A/N: As always, many thanks to Go-Chuck-Go and BillatWork for their excellent help!
This past week has been super busy for me (finals and family - ack!), so I apologize for not having time to reply to all the wonderful reviews from the last chapter. But I wanted to thank everyone who read and reviewed chapter 3!
I could be stuck here for a thousand years
Without your arms to drag me out.
She's at the Orange Orange when she gets the call. Unfortunately, Chuck's on his lunch break, and he's standing not four feet away when the news is broken. Her face almost crumples as she hears it, but the line goes dead, the dial tone ringing harshly in her ear, and she's able to school her face into something resembling composure by the time she turns back around.
Except it's Chuck, and he notices everything, down to a tiny change in the glimmer of her eyes.
"What's the matter?" he asks, the smile from two minutes ago wiped from his face.
The concern in his voice almost makes her confess.
But there are a thousand reasons she shouldn't.
"Nothing," she says, plastering on a small smile.
He nods but is obviously unconvinced.
"But I think I'm going to close up early today," Sarah tells him, "take the rest of the day off."
Clearing his throat, he asks, "Is it a . . . you-know, situation?" He surreptitiously indicates his head.
"No, nothing like that," she says as she takes off her apron and walks around the counter.
"Well, at least let me take you home."
She shakes her head. "No, I don't want you to leave work when you don't have to. But thanks." There's no way he can deny the logic of that, not after he skips so much work going after bad guys with her. She tries to reassure him with a swift kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you later, all right?"
Chuck nods again, but still seems reluctant to leave.
"I'm fine. I promise." She smiles, giving him a little push on the chest. "Now go before I get angry."
Backing towards the door, he laughs lightly and teases, "Ooh, I wouldn't want to see you angry."
She slaps him on the shoulder and watches as he leaves the yogurt shop and makes his way across the plaza to the Buy More. After politely kicking the few customers that are there out of the store, Sarah turns the sign on the door to 'Closed.' Her heart heavier than it's been in months, she leans her forehead against the glass.
Sarah folds another shirt and throws it into the duffel bag on the bed. Her brow furrows as she goes about packing in a futile attempt to stave off thinking.
As she walks toward the closet, her eye catches on a photograph of her and Chuck from Thanksgiving, only a week ago. Unlike last year's debacle, there was no returning nemesis and ex-boyfriend to drive a wedge between them.
The photograph is only one of many she's set up around the new apartment, trying to give it a homey feel. She hasn't lived anywhere permanent, let alone with someone she's loved, in over a decade, and even though this set-up is primarily for Chuck's safety, it's her first real home in almost a decade.
Chuck's taken the move well, probably since he was considering moving because of the Woodcomb wedding anyway. But in the past month and a half, they've settled into an easy routine, and their relationship has grown because of their proximity.
Luckily, he hasn't suspected her real motives in suggesting that they find a place together. When Casey first confessed to her about the kill order, she was appalled. She wasn't even sure she trusted him when he insisted that if he got it again, he wouldn't go through with it, he'd give her enough time to take Chuck and run. An instant after the words were out of his mouth, her mind had already formulated a plan for keeping Chuck safe, one whose initial stages basically consisted of staying by his side and hardly letting him out of her sight.
If Chuck's noticed, he doesn't seem to mind.
And it's funny that she seems to think all in terms of him now – his happiness, his safety, his love.
She breathes a sigh and falls onto the bed, but there's no way she can escape the thought of him.
It's her fault, really. She had convinced him to put up his science fiction posters on the walls and his book collection on the shelves and his ComicCon souvenirs around the room. Most everything in this room is his, and they all serve as reminders.
She's startled out of her thoughts when the front door opens and Chuck comes down the hallway, his footsteps smacking against the hardwood floor.
"Sarah?" he calls.
She looks up as he appears in the doorway.
"What's going on?" he asks, and the frown on his face is almost enough to break her heart. Sadness creeps into his eyes, and he starts to shake his head. "No. You're not . . . are you?"
He indicates the bag on the bed.
Standing up, she dries her sweaty palms on the thighs of her jeans.
"What?"
Chuck swallows and asks with difficulty, "Are you leaving?"
"What? No. Of course not." To avoid his penetrating gaze, she resumes packing.
"Then where are you going?"
Poised over an open dresser drawer, she closes her eyes. "I need to go away for a few days."
