chapter 3: Dancing in the Moonlight
There wasn't much that could surpass a restaurant pressed up against the beach as the sun slid lower and lower in the sky over the sparkling water of the Mediterranean. It was definitely romantic and she had to give Chuck props for managing to finagle them a table outside where they could see the sun setting as they ate.
"Okay, so here's an important question. Really important," Chuck was saying, and she looked up from her menu to raise an eyebrow in question. There was a dramatic pause, and then…
"Are you good at choosing wine? Because I'm really terrible at it. Like, I'm embarrassingly clueless when it comes to wine."
She hummed out a little giggle through her nose. "Why's that? You don't like it or…?"
"It's not that. I love wine. I just never drank it much in college because it's more expensive than beer. I grew a taste for it after college, but I still know absolutely nothing."
"Got it. So I go to you if I ever need to know about beer?"
"If we're talking beer, I'm your man," he confirmed, puffing his chest out and straightening the lapel of his jacket.
Sarah grinned at him, again taking the time to let her eyes run over him. She had already checked him out before when they met in the lobby of their hotel and she had really enjoyed what she'd seen. It wasn't exactly a surprise that Chuck looked good in a suit. He had the perfect build for a slim cut suit with his broad shoulders, thin waist, and those long limbs. But he had looked better than she'd been prepared for, and it was startling that she'd been at a loss for words for a good three seconds.
Luckily he'd been at as much of a loss for words as she'd been when he caught sight of her. And he hadn't seemed to notice her own troubles as a result.
It was pretty gratifying that he'd already seen her in a bikini once, which was far more revealing, and she'd made him speechless by throwing on a dress and heels, doing her hair, and lightly applying some makeup.
"Well, I was thinking of getting the filet mignon, and nothing's better than syrah with steak."
"Perfect. Done. Let's get a bottle of that."
"Are you getting steak?"
"I am now."
She leaned forward with her elbows on the table. "Not a very picky eater, are you?"
He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and shook his head. "Not even a little bit." She saw that he was picking at the tablecloth a little nervously and she wondered how often he'd found himself in a situation like this—being asked out on a date by a woman. She wasn't overly modest when it came to her looks, at least not to herself. She knew she was generally seen as very beautiful. It was a part of her training; figuring out how to use her looks to her greatest advantage. Was Chuck nervous because he'd been asked out? Or was it because she was beauitful?
She didn't want to make assumptions about him. And she wondered if he dated all that much back home, wherever he lived in the states. If he didn't, he either avoided it like the plague, or the women there were, frankly, stupid.
Because she'd only just met him and she could already list a handful of things that made him a good catch. He was handsome. Not in a way that knocked a girl onto her ass when he came into a room. It crept up on her when she least expected it to. Maybe it was all the smiling he was doing. He also had appealing facial structure, and very expressive eyes. And then there was his sense of humor. She laughed more in this one day than she had in the rest of her lifetime combined, and it wasn't as though she'd spent the entire day with him. Not to mention the fact that he was in Nice on holiday, so he had to make a pretty good income, right? This wasn't a cheap trip by any means.
A guy like this, he probably had a woman somewhere. But no ring meant no wife. She silently scoffed at that thought. Like she hadn't seen men taking off their wedding rings when they were away from their wives before.
Chuck didn't seem like the type, though. And who was she to say what type he was when she knew nothing about him? Spying 101 said never trust anyone at first glance. She'd only really gotten a first glance of this guy.
"Well, your mother taught you well, then," she said, catching the eye of the waiter over Chuck's shoulder. She almost missed the way Chuck swallowed and diverted his eyes to the tablecloth before the waiter arrived at their table. And she wondered if there was a story there.
Instead of pursuing the topic, she ordered their bottle of wine and dinners, allowing the waiter to bow, take their menus, and leave before turning back to her date. "I'm sorry for taking control like that. I thought it would get him out of here faster is all," she said. "I'm, uh, admittedly hungry."
"No! I like a woman who takes control." He winced. "Welp. That sounds better in movies." She cracked up, sincerely taken aback by his candidness and sincerity. He merely sent her his self-deprecating half smile and shook his head. "Sorry," he chuckled. "But, uh…My French leaves much to be desired, so I'd not mind at all if you handled everything that involved talking to the natives tonight."
She'd since stopped laughing, but Sarah couldn't wipe the grin off her face if she tried. "It's a deal. Though, you'd learn more French if you practiced it."
"I'll probably be murdered before I get that far, for butchering their language past all recognition."
"You're not that bad."
"Maybe not," he allowed, "but you on the other hand. You speak as though you were born and raised here. Were you born here? Or do you just come here often?"
Their wine showed up just then, the waiter expertly pouring it into each glass before setting the bottle in the middle of the table, bowing, and dashing off again.
"I just know the language. I was born in the U.S. And I live there, too."
"Wow. Well your French is seriously impressive. I think. It sounds impressive to me. Do you know any other languages?"
"Mhm." He lowered his chin and gestured for her to continue. She shrugged, figuring there wasn't any harm in impressing her date with the truth. "I mean, there's Spanish, Mandarin, Japanese, German, Polish, Swedish, a bit of Portuguese, and some Russian. I picked up basic Thai while I was there a few years ago, but I've probably forgotten it now."
As she spoke, he lifted his fingers to count, and by the end, he'd run out of fingers. "Eleven languages? You can speak eleven languages? Oh my God. You're like Google Translate but a person."
She laughed again, rocking forward. "Online translators are such crap."
"That's true. I tried to pass Spanish at Stanford using an online translator. Did not work out well for me."
