The Trapped Assassin

By SarahsSupplyCloset

Author's Note: I think I might have the best readers on the planet.

That is all.

Disclaimer: I do not own CHUCK, nor am I the master of its characters. Also I don't make money from writing this which is fine.

Chapter 6: Two Piña Coladas Please

Sarah peered over the rim of her coffee cup at Chuck as he attempted to read the back of her mystery novel, his nose and forehead wrinkled, his hair mussed from the paths her fingers had made in it. She smirked to herself, deciding his whole person looked incredibly mussed.

But he also looked as relaxed and satisfied as she felt.

He reached over to pick up his own cup and brought it to his lips, sipping it. "Black", he'd said when she asked what he liked in his coffee. "I like my coffee like I like my life. Pristine. Untainted." And then he'd laughed at himself when she rolled her eyes.

For her part, Sarah enjoyed her cream and sugar filled dishonest coffee…even if it did mirror her own dishonest existence.

She pushed aside the thought that she was, at this moment, being dishonest with Chuck. That she'd been dishonest with him since the beginning.

Because she liked him a lot.

And she liked this.

Just sitting here and enjoying the breeze on her balcony, chatting, having a late breakfast after continuing to have really amazing sex for a solid hour and a half.

"Amazing" probably didn't do that time they spent in her bed justice. Mind blowing was getting closer. Life-altering, even better.

She didn't care about the vocabulary, because she could still feel it when she closed her eyes and relaxed. His lips on her skin, his hands grappling at her body, fingers digging into her hips, his weight on top of her, and his hips crushed between her thighs. If she really concentrated, she could even feel the sensation of him inside of her.

She had to be careful, though, because if she thought too hard about that, he might catch her blush. And the way her toes curled against the cement of the railing her feet were currently propped against.

"Okay, so this novel sounds interesting."

Thank God he broke into her thoughts right then.

"It's in French," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"I know, but the way the words look next to each other…just…really nice."

She laughed and made to swipe the book from him, but he had fast reflexes and he pulled it out of her reach, raising his eyebrows innocently at her as she faux-glared.

"What's it about?" he asked.

"A taxi driver drops a young woman off at this house up on a hill, and he hears some screaming when she goes in, so he goes to investigate and the house is abandoned, boarded up, nobody inside, nobody anywhere around. So he goes to the police and it turns out this girl he describes, the name he gives, is actually one of their recent missing persons. They suspect him but don't have the evidence to arrest him. Basically it's about him and this investigator friend of his trying to figure out where she went to clear his name and…yeah." She shrugged. "It's alright."

"Well, that actually sounds really interesting. But here's the thing…The name Vernon?" He tapped the name on the summary on the back. "Vernon. Not the coolest protagonist name ever, I gotta say."

She pursed her lips. "Says the man named Chuck."

"Hey, noww," he said, pointing at her with her own book, chuckling in spite of himself, "That's different. I'm not the protagonist of a mystery novel. And anyways, my real name is Charles. And Charles is the perfect mystery protagonist name. So ha!"

She watched him for a moment, smiling. "Charles, huh?"

"Yep."

"So why Chuck?"

He put the book down on the table and sat up a little straighter, grabbing his croissant and taking a hearty bite out of it instead of peeling at the flaky crust like she was doing. "Ellie always called me Chuck. And it caught on. Only my parents really ever called me Charles."

And the name Charles was probably a little bitter sounding to him considering how his parents had run out on him and his sister. It all made sense. She made sure her face wasn't pitying or even sympathetic as she met his gaze. "I see. Well, for the record, it's fun teasing you about your name, but I actually like it. I like the way it feels when I say it. Chuck."

Granted, she was thinking about the sensations that went along with her saying Chuck when they were in the midst of a particularly passionate tumble in the sheets not an hour earlier, but still…Chuck was a cute name. It fit him.

"Not as good as something French, though. Like Jacque. Or, uh…um…Pierre."

Sarah giggled and shook her head. "François doesn't really go with Bartowski."

Something deep inside of her danced when he laughed, the breeze playing with the curls on top of his head. "I always liked Rémy for a name. I think Rémy would make me sound trés chic. Classy. Debonair. What d'you think?"