As she says it, a pain in her heart reminds her that she's breaking her promise to herself, the promise to protect him. How can she do that if she's leaving him, even for only two days?
"But why?"
Looking in the mirror, Sarah lets out a sigh. He never knows when to let up, but hadn't she expected this? Hadn't she been prepared? Isn't this exactly what she wants anyway? She glances over at the bag near his closet, the one she packed first, the one filled with his clothes. Did she ever even have the intention of leaving him behind? As much as she'd like to keep him separate from her past, she can't bear the thought of going through this alone.
Or is it that she can't bear the thought of his reaction if he ever found out about her decision to go through it alone?
"Here's the deal," she says, turning to him, and she can tell by his expression that her no-nonsense tone is getting through to him. "Everything you see while we're gone, everything you hear, you forget it all when we get back, okay? You won't ever talk about any of it. Do you understand?"
He nods.
"Good."
The silence hangs thickly between them before he jams his hands into his pockets and asks, "What should I pack?"
Discomfited, she glances down at the carpet. "I already packed for you." She indicates the duffel near the closet. "Just get your warmest coat, okay?"
Obviously confused about her indecisiveness, Chuck takes a deep breath, locates his coat at the far end of the closet, and sets it on the bed. "Do you need any help?" he questions cautiously.
She shakes her head. "How about grabbing some food for the road, though?"
He nods and heads for the hallway. Almost to the door, he changes his mind and walks over to her. Hesitantly, he places a soft kiss on her cheek and walks out before she can object.
And Sarah's left stunned by a touch she should be used to by now.
Sarah glances over at Chuck, sleeping peacefully in the passenger's seat. Truthfully, he's amazed her. He hasn't asked where they're going, hasn't fished for information about her past, hadn't been daunted when she told him they'd have to drive all night. He's been nothing but caring, thinking only of her peace of mind.
The song wafting softly from the radio speakers comes to an end and the DJ announces that it's officially midnight. She frowns. They've been on the road for over six hours now and still have almost nine to go. Surprisingly, she doesn't feel tired at all. She's always loved to drive at night. She likes the solitude, the quiet relief, the occasional blinding lights of the other cars as they drive by. And even though he's out cold, it's enough that he's here, that she's sharing this with him.
Chuck's cell phone, lying under the console, springs to life with a Spoon song she recognizes but can't name.
The sound awakens Chuck, and he sleepily answers the phone. From the conversation, she can tell it's Morgan. The knowledge brings a small smile to her lips. Yes, he's strange, but he's also kind of endearing in his own weird way. Plus, he's Chuck's best friend. That's good enough for her.
Chuck shifts uncomfortably, and his voice drops as he confesses that he doesn't quite know where they're going.
She swallows.
It's now or never.
"Oregon," she whispers to let him know to tell Morgan. And hopefully Morgan will pass the information along to Ellie, because they had stupidly forgotten to leave her a message and now it's too late to do so until tomorrow morning.
He looks over in surprise, his eyebrows so high they've almost disappeared into his hair. She gives him a nod, and he relays their destination to his friend.
Chuck yawns as he hangs up. He sits quietly, surprisingly not asking about her unexpected disclosure.
She reaches over to him, placing her hand behind his neck. She's always loved his curls, and for some illogical reason, the feeling of his hair against her fingertips has always calmed her down.
He doesn't object to the contact, so she twines her fingers into his hair and says, "My family's in Oregon." She swallows before adding almost inaudibly, "My mom died."
His gaze moves towards her, but she keeps her eyes fixated on the road.
And as much as she expects him to say something, she's grateful that he doesn't.
After a few miles of silence, he points at a road sign for a nearby rest stop and says, "Can you stop here? I have to go to the bathroom."
It's not until they're returning to the car and he maneuvers her towards the passenger's side that she realizes that taking over the driving is his own subtle way of saying, "I'm sorry, but I'm here for you."
So instead of protesting that he doesn't know where to go (because he'll just point at the GPS attached to the sunshield), she simply leans over and kisses him on the cheek, allowing her lips to brush against his skin for a second too long. Letting her muscles relax, she leans against the headrest, facing him.
There's something incredibly calming about watching him drive, listening to the gentle hum of the engine.
After a few quiet minutes, he says, "It's okay, you know. You can go to sleep."