Sarah almost asked about it, but then she did a mental double take on a part of his comment. "Wait, you went to Stanford?"
There was a moment where she saw him blush, picking at the tablecloth in a bashful manner this time, but then he seemed to collect himself quickly and meet her questioning gaze. "Yep. Three years. Well…and a half. I ended up taking some summer school courses here and there."
"And you graduated early. You weren't messin' around, were you?" She couldn't help but be impressed. A few of her fellow field agents had been recruited from Stanford, but most of the Stanford recruits ended up as analysts or scientists. And those she had met seemed to have their heads up their asses.
Chuck, on the other hand, seemed to have his head exactly where it was supposed to be.
"I didn't have the time to mess around, in all honesty. Pfft, would've gotten my ass kicked out of there in no time."
She was intrigued, so she leaned in, resting her chin on her hand and lifting her glass to her lips to sip the wine. "Why's that?" she asked after running her tongue over her lips.
"Oh, I uh…" He hesitated and she tilted her head reassuringly. She had experience putting marks at ease. So that they'd let their guard down, trust her, talk to her, confide in her. And while she didn't want to think of Chuck as a mark, per se, her attempt to put him at ease seemed to do the trick as he sighed and leaned in a little.
"I wasn't like most of the other students there. A lot of them had parents who were important alumni, parents who donated thousands of dollars to the university. Millionaires with lots of money to offer Stanford. You know." She nodded. "Those people messed up and they had a safety net of sorts. If they kicked a loaded student out, that'd be a lot of money Stanford might miss out on. Just good business, right?" He shrugged. "Annnd then there was me." He cleared his throat, his smile sweet, his voice quiet. "I didn't have anything to offer aside from my brain. See, they gave me a scholarship. Almost a full ride, actually. But that meant I had to be on task. I couldn't mess up. They would probably make money if I got kicked out. So I had to prove myself more than students from rich families did, you know? They took a risk with me and I had to make it worth it for them. Because money was tight, I did my best to make sure I got outta there a little early."
Sarah blinked slowly and smiled, her features soft and her heart hovering between being light and being heavy. It felt weird. "Impressive."
He blushed bright red and she laughed at him.
"So what did you major in? At Stanford?"
Just then their food was set in front of them, their filet mignons glimmering in the setting sunlight with crisp cooked asparagus piled beside it along with some glazed carrots. The cut of meat wasn't very large, and neither were the portions of vegetables, but perhaps that just meant there was room for dessert. Honestly, you couldn't expect anything different. Small portions, hefty prices. Especially at a well-known outdoor restaurant in Nice, right on the Riviera. At least she knew the food would be delectable.
"Cheers," Chuck said suddenly, lifting his half empty wine glass.
She lifted her own and clinked it to his. "Cheers."
She watched him over her rim as he took a long gulp of the wine. Everything he did was so unstudied. All the way down to shaking his napkin out of its elegant folded shape and smoothing it on his lap. He was an open book, which was great, because she found she was more than interested in knowing a lot more about him. It was dangerous, but she lived her entire life courting danger. At least this danger might have some sort of reward at the end. She was interested in finding out what that was, at the very least.
"So…your major? What'd you study?"
"Oh! Right! My major. You asked my major. Computer engineering." She must have made a certain face because he suddenly looked a little sheepish. "I know, I know. Probably not something I should reveal on a first date."
"What? Why?" She was genuinely curious.
"I'm not sure I wanna say."
Sarah frowned and put a cut of meat in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "Why not?" she asked, legitimately not understanding.
"I guess I'm what you might call a—a computer geek. I like messing around with electronics. Old stuff, new stuff. I just like it. Always have."
"So is that what you do now, then? You mess around with computers?"
That made him laugh. He sliced off a large piece of his filet and shoved it in his mouth, taking another gulp of wine as he chewed and swallowed his food. She had never seen anyone gulp wine before. He certainly didn't shy away from enjoying things.
And even now, the sound he made as he ate his filet was just as enjoyable for her as his steak seemed to be enjoyable for him.
Down, assassin.
"That's kinda what I do, yeah. And a few more of my cool points are about to go down the drain right now, but I'm more of a developer slash programmer type guy. I run a company that produces video games, software, stuff like that."
She felt her eyes pop a little. "You run your own company?"
He stalled with the fork half raised to his mouth. "Um. Yes. I do."
"You keep impressing me."
"Really? It's not a big company. I mean, it's definitely not super well-known. We've got some growth to do and I'd like to reach out to a larger demographic, you know? Women in particular. I find that the gaming industry in general doesn't have enough three-dimensional women characters. And there are a lot of girls—women even—who game just as much as guys do. But they're forced to play as characters that are dudes who tend not to be very relatable, you know? So that's what I've been working on lately. Trying to create a few games that…really… I'm so sorry. I go on and on sometimes. I just…" He made a race car sound effect and thrust his hand out in front of him. "You gotta stop me when I start running my mouth like that. I'm a rambler."
She smiled quietly. "I didn't want to stop you. You don't meet that many people who actually enjoy their work." Like how she was enjoying her own work less and less with each mission. Just being good at her job felt like it wasn't enough anymore. "And it's interesting," she continued. "I actually didn't know there were all that many women who played video games."
He gave her a shocked look and she felt a little sheepish. It wasn't like being an assassin kept her connected to the world at large. Why would she know anything about video games? Except that they existed and there were people out there who played them. Admittedly, she'd always pictured smelly guys with bloodshot eyes and chip breath.
"There are a lot of female gamers. Some of the male programmers are jack asses about it and try to ignore just how many women there are. Nobody I would hire, obviously. Like enjoying a good video game is exclusive to the male population or something."
