A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! This is my holiday gift. :)
I apologize if the Polish phrases are wrong. My knowledge of the language extends to a toast and a few curse words, so I had to resort to the internet for these, lol. But I like that it's becoming a trend that Sarah's character to have a working knowledge of the language and/or an ethnic background.
Last thing (I think, I probably missed something), but thanks for all the reviews so far! I really appreciate them, and it's nice to hear from readers. That being said, I hope this chapter lives up to expectations.
No, I don't want to wait forever.
No, I don't want to wait forever.
In the confusion and the aftermath, you are my signal fire.
The only resolution and the only joy is the faint spark of forgiveness in your eye.
A bright smile lights up Sarah's face as Chuck's ringtone sounds from her phone. She grabs the cell from the counter and holds it to her ear.
"Hey, Chuck!"
The silence that greets her gives her chills.
"Sarah Walker." The voice is a clear tenor with a Portuguese accent, and it's somehow familiar. "Or should I say Adriana Adarga?"
Sarah sinks onto a chair, her heart dropping even more rapidly.
The memories come back in a rush: Quintal, Portugal, 2003.
She presses her hand to her forehead. This can't be happening.
"What do you want?" she asks, trying to keep her voice even, but she can't, because it's Chuck, and Chuck means more to her than anything else in the world ever could.
"I have your boyfriend here. He's being very cooperative. Say hi, Charles." She can hear muffled cries, but as she protests, Quintal quickly continues, "Don't worry. I won't hurt him. I'll give him back in exchange for you."
She swallows and presses the call button on her watch to alert Casey. "I'm the ransom? What do you want with me?" She already knows the answer but asks it to prolong the conversation, to put off any ill treatment of Chuck.
"I think you know, Adriana. You killed my brother. I just want to return the favor," Quintal says conversationally.
"That's supposed to be incentive? Why would I willingly go to my own death?" It's a bluff, because she's entirely willing to go to her own death if it means saving Chuck's life. She'd do it in a heartbeat if it meant he'd have even one more shot at a normal life.
"Because if you don't, I'll kill him," he states simply. His voice deadly, he adds, "You have 24 hours."
The connection goes dead. Sarah stares at the tiled floor of the yogurt shop, her breathing ragged with fear. How could this have happened right under her nose? She's his protector. The whole point of them moving in together was so that she could better care for him, and here she is letting him down.
A sudden image of Chuck, beaten and bloody, floods her mind, hardens her resolve. She runs to the basement, grabs a spare duffel bag already packed with weapons and gear, and returns to the main shop to hastily close up. She doesn't think of proper procedures, or of consequences. All she cares about is getting to him and getting him safe. Her mind is in this one-track mode when she exits the shop and runs straight into Casey.
Grabbing her by the shoulders, the NSA agent gruffly leads her back inside. She protests weakly, because somewhere in the back of her mind she knows she needs him and because it's such an effort to not break down, and he barely flinches when her fists connect with his chest.
"All right. What's going on?" he asks, more serious than she's ever seen him.
"It's Chuck," she chokes out. "They've got Chuck."
"Who? Who has him?"
Sarah runs a shaking hand through her hair. "A few years ago, I was on a mission in Portugal. My assignment was to take out the leaders of a small, factious political group. I used an alias, but somehow one of the leaders' brothers found me. He's got Chuck. He's got him and he wants me." She's close to hysterics now, close to busting down the door of the Orange Orange and doing whatever it takes to find him.
"You have to calm down, Walker," Casey advises. "We're never going to be able to find him like this."
She glares. "I can't just leave him."
"I'm not suggesting that. But I do think that we need some back-up." Taking her firmly by the arm, he pulls her back to the freezer and down to the Castle.
Not for the first time, Sarah's glad she has John Casey for a partner.
Her heart's beating so loudly that she almost can't hear anything else, and she feels like it might rocket out of her chest at any moment. A bead of sweat rolls slowly down her forehead, into her eyebrow. She wipes it away before returning her hand to the trigger of her sniper rifle. Casey, at the end of the street, across from the building where Quintal has hidden Chuck, signals to her. The team in front has gone in, and it should only be a few more minutes before Quintal comes charging out the back, hopefully dragging Chuck.
She hates this waiting, though. She hates being stuck on a rooftop just twiddling her fingers. She needs to save him, she needs to do something. She wants to be the one rushing in with no fear, a gun in each hand and two more tucked into her waistband.
She shakes her head, willing the negative energy away as she turns her attention back to Quintal's doorway.
"Get ready, Walker," Casey barks through the earpiece.