"Rémy Bartowski, huh? Eh."

"So I should just stick with Chuck, then, is what you're saying…"

She giggled again. "I think so."

"Yeeeeah, you're probably right. I'm used to it. Nice and quick. One syllable. What about you?"

"Me?" She leaned her head back onto the chair and rolled it to the side to look at him. "What about me?"

"Your name. Sarah. I think it's the perfect name for you."

She snorted, pulling her robe a bit tighter over her chest as it shifted. "Pretty sure no other name is as boring as mine. Sarah Walker. How many people in the world have that exact same name, do you think?" It was why Graham had given it to her. She remembered thinking the same thing when he handed her the badge the very first time a couple of years ago. It was her second badge and second name with the CIA. Well, second official name with the CIA. She'd assumed too many identities to count since she first joined as a teenager.

And yet…

The smile on his face as she groused about her name made it feel better than any other name she'd ever had.

"Sarah Walker? I don't think it's so bad. Like I said, it suits you. Bet it suits you better than any other woman named Sarah Walker."

She was curious. "Why? I mean, how?"

"In Hebrew, it means princess." She scoffed and he chuckled at her. "Don't like that?"

"I am not a princess, thanks."

"It could also be translated to mean noblewoman," he said with a shrug. She paused and let that wash over her, smirking a little. "You like that better, huh?"

She giggled. "I might. Yes."

"I honestly don't know why I said it fits you, it just…feels like it does." He smiled kindly.

"Well, then…I'll let you have it." She wrinkled her nose at him and watched as he softened significantly, melting into his chair.

Sarah took a deep breath and let the sun beat down on her face from above. It felt amazing, even if the morning breeze was a little cooler than was altogether comfortable. But after what they'd just done to one another, the cool air had been welcome as they set up on her balcony. "God, I could just sit in this perfect weather for an entire year and be totally fine with it," she breathed, smiling softly to herself and letting her eyes slip shut.

"Oh noooo."

Her eyes popped open and she sat up a bit straighter, looking at him. "What?"

"Are my conversation skills that awful?" She blinked at him, frowning in confusion. "You're talking about the weather now. You must've really run out of things to say to me—ow! Hey!" He rubbed his arm where her small paperback book hit him after she quickly lowered her feet to the cold floor and reached over to whap him one.

"Stop that," she chastised, pointing. But she smiled at him still, letting him know she was teasing as much as he was. He was so easy to banter with. And she thought that by now she knew how far she could and couldn't go with him.

Or maybe she was giving herself too much credit because she was comfortable with him.

There was a knock then, distant but very crisp, at her door. She looked at Chuck and whined, squirming a little further into her padded chair and pouting in his direction.

"What, you want me to get it?"

She smiled.

"It's not even my room," he laughed, standing up anyways.

"But it is your food."

"And yours." The knock sounded again.

"But you're dressed."

She had simply thrown on the robe again, picking it up from the floor where they'd kicked it during a particularly frenzied session at the foot of the bed. Whereas Chuck had put his jeans and T-shirt back on.

He made a face and then meandered back inside, through her bedroom and out to get their actual breakfast. She stood up and put their coffee and croissants back on the silver tray, carrying it all back inside and out of the sun, joining him in the main room just as he shut the door and pointed over his shoulder with a flick of his thumb. "So I found a pair of earrings on your dresser and gave them to him for a tip since my wallet seems to have fallen out of my pocket at some point."

She laughed, knowing he was lying since she saw him slip his wallet into his pocket as she came into the room. He grinned and gestured to the cart the waiter must have just wheeled in.

"Your breakfast awaits, Your Highness." He bowed deeply at the waist. She knew he was referring to the meaning of her name, like they'd just discussed a few minutes earlier and she gave him the stinkeye. "Shall I taste it first to make sure it isn't laced with poison?"

Before she could say anything, he hoisted the silver dome away from the food and grabbed a sizzling potato, popping it into his mouth. It was apparently hot, as his eyes widened and he tried to blow on it while it was in his mouth.