Sarah bit her cheek to keep from smiling at him as she saw how huffy he was getting. This was his career he was talking about, and it would be rude to laugh, but he made for a pretty attractive proponent for women. It was more than simply attractive, it was downright sexy.
"Basically," he broke into her thoughts, "I'm not as successful as I wanted to be at this point. I make a living. I'm successful enough. We're not Konami by any stretch of the imagination. But people buy my games and play them. And like them. I think." His smile made her feel…strange, so she dug into her filet with more fervor in an attempt to ignore the feeling. Maybe a little iron in her system was what she needed. Maybe she was just iron deficient. That was it.
"Sounds pretty cool."
"Does it?" he asked in a flat voice and she laughed. "Okay, admittedly, I know absolutely nothing about video games, and I don't think I've ever even played any."
"Not ever?"
"Never. I've played Pac-Man, but that was when I was a kid and that's more of an arcade game, right?"
"Well, you know something. You know there's a difference between video games and arcade games."
"Are you making fun of me?" Her jaw dropped, even as her eyes sparkled flirtatiously. Even then, he looked sincerely troubled that he'd offended her as he sat up a little.
"No! Not at all. I'm pretty sure I'm the one who would normally be made fun of in this situation." He pretended to push glasses up his nose. "Am I right?"
That made her laugh. "I was just teasing you, Chuck. I'm not offended. I can't change my lack of gamerness whether it makes me uncool or not."
"Trust me. I am a professional at…gamerness…" She winked, causing him to let her have a slow smile as he continued. "And I can tell you outright that you are way cooler than I am. By default. Because you are not a gamer."
Dismissing the way her dress felt a bit tighter around her chest at seeing him smile like that, she skewered a carrot and popped it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
"So what about you? You here on business?"
For a moment, she felt like her chair had slipped out from under her and she was falling. How unbelievably stupid could she be? As much as she'd been anticipating this date, she hadn't come up with a cover story as to why she was here, or what she did for her career. Saying "I'm paid by your government to kill bad guys" wouldn't go over too well on the first date.
She was woefully unprepared.
And this was completely out of character. She was one of the best spies in the CIA. And absolutely the most effective killer they had. And yet, she hadn't come up with a backstory. What the hell was wrong with her?
"I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that if you don't want to."
"No! No, it's not that." She smiled at him to cover up the slight panic, waving her hand in front of her. "It's just sort of complicated to explain. I have to think about it, you know? My work involves a lot of different things." She bit her lip, watching as he leaned forward in interest. He wanted to know about her and for some reason, that made her insides feel a little…squirmy. If only the truth wasn't so horrific to a regular person like Chuck. "It's actually, um…" She wracked her brain for a second and then went for it. "Translations."
"Translations?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah." She felt foolish. Only because she had inadvertently let him in on something incredibly personal—not that he would know that.
She had always loved languages. She loved listening to them, loved speaking them. She loved studying them. She loved how it could personify a nation or a culture, or how they were all so beautiful in their own way. If she had gone to college for herself, studied what she wanted to study, maybe she would have become a translator or something somewhere. If she hadn't been pulled into the CIA. In a lot of ways, she did work as a translator. She used her knowledge of languages nearly every day—but not in the way she'd dreamed when she was a little girl watching the hotel room's TV in different countries while her dad pulled his cons.
"So you sit in those rooms, you know, with the headphones, and just translate speeches for people and stuff like that? Like at UN meetings?"
"Well, I'm not…I mean, sure. Yes. Sometimes. Um…lots of traveling, though."
His eyes lit up. "Wow. That's really awesome. So the whole knowing eleven languages thing really pays off in your line of work, huh?"
"It can, yeah. I'm always practicing, though." That was true, too. But lately she hadn't had the urge or the time. The drive to do much more than her job had completely dried up lately. She hadn't had the willpower.
It wasn't escaping her notice that she had subconsciously chosen to give Chuck the persona that she would have wanted for herself if her life had turned out differently. If she hadn't been recruited right after high school.
Not that she would have gone to college if Graham hadn't showed up. College meant having money. It meant having promise and prospects. It meant not having the threat of a criminal record hovering over your head, or having a con artist father who got you into trouble too many times to count. It meant having a lot of things she never would have had if she hadn't gone into the CIA.
She didn't regret choosing that path. Because every other path would have led to her destruction. Eventually. The CIA had given her the Farm, where she was trained, taught to survive in any circumstances, beat the odds…win every time.
But if she had gone to college, she would have majored in languages. Or literature. Or both at the same time. And she would have worked in an embassy, and traveled across the world, studying even more languages and cultures, history, maybe even art and architecture.
For some reason, the lie made her feel worse, and even then, the way he was smiling at her and making her feel at ease conflicted directly with the awful feeling of lying to his face.
She'd never felt guilt about lying before. Lying was the language she knew best, even better than English, probably.
"That's so impressive. I cannot language. Not even a little. Just English. And even then, I sometimes wonder if I've even got that one down." She was amused by his purposeful misuse of language as a verb instead of the noun that it was. He was playful and she wasn't used to that. "I was always the one saying 'Ho-La. Como es-toss?' and failing all the quizzes." He shook his head. "I couldn't art, either. I tended to draw stick figure dudes hanging out of stick helicopters." She cracked up. "I shit you not," he chuckled. "That is the extent of my art abilities."
"I highly doubt that, Chuck."
"No, I'm serious. I'm so bad."
"But what you do…it's a form of art, isn't it? It's sort of a language, too, in a lot of ways." She speared an asparagus and bit the end off daintily. "You're a computer guru. You make video games. I mean, so much art and math goes into that. I think math could be considered a language. For smart guys like you, at least."