And she doesn't want to admit that she'd rather watch him stare at the road than catch up on the sleep she's put off tonight.
He glances at her, his lips quirked into a smile. "You trust me, right?"
"Mmm-hmm," she murmurs softly, realizing just how tired she really is.
Reaching over to take her hand in his, he says softly, "You're exhausted. Get some sleep. I will get us where we need to go. I'm very good with a GPS."
Smiling, she closes her eyes and gives his hand a squeeze. She thinks she mumbles a thank-you, but she can't be sure because she's already drifting off to sleep, the leather seat warm against her cheek.
When she wakes, the first thing she notices is Chuck's calm form outlined by that foggy, stretched-out sort of light that only comes in the early morning.
Seeing that she's awake, he quietly informs her that it's quarter 'til seven. After they stop for breakfast, she heads toward the driver's seat again, but he stops her with a hand on her arm.
She opens her mouth to object, but he simply asks, "Be my navigator?" and she's gone.
As she settles back into the passenger's side with her breakfast sandwich and orange juice, she's amazed at how calming it is to relinquish control. She doesn't have to think at all, just listen and occasionally respond to his quiet comments about the weather or the scenery. He plugs in his iPod and she picks some music. It's like a comfortable, subdued road trip.
She's never been on a road trip, not even a family vacation as a kid. The fact that she gets to experience this for the first time with him means the world to her.
He means the world to her.
The words are on her lips, on the tip of her tongue. She can taste how it would be to tell him that. But her throat suddenly feels arid, and she, who has stared murderers in the eye and lived to tell the tale, feels her courage plummet in the face of this man who has cast such a spell over her.
So she lets the words die, and they spend the last two hours of the trip in easy but sporadic conversation.
As Chuck pulls the car into the driveway, Sarah takes a deep breath. The house, a standard red-brick two-story, looks exactly the same. She wants to burrow into her sweatshirt (and she's sure it has nothing to do with the fact that it's actually one of his black Nerd Herd sweatshirts) and sink down into the seat. But Chuck's hand in hers reassures her, and a few minutes later, she's on the porch in front of the door, holding onto him in the cold.
Standing there, waiting for someone to open the door, they must look a lot like a normal couple, just a woman and her boyfriend coming to visit her family for the holiday. Except there's an ache inside that she can't name alerting her to the fact that they aren't normal, that this isn't a happy occasion, that Chuck's not her boyfriend even though he holds her heart.
They're greeted by a handsome, brown-haired man in his early 30s. When he greets her as "Annie," she realizes Jane wants to do this like they're a real family, a normal one who gets together every couple weeks to spend time with each other instead of every couple years out of mere necessity.
In the foyer, hearing her approach, Sarah turns around to greet her sister, but stops short when she notices –
"You had a baby?"
Indeed, Jane holds an infant girl, maybe two or three months from the looks of it, against her shoulder. Light glints off her wedding ring as she moves.
"Well, don't sound so happy for me," she says dryly.
"I am, I am," Sarah assures her, and is she? But she goes in for a hug anyways and smiles brightly at her older sister even while sorting through the jumble of emotions. "I'm just surprised, that's all."
Jane smiles forgivingly, the gleam in her eye telling her they'll discuss it later. She turns to Chuck. "Is this your boyfriend?"
Sarah hesitates, wanting to spit out, It's complicated. Because the Jane she knew three years ago would have understood, but she's still feeling out the Jane standing in front of her. So she goes with the simplest answer. "Yes."
"Hi, I'm Chuck," the man in question says, holding his hand out to Jane and her husband in turn.
"It's very nice to meet you," Jane says. "I'm Jane, and this is my husband Ben."
He steps forward. "I'm sorry we have to meet like this."
Chuck glances over at Sarah, who pretends not to notice. "Me, too," he says softly.
Jane hands off the baby to Ben before showing them to the guest room, where they deposit their bags. Sensing that a heart-to-heart is coming, Sarah suggests that Chuck take a shower first. Thankfully, he gets the hint and takes his bag into the bathroom, leaving the two sisters alone.
Jane sits down, flopping comfortably onto the bed. Neither speaks until the sound of shower water running can be heard.
"So what's the real story with him?" Jane asks, her tone hovering between serious and teasing.
Sarah scowls. "How can you act like we're not going to be attending a funeral in two hours?"