"So it is poison?" she asked with a straight face. And then she laughed and hurried to his side, picking up the glass of grapefruit juice and handing it to him.

Chuck took a swig and sighed, then made a face. "Coffee and grapefruit juice. Oh lord, that's a no-no. Mmm, nope. Yucky." He finished it off with a shiver.

She huffed in amusement. "Well, it's good for me, so…" She took the glass and downed half of it, licking her lips. "Mmmm."

"Huh. If I'd known you were a coffee plus grapefruit juice woman, I probably wouldn't have—"

She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and tugged him in, kissing him hard, knowing exactly where he'd intended on going with his teasing. When she pulled her lips back slowly, she looked up into his face, admiring her handiwork as his eyelids fluttered and his lips stayed pursed. She pecked his lips one more time and smirked. "Wouldn't have what?"

"I forgot."

Laughing, she uncovered the rest of the food, and wheeled it over to the table at the end of the room, setting it up for them as Chuck popped the champagne open and poured it into the glasses. "This is one of those hair of the dog moments for me, yeah?"

She peered over at the way he was looking at the champagne, holding the flute up in front of his face and wincing. She chuckled and shook her head. "Not if you weren't all that hungover to begin with. And anyways, it's a mimosa. That doesn't count as alcohol."

"Oh, it doesn't?" he laughed. "Well, okay then. You know a billion languages, so I'll trust you."

Seemed to her that number got bigger every time he brought it up, she thought to herself in amusement.

They ate in comfortable silence and Sarah mused at the fact that this was the third meal they'd eaten together in a row. When she'd gone over ten years at the very least eating all of her meals completely alone. She'd always preferred it that way.

And suddenly this was what she preferred. Chuck went down really well with food. And the sexual innuendo of that thought made her blush.

Luckily Chuck didn't seem to notice, as he was busy scooping at Hollandaise sauce with his muffin.

The meal went by quickly, as they were both ravenous, and Sarah felt a little bereft when Chuck announced that he was headed off to meet with his sister and her fiancé.

"I can't completely abandon them, after all. They'd wonder if I was abducted. Or even adopted. I mean, it's me. After all."

She laughed as they walked to the door, and Chuck pushed the cart out into the hallway for the staff to pick up, turning back to face her.

"Uhhhh…" He rubbed the back of his head a little shyly.

Sarah could understand his current predicament, since she was embroiled in it as well at the moment. They'd just had a lot of sex and breakfast. What were they supposed to say now as they broke off to their own lives?

Thanks for the sex and breakfast.

Enjoy the perfect French Riviera climate.

She could see him walking out of her suite, disappearing down the hallway, and she'd remember last night and this morning years later as the best time of her life. Or something equally depressing as she thought of the years of being alone that lie ahead for her.

"Can I see you again?" she heard herself ask instead. "I want to see you again."

And she was a bit surprised to find that she wasn't berating herself for saying that. It was completely true. The only way it would be more true was if she'd instead said she needed to see him again.

There was no way she was strong enough to put a stop to this now. In this moment. Looking at him standing here in his shirt that had DC Comics scrawled across it. He was just so endearing. And damn it all, he was so hot. Sexy, even. She felt a little privileged that this self-proclaimed nerd had bestowed upon her some legitimately impressive talents and techniques, something so many women missed out on where he was concerned.

No, she couldn't cut him loose just yet.

It was too soon after the feelings he'd awakened in her. The ecstasy was all too fresh in her mind, in her body.

"That would be fantastic," he said immediately. "Can we please do that? Yes." And then he put his hands on either side of the doorframe, looking very tall and imposing…without being intimidating in the slightest. It was strangely erotic. "Dinner? Tomorrow?"

She nodded and shrugged cutely. "Sounds perfect."

"Casual, this time. Maybe someplace without wine. Just a thought."

Sarah laughed and agreed, pleasantly sidetracked from everything else when he caught her lips in a quick, lovely kiss.

"See ya."

She watched him go, sighing like an absolute idiot when he looked back over his shoulder to give her one of his beaming grins. And then he turned the corner and she ducked back into her suite, shutting the door and letting out the longest, most achingly satisfied moan she ever heard come from her mouth. She thumped her head against the door and sighed again, unable to kill the grin that was just about hurting her face it was so big.