"I've got people who work for me, though. I do the storyboards and the gameplay and programming and all of that—you know, me and my colleagues—and then I give the artists a concept and see what they come up with…Then I choose what goes best with my ideas and bam. We go and we don't stop 'til we've got a game."
"Fine. So you don't do the art, but I still think what you do is art. Just a different kind."
He smiled. "I'll let you have that. Only because I'm a nice guy and I tend not to be very competitive. I was born that way."
She laughed again, but then he glanced off to the side and his pleased smile melted into a momentary look of horror. Just like that, he pushed his spoon off of the table so that it fell to the floor with a clang. "Oh, my spoon! I better go ahead and get that!"
Chuck ducked beneath the tablecloth, leaving Sarah to stare across the table in confusion. He didn't come up after five seconds, after ten, after fifteen. She cleared her throat daintily and looked around the restaurant.
Finally, she tentatively leaned forward to peek at him. His head was buried under the table cloth, but he was still sitting on the chair. And he was definitely not moving to pick up any spoon.
"Chuck?"
"Yep?"
"Uh. Is…everything okay? Are you okay?"
"Oh, sure. I'm fine."
"You sort of look like an ostrich is all. Did you lose the spoon or…?"
"Um. Nope. No, I've got it."
"Uh. Ooookay."
She heard him sigh heavily and she ignored the voice in her head telling her she was crazy for playing along with this foolishness. But she was curious, and amused, too…but mostly curious. If she'd still had any doubt about him not being a spy or enemy agent, she would lay it to rest now. She ducked under the tablecloth to look at him. "Hi."
"Hey!" His eyes bugged out. "I'm so sorry."
"What are you doing under here?"
He squinted his eyes sheepishly. "Did you happen to see the couple standing at the entrance to the restaurant?"
She wracked her brain. "Um…no, I didn't."
"He has sandy blond hair. Tall. Super handsome and, uh…built like an Ancient Greek Olympian? And she's got dark brown hair, tall, very pretty. Smiley. Wearing a green sundress."
She pulled her head out from under the tablecloth and peeked over her shoulder. A couple that fit his description to a tee stood at the entrance to the restaurant, speaking to to the hostess there.
She ducked back down beneath the tablecloth. "Okay."
"They're still there?"
"Yeah."
"Damn it."
She moved to peek at them again. "Do you know them?" she asked, before diving back under.
He winced, licking his lips, his eyes darting back and forth. And then he sighed. "I was on the ferry to Calvi with them the other day. We got to chatting, you know. Super nice people. Really nice. But, um…not very attuned to personal bubbles."
"Ohhh, you're avoiding them because they're annoying?"
Chuck winced again. "That makes me sound like a huge jerk, but—"
"No, no. I get it. There are some people who are kind of nosy and maybe a little too friendly."
"Exactly. Are, um, are they still there?"
She peeked over her shoulder again, casting her eyes towards the entrance first, and then sitting up straight to look around the restaurant in case they were seated. She leaned down and pulled the tablecloth up so that he could see her face. "They're gone."
Relief spilled over his features and he sat up normally again. She joined him and leaned her elbows on the table, watching as he fixed his curly hair as best he could.
"Thank you for that. I really appreciate it. You probably think I'm nuts, or really mean. " She shook her head as he continued. "I just knew that if they saw me, they would rush over here, pull up two chairs, and hang out with us for the rest of the night. I couldn't lose 'em once I got to Calvi. Which was totally fine then. But right now, I'd sort of like to just, um, hang out with you. Just you. You know?"
The weirdness of the last few minutes was more amusing than anything else, but now it felt kind of…good. She couldn't describe it any other way. It felt good to know that he acted like a fool because he wanted to be with just her for the rest of the night.
And he'd seemed to have no qualms about admitting it to her.
"No, I-I get it," she finally answered. "It's okay."
And as she realized that they'd finished the bottle of wine, she pulled her lips to the side pensively. "Do you want to get out of here, maybe? In case your nosey friends decide to come back?"
He sighed in relief, a wide smile sweeping over his features. "That's a great idea."
"Great. I'm just going to go pay the bill…" She saw his eyes widen, opening his mouth to interrupt, but she talked over him. "No. I'm paying for dinner, Chuck. I asked you out, remember?"
"But this is expensive. I don't want you to have to—"
"You can cover the bill at the next place."
He made a low growling noise and glared teasingly, relenting. "Fine, then. I've got the next one."
"Deal. I'll be right back."
Grabbing her purse, she stood up and smiled at him, setting a hand on his shoulder as she swept past to go pay the bill. It didn't take long, and she found herself casting a few candid glances at her date as he waited.
He cut quite the figure sitting there in that rather too small chair, his back to her. And he looked a little like he belonged here in Nice. With those dark curls being pushed around his head a little by the Riviera breeze. The dark suit he wore without a tie, adding to the appealing mix between smart and casual. He also had a naturally tan hue to his skin. She wondered if he lived in a sunny state and that was where he got his tan. Or maybe he'd just been here long enough that he'd developed that skin tone.
When she finally made her way back, he sensed her approaching and stood up from the table, smiling down at her warmly. "So where to?"
We'd apparently unanimously agreed to continue the date from here.
"I think I might have a place. If you like good coffee. It's a bit of a walk unless you want to take—"
"A walk sounds perfect. Can we stroll along the boardwalk?"
"Absolutely." Sarah took his arm and led him out of the covered eating area to walk towards the steps that led down onto the boardwalk.