Instinctively, she tenses, lining up her shot. And sure enough, a few seconds later, Quintal barges into the alleyway, dragging Chuck, who has a wire tie around his wrists, by his shirt collar. Casey, dressed in mission black, jumps out from behind the dumpster, and, even from a hundred and fifty feet away, she can see how much her partner enjoys having the element of surprise.
Quintal jumps, immediately dragging Chuck in front of him as a shield and bringing a gun up to his temple.
Shit. This is what she was afraid of.
By Quintal's body language, he's shouting something to Casey as he drags Chuck backwards down the alley, closer to her hiding spot.
Casey, ever calm in a life-threatening situation, even if it's Chuck's life, replies coolly, "All right, pal. Don't get your britches in a bunch. See . . . I'm putting my weapon down."
Sarah scoffs at how quickly he relents.
There's more shouting, and Casey shrugs, saying, "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. But I do know that my partner's itching to get at you. She's not real happy with you, pal. Mind explaining why you took a computer geek from the Buy More?"
There's the signal.
Quintal's so close by now that she doesn't even need the rifle. Switching gears quickly, she abandons it in favor of her handgun, tucked easily into the waistband of her jeans. She rockets off an easy shot, directly into his right shoulder blade, and Quintal, in his shock and pain, releases Chuck. As soon as the bullet leaves its chamber, Sarah's up and running, across the rooftops until she reaches the spot directly above the dazed Quintal.
With a throaty, almost primal, cry, Sarah catapults herself off of the roof ledge, onto the fire escape, and finally on top of Quintal, throwing him to the ground. His body breaks her fall, and she uses her momentum to roll off of him and into a crouch. Without stopping to think, she launches herself back at him, her punch landing squarely on his jaw. He cries out as his head knocks against the pavement.
Letting her rage run unchallenged, she punches him again, over and over. Before she knows it, the tears are cascading down her face, and her chest is racking with sobs. There are blood splatters all over, and she can't tell if they're from Quintal's face or her own hands, the knuckles having split many punches ago.
A mighty, shaking sob courses through her as someone's hand grips the collar of her jacket and drags her off of Quintal's still body. She sags onto her knees, burying her face in her bloody hands, and weeps.
She cries because she lost control so easily, so readily, because she let her passion and her fury rule her senses, because the man she loves now looks at her in horror.
Chuck is still lying on his back, propping himself by his forearms, a mixture of pity and revulsion in his features.
And yet she continues to cry, unable to keep the sobs from racking her frame. She lets the emotions course through her until she's spent, too exhausted to even wring any more tears from her eyes. When she casts a wary glance up, she sees that she's alone in the alleyway. Even the commotion on the main street – the ambulances, the team members running around cleaning up – doesn't make her feel less alone.
The blood from the fight is splattered all over the pavement just a few feet away, and the sight almost sets her off again. But with a monstrous effort, one that seems to take all her remaining strength, she picks herself off the ground, not even bothering to brush off her clothes. When she reaches the end of the alleyway, her gaze immediately finds him, sitting calmly in the back of an ambulance, swinging his legs slightly as a paramedic checks him for injuries.
She sighs. She wants to run. She wants to run far away and never look back, but there's no strength left in her. At the very least, she knows she'll never be able to face him, not until she has time to recoup.
Their unique relationship affects every aspect of her life. What happened today, what she did for him, what she wasn't able to keep under control because of her feelings for him, all that could alter their already-precarious relationship.
She had promised to fight for him, and no, she hadn't lived up to that promise because she had feared things exactly like this would happen.
Leaning against the wall of the building for support, she tries to catch her breath and clear her head. This isn't good. This is anything but good. She lifts her eyes as Casey walks toward her.
"You need to get looked at," he says, indicating her shredded hands, and his voice holds an unusual amount of concern.
She shakes him off with an unconvincing, "I'm fine."
"Well," he shrugs, "better than his face, at any rate."
Looking sideways at him, she allows herself a half-smile. Her amusement doesn't last long. "I'm sorry. I lost control."
"Coulda happened to anyone. Coulda tripped over his own feet for all we know."
"Casey," she says, touched, "you don't have to protect me."
He turns to look her in the eye. "You're my partner, Walker." And that's enough of an explanation for either of them.
"How is he?" She lifts her chin in Chuck's direction.
Casey frowns. "He's doing all right, given the circumstances. He'll be okay."
Looking down at her sneakers, rubbing the toe of her right one into the bits of gravel coasting the pavement, she says hesitantly, "I can't talk to him right now."
He nods. "I'll take him back to the Orange Orange, and we'll report to Beckman. I'll tell her that you were supervising the clean-up."
Sarah starts to walk back down the alley. "Thank you, Casey. I'll call to check in later tonight."