Was sex supposed to be that good?

Better question. Was a singular human being supposed to be that good?

At the very least, make the thoughtful, sweet, kind, funny, dreamy, adorable, intelligent man suck in the sack.

But no.

He had turned her world on its head a handful of times this morning, in a handful of different ways. Not that it was a one-sided thing. She'd been at her best, as well. He'd made herwant to work harder, be better, and the result was…well, unspeakable. Frankly.

She giggled rather maniacally as she practically danced across the room and flopped onto the chaise, simply lying there with one arm falling limply off the side, the other hand playing with the tie of her robe.

And she must have stayed there for over an hour, just letting her mind go blank, not even spending a single millisecond thinking about work or the future, or anything really. Except the last few hours of her life. Reliving it over and over and over.

She was only human, after all.

—

The moonlight glittered off of the dark Mediterranean waters that stretched as far as the eye could see. One lone yacht was anchored about a mile or so away, the light sparkling on the black horizon. Last night's full moon had meant no moon tonight, which was just as well, considering a cloud cover had moved in a few hours earlier.

It made the air a bit chillier than the lone figure walking along the rocky beach had anticipated. She huddled herself up a bit tighter in her cotton knit wrap and kept walking, glad she at least had the wherewithal to put shoes on. Else the rocks at her feet would've been freezing as well as painful.

And the six year old version of her had learned a hard lesson walking barefoot at night outside when a piece of glass got wedged into her heel. That experience had stayed with her all this time, 20 years later.

Sarah sighed and pushed some of the hair that had escaped her loose ponytail away from her face. The wind was picking up, probably because a storm was on its way. But that didn't make her turn around and go back. Instead she continued on.

She always thought better when she was moving. Lying on her back all day, lounging, watching French soap operas, eating, reading…none of it had made for an appropriate thinking environment. So after she ate a nice dinner out in a cozy corner of a small, casual restaurant she found about a mile's walk down the promenade, Sarah decided to walk back on the beach for awhile. Because she had a lot to think about, and she couldn't put it off again.

Langston Graham had still not called her or sent her an email. He hadn't done anythingto get in contact with her. She was on the verge of caving and calling him.

It wasn't a pride situation, although her pride was a bit injured. The fact was that she never called him or anyone else unless she was directly in the middle of a case, reporting in, getting a dossier, receiving her orders. To call him now would be silly.

At the very least, it would make her look desperate.

And strangely enough, she wasn't desperate. Not even a little.

She didn't feel that aching need to get on the road, to jet off somewhere else and go on the hunt. Her trigger finger wasn't itching. Her head wasn't where it usually was when she finished a job. Nor was her heart.

Her work had been the only thing that made the world turn for so long. Every day she woke up, got out of bed, ran, ate, did research…she did whatever she could for that next mission. To be the best. To do some good in the world. Hopefully.

Who was she kidding? Doing good in the world wasn't a part of her job. She'd fooled herself into thinking that for a little while maybe. When they'd first set her down this path, purposefully put a rifle in her hand, and taught her to shoot it. But she was smart enough to see through the bullshit before she even hit 21.

She was an assassin. And definitely not a hero.

At least, she didn't see herself as one. Graham liked to finish off their debriefs with things like "You did good work, Walker" or whatever her name happened to be at the time. Or maybe something like, "Many people will go on to have regular, full lives thanks to you." And recently, she silently started tacking on, "But at least one person won't go on to do anything, because they're dead."

The amount of times she'd thought about the people she killed, the blood she had on her hands, the lives she'd stolen, people with families. Granted, some of them definitely were bad people. Bad people had wives, husbands, sisters, brothers, children, parents, and friends. That didn't make them any less crooked, murderous, or violent. But that feeling of playing executioner, putting them down because someone sitting in an office told her to…it made her sick some days when she let herself think about it enough.