She resisted the urge to slide both her arms around his right one as they stepped onto the boardwalk and began strolling. Instead she folded her arms under her chest and clutched her own biceps in her hands.
"So where are you from?" she asked finally, after a few comfortable moments of quiet between them as they looked out towards the red setting sun. It was lowering further and further behind the Mediterranean, its descent quick.
"Where do I hail from?" he drawled, tilting his head and squinting over her head at the sun. "Los Angeles."
That made a lot of sense.
"Wow. A California boy, huh?"
"Born and bred."
She nodded. "It's a nice area."
"Have you been?"
"A few times, yeah." Killed a man there once. Almost got walked in on by the bodyguard when I was cleaning up.
"Cool. Well, how about you? From whence do you come?"
She smirked, even as she wracked her brain for an answer. "D.C.," she finally answered. She had a small apartment there. She rarely saw the inside of it, but it was there. Waiting for her. In between assignments. A quick shot to Langley.
"Oh, wow. D.C. is nice. I went on a high school trip to D.C. Saw all the monuments. Stood outside of the White House gate and looked at it for a few minutes. Waved at the president." He lifted a hand and waved out at the ocean, causing Sarah to giggle.
"Those things are all pretty nice, yeah." She couldn't remember the last time she'd been to any of the monuments, unless one of her peers was making a drop there for her to pick-up. And when that happened, she was too focused on the job to take in her surroundings.
"You probably get tired of the monuments a little though, huh? Living there, I mean. Seeing it every day…"
"I never really notice. Do you get tired of the Hollywood sign?" She raised her eyebrows at him in curiosity.
"No," he chuckled. "But I don't see it as often as all that. And it's kinda just…home." His smile was soft and warm and she unconsciously squeezed her arms a little tighter.
"That's nice."
"Yeah?"
She looked up at him. "Yeah."
They walked for another half hour along the boardwalk, pausing their walk and light conversation to watch the sunset for a bit until it slipped all the way behind the water. She pulled him away from the rail and sea, and up towards the little shops and eateries.
Keeping hold of his arm this time, Sarah led him about a block inland to a pleasant bistro that smelled of coffee beans and hazelnut. And as they ordered their coffee, Chuck surprised her by ordering a raspberry brûlée AND a crêpe filled with cream and strawberries. "Figure we can pick at both," he said as he put his wallet away and they moved to sit at a small table in the corner of the bistro. The lights outside were dazzling and part of her wanted to be out there, breathing the fresh air, watching the people. It was strange how she'd slowly started to care about those things, care about her surroundings.
And then at the same time, a larger part of her liked that she was nestled in here, with the smell of fresh coffee beans and Chuck's company. It was warm and cozy, and the table was small enough that she could lean forward and press her lips against his without moving too much…if she dared.
Did she dare?
"Have you ever tasted a better cup of coffee? It's like the gods ground the beans themselves. Holy hell."
She smiled. "Welcome to France."
"And what a welcome it is." His response was quiet, slow, and there was some deeper meaning beneath the veneer of politeness. A certain glint in his eye. Like he was talking about her instead of just the coffee. Or she was digging too deep, overanalyzing, making a fool of herself.
And when had she ever made a fool of herself with anyone? She tried to push back against the trepidation tingling in her chest.
Instead of letting it show, Sarah merely smiled and began picking at the crêpe. "Is this your first time to France?" she asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence in which they sipped their coffee and munched on the desserts Chuck had bought for them to share.
"No, actually. I went to Paris once. Only for a few days. Business trip. Didn't see nearly as much as I wanted to, that's for sure. Didn't even get to go to any of the museums, or to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Although I did get myself onto the Seine, though. Which was majestic."
"No Eiffel Tower?"
"I stood at the bottom and looked up. Which was still something."
She let out a light, melodic hum of amusement.
He spread his hands and shrugged, and she couldn't help but keep smiling at him. They ate in relative quietude, and Sarah enjoyed it. She'd never truly enjoyed conversing all that much, honestly. Although, Chuck had so far made it pretty enjoyable.
"Do you want to go somewhere else?" she finally asked once they cleaned the plates. "I mean, this is nice. And the dessert was great, but…"
"Where d'you have in mind? I've got all night. No curfew." He grinned cheesily.
"Oh, really? No girlfriend waiting for you back at your hotel?"
"Nope." He paused, raising an eyebrow thoughtfully and pursing his lips. "At least I don't think so. That'd be kind of strange, if I went back to find a woman—That's not funny anymore. I went on too long with it."
She giggled. "Maybe. So yes on the someplace new?"
"Yes. Absolutely." He leapt to his feet and came around the small table to reach down and help her up, and then they walked out of the cafe together, down the sidewalk. She knew of a place. She'd seen it a few nights ago after following the sound of uplifting music. As much as she had wanted to wander into the group that night, she'd stayed back in the shadows.
The joy on their faces, that beautiful glow of humanity that emanated from the makeshift dance floor…it wasn't a place for someone like her. Especially not alone. She'd imagined herself slinking into the group and the music stopping and everyone staring at her like she was a zombie or something—something less than alive, something less than human.
But she had a partner this time. And even though she was a little nervous, she felt alive. She felt human.
Grinning, she reached down and grabbed Chuck's hand, hurrying her pace so that he had to skip a little to keep up with her.
"Whoa," he chuckled. "Where are you taking me, anyway?"
"Do you dance?"
His eyes widened in what looked like fear for a moment and she laughed on impulse. "Wow, so that's a no."
"No, no," he rushed reaching out to gently set his hand on the crook of her arm. "I mean, well no. But—I'm not a huge dancer. I don't dance. What I mean to say is…um…"
"Come onnn. What's the worst that can happen?"