"I never get to see you," Jane sighs. "Can you blame me for wanting to catch up?"
Leaning against the dresses, Sarah glances down at her feet. "I don't get it. What happened to you? Three years ago you had your career on track. That was all you cared about. You were –"
"I was just like you," she interrupts. In a softer voice, she adds, "I was just like Mom."
Crossing her arms, Sarah looks at her sister, this woman she's barely seen but whom she thought she knew. "I thought that mattered to you."
Jane smiles and shrugs. "I fell in love. And from what I can tell, it looks like you're halfway there yourself."
Sarah scoffs, looking at Jane sharply.
Chuckling lightly, Jane replies, "I know we haven't exactly been close over the years, but you can't hide it from me." The smile lingers on her lips, but her eyes show her concern. "Are you going to tell me about him?"
"There's nothing to tell."
"Oh, come on, Annie! I've known the guy for three minutes and I can already tell he adores you."
Sitting down beside her sister and fidgeting her fingers, she says, "It's still Sarah. For now."
But deep down, she knows she'll always be Sarah. For him.
"Oh, my God," Jane breathes. "He's a mark?"
Sarah shakes her head quickly. "No. An asset."
Suddenly sober, Jane nods. They sit in silence for a few moments, listening to the shower, before she says, "I'm sorry."
Sarah chuckles. "I'm sorry, too."
Sorry that her relationship with Chuck is stuck in limbo, sorry that she's not brave enough to tell him how she feels, sorry that their mother is dead, sorry that the world just . . . sucks and that there's nothing she can do about it.
Gladdened by a sudden thought, she picks her head up. "But you have a baby! You have a family and life."
Jane can't stop a smile from appearing on her face.
"I feel like I don't even know you," Sarah says.
Jane shrugs. "Ben just changed my priorities. You know how it is."
Sarah nods wordlessly, too overwhelmed to admit that she does indeed know what that feels like.
The shower shuts off in the bathroom, knocking the sisters from their thoughts.
Jane stands up, saying, "I should go get ready. See you downstairs?"
Sarah nods. "We'll be ready soon."
"Great. See you."
A minute later, Chuck emerges from the bathroom wearing only boxer shorts and carrying his duffel bag. His curls are still damp from the shower, and she tries not to think about what it'd be like to have this – for real – every day. Sure, they live together, but they still have boundaries. No matter how much those boundaries have relaxed, they're still there. She wants to fall asleep beside him without worrying about what kind of threats the next day will bring to him. She wants the sweetest part of her day to be his goodbye kiss as they part for work, even if they're just across the plaza from each other. And she wants to be able to fall into his arms after a long day of work – or night, whichever job it happens to be.
He stops in his tracks when he notices her staring. "Everything all right?" he asks.
She smiles. It's the first time he's mentioned this messed-up situation, and even now he has the tact to do it indirectly.
"Yeah, fine," she says. "You'll have to iron your clothes. Sorry." Indicating his bag, she throws him an apologetic look.
He quirks a smile and shrugs. "No problem. What'd you pack for me?"
She likes to think that his implicit, unshakeable trust in her packing skills is a sign of his affection for her.
"Black slacks; a white, long-sleeved button-down; and that dark red sweater you hardly wear."
She loves that sweater (she loves him in pretty much anything, actually), and obviously he knows that, too, because he only wears it on the most special occasions, when he wants her to notice him.
Like he needs any help.
He sets the bag on the bed and starts to pull out clothes, and her eyes linger on his almost-naked body a little too long. Before her heart can make any rash decisions, she clears her throat, tells him she's going to take a shower, and disappears into the bathroom. Once safely inside, she leans against the door and lets out a slow breath.
She doesn't know how much longer she can fight this.
After her shower, Sarah heads downstairs. But three steps from the bottom landing, she stops, her gaze caught by the view of Chuck in the living room, cradling Jane's daughter against his chest.
As preoccupied as he is by the baby, he doesn't notice her, and she leans into the wall to hide herself from sight. But seeing him with this child changes her perception. Her heart swells with possibilities, and she lets her head run wild with images of him as a father. Despite her best efforts, she can't deny that the children in her daydreams have inherited features from both her and Chuck.
"Hey."
Sarah whips around to find her sister looking at her with concern.
"You okay?" Jane asks.