She simply didn't want that feeling anymore. And she didn't want to wonder whether the person she'd killed actually deserved it. It was hard not to think that some of the people she'd killed hadn't been as bad as she'd been led to believe. She'd had to made a mistake at some point. Graham, the CIA…they made mistakes. And with all of the lives she'd taken, there had to be a few…

Graham would never tell her if they'd made a mistake. What was the point of telling her? It was a probability thing. Some of them were probably innocent. Or at least, not bad enough to warrant a bullet going through their brain, the poison lacing their whiskey…or that time she'd had her gun knocked from her hand…the way the hilt of the knife was wet and slippery in her grip with the amount of blood that had come from her victim when she pushed the blade under his ribcage.

The resulting nightmares…

She didn't want these things on her conscience anymore. Not that leaving this business meant it would all be automatically swiped clean. It would always be a part of her. But maybe she just didn't want to add anything else to the list of fucked up things that were a part of her existence, a part of her past.

Maybe that was all she wanted the CIA to be now.

Her past.

The more distance was forced between her and her work, the more she started to realize maybe she didn't want it anymore. But did she still need it?

And that was the real crux of the problem, wasn't it?

What would she even do without orders? Without missions? Without the money the agency shelled out for her expenses? Would she have the same will to survive in regular every day situations? Did she even need that will to survive in every day situations? She didn't know. She didn't know a lot about living like a regular person, like a human, in real life human situations.

The stuff she'd seen in movies, in the romantic comedies she caught on TV late at night when she couldn't sleep.

Like bumping into someone and spilling coffee everywhere right before an important meeting with an important client. Your dog climbing onto the counter and eating the pie you'd made the night before. Going on awkward dates, meeting up with your friend the next day and commiserating.

She had no problem watching that stuff from under the covers of her bed. But God, she had no clue whether any of that . . . whether she would ever deserve those normal things. She didn't even really know if she could handle normal things.

When had she been given the chance to be anything other than deadly? Even before she was an assassin, she was a con artist. And before that, a miniature con artist—a con artist's daughter. Or maybe it was more apt to call her a con artist's prop. That was really what she ended up being.

She was too fucked up in too many ways.

Whether it had been her father who sent her down this path or Graham…or herself…She was too dangerous to take out of the CIA. Too dangerous to be let loose in the world, after everything she'd seen and done.

Could Sarah Walker find a way to live a regular life? Amongst normal people? Without seeing everybody as a mark? Without being paranoid that someone had pegged her and she had a target on her back or something?

And then she stopped in her tracks, because she was already answering some of those questions for herself, wasn't she?

Chuck was a regular person, and she hadn't been paranoid about him. She hadn't once seen him as a mark, save for that instantaneous first impression that dissipated within seconds.

Maybe he was an exception to human beings—and he truly was exceptional—but she had felt like she could be completely and totally herself with him. She hadn't hesitated a moment in telling him about her father. Of course, she hadn't told him the whole truth. But she'd told him more than she'd ever told anyone else. No one in the agency besides Graham even knew she had a father.

Was Chuck her gateway? Her transition?

The thing—or perhaps person was a better word—that helped her ease herself back into regular society?

Did she deserve to be back in regular society?Sarah sincerely wasn't all too sure about that. Considering the way she'd led her life up until now.

But she was willing to try.

The assassin wanted to live past what she saw through her rifle's scope. She wanted a life of her own, without 100 different cover identities, without taking orders, without looking over her shoulder every minute of every day. At least she wanted to try a normal existence. With normal, everyday, commonplace things.

Maybe it was going too far to say she wanted boring. She didn't want boring. She wanted excitement. She wanted what had happened this morning.

Chuck showing up out of the blue to finish what they'd started the night before. It was invigorating. Pure ecstasy. It was better and more exciting and tantalizing than anything she'd ever done as an assassin. It was just sex—and yet it was so much more. It was everything.

And the more she thought about what all of it could mean, the less attached she felt to the path she had been walking contentedly enough before she was sent to Nice for what may very well end up being…her last mission.

Why continue being the CIA's top assassin if she wasn't happy? Just to punish herself for all of the sins of her past?

There was still so much for her to work out. And as she felt the soft drops of mist against her face—the precursor to actual rain—she hurried the rest of the way to her hotel. She still had a lot of thinking to do, but she'd have to do it inside.

