A/N1 Greetings from Barcelona. Unlucky me, jetlag. But, lucky you (?), that means a new chapter (freshly written in the Barcelona dark).

Don't own Chuck.

Chutes and Ladders

CHAPTER SEVEN

Spin the Bottle

What do you wear to a stakeout? A stakeout date?

Sarah was standing in her underwear (not particularly sexy underwear, mind you, no reason to put ideas into my head) staring in indecision at the clothes in her closet.

She did not have a large wardrobe. Most of what she owned was meant for teaching kindergartners, with runny noses, dirty hands, sticky faces and...well...other things not good for good clothes.

She knew what she wanted to wear. A few weeks earlier, in an uncharacteristic splurge, Sarah bought a remarkable little black dress. Silk. It barely existed; she felt both fancy and bare when she wore it. She wouldn't have bought it, but it was ethereal, like it was made of quintessence, and it looked so great on her - and it had been on sale. She had gotten it home and let it hang where she could see (marvel at it) it for a couple of days, let it hang outside the closet. She promised as she finally moved it into her closet that she would not wear it until a life-changing event occurred or promised to occur. She had no idea what it might be, but, still, she promised herself.

But the life-changing event had finally occurred. She'd met Chuck Bartowski.

She could deny it, play coy with herself, but she was too excited, too far gone, to be coy with herself. She wanted to put that dress on, with its amazing silk caressing her and clinging to her in exactly the right places, over (way over, God, is it short) a pair of black high heels she loved - and she wanted to see Chuck see her in that. The thought of it made her get goosebumps and more, made her short of breath, made her think about how likely it would be that if she wore that and Chuck saw her in it, - how likely it would be that they would reverse course from the front door and retreat to her bedroom door, and the little black dress would come off her, slipping, sliding, caressing, clinging, not long after it had gone on.

Oh, yes, please. Please, Chuck…

There was a knock at the door.

Oh, no, not yet, Chuck, not yet, not quite there…

Sarah walked quickly but unsteadily into the living room and spoke loudly to the door. "Not decent yet, Chuck, give me a minute." She heard him chuckle through the door and through an 'Okay'.

She walked back into her bedroom. Steadied herself. Breathed. She shook herself all over, trying to make the goosebumps disappear. She reached into her closet and got a comfortable, long-sleeved navy blouse. She grabbed her favorite dark blue jeans. And then she noticed a pair of orangey converse low-tops in the corner of the closet. Forgotten but now happily remembered.

She put on the blouse and the jeans and then, smirking to herself, she slipped the tennis shoes on and tied them quickly. Putting her hands together, she covered the bottom half of her face, her thumbs on her jawline, and she exhaled slowly. Then she skipped to the door and opened it, not more than two or three minutes after she had asked Chuck to wait.

He looked at her in almost the way she imagined him looking at her in the black dress. That she could affect him like that, in those, her day-off clothes, made him seeing her in the little black dress at once less urgent - and more intriguing.

He gave her a slightly puzzled look and she realized her face was almost certainly still flushed. The hurry to dress did not allow it to fade. She saw him blush in response. The goosebumps returned. Chuck!

She grabbed her purse and stepped out of the apartment, locking it behind her. She did it all nonchalantly; she was no obliged to ask him to come in, of course, but the main thing was that the gooseflesh returned when he looked at her. If he came into the apartment, she worried they would not leave it until tomorrow morning.

ooOoo

Seeing Sarah, Chuck felt simultaneously blessed and cursed, the favorite of the gods and their plaything. He was going to sit, maybe for a few hours, in his car with the most beautiful woman he could imagine, and she was really going to be there, she was really real. But he was going to sit, maybe for a few hours, in his car with the most beautiful client he could imagine, and she was really going to be his client, really. Life always has a kicker. Show the poor PI the substance of his hopes and tell him he is hoping in vain.

Chuck opened the passenger door for Sarah and she got in, thanking him, grinning at him. He whipped around the Crown Vic and got in himself. He turned the key. The starter whirred slow...but then picked up speed. The old girl (the classic girl) started. At least he'd been spared that humiliation.

Sarah craned her head around, examining the vast interior of the Crown Vic, practically a small European country. "Wow, Chuck, you could live in here!"