"Yeah, yeah," she stammers. "I'm fine." Except the tears pooled in her eyes give her away.
Jane, unconvinced, gestures toward the living room. "Is this about him?"
Sarah swallows noncommittally, allowing her gaze to wander back towards Chuck, and her non-answer is enough of an answer for her sister.
Jane snakes an arm around Sarah's shoulders and says quietly, "You shouldn't fight it. It just makes it hurt worse." She smiles kindly. "Trust me. I know."
Before she can reply, Jane leaps down the last few steps and waltzes into the living room to greet Chuck. Stunned, Sarah follows.
"Oh, hey, Jane," Chuck says as he rises from the couch. "I was just looking after Danielle while Ben got ready."
He tries to hand off the baby to her, but Jane says, "No, you look very comfortable."
He smiles. "I haven't held a baby in a long time."
"Feels natural, doesn't it?"
Chuck starts to nod, but stops as he glances over at Sarah, hovering near the bookshelf. She meets his eye, trying to tell him it's okay. Because they've made an agreement – nothing they say or do here will come back to L.A. with them.
"Do you want kids, Chuck?" Jane asks.
Instinctively, Sarah knows the question doesn't arise from cruelty. She's just trying to show Sarah what she can have. As if she doesn't already know a life with Chuck would be beyond her wildest dreams.
He clears his throat, his eyes never leaving Sarah's, and answers, "Yeah, someday."
It's only later, when he's safely out of earshot, that she gathers the courage to whisper, "Me, too."
She finds them in the kitchen. Ben's holding Danielle, all bundled up in winter clothes, and leaning against the counter, Jane by his side. Chuck, the only one not fully dressed for the funeral, is sitting on a high stool at the counter. When she raises an eyebrow at his tie-less state, he smiles and takes a tie out of each of his pockets.
"I didn't know which one to pick. What do you think?" he asks.
He holds them both up for her to see – a red and black Darth Maul tie and a black one with tiny silver ones and zeroes. Wordlessly, she picks the binary tie and drapes it around his popped collar. She can feel his eyes upon her as her fingers dexterously knot the silk fabric. Her cheeks feel suddenly warm, but she ignores the sensation and tightens his tie against his collar. Feeling courageous, she sticks the tie between his sweater and shirt. Her gaze flickers up at him as she lifts up the bottom of the sweater and tugs at the tie, pulling it snug.
A smile appears on his lips, and she suddenly realizes how close his mouth is to hers, close enough that she can feel him breathe. She smoothes his sweater down, letting her hands linger near his stomach before sliding them to the sides of his waist.
There's something about the way he feels, the way he smells, that makes this instant seem so absurdly ordinary. Smiling mischievously, he grabs her and lifts her into his lap. Giving into the moment, she laughs and rests her head against his chest.
Sarah breathes in deeply. She loves the scent of him – that particular blend of fresh laundry and Irish Spring soap that she's come to associate with him – and she doesn't get to breathe it in as often as she would like. So she gives herself a moment, just one moment to forget herself.
Chuck strokes her back, his fingers flitting lightly over the black silk of her dress. He holds her protectively, but less like he doesn't want to ever let her go and more like he won't ever let anything bad touch her.
And, feeling his arms around her right now, she almost feels like nothing bad will ever touch her again.
They stand aloof from the rest of the attendees, under a tree that's lost most of its leaves, its bark grizzled with age and experience. She feels almost as she did at Bryce's funeral – like she had missed the chance to get to know someone. But this time, she rationalizes, she has Chuck by her side.
She latches onto him, tightly clutching his hand. He refrains from making any grumpy remarks, though, not about the pain in his hand from her too-tight grasp or about the chilly, late November air.
She listens to the ceremony as if numb, and her mind is still hazy when they return to the house for the luncheon. There aren't an overwhelming number of attendees, but even so, Sarah manages not to mingle that much. The one person she both needs to see and dreads seeing doesn't show up, though, so she's left to nurse a drink in the corner of the living room. Chuck never leaves her side, every once in a while placing a comforting hand on her back.