—

She saw him the moment he walked into the lobby, and it said a lot about how much she liked and trusted him already that she didn't immediately want to hide. Any time she recognized someone, in this line of business—and truthfully in her life, since her work and her life were so intertwined—it was a bad thing. It was someone coming after her. Or it was someone Graham sent to give her a message. And in that case, she had to hide, give herself the upper hand, watch them for awhile just to make sure…

But that wasn't the case with Chuck. Her first impulse was to leap to her feet, cross to intercept him at the desk where he was headed, and just…She didn't know. If he were a mark, she'd charm him a little. She'd be smooth and a little shy if that fit their dossier. But he wasn't a mark. He was a man she genuinely liked. And she was at a loss. What would she say?

What reason did she even have for accosting him right now?

It didn't matter that they were going to dinner again tonight. She hadn't seen him since yesterday morning and she…missed him? No, no, no. It wasn't that. She still had the sensations from yesterday morning's tryst at the forefront of her mind. That was what truly good sex probably did to people. And before Chuck, she decided she hadn't had truly great sex.

She'd had good sex before, sure, but yesterday morning had been…Well, lengthy, invigorating, and energizing at the same time as exhausting. It was a lot of things that she really couldn't even describe when she thought about it. And damn, had she thought about it. And thought about it. And thought about it some more.

And now those sensations that were still so fresh in her mind and body were making her think things that weren't true when she saw him standing there. She was having faux-emotions.

You're an assassin, she thought to herself. You're a killer. A murderer. A spy. Keep your head on straight, damn it.

Instead of racing across the lobby, embracing him, and recreating a scene from a really sappy made-for-TV romance movie, she picked up the nearby copy of Nice-Matin someone had left lying on the coffee table and she opened it, peeking over the top to watch him.

She felt like a silly private investigator in some silly show. Like Pink Panther or something.

But she kept watching him as he spoke to the concierge. He was just so friendly, pulling his wallet out, discussing something with the comely young woman helping him. She couldn't hear the conversation as he passed the money over to her.

But as the concierge took his money, she grinned widely at him.

Sarah felt jealousy prick at her heart for just a moment, but then she quickly brushed it aside, feeling ridiculous. What did she even have to be jealous over? She barely knew this guy. The concierge was being friendly, and hell, Chuck made a fantastic impression, his charm and attractiveness spilling over you like a waterfall of warm water, practically knocking you straight onto your ass.

If the pretty French girl wanted to grin at him, who was Sarah to begrudge her?

It was the sex. It had to be the sex.

Sex did things to a person's psyche. Especially really, really, really amazing sex like what she and Chuck'd had yesterday morning. It had the ability to turn a person into an absolute monster. A green-eyed monster as the case might be, depending on the person. It made a person see an attachment where maybe there wasn't one. An emotional attachment.

She didn't want to be that way.

She couldn't afford to be that way.

And this was the second time she'd had to remind herself in just the last minute.

Chuck Bartowski was obviously an extraordinary man. Heads above any other man (or woman) she had ever met. Both figuratively and literally. He was so deliciously tall. Not that his height mattered at all when they were horizontal.

Sarah felt heat from her collar and swallowed thickly. It had been over a day since she'd slept with him and this was still happening. What ever happened to the Ice Queen? Had she thawed under the gentle, passionate touch of a nerd who had a successful company that made video games, of all things?

Or was the thawing something that had begun even before she met Chuck?

She was both excited about dinner and nervous. She couldn't wait to have that normalcy back, to feel comfortable and relaxed, to laugh and giggle and smile, to feel the sincere warmth emanating from him. And for the most part not having to worry about what she did or what she said.

At the same time, she couldn't help wanting to drop all of it and disappear again. Change hotels, cross town, and stay away. Hide. For his sake…and for hers. It was way too easy to lose herself in him, and she didn't want him affecting a decision that plotted the rest of her life.

It was just good conversation and even better sex. That was all this was between them.

And damn her selfishness, but she wanted more of it.

She had to wait until tonight, though. To see if it would be the same as it was before. Maybe it was just a one time thing. She would wait, she decided, still watching him.