Sarah groans quietly in exhaustion and pain as she steps through the door and into the darkened apartment, but she stops immediately when she notices Chuck stretched out on the couch. He sits up as she walks in, unable to pretend that he was doing anything other than waiting up for her.
They pause in an uncomfortable staring match, he unwilling to ask about her whereabouts and she unwilling to explain. Finally, breaking under the pressure, she sinks down onto the floor, her back against the front door.
She swipes her hair away from her forehead with a stiff, blood-covered hand. She had known from experience that stains ran deeper than skin-deep, so she hadn't even bothered trying to wash away the evidence of that afternoon.
"Are you all right?" She asks it more for something to say than for any other reason. After she had gotten over the initial shock of his presence, she could discern that he was perfectly fine, at least physically.
"I'm fine," he says, shaking off her concern. "I've just been worried, that's all."
She glances at her feet, embarrassed. "Did Beckman say anything about me not being at the meeting?"
"Casey told her you were still at the clean-up."
Even in the dimness, she can recognize his look, the one that lets her know that he doesn't quite believe the story.
"What did she say? About Quintal, I mean."
Chuck sighs, leaning back against the cushions. "She's withholding an official opinion until tomorrow. We have a meeting during my lunch break. But preliminary findings suggest that the incident is unrelated to the Intersect."
He's talking like he doesn't know her, like he's explaining something foreign to her. The distance in his words stings.
"You know it had nothing to do with you," she says, her voice quiet but harsh. "Quintal wanted to get at me."
Chuck purses his lips and levels his gaze at her. "Why'd you leave, Sarah?"
She hears what he leaves unsaid: Why'd you leave me?
Closing her eyes, she leans her head against the door. "Do you know what it was like for me, thinking that you were holed up in a dungy room somewhere, with a bag over your head and ropes around your wrists, being tortured because of me? Do you know what it felt like not to drop everything and rush after you?"
With a heavy sigh, he comes over to sit next to her. "I wasn't tortured, Sarah," he reassures her. "As long as I kept quiet, they didn't touch me. Besides, both of us have been in our fair share of scrapes, haven't we?"
"That's different," she says, shaking her head. "This wouldn't have happened if it weren't for me."
"You can't blame yourself. I won't let you." She chuckles lightly, but his expression suddenly turns serious. "Sarah, your hands," he gasps, taking them gently into his own. "Why didn't you have these looked at?"
She shakes her head and shrugs. "I . . . I just . . . got distracted." It's a pathetic excuse, but she can't possibly explain to him how impossible it is to wash off a stain like that.
Chuck stands, puts his arms around her, and lifts her to her feet. "Come on," he says, pulling her towards the hall. "Go wait in the bathroom. I'll go get the first aid kit."
"Chuck." She turns to face him, a hand on his chest. He hates blood. He hates the constant reminders that they are not, and they never will be, normal. And yet here he is, offering to face both of those things so he can take care of her, something she's failed to do for herself.
He pauses and, seeming to understand her look, walks down the hall towards the closet. She wanders into the bathroom and flips on the light. Wincing, she hoists herself up onto the countertop beside the sink. Chuck appears a minute later, clutching the first aid kit. He sets it down on the opposite side of the counter and gets to work, gently taking her hands and washing them with soap.
Sarah grimaces as the crusted layer of blood sloughs off, leaving her hands raw and exposed. Her fingers are stiff from both the blood and the cold, and even just flexing them slowly causes her pain. To get her mind off of it, she focuses on him. He stands away from her, but even from a foot or two away, she can smell his distinct scent, so recognizable from living with him every day. She smells it on his clothes when it's her turn to do the laundry, and it stays on the pillow even after he wakes up.
Looking up, she watches his face, so intent and concerned as he works. That's when she notices the small gash, surrounded by a dark, purpling bruise, just in front of his left temple. The urge to reach out and assess the damage is strong, and she's glad that he has hold of her hands.
"God, Chuck," she gasps faintly, and he finally looks at her. "What happened to your head?"
"They knocked me out when they took me," he tells her calmly, like getting kidnapped is an everyday occurrence for him.
Overwhelmed with guilt, she turns her eyes away.
As he dries her hands, he bends his head to examine the cuts. "Sarah," he says firmly, "you need to get stitched up."
"I'm fine," she responds without even thinking. It's a line that's become second nature to her since she joined the agency over a decade ago.
"You're a spy, not a superhero," he frowns. "And even they needed help sometimes."
Something within her shifts. Something deep down and inexplicable has been switched on, and the change makes her feel lightheaded.
She stares at him, searching those bottomless eyes, taking her fill of every feature, those features she's long since memorized. He's oblivious to her scrutiny as he tenderly bandages her hands.
"I can't do this anymore," she breathes quickly.
He pauses in his doctoring. "Are you all right? Am I hurting you?"