The people they do talk to are mostly older neighbors, the ones who miraculously recognize her from ten years ago or more. They call her "Annie" and Chuck doesn't say a word, just nods like he's called her "Annie" for the past fourteen months, too. They unanimously approve of him, think he's the best thing to happen to her. And somehow their affection gets translated into pinching his cheeks, and gathering him into friendly hugs, and calling him "Charles" or "Charlie." And still, he takes it all in stride, with the sincerest of smiles on his face. He doesn't try to use their connections to her to learn about her past, just stands next to her like he knows his presence is the only thing keeping her upright, keeping her sane.
At around three o'clock, the crowd dwindles, and Sarah heads upstairs to change out of her mourning dress and into jeans and a sweatshirt. When she returns to the living room, Jane and Ben are sitting on the couch, Ben cradling Danielle, and Chuck is seated in an armchair.
Ignoring their expressions, she turns to Chuck and says, "Hey, we should probably get going. We've got a long drive."
She tries to appeal to him with her eyes, but he simply takes her hand and pulls her onto his lap again. Fighting her ever-present need to be in control, she doesn't object, merely leans against him and enjoys the feeling of his arms around her waist.
Jane clears her throat and offers, "You don't have to leave so soon, you know."
"Yeah," Ben agrees, "stay another night. We'd really love it if you did."
"It'd be nice if we could see each other for more than one day every three or four years."
Sarah leans back, reaching a hand up to feel Chuck's curls. She heaves a sigh.
Chuck nuzzles her neck. "If we leave now, we'll be driving all night." In a soft, almost joking tone he adds, "And I'm pretty tired already."
She sighs again, knowing what staying even a second night will bring – memories, personal conversations, too many things dealing with the past.
But Jane pleads silently with her, and she can tell that Chuck wants to stay, too, even though he's careful not to let on.
So she leans her cheek against his and murmurs, "Okay. Let's stay another night."
And the smile she receives from Jane is all she needs to lighten her heart.
The four of them spend the rest of the day in comfortable conversation, drinking coffee and just relaxing. Sarah's quiet, but contented, and she lets the other three do most of the talking. Jane tells Sarah about her romance with Ben while the boys bond over movies and video games. They lapse into the cozy kind of silence that happens between sisters, occasionally laughing at the boys as they battle it out on Ben's Xbox, and Sarah comes close to spilling everything to Jane.
But she doesn't.
Not yet.
When it gets dark, Ben makes hot chocolate and they relax in the kitchen until Chuck spots the first flakes of snow falling bravely from the sky. He jumps from his chair with a delighted laugh and springs toward the door. Slightly alarmed, Sarah follows him, but stops in the doorway.
"Chuck!" she calls as he runs outside. "Chuck, it's freezing!"
To demonstrate her point, she crosses her arms against her chest and rubs them with her hands. But it's no use as he's already jumping around the back yard trying to catch flakes in his mouth, not even looking in her direction.
She laughs at the absurd sight, but decides to try one last appeal to his common sense. "You don't even have shoes on!"
Laughing, Chuck runs over to her, grabs her by the hand, and pulls her into the yard.
He tosses his head back toward the sky and says, "It's snowing, Sarah!"
His delight is infectious, and she can't help trying to catch snowflakes on her tongue. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Jane and Ben watching, smiling, from the window, and somewhere deep down, she knows she can't lose this.
Later that night, Chuck sits in bed reading as Sarah slides under the covers, facing him and sitting cross-legged. When she takes the book out of his hands and sets it down on the covers, he props up the pillows and sits up a little straighter.
"What's up?" he asks quietly.
She makes a face somewhere between a grimace and a smile. "My mom was an agent," she confesses.
He looks like he's about to say something, so she lays a hand on his knee and shakes her head.
"No, I want you to hear this. . . . She was an agent, and on an extended mission, she fell in love with my dad, a civilian. And she had this motto, she was always telling us to grab every opportunity we could, because life was short and we might be dead the next day."
He chuckles at this, and she smiles sadly.
"So they got married," she continues. "My mom took a desk job with the agency, but she still went on field assignments every once in a while. We had a surprisingly normal childhood. Our parents loved us." She pauses, unsure of how to phrase the next part. "But my mom was restless. When I was about eight or nine, she started leaving on field assignments more often, and for longer periods of time. When I was eleven, she missed Christmas, and very nearly missed New Year's, without even seeming to notice. My dad couldn't take it anymore, so he took off the year I turned thirteen."
She doesn't break her narrative, but he takes her hand in his, gently massaging her knuckles.
Sniffling, she says, "My mom started to treat us like mini-recruits. We learned most of what we know from her."
"Wait," he finally interrupts. "'We'?"
Swallowing, she nods slowly. "Jane's an agent, too. Well, she was. Until she met Ben."
He stares at her in a way that makes her feel as if she can read into him. And it scares her that he's thinking of the similarities between her and Jane, more importantly between their situations. Watching him struggle with that, she laces their already-touching fingers.
"Sorry," he smiles sheepishly. "It's just a lot to take in."
"I know," she says with a squeeze of his hand. "Because of her connection to the agency, they'd been keeping tabs on us. Even if she hadn't trained us, I probably would have ended up there anyways. She just gave us a head start." She takes a deep breath before adding, "I signed a contract with them the morning of my high school graduation."
The silence grates on her as he struggles to take it all in, the weight on her heart getting more oppressive by the second.
She's about to burst, about to accuse him of something, anything, when he finally says quietly, "You never cease to amaze me."
Funny. She'd say the same thing about him.
In an effort to explain her rollicking emotions over the past two days, she says, "She died on a mission. I hadn't spoken to her in almost a year and a half." She shakes her head, feeling lost. "Even though we didn't stay in touch that often, she was a big part of my life, and it's hard to imagine what it'll be like without her."
Smiling softly, he scoots closer to her and drapes an arm around her shoulders. "I know you don't like to talk about personal things very much, but I do know what it's like to lose parents. So if you ever decide that you do want to talk, you know where I live."
She laughs lightly, settling her head into the crook of his neck.
"Thank you," she tells him, and she tilts her head to kiss him on the chin.
He laughs. "That tickles!"
And suddenly they're embroiled in a tickle fight that's stunningly inappropriate considering the events of the past day and a half.
The next morning, Sarah wakes to the luxurious smell of pancakes. She's somehow found her way into his arms during the night and is now lying almost on top of him, her head nestled in the space under his chin.
For the past month or so, they've been sleeping in the same bed, and every night, she gets closer to ripping down the boundaries and falling asleep in his arms. But it's somehow easier on her psyche if she only unconsciously moves towards him in the night. It's easier than letting her guard completely down and succumbing to his embrace before she falls asleep.
And every morning when she wakes up pillowed next to him, she tells herself that it's the last time, that she shouldn't get used to his warmth. But today as she opens her eyes, feeling his arms lightly encompassing her, she decides that she wants this for as long as possible, that she'll fight to keep him.
At the breakfast table, Chuck sits next to her, clearly pleased with the morning's meal. She watches him closely, a sad smile playing on her lips. Her pancakes, though they look delicious, sit almost untouched on the plate in front of her.
Jane, noticing the look on her sister's face and her apparent lack of appetite, bounces Danielle on her knee and asks, "Do you want to hold her?"
Sarah looks up quickly, spluttering, "Ex-excuse me?"
"Come on," Jane smiles. "This is your second day here and you haven't held your niece."
She's prepared to decline, but she can feel Chuck and Ben's eyes on her, and Jane's expression is too open and honest for her to refuse her anything. So she shrugs her shoulders noncommittally, hoping her sister will see her discomfort and rescind the offer.
"But Danielle just loves her Aunt Sarah," Jane says as she walks around the table. "Don't you, Dani? Yes, you do."
"Oh, really, Jane –"
And the baby's in her arms before she can object any further. The weight is unusual, but not exactly uncomfortable. She feels remarkably stupid, though, because she's never actually held a baby, at least not within the last few years, not since it's mattered.
"You have to support her head," Chuck smirks before popping another bite of pancake into his mouth.
She could smack him, really, she could, but she does as he says, shifting her arms to better support the baby's tiny body. Pulling Danielle's blanket a little tighter, an unfamiliar sense of longing suffuses her as the baby's hand wraps around her forefinger. And for the first time, she looks – really looks – into her niece's eyes. They're a startling shade of grey – Jane's eyes, their father's, too.
Her heart expands, so much so that she thinks her chest might burst from the extra pressure.
She wants this, wants to be able to hold a child in her arms and know she'll be able to protect it, provide for it. She wants to be able to open her heart enough to let in the man sitting beside her, the man who waits patiently for the day she'll return his affections, the man who loves her. She wants to experience what it means to love a family above all else, even the job she's sacrificed herself to for the last decade.