It would be strange to just waltz up to him now that he was walking away from the concierge, his business with her done for now apparently. And Sarah didn't miss the way the concierge's eyes lingered on him for a little longer than was probably necessary.

Again, Sarah really couldn't blame the woman. Chuck had that sort of effect on people. She knew this firsthand.

Sarah watched Chuck until she couldn't see him anymore, figuring he was probably on his way to his room. Or maybe he would be spending time with his sister and her fiancé before dinner. Did they know about her, she wondered? Had he told them? Or was he keeping her a secret?

Would he continue to keep her a secret until this thing came to its inevitable end?

She did her best not to think about that. But then those last two words kept repeating in her head, following her as she went out to the pool and sat at the bar. Inevitable end. Inevitable end.

Sarah drank her piña colada a little faster than was prudent, ending up with a painful brain freeze that made her wince.

"Brain freeze?"

She nearly jumped, turning to look at the man who came to sit beside her. He was in his mid-thirties, toned, with a hint of a Southern accent. He wasn't bad to look at, but he wasn't who she had been hoping for deep down. "Uh…yeah. Drank it too fast."

"That'll happen with those frozen thingies. S'why I usually just get straight whiskey." And he ended up ordering two, rubbing his blond stubble as he turned to face her again.

"For lunch?"

He laughed. "Well, it's been a bitch of a long day for me, waitin' around for you to show up."

"And now that I'm here?" She met his green eyes steadily, sipping her drink slower this time, swirling the straw in it a little.

"Now that yer here, I feel like the world's just gotten a lot brighter, sugar."

She shivered in a bad way and waited for the barkeep to move to the other side to help a middle-aged couple at the end of the bar. And then she glared a little. "Okay, cut the crap. What do you want?"

He sobered and pressed his lips together in a thin line. "Jesus, IQ. Bite my head off, why don't you?"

"I hate it when you douchebags throw IQ at me. It's Walker."

"Yeah, and a month ago it was…fuck, somethin' with a G, wasn't it? Gilligan? Whatever. IQ makes things smoother, easier." He smirked a little nastily.

"I don't give a shit. Just tell me why the hell you're here."

"On my way to a mission of my own. The director wanted me to slip you a rendezvous point."

"Rendezvous for what?" She didn't want to let Agent Edison know she was practically suspended. That was just what she needed. The asshat agents at Langley having something else to throw in her face to dress her down besides just the fact that she was the "Ice Queen". Emotionless. Stone-faced blondie. Hard ass. Buzz kill. Director's pet. Kept her legs closed. Like whether her legs were open or closed had anything to do with them or what she did for the CIA.

"The fuck should I know?" He shrugged. "Don't care neither. Just be there or it's yer ass."

"Well, who am I meeting with?" she asked. Dear God don't let it be him, she thought to herself.

He simply climbed up from his seat with a shrug, knocking his whiskeys back one after the other and burping a little. "Best of luck, IQ," he said, emphasizing the nickname he knew she hated on purpose. The bartender chose that moment to come back to their side as Edison threw some bills down on the bar top. "Have another brain freeze on me, darlin'."

Sarah almost followed him and kicked his ass when he pinched her chin between his fingers. It was so hard to keep her cover as he strolled away. More like strutted, the piece of shit. Out of all of the people Graham could have sent to give her the rendezvous point, he sent the biggest douchebag in the agency?

Great. Thanks.

The bartender put her second piña colada down in front of her and Sarah thanked him through gritted teeth. He asked if she was okay, and she shrugged, shaking her head.

"Thanks. I've dealt with assholes before," she said in French. He snorted and nodded, leaving to help another customer. Sarah picked up the note Edison left on his stool and pocketed it immediately. She would look at it later when she was back in her room, away from prying eyes.

For now, she was going to finish her God damn piña coladas.

Both of them.

Agent Edison is that dickhead at your job that you've always wanted to make into a character, and then you're writing a story and you find the perfect role for him...

Did I give away too much maybe? Maybe.

I'll try to make the wait for the next chapter a little less of a wait. Since I like you all so much!

SarahsSupplyCloset