Leaning closer, she shakes her head. "I don't want to waste any more time, Chuck."
His gaze is questioning, and his hands tremble almost indiscernibly. Swallowing nervously, he asks, "What are you saying, Sarah?"
"We live dangerous lives, Chuck. I . . . I thought I lost you today." She briefly squeezes her eyes shut. Why is this so difficult for her to say? "I've lived in this business long enough to know, but today was the first time I realized how easily everything could be taken away." She lifts her eyes in the hopes he'll understand and save her from further explanation.
"But what are you saying?" he repeats softly.
Reaching out for him, she pulls him closer and hopes he can't hear the wild beating of her heart. "I'm saying that you deserve to know how I feel about you," she whispers. He bows his head towards her shoulder, as if he can't believe her words. She raises a bandaged hand to his neck. "And even if we don't get enough time," she continues softly, "even if we only get a few years, or a few months even, then I'll take it, because it's more than I deserve."
Chuck lifts his head just enough to meet her gaze, and in his eyes she can see that he wants forever. She does, too. She's just having trouble wrapping her head around that concept at the moment, especially when he's close enough for her to smell the gel he uses in his hair. The way he looks at her, it's almost like he's asking for permission.
She moistens her lips. "If you'll have me," she whispers.
He smiles widely, and when he kisses her, her world almost shatters with the force of the collision.
He's been sleeping for an hour now, his breathing steady and tranquil. His arms are loosely draped over her, like they have been every night before. But it's different tonight.
She's been staring at him since he fell asleep, awed at the peaceful expression on his face. She wishes she could feel that, wishes she could be as fearless as he is in the face of love. Brushing a curl off his forehead, Sarah is struck by the irony of the situation. She's spent the entirety of her adult life building up her defenses, laughing in the face of danger, banishing fear from her heart. Yet here she is, sleeping beside a man whose smile can make her go weak in the knees, whose adorable, endearing demeanor scares her more than any threat of torture or risk of death.
She dreads the coming of the morning because she knows what it will bring. He wants things she's not sure she can give.
But as she looks at him, as she runs a sore finger over his bare chest, she wonders if she can't give those things, or if she's simply too scared.
Her hair falling in waves across his chest, Sarah inclines her head, places a light kiss on his collarbone, and settles back against him with a sigh. She wants different things from life now than she thought she did a year or two ago. That must mean something.
All this time she's wasted being afraid, all the time she could have had with him, all the cover dates that could have been real . . .
Sarah Walker is a coward. And the thing about cowards and heroes is that they die alone, too afraid to open themselves up.
She closes her eyes, breathing in his scent. She can't be afraid anymore. She can't cling to an outdated worldview when Chuck's beside her every day, challenging her to change her perspective.
No fear.
That's what she needs.
Expelling the fear from her heart, Sarah places another kiss on the underside of his chin. Calmer, she shuts her eyes in an attempt to sleep.
The thin morning light hits her in a burst as she slides open the curtains. She loves the view from their bedroom, but today she's using it to escape the view behind her. Even with her back turned to him, she can't fight the acute awareness that Chuck is stretched out beneath the sheets, his curly hair adorably tousled, one arm snaking beneath the pillow.
She sighs quietly as she pushes back the sleeves of Chuck's button-down. Her hands are stiff and sore from sleeping, and the bandages need to be changed, but she can't bring herself to move from this spot.
Sarah likes the early mornings. They're brief moments of calm, of stillness. She's always in motion, always running, and always away from him. She sighs. This should be the happiest day of her life, the day when she can finally lay down all her burdens, the weight that she's been carrying for over a year and a half.
But instead, there's a deep sadness residing within her. There's a pang telling her that she doesn't deserve the happiness he promises. And there's an ache. An ache for a future for which she desperately longs but doesn't the courage to capture.
She hears him stir behind her, and she stiffens unconsciously. She doesn't know whether to wish that last night never happened or to hope that he'll be kind enough to let them ignore it. But her career has taught her that wishes and hopes are idle. Actions are the only things that matter.
"You want me to make some breakfast?" His voice is soft and content, and she can practically see the smile that's undoubtedly gracing his features.
Without turning to look at him, she replies softly, "No, it's still early. Why don't you just go back to sleep for a little while?"
His sigh is lost in the rustle of sheets. She turns her head just enough to see him pulling on a pair of boxer shorts, and her heart catches in her throat. The sight makes her feel suddenly exposed, even though he's the one who doesn't seem to care how much she sees. And it's not like she didn't see it all last night.
But still she turns her eyes away, back toward the window, out towards the city, her arms crossed in a futile attempt at protection.
Chuck steps beside her, looking like he wants to reach out to her. She's thankful that he holds back.