There. She's admitted it to herself. That's the first step, right?
Turning her thoughts back to the baby, Sarah tickles her chin, causing Danielle to gurgle happily.
"Are you surprised?"
Jolted from the moment, Sarah looks up at her sister.
"What?" she asks.
"Are you surprised at how quickly you fall in love?" Jane's eyes are dancing. She knows she's caught Sarah in a trap. And the funny thing is that Sarah hardly minds.
She looks down at the little girl in her arms, rocking her gently. "She's my niece," she says quietly. "How could I not love her?"
Chuck slides an arm around her shoulders, squeezing gently. She looks up at him, right into the tentative smile on his face. That smile tells her that he's in this for the long haul, that he'd have no objection to spending his mornings like this all the time, as long as he spends them with her.
The goodbye with Jane and Ben is bittersweet, and Sarah finds herself making mental plans for seeing her sister again. Before the images in her mind can get too sentimental – Christmas is coming soon – she stops herself, forcing her to think of more realistic things.
Chuck walks towards the passenger's side, but Sarah stops him with a tug on his sleeve.
She holds up the keys. "Mind driving?"
"'Course not," he smiles as he takes the keys and changes direction. "Anything for you."
She opens the car door, but pauses before she slides into the seat, her gaze turned toward the house. Jane, Ben, and Danielle are framed in the window, the picture of a perfect family. She draws a deep breath, willing her heart not to hurt so much. They're waving, Jane holding up Danielle's tiny hand, sad smiles on all their faces.
Sarah and Chuck wave back, and Sarah hopes the sadness in her eyes doesn't reach down to her smile. She continues to wave as she gets into the passenger's seat and Chuck pulls out of the driveway.
Once the house is out of sight, she swallows hard, pushing down all the feelings trying to bubble to the surface. Chuck's quiet, and she closes her eyes and burrows into her sweatshirt. She's asleep within minutes.
When she wakes, Chuck looks over and smiles.
"Hey," he says softly.
She rubs her eyes sleepily. "How long was I sleeping?"
"Three or four hours," he replies with a shrug.
She scratches her head, leaning her forehead against the cool window. "Anytime you want me to drive, just let me know."
"I'm fine for now." His gaze flickers to her. "But thanks."
Sarah sighs heavily as her thoughts turn down roads she doesn't want them to go. In this small, cramped space, there's nowhere to run. She has nowhere to hide from her demons.
She looks over at Chuck, and he has the decency to pretend not to notice. Even though she feels trapped, trapped between what she always expected of her life and what she now believes it could become, she knows that Chuck is right by her side, that he always will be.
She swallows. "Is it wrong to miss her? To wish for just a little more time with her?"
Taking a deep breath, he reaches out for her. His thumb skirts over the back of her hand. "No," he breathes as he looks directly at her, "it's human."
She smiles, simultaneously loving and fearing the way he can always make her feel better with just a few words and one of his smiles.
When they finally get back to their apartment, it's almost two in the morning. She waits until he's asleep to shower, hoping to find comfort in the warm water. But all it does is remind her of the kind of warmth she's refusing.
So when she's dressed in her warmest wallowing pajamas (again, a pair of Chuck's cotton pants she's commandeered for her own use), she stands before the bed, staring at him. His chest rises and falls peacefully, and his hair's already mussed up. Gently, she brushes back his bangs, but it's only when she slides under the covers and sidles up to him that he starts to stir.
When he's awake enough, he opens his mouth to say something, but as soon as he takes in her appearance – the baggy eyes, the damp, uncombed hair – he closes it, knowing she doesn't need some generic platitude meant to cheer her up.
"Will you just hold me?" she asks in a whisper.
The question's a formality, because they both know that he would hold her any time she needs to be held and that right now is undoubtedly one of those times.
Before she can stop the pain, her face is crunched up and the tears are flowing with alarming rapidity. As good as it feels to let it all out, it feels better to be next to him, knowing he'll always be there.
He responds by scooting his arms around her. Grateful, she leans her forehead against his chest, her tears dampening his t-shirt. If she had to pick the feature she loves most about him, she'd pick his arms. They're skinny for a guy's, but once they wrap around her (and she loves the feeling of his arms around her body), they're surprisingly strong, so strong that she knows he'll never let her go, never let her fall.