"Oh, I can think of sooo many things."
So could she, come to think of it. But she wasn't letting him talk her out of this. "Are you afraid?"
"See, you think you can chicken me into going dancing with you. But that isn't gonna work because I have no shame in saying that I am afraid. I just admitted it. Easily. I'm afraid. You're gonna bring me to this place, and you're gonna see my dancing abilities (or lack thereof), and you're gonna run in the other direction." He pointed off in the direction behind them. "And that's if you still can because I might've already crushed your pretty toes beyond use by then."
Sarah laughed, letting her head tilt to the side. "I promise not to run, no matter how bad you are."
Chuck scoffed. "You say that now."
"Look. Hold on. Wait. Wait a second." She pulled him to a stop and looked up at him through her lashes. "Nobody knows you here. Nobody can judge. Nobody will judge. It'll just be us. Everyone else will be too focused on themselves and their partners. Please, Chuck. I haven't gotten to go dancing in so long. And we're in Nice."
She knew she was reaching into her bag of tricks for this, but she really wanted this. She was a little surprised by just how much she wanted it. Dancing wasn't something she typically did for enjoyment. Not with how entrenched she usually was in missions, and with her marks.
He wrinkled his face up and looked at her through narrowed eyes, pressing his lips together. "Do you love dancing?"
She took a deep breath. "I think there's a freedom in it that is very different from anything else. A way of connecting with the things around you…while also being completely disconnected. It makes me feel alive, and human." She didn't mean to let that part out. And she suddenly backtracked a little, because she was letting tonight—him—make her feel like she could say anything.
That was a very bad thing. There were so many wrong things that could come slipping out if she got too comfortable with him.
She looked up at him through her eyelashes and saw he was watching her with a certain look that made her feel like he was seeing something inside of her she didn't mean for him to see. It made her uncomfortable.
He smiled slowly and gave her another feeling, then he shook his head and shoved his hands in his pockets. "You'relovely."
She really had nothing she could say to that outside of looking down at her feet, sincerely shy.
He shook himself a little. "And you are a linguist. With all of your poetic words," he said quickly, as if trying to brush off his little moment of candidness.
"Shut up. Are we dancing or not?" She attempted to hide the smirk that threatened at his teasing, but it didn't work at all. She maybe wasn't trying hard enough, though.
"All you really had to say was that you like dancing. I wouldn't be able to deny you even if I tried."
Her heart kicked a little at her ribcage and she felt so light and airy in that moment. "Really?"
"Absolutely. Let's go dancing." She clapped her hands together once in sincere excitement, absolutely beaming. But then he pointed at her, lowering his chin. "But you promised not to run when you see my piss poor dance moves. Remember?"
"I won't," she promised, feeling…giddy? Was that what that feeling was? Like she might float up into the clouds and never come down. She'd never been giddy before. She'd acted parts, manipulated, lied to make herself seem giddy to get people to do what she wanted, but she'd never actually felt it.
"Then it's a deal." He offered her his hand and she shook it gently, keeping her hand tucked into his for as long as she possibly could without it being awkward. His hand was large and warm, the way it wrapped completely around hers so easily…
Sarah led him the rest of the way, and they spent those ten minutes in relative quiet, enjoying the soft light from the lanterns along the path, the sound of the water lapping at the rocks below them, and the soft sea breeze blowing at their hair, lifting the hem of Sarah's dress and making it flutter gently at her knees.
"So full disclosure," she finally said as they neared the corner around which she'd seen the dancers a few nights before, "I'm not actually sure they're gonna be here."
He pressed his lips together and raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I'm not sure if it was an every night thing, or spur of the moment. I should've mentioned it earlier, but…"
They rounded the corner and heard the soft sound of an accordion, a guitar, a violin, and the soft singing voice of a woman drifting along the Mediterranean night breeze. Sarah grinned and spun to look at him in anticipation. "Still here!"
"What if they weren't?" he chuckled.
"Umm, I don't really know. I guess you'd be off the hook."
He faked a whine as she laughed and elbowed him teasingly. "Come on. Listen, it's slow. You can do that, right?"
"I hope so."
As he shrugged good-naturedly, Sarah wondered if he wasn't just selling himself short. Or maybe he really was that bad at dancing. It was nothing she couldn't fix.
Sarah's natural grace made her a skilled dancer. And if he really couldn't dance, she'd be a patient instructor, she told herself silently.
As they walked down the long wooden pier that was lit with beautiful white lights strewn along the railing, she felt his body tense a little. He was nervous about dancing.
But these people had seemed so polite, letting other couples jump in. She'd watched the other night as one woman took over with a man and showed him a few steps, much to his female partner's delight.
And when Sarah led Chuck onto the large square dock at the end, they were greeted warmly in French and beckoned to join. There were maybe twelve other couples moving around the floor, most of them in their own little romantic world together.
Chuck's feet seemed rooted to the wood beneath them, his eyes a little wide and his shoulders hunched and unsure. So she took his hands, putting his right on her waist and taking his left hand in her right. They were pressed so close together she could almost feel him breathing, his chest shifting against hers.
She began moving them along the floor, their steps slow and precise. The lights strung above them glinted in his eyes in a beautiful way, but she had to stay focused to make sure she wasn't stepped on by him.
She discovered quickly that he wasn't as bad as he'd insisted. He wasn't anything close to as skilled as most of the men she'd danced with before, but he was a quick learner. And she wondered if it was just a matter of women letting him get away with saying "I don't dance", and therefore he never really got any dancing experience.
After some time he started getting into it. She could see it on his face, the way the panic faded and he just swayed back and forth, smiling down at her. There was a thread of pride in the way he moved, a bit of surprise and confidence in his warm eyes.
But when the band started to pick up more of a dark and sexy tango beat, he began to lose his footsteps a little, the pattern escaping him completely. And when he lifted his gaze to the stars above them helplessly, she had to fight to keep from giggling at his expense.
"It's okay. Here. Just follow me. We'll go slow."
She held him even closer, noticing the way he gulped as their bodies pressed together. At least she wasn't the only one. He was just so tall, his arms stronger than they looked, his hands strangely gentle in how they held hers. And he was so endearing, concentrating with a furrowed brow, his tongue poking out between his lips.
"Step right, together. Again. That's it. A little sway. There you go. And then left twice. And just repeat it over and over. Right, right. Good. Left, left. Perfect." Once he picked up the rhythm of the music, he was fine, and he even leaned closer, turning his face into her hair. She turned her face into him as well and let her eyes drift shut.
The minutes passed and the music changed a few times.
Maybe it was the full moon, coupled with the romantic lighting and the music. Or the smell of the ocean, the way Chuck's body was shielding her from the chill of the breeze that picked up way out here on the pier.
She didn't know what it was. Maybe his cologne.
But she felt for the first time since she could remember that things were out of her control. Being wrapped up in his arms, feeling his cheek against her hair, the way he slid his hand from her hip to move around her waist and pull her even closer.
Her toes curled in her shoes, even as she danced.
One thing was for certain. This might be dangerous. And the fact that she didn't care at that moment was even more dangerous.
She willfully ignored that thought and stayed lost in him, memorized this feeling, stored it away for the future. Who knew if anything would ever feel this good again?
The musicians played the last few notes of their song, until it drifted off over the sea breeze and they were standing in the midst of only a few couples now, clapping politely for the band.
Sarah didn't shy away from the look Chuck was giving her as they stopped dancing. Like nothing else around them even existed. Like he'd gotten just as lost in her as she was in him.
This had never happened before. Not to her.
Then he smiled and looked down, lifting his wrist up between them to look at his watch. His eyes bugged out. "Oh my God. It's five minutes to midnight."
Sarah gaped. "You're lying."
"Nope. It's almost midnight."
The band was packing up, chatting as the couples dispersed slowly, gathering their belongings and trudging up the pier and back to the mainland.
She and Chuck had been there for nearly three hours. Three hours?
"We've been dancing here for three hours?" she asked out loud.
"That's the way it seems. You know, I don't think I've danced three hours if you took how much I danced the last twenty six years of my life and added it all together." That made her giggle. "I think you've made me a believer."
"Apparently," she agreed, grinning.
They called out their thanks to the band and followed the rest of the stragglers who'd stayed to the end.
As they stepped onto the boardwalk, Chuck turned to face her, slowly walking backwards, his hands shoved in his pockets. "Hotel? Or do you want to go clubbing until three in the morning?"
"I know you're joking, but I'm pretty sure that if we went to a club, we'd end up staying 'til it closed with our track record."
"Ha! Really. What is with that anyways? I mean, what happened?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. Magic."
Chuck smiled softly and stopped. "The French Riviera put a spell on us."
"That must be it. Why don't we just head back? It'll take a half hour anyways."
"Unless we run. Ready GO!" He pretended like he was going to take off and Sarah's competitive streak reared its head even though she knew he was teasing.
"Hey!" She grabbed him and held him back as he giggled like a little boy. "I don't race in heels."
That was sort of a lie. She'd run in heels more times than she could count. It was the nature of her work as a CIA agent. As an assassin.
"That's probably a good idea. Although, if you broke your ankle I'd happily carry you home," he said gallantly. The crooked smile on his face was definitely flirtatious, and she dropped her filter.
"Uh huh. And put me right into bed."
She blushed and looked away. Damn it!
There'd been a hint of sincere invitation in her tone beneath the teasing.
She was an expert at flirtation, blatant come ons, seduction. She used all of those to get her marks, her targets, right where she wanted them. But this? This was real. Chuck was real. He wasn't a mark or a target. He was a sweet guy who'd just learned how to enjoy dancing. Who, before that, bought her dessert, and even before that hid under the table from people who might ruin the date if they saw him.
But because he was sweet and not quite as socially inept as someone who called himself a nerd should be, Chuck moved onto a different subject, sticking his hands in his pockets as they continued along the boardwalk. However, as they passed under a lamp, she saw that he was blushing. A part of her was satisfied that he hadn't been able to ignore her words completely, even if she was embarrassed by how carelessly she'd said it.
Their conversation flowed easily as they walked back to their hotel. Her cheeks hurt a little from smiling, and she just felt…full. Warm. Like a regular person for the first time since she could remember.
Neither of them had to say a word as they stepped into the elevator and she pressed the button for her floor. Chuck didn't make any kind of move to press the button for his own floor, leaning back against the railing with his hands in his pockets. In the weird lighting of the elevator, he looked almost mysterious, an enigma of a man who was candid, sincere, honest…and totally extraordinary. Unlike anyone she'd ever come across before.
The elevator doors slid open and she smiled at him. Again, no words were exchanged as he followed her out of the elevator and down the hallway. She turned to the right and walked all the way to the end of the hall, glancing out of the window at the expanse of the Mediterranean stretching out into the distance, the lights of the city flickering against the Cote d'Azur. Her smile widened a little as she realized this was the first time she'd really stopped to look at the view out of this window.
"Oh, wow. You get to see this every night?" Chuck asked near her ear, looking out of the window from where he stood behind her.