"Don't do this," he pleads softly, his voice breaking with emotion.
She stares him, stares at the ugly bruise on his forehead, hoping she doesn't betray herself and that those intense eyes that she loves so much can't see right through her. She can see the struggle within him as he swallows, forcing down the emotion threatening to bubble to the surface and spill over.
"Don't build up your walls and shut me out," he implores. "If we're going to do this, you have to let me in. It's not fair to either of us if you're hiding your worries and fears all the time." He pauses, running one hand through his messy hair. "I want all of you, Sarah. That includes everything you're scared of, everything you'd rather hide from me."
If she weren't so scared of hurting him, of destroying him, she'd leap into his arms right now. Instead, she says, "I beat a man to a pulp yesterday because of you." It's a warning, to stay away if he knows what's good for him. But he's Chuck, and he always runs head first into what his heart wants, regardless of the consequences.
He sets his mouth firmly. "You did it to save me."
Searching his eyes, she asks, "Doesn't it scare you that I can do that? What if I did it to you?"
"You won't."
He's so certain, so sure.
"What if I did?" she presses, needing to know, needing to needle him into an angry response, maybe hoping he'll just blow up and leave her for good.
Chuck is silent for a moment, his gaze so hard that she's close to crumbling when he finally asks, "Why are you doing this?"
Swallowing nervously, she turns her face back to the window. "Because we can't have what you want us to have. I can't give you that."
He takes a deep breath. "And what is it you think I want?"
Closing her eyes to hide the tears, she whispers, "You want normalcy."
He shakes his head vigorously and takes her arms in an attempt to make her look at him. "No, Sarah, I want you." She won't look at him, she can't. If she does, she'll give in in a second. He places a hand on the side of her face and continues pleadingly, "Remember when we first met?" He looks at her until she nods. "You asked me to trust you. That's all I'm asking for right now. I'm asking for your trust, Sarah."
She moistens her lips, fighting the immediate longing to fall into his arms and do exactly as he says. She looks up at him and, her voice trembling, she says, "Every time I look at you, I see goodness, happiness. Every time I look in the mirror, I see destruction, and hate." Pausing, she gathers her thoughts before adding, "All I can think about is how my love could destroy you. How can I wish that upon you?"
Far from shrinking from her, like she expects, he smiles. The idiot smiles.
"You love me?" he asks incredulously, his face glowing with joy.
Sarah scoffs. "Is that all you can think about?"
"Yeah," he replies firmly, placing a hand on the back of her neck to get her attention, "it is. Because if you love me, what else matters?" Sensing her doubt, he backs away, his gaze downcast. "Last night," he begins hesitantly, "was that just thank-God-you're-alive sex?" His eyes drift back up to hers, and there's a challenge there. "Or was it something more?"
There was once a time when lying to him was easy, came naturally. But lying to him right now would probably split her in two. "You know what it was, Chuck," she warns softly, trying to get out of answering.
A half-smile plays across his face. "Sometimes I need things explained to me."
She rubs at her forehead. "I meant what I said last night. It was about you," she tells him in a whisper. "It always has been."
Taking a step toward her, he slides his hands beneath her shirt. They come to rest just above her hips, his fingers cool against her skin.
"Then what's the problem?" he asks, smiling. "If we love each other, then we should just be happy. Why are you making us care about things that shouldn't even affect us?"
Sighing, she runs her fingers into his hair. Just the touch is reassuring. "Because they do affect us, Chuck, even if you don't want them to. You don't know what it's like to live in my world. It's cold, and it's harsh, and you don't just leave whenever you feel like it, whenever you decide that love's more important than what you're fighting for." She pauses and glances down in an attempt to steady herself. Her voice is calmer when she continues. "An agent is an agent for life, Chuck. We don't get happy endings. It's hard for us to even imagine them."
His hands slide around her waist until his arms are encircling her. He touches his forehead to hers. "You said last night that we won't have forever but that you'd take what you could get."
To her ears, it sounds like an accusation. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I don't want to hurt you."
He shakes his head, gently shushing her. "No, I know. But I'll take that, too."
Pulling away to look up at him, she questions, "What?"
Chuck steels himself. "I want whatever time I can have with you, whether it's a couple months or a couple years. I want it, Sarah. I want you."
She runs a hand through her hair, walks to the other side of the room, and turns to face him. "So, say that a year from now, I get transferred. Can you honestly tell me that you'd be okay with that?"
"Of course not," he shrugs. "But if you did leave, and I never told you how I really felt, and we never got to explore whatever this crazy thing is between us, then I'd regret it for the rest of my life."
She stares at him, and, even from across the bedroom, she can see the truth in his eyes, the promise of protection.
No fear.
She sighs. "I'm not good at relationships. I can't be a normal girlfriend, not like you're used to."
Chuck beams. "I don't care about normal."
She bites her lip and swallows hard to stop the tears from coming. "This is going to take me a long time to figure out. You're going to have to be patient with me."
"Of course," he nods, still grinning like the fool that he is.
For the first time since yesterday morning, Sarah allows herself a smile. He takes that as a good sign and crosses over to her, taking her in his arms. She leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder.
"How's your head?" she asks quietly.
"Fine. Your hands?"
"Better. I think I need to change the bandages, though."
He pulls away slightly and takes her hands in his, examining them. "Want me to do that?"
"Uh-uh," she shakes her head. "I can. But why don't you go make some breakfast while I do that and shower?"
"Sure." He kisses her on the forehead. "Pancakes?"
Sarah smiles. "You bet."
She watches as he leaves the bedroom, her heart a million times lighter than it was just a few minutes ago.
"Agent Walker, if I could speak with you a moment longer."
Sarah pauses, watching Chuck and Casey out of the corner of her eye. Chuck turns one last glance at the screen before reluctantly leaving her alone with the general.
Sarah licks her lips nervously. "Ma'am?"
"Let's not mince words, Sarah," Beckman says firmly. "I know of your attachment to Chuck, and your dedication in retrieving him yesterday was admirable. I'll make no judgment on your personal decisions, but if you two show that much concern for each other's wellbeing and you continue to produce results, as far as the government is concerned, it's not a problem." She pauses, appearing to choose her words. "But I need to know if it's going to be a problem for you."
Thoughtfully, Sarah hooks her thumbs into her waistband. The information floors her. Graham had been a hard-ass, and she had always assumed that Beckman was molded in the same frame. Maybe it's the fact that she, Casey, and Chuck have never produced such outstanding results. Maybe it's that Beckman is finally coming around to Chuck, as a person and a potential agent. Maybe it's that she can see something Sarah can't. Whatever the reason, Beckman is going to lengths to prove that she is not Graham.
"I need to know how Quintal found me," Sarah tells her, "and why he went after Chuck first instead of me."
"Quintal hasn't talked about his contact yet, but we're investigating a possible leak within the agencies." Beckman sighs. "We believe he chose Chuck because of his cover as your boyfriend. Quintal thought if he could get to him, he could get to you."
"The cover's supposed to protect him, not lead bad guys straight to him."
"I know, and let me assure you that we're doing everything we can to make sure that nothing like this happens again. Sarah." Sarah lifts her gaze to meet the general's. "Are you comfortable continuing with this assignment?"
She ignores the general's imperious gaze in favor of contemplating the question. There's no way she can leave Chuck, but if bad guys from her past can get to her, to him, so easily, how can she be so selfish as to risk a real relationship with him? They'd been lucky yesterday, but if anything happened to him because of her past connections, she'd never be able to forgive herself. And how could she even think about facing Ellie?
No, it's too dangerous for him.
But that doesn't mean she could ever voluntarily leave him.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good," Beckman nods. "The three of you work well together as a team. I'd rather not lose that."
Sarah's stomach turns as she wonders if she'd ever been so preoccupied with results so as to lose sight of her own humanity. But as Beckman bids her goodbye and signs off, she shakes those thoughts from her head. That's behind her now. Whatever sins lie in her past she's made up for, if only by learning from Chuck, learning how to love.
Chuck and Casey are both waiting for her when she returns upstairs, the former pacing around in an agitated manner, the latter merely leaning against the counter with his thick arms calmly crossed over his broad chest.
Chuck's pacing ceases immediately as she comes into view, and he turns to face her.
"Is everything okay?" he asks.
"Yeah, fine," she replies, venturing a smile. "You should get back to work. Your lunch break's almost over." Chuck's face falls, and she averts her gaze to Casey, hoping he understands the unspoken message.
"Sure," Chuck nods. "See you later." He starts towards the door but pauses when he notices that Casey hasn't moved.
"I'll be over in a few minutes," the NSA agent says gruffly, tilting his chin towards the Buy More.
Chuck nods again, his expression even more crestfallen than before. When he's gone, Casey clears his throat, settling against the counter and watching their asset meander across the plaza.
Sarah leans on the counter beside him, her lips pursed as she watches the same sight. She watches him through the doors of the electronics store before asking, "Do you think I can still protect him?"
Casey lets out a throaty sigh. "You can protect him better than anyone else. No one cares for him more than you do."
"Maybe that's the last thing he needs. Maybe that's exactly why I'm the worst person for this job."
He looks at her now, his gaze boring into her. "Questioning it is only going to drive you crazy."
"So you think I should stay?"
He pauses. "I think leaving would be the worst thing you could do to that kid."
Chuck groans as Sarah takes his hand and drags him over to the "Classics" section of the Hollywood Video. She smiles at the familiar routine. One of them picks the food, the other picks the movie. He chose Chinese from the restaurant down the block, so it's her turn to choose a movie.
"Come on, Sarah," he says, checking his watch, a watch she can't look out without remembering how crucial it was in locating him and saving his life. "The food's going to be ready in . . . eight minutes."
"Calm down," she advises him as she scans the shelves for the title she's looking for. "I think I know what I want."
Chuck moves behind her and rests his chin on her shoulder. "Need I remind you that we have seen all of the Thin Man movies? Twice now, I believe."
Chuckling, she picks up On the Waterfront and shows it to him. "Have you seen this?" He shakes his head. "Good," she replies happily, dragging him towards the front of the store. "Let's go."
An hour later, they'll stretched out on the couch, Sarah half on top of Chuck, brushing her fingers steadily through his hair. Part of her knows she shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be giving him the wrong impression, but she justifies it because this is how they've acted almost since they moved in together. She shouldn't have to abandon that just because of one night, although she dreads the inevitable conversation where he questions her feelings.
He scrunches his face up. "This is a depressing movie."
She chuckles softly. "It gets better."
"I hope so, because even sizzling shrimp can't lift me out of this melancholy." He glances at her, a smirk playing on his lips. "That's the last time you pick the movie."
Without taking her eyes from the screen, she runs her fingers down to his neck, a smile on her face. "Just watch the movie."
He listens to her better than he ever does on missions and is quiet the remainder of the film. When he professes how much he liked it, though, he may be taking it a little too far, and she tells him so.
"No, I'm serious," he says. "You were right. I just had to stick it out 'til the end."
She smiles. "Well, I'm glad."
"Are you up for watching my movie now?"
Sarah glances at him, taking in his eagerness, his happiness. It's not fair to lead him on like this.
"Sorry," she replies, moving to rise from the couch. "I'm exhausted. How 'bout tomorrow night?"
"Sure."
She walks toward the hall but looks back when she senses he isn't following. She pauses, knowing that shouldn't bother her, knowing that she should let it go and let him stay up as long as he wants. But a part of her, that irrational, lovesick part of her, knows that she can't sleep without him beside her. So she turns and asks, "You coming?"
Chuck shrugs. "In a little while. I'm not that tired yet." He avoids her eyes, flipping through the channels instead.
"Sure," she swallows, aware of how lucky he is that he's not looking at her, that he can't see the hurt in her eyes.
When she's still awake half an hour later, tossing and turning alone in bed, she suddenly understands how much even his presence does for her. She debates for a moment before wandering back down the hallway and finding him still stretched out on the couch in the living room.
She swipes her bangs away from her forehead. "Are you coming to bed?"
Chuck looks up, and a million things flash through his eyes. Finally, he shuts off the television and sits up. "Yeah," he says quietly, "yeah, I'm coming."
She shuffles back down to the bedroom, pleased when he comes in from the bathroom a few minutes later, changes into his pajamas, and wriggles his way under the covers. She's on her side, her back to him, but he finds a comfortable place against her, his arm draped over her waist.
With him there, she finally feels peaceful enough to drift off to sleep.
There are a thousand contradictory thoughts running through her head when she wakes up, and she finds herself wishing that her mind would give her a break for just a few minutes. Then she recognizes the feel of Chuck's arm draped across her. Smiling sleepily, she turns her head to find him sleeping on his stomach, his face turned toward her.
His lips flutter slightly as he lets out a breath, and she's stunned by how quickly the bad thoughts are chased away. Who knew one man could have such an effect?
Reaching up, she gently touches the curls framing his temple.
"Be patient with me," she whispers, stroking his hair and placing a kiss on his forehead. Thankfully, he's always been a heavy sleeper, and he doesn't stir. "Be patient with me."
Five days. It's been five days since it happened and she still hasn't talked to him about it, not really. If anything, she's been avoiding him. She's been tense, and cross, and short with him, and he's born it all just like she's come to expect he would.
So now it's Tuesday, and Sarah's sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the Orange Orange counter, eating a large bowl of raspberry frozen yogurt with gummi bears on top. The bell on the door jingles, but she ignores it and takes another bite. Maybe the customer will just go away. This isn't a real yogurt shop anyways.
"Sarah?"
She chokes on a gummi bear at the sound of Ellie's voice and nearly drops her yogurt in her haste to get up and greet Chuck's sister.
"Hey, Ellie! I was just . . ." She sets down the bowl of yogurt, a sheepish look on her face. "How are you?"
"Fine. I actually came to see how you were."
"Why would I be anything but fine?" It's supposed to be a joke, but she can't quite make it come across that way.
Ellie shrugs and replies politely, "You and Chuck just seemed a little off last night at dinner, that's all. I thought you might want to talk while he's not around."
It's funny how indirect proclamations of friendship can disarm her more quickly than any adversary ever could. Sometimes she loves Ellie's big-sister tendencies, and this is one of those times. Smiling, she asks, "Want some yogurt?"
Ellie returns the grin. "I'd love some."
She fills a bowl with lemon yogurt, Ellie's favorite, and covers it with a generous helping of mini chocolate chips. Picking up her own bowl, she takes both over to the nearest table and hands one to Ellie, already sitting down.
"Thanks," the brunette says, digging into the dessert.
The two women eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Ellie looking up in concern every once in a while. The older woman is patient, though, and she waits for Sarah to begin the conversation.
"How did you know you were in love with Devon?"
Ellie looks up in surprise, her eyebrows high on her forehead. "Uh, well, you know his parents are doctors, right?" Sarah nods. "They're pretty well-off. They live in this fantastic house, practically a mansion, blew me away the first time he took me there for a weekend." She chuckles preemptively. "I think I fell in love with him when I first saw that house."
Sarah rolls her eyes. As much as she appreciates Ellie's attempt at light-heartedness, she's really in need of a serious answer right now.
Sensing Sarah's discomfort, Ellie continues in a more sober voice, "Seriously, though, the summer after Devon and I started dating, he was over the apartment a lot. I was worried he and Chuck wouldn't get along. But one night I was cleaning up after dinner, and I looked up to find Devon and Chuck playing video games. They were playing something on his Xbox, just laughing and having a good time." She pauses, a smile on her face. "And I looked at the two of them getting along, and I realized that those were the two guys I wanted in my life."
She looks up at Sarah, concern in her eyes, and asks, "Is that what this is about? Your feelings for Chuck?"
Sarah's gaze wanders, and she gives a half-hearted shrug. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. "It's just . . . it's complicated between us, you know?"
Ellie regards her sadly. "So Chuck keeps saying. And no, I don't know." She sighs, swirling her yogurt with her spoon. "Sarah, I apologize if I'm overstepping my bounds here, but you guys have been living together for six months now. If you weren't certain of your feelings, why did you agree to move in with him?"
Ellie has a unique, gentle way of making her feel ashamed. "I like being near him," she confesses softly. Looking up, she adds, "I know you probably think I've been stringing Chuck along –"
"No," Ellie assures her, "I don't think that at all. I just hope you didn't rush into something because Chuck pressured you."
"Ellie, you know him. He's the sweetest guy on the planet. He'd probably stop breathing if he thought it made me uncomfortable."
Ellie's quiet, and Sarah's heart nearly breaks at the sadness in her eyes. "Then what's the problem?"
Shrugging sadly, she explains, "I'm not good at this sort of thing. I don't talk about my feelings." She takes a breath to recoup and try again. "Your brother's a fantastic guy." At this, Ellie gives her a look like, 'Darn right he is, and you better not hurt him,' which just serves to make Sarah even more nervous. "Sometimes I think he has these ideas of what a normal relationship looks like, and I just can't give him that. I'm screwed up, Ellie. I'm . . . emotionally stunted. I can't be the loving girlfriend he deserves."
"Sarah," Ellie says patiently, an understanding smile on her face, "don't you think he should decide that for himself?"
"What if, in a year or two, he decides that that's not good enough anymore?"
"Uh-uh," responds Ellie ardently, waving her plastic spoon for emphasis. "He loves you, Sarah. Nothing you can do will ever change that."
The thought makes her smile and calms the doubt in her heart. Ellie's right. She's been relying on herself for too long. It's time to trust someone else, someone who cares about her.
CIA agents are all about action. But even so, Sarah's finding it hard to put action to her convictions. Two days after her conversation with Ellie, she still hasn't talked to Chuck about her feelings, about the progression of their relationship. He's been patient, acting as he always has since they began living together.
So it doesn't surprise her when he comes into the Orange Orange on his lunch break. What surprises her is that he's not wearing his Nerd Herd uniform.
"Chuck," Sarah greets, surprised but happy. "What's going on?"
He follows her gaze and looks down at his jeans and t-shirt. "What? Oh, nothing."
She stares at him until he loses his cool and grins, giving away what she wants to know. Coming around the counter, she asks, "What are you up to, Mr. Bartowski?"
Chuck steps towards her, his characteristic grin lighting up his eyes. He places his hands on the counter on either side of her, so close she can barely breathe. "I have a surprise for you."
She narrows her eyