Disclaimer: Shoot! I've been writing chapters of existing stories for so long now that I completely forgot to put a disclaimer on this. So here it is: Chuck doesn't belong to me. I'm just a poor student, NBC. Please don't sue me. :)
A/N: I thought of this over the weekend, and just couldn't get it out of my mind. I intended to just write down my initial ideas, but then practically the whole story came out! So I promise to get back to Two Years Later and Collide as soon as I can. Hope you enjoy this one!
Sarah woke up to the feel of his naked skin against hers, their bodies entangled. He felt comfortably warm and protective. She could stay here forever, with his arms wrapped around her. She took a deep breath, taking in his scent.
Her eyes flew open as memories of the previous night flooded her mind.
Once again, she was expected to seduce the mark for a mission, and once again, Chuck's jealousy was piqued. She did her job, leaving Chuck to do his. Only he wasn't satisfied with that. She was genuinely surprised when he showed up at her apartment, itching for either a confrontation or an explanation. Stupidly, she gave him the former.
She yelled at him, calling him unprofessional, until she could think of nothing else to do except kiss him like she had kissed him on the docks in front of the false bomb. The trouble was that, this time, there was no lack of an explosion to knock some sense into her. This time, it was just her, Chuck, and a dimly-lit apartment. And it wasn't until he had discarded his shirt and she felt the shock of his skin beneath her hands that she even got an inkling that they were swimming in dangerous waters.
But still she didn't stop. Maybe she was entranced by the smoothness of his skin, or by the gentleness in his kiss, or by the absolute love she felt behind his touch. Whatever it was, she didn't stop.
And here she was, waking up against him after one beautiful, amazing, torturous night.
Careful not to wake him, she disentangled her limbs from his, and shifted out from beneath the sheets. Sighing, she threw one last glance toward him before heading to the bathroom to wash away her sins.
She came back from the bathroom, showered and clean. She was a bit more clear-headed than when she had left him, but she was terrified of finding him still sleeping. If he was asleep, all her resolve would melt away, and she would hop right back under the sheets to curl up against him.
Luckily, he was already awake and half-dressed, pulling on his undershirt. Toweling her hair dry, she caught a glimpse of his bare back, his muscles stretched and toned, as he pulled his shirt over his head and down onto his torso. When he sighed and turned around, they both paused, unprepared to face the consequences of the previous night.
Clearing his throat, he threw on his shirt and started to button it. "Uh," he started eloquently. "You don't have to lecture me. I know last night can't happen again."
She stared, while he looked away, embarrassed, and finished buttoning his shirt.
If she agreed, it'd be so . . . final.
She balked. She couldn't say it. There was no way she could force her head to nod and agree to his words.
He sat on the bed to don his socks and shoes, the mattress sinking beneath him.
"Chuck," she stammered, causing him to turn his head the slightest bit. "We," she swallowed, her mouth dry, "we just can't let Casey know."
He didn't move, just continued to stare at the wall.
Shocked at what has escaped from her mouth, she dropped the towel she was holding. Did she just give him possibilities?
From the look on his face, it appeared that she did.
By not explicitly condemning their action, she implicitly opened doors for future infractions. She was sure that it didn't escape his notice.
And there were numerous more infractions.
Each encounter with him was unplanned, and she was always unprepared. Sometimes it arose from angry arguments, sometimes from the overwhelming weight of the circumstances which constantly threatened to tear them apart.
Each time it was different, too. Sometimes it was furious and intense, as if the world would end the next morning and they had to memorize each other before then. And sometimes it was slow and gentle, like they were the only two people left on the planet.
Each time she indulged in her sin a little bit longer, kissed him a little bit deeper, allowed him to love her a little bit more fervently.
Until three months of summer heat had passed.
She blamed her madness on the furiously hot weather, hoping it would pass in the cooler autumn air.
Madness could pass, but her body kept reminding her that she couldn't so easily rid herself of her mistakes.
Lying alone on her bed, she let herself drown in thoughts and memories of him. This bed, these sheets, it's the only place where their roles were reversed, where she could lie in his protecting, loving arms.
He had once called it their sanctuary.
But now, accusing and condemning, it was the furthest thing from the refuge it had been on those nights.
Pulling the bottom of her shirt up, she placed her hand on her bare abdomen. She needed him right now, more than she had ever needed anyone in her life, but he was the last person in whom she could confide.
She traced one finger around her belly, not daring to think of the possibilities.
They'd have time later, if they wanted. They were young. They'd have time. Now just wasn't the right time.
Lying to herself became routine, but how could she handle lying to him? How could she face him the next day? Would he be able to guess just from the hollow look in her eyes?
She pulled her shirt back down. This was bigger than her, but she knew what was expected. And since she had gotten herself into this mess, she was going to fix it. She needed to fix it in order to keep her job.
Once she made the decision, she showed up on his doorstep. She was unexpected, but he welcomed her with open arms. She tried to hide the truth from him, but he could tell something was wrong. When he asked her, though, she responded by merely kissing him. He was not averse to her answer, which allowed her to maneuver the situation so that it was prime for another of their infractions.
Guilt sex, she reminded herself afterwards as she wept in the bathtub.
Guilt for the decision she already made, guilt for what was to come the next day.
As she helped him strip off his t-shirt, running her hands along his sides, she justified her actions. She wanted one last night with him before she was tainted beyond recognition, before she became completely consumed with remorse and shame.
Before she did the thing that would separate her from him forever.
The knowledge that after tomorrow he would be out of her reach merely acted as a catalyst for her. She kissed him fiercely, drawing him ever closer before she would be forced to push him away.
She woke up the next day knowing full well what the next few hours held. But truthfully, waking up in his arms was almost enough to make her change her mind. She had to tear her eyes away from his adorably curly locks, from his perfect nose, from his kissable mouth, which could so easily and readily break into that goofy smile of his.
And his skin. She loved his skin.
Weakening, she allowed herself one last touch, lightly tracing a heart over his chest. A tear fell in the middle of it, surprising her. Cursing herself for her weakness, she dressed slowly and slipped out of his room.
With the sight of him still in her mind, she didn't even bother to stop at her apartment before driving off to destroy her future.
Driving to the clinic, she couldn't stand to think about what lay ahead. So she threw as many distractions at herself as she could find. She rolled down the windows, turned the radio up as loud as it went, and drove twenty miles over the speed limit. But it didn't stop her mind from wandering to that dark place in which it'd been dwelling for the past few days. The wind whipped past her, her hair blew wildly, and the tears streamed in rivers down her face.
Two hours later, the sun beat down on her accusingly as she walked out of the clinic and into the late summer day, empty and desolate.