"Yep." She looked at him over her shoulder, the moonlight shining off of his face—so handsome and struck with a boyish look of wonder. "I do," she breathed quietly.
Sarah had her key in her hand, having already slipped it out of her handbag as they walked down the hall, but she all but forgot what she was supposed to do with it, the fact that they were standing at her door completely leaving her mind. And she turned around, stepping even closer.
Resting her hand on his lapel, gently sliding it lower, tucking it beneath his jacket and feeling his chest beneath the dress shirt he wore, she let everything else slip to the back of her mind. Even though she wore heels, he was still a few inches taller than her, so she pushed herself up onto her tiptoes, ever so slowly.
She bumped his nose with hers and his brown eyes softened beneath his furrowed brow.
Agent Sarah Walker, CIA assassin, dropped her walls and let her fears fall at her feet, any and all notion of duty to Langston Graham, to the CIA, following closely behind. And she brushed her lips against his, so softly, pulling back just slightly and looking up at him to gauge his reaction.
If she'd been in a place to think about it, she would've been unsettled by how tentative she was, how much she was fretting over what he wanted; when before she would've just taken without worrying, knowing the power she had over men.
Chuck tilted his head a little, looking at her in wonder…similar to how he'd just been looking at the view outside the window a moment earlier.
His mouth turned up in one corner and he leaned in to kiss her again. There was nothing tentative about it. This was a full-on kiss.
She was almost dizzy from the sensation, and Chuck must have felt it. Because his arms wrapped around her then, cradling her. Even if her legs failed to function, it wouldn't matter. He was now holding her up, holding her against him.
Sarah got her bearings again and slid her arm up and around his neck, tangling her other hand in the lapel of his jacket and tugging him close. His lips were soft but insistent. And he tasted amazing. Like coffee and berries. His body was strong but comfortable at the same time as she pressed herself into his embrace.
She could feel his large hands spread against her back, the one positioned lower sliding to her hip. Sarah actually felt his thumb gently stroke her hip bone over the cloth of her dress and she just barely held back a moan.
The smallest action and she was on the verge of moaning? She didn't know what was happening, but she didn't want to stop it. It was dangerous. The impact he was having on her senses, the way he was making her feel just from having his lips on hers, his arms wrapped around her.
And she wasn't moving from his embrace. She knew she should. She knew she should pull back, put a stop to this, and run. She should exercise caution. This was selfishness. Pure selfishness.
Instead, she just kissed him a little harder.
When she heard him let out a soft growl, Sarah just barely resisted leaping into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, and begging him to take her into her room.
Slow down, assassin.
Thank God she needed to breathe; and at the same time she rued the fact that humans required oxygen to live. She pulled back slowly, her lips still pursed, her eyelids fluttering. They were clinging, his jacket twisted in her hand, the fingers of her other hand twisted in his curls at the back of his head.
She pulled back all the way, opening her eyes to look up at him; his eyes were still shut, lips still pursed. He took a deep breath and when his eyes finally opened, they were swirling with exactly what she was feeling at this moment.
Like something had just happened between them, something neither of them really understood.
And then Chuck took a step back, as if trying to break the spell. She could tell that it didn't work for him any more than it worked for her. Even though he was a good foot away, his hands straightening his jacket, she could still feel them against her back. She could still feel his lips moving hotly over hers, his tongue lightly brushing her lips.
His brown eyes flicked down to the carpet beneath their feet and he smiled a little, bending down to pick up the key card she hadn't even realized she'd dropped when they kissed.
She didn't think she'd ever lost focus this much. She'd never allowed herself to.
"Thank you," she breathed as he handed it back to her.
Sarah opened her door and turned back to him, but found he'd taken a small, meaningful step back. She received the message, and it made her smile more sincerely than she thought she'd ever smiled in her life. Even as he put some distance between them, letting her know he wasn't coming inside, she could see in his face how badly he wanted to. The way his gaze flicked over her shoulder, as if allowing himself a quick peek of Heaven, before he settled his brown eyes back on her blue ones.
"Goodnight, Sarah."
She didn't even know what to think about this man standing in front of her, except that she had never met anyone like him. "Goodnight," she answered.
He didn't wink or grin or smirk or anything like that. He just blinked twice and spun on his heel, very obviously forcing himself to walk away. Halfway down the hallway, he turned back, catching her eye as she leaned out of the doorway to watch him. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself, his eyes flicking down to his feet, and then back up again. This time he was resolved. And instead of coming back to her, he let out a long breath. "Thanks for the dance lessons."
"Anytime."
And they were both very definitely aware of exactly what was going on. It hung in the air between them like a glorious inside joke. Now he was grinning. He shook his head at himself, let out a comical breath of air that blew a few curls on his forehead, and strolled away.
Sarah waited until he was out of sight, then ducked back into her room, shut the door, and leaned against it.
It was best that she didn't see him again, she knew. He made her feel like a regular girl. And that meant letting her guard down. Letting her guard down was dangerous.
Still, she thought of him while undressing, while climbing into bed, while staring at the ceiling and trying to fall asleep…
There were more important things she should be focusing on. Like her future with the CIA, whether or not she actually wanted to be involved with the agency anymore, what she would do if she did quit. Instead of falling asleep with that on her mind, though, Agent Sarah Walker drifted off with the image of Chuck's handsome face set in deep concentration as he looked down at her feet while she taught him to dance. The way he freaked when he accidentally stepped on her toes just a little. His boyish excitement when he finally did it right. Finally, just before she reached full unconsciousness, she felt his lips on hers, and she spent the rest of the night with a barely visible smile on her face.
Thank you for reading! More soon!
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