"I've thought about it, especially on Ellie and Devon's date nights."

Oh, shit, did I just say that?

"Devon is Ellie's husband, right? Devon Woodcomb? I admit I think of your sister as Ellie Bartowski. I haven't met Devon."

Cat's on the table, might as well go ahead. "I do too. Until date nights. A man should not be in a position to hear his sister...being her husband's wife."

Chuck thought he heard an undertone of mischief in Sarah's next words, not disappointment or disbelief. "So you live with your sister?"

"Um...yeah...I do. I have for a while. Still trying to get the PI gig to pay all the bills. I rent from her, for what it's worth; I'm not just freeloading."

Sarah seemed serious all of a sudden. "I understand, Chuck. It's hard to get started, to get a life going, especially…"

She trailed off but he wondered where she had been headed.

"Well, yeah, it is," Chuck agreed. "And, I don't know if you know this, what Ellie's told you, but our parents, my Mom and Dad, they died in a plane crash. Ellie raised me. So I don't just live with my sister, I live at home. Rent a room at home."

ooOoo

Sarah was charmed. That frankness again, not pity-me but honest, self-revealing. Most of the men she had dated were only capable of honesty when it was part of a policy, part of a strategy for winning her or just bedding her. She'd played the angles herself for too long, been Jack Burton's sidekick for too long, not to see it. And honesty like that was a form of falsity. Many of the things they said to her, told her, were not lies, but they were said to create an effect, to coerce or influence her. And so in different sense, they were lies.

Not Chuck. He just told her the truth because it was the truth. He wasn't honest as a policy, he was honest as a state of being. Why is he a PI?

"But, yeah, back to your original point, the Crown Vic has lots of room."

"The backseat is huge..." Sarah added. Then she saw Chuck's blush and she felt her own.

Not what I meant. Well, not exactly what I meant. Well, okay, maybe I did mean that. But I didn't plan to mean it.

Chuck came to their rescue. "Well, it must seem extra big, given the interior of your Porsche."

Oh, no.

Chuck found a spot to anchor the Crown Vic down the street a distance from Sasha's house. He stopped the car and it gave a shake, like a washing machine with an unbalanced load, then it went silent. Sarah wondered if it had just died, poor thing.

ooOoo

Chuck couldn't quite get over Sarah Walker in the Crown Vic. Beauty in the Beast. It seemed surreal. And then the damn old car's...classic girl's typical near-death rattle...I am one impressive man. Sarah must be counting her lucky stars.

ooOoo

Sarah was trying to figure out how to avoid talking about her Porsche. She had just been thinking about Chuck's honesty, and if he pushed on this topic, she'd end up lying to him. She really, really did not want to do that. But she couldn't tell him the truth, even if, to her surprise, she had trailed off in the truth's direction a few moments before.

She did not need to make any more comments about Chuck's car. She needed another topic. Sarah looked out at the street, up toward the Monroe's house. The lights were on. It all looked suburban idyllic. Clean sidewalks, neatly trimmed hedges, houses all handsome and in good repair.

"So, Chuck," Sarah said, unclicking her seatbelt and settling in, "this is your detective's life, huh? Out here," Sarah gestured to the neighborhood expansively, "on these mean streets?"

Chuck laughed. "Guess so. Pretty scary."

As Chuck laughed, the door to Sasha's place opened up and she and her parents came outside. They had an inflatable beach ball. They got in a circle, as well as three people could, and began to keep the ball afloat among them, hitting it up into the air when it came near and in the direction of someone else. Sarah sat with Chuck, watching it. She only half-thought about what she was doing. She slid along the seat, closer to Chuck. They watched the family play in silence. Chuck reached into the backseat and grabbed the bag of Castle burgers. He gave Sarah hers and her fries. "Tacos, now burgers. You know the way to my heart, Chuck."

He got his burger and fries. They ate, watching the family play. Both thoughtful. Each a touch afraid to look at the other. Sarah's words about her heart hanging in the air and mixing with the sound of the family's laughter.

But then Chuck spoke, as he balled up the wrapper for his now-eaten burger. "Her dad, Sasha's dad. You notice how he keeps sweeping the perimeter? He's keeping watch."

Sarah had noticed something, but she had not been as quick to identify it as Chuck. He does have good instincts. Sasha's dad was not obvious about it at all. He took a look only when the game gave him a chance. But he was doing it. He seemed worried beneath his carefree appearance.

"Uh-oh."

Sarah felt Chuck's arm slip unexpectedly around her shoulder and the next thing she knew, he was kissing her. Kissing, kissing, kissing. She had been smoldering all day, all evening, and she burst into flame. She put her arms around Chuck and pulled him to her, allowing herself to fall back onto the seat, pulling his weight deliciously on top of her, giving her a chance to feel the breadth of his shoulders as her arms opened more to pull him down to her. She lost herself in the heat of it, her tongue slipping along his lips, a request for entry. He opened them and she plunged in. She could not keep herself from moaning low, from deep in her body. Kissing, kissing, kissing.

And then he was gone.

Or he sat up. Sarah was left partially supine on the front seat, her navy blouse askew, its hem up a bit, baring her stomach. She opened her eyes and saw Chuck looking out the front window of the car. Then he looked back at her and she saw the desire in his eyes, but desire mixed with...whatever it was her own desire was mixed with. Something complicated had just happened between them and neither was quite sure what or quite ready to face it.

Chuck looked out the front window again. "Cop car. Patrol, I guess. I thought we'd look less suspicious if we were necking."

Sarah pulled her blouse down and sat up. She was trying to relocate herself in her body. Her consciousness had settled deep in her abdomen and she was trying to summon it back to her head. Chuck looked at her, sideways a little, nervous. He was waiting for her to be angry.

She knew that was what she was supposed to do. A client did not allow this sort of behavior, right? But all she knew was that she wasn't finished with him. That the kissing had only started and had been too suddenly ended. What she wanted to do was pull him on top of her again, begin again.

"It's...um..okay. I understand. And did you really just say 'necking'?" Her voice sounded husky; it came out as almost a growl. But before Sarah could adjust herself further, Chuck grabbed her again and pulled her to him. He re-started what she wanted him to finish. They were necking again. Okay, I will use the word. She pulled him back on top of her. This time, she twisted herself more completely, so that she was flatter on the seat. He settled more completely on top of her, his lips searing hers, his chest against hers, her flesh covered in goosebumps.

"Is that you, Dr. Watson?"

Dr. Watson? What the hell?

ooOoo

Chuck lost himself a second time in what was supposed to be a cover kiss.

He saw the patrol car. One kiss. He saw Barney get out and come up the sidewalk, dinosaur lumbering. Two kiss. No kiss like that kiss, except this kiss. Never before, not for Chuck. Oh, my God, I don't just want her and like her, I...

One kiss, two kiss. Me kiss, you kiss. Suess kiss. Suess kiss? -Get it together, Chuck.

His mind kept going blank. There was only Sarah, her candied lips and her warm breath, the feeling of her body, soft and hard, beneath him, welcoming his weight, opening to him.

"Is that you, Dr. Watson." Shit.

Chuck sat up and turned into the not-purple face of Barney. "Yeah, Barney it's me."

Barney looked past Chuck at Sarah. He blinked in the twilight. Chuck saw him grab a small flashlight off his belt. He shined it into the car, into Sarah's face. She blinked in the bright light. Chuck saw how flushed she was, how swollen her lips were. She looked beautifully disheveled, well and truly kissed. He could feel the swell of his own lips.

Swelling. Lots of swelling.

Barney: "Are you okay, miss?"

"Yes, officer," Sarah said, her voice deep and husky, "I'm good."

Barney: "Where's the bottle?"

Chuck was annoyed. "Barney, we aren't drinking!"

"Never said you were. But if you, Dr. Watson, are going to get a kiss from her, then someone spun a bottle somewhere, and she lost when it stopped on you."

Chuck dropped his head. He heard Sarah giggle.

Shit. Two kiss, no kiss.

He thought of the purple dinosaur. Extinction events. Why is there never a killer asteroid around when you need one?

A/N2 The characters are about where I want them. Time for the plot to unspool. More soon or soon-ish. May depend on insomnia. Chapter 8, "Boggle": more on Casey's suspicions of Bryce. Have Alex and Morgan reached an understanding and has she left the Redheaded League? What happens next in the Crown Vic?

Thoughts, reactions? Drop me a review or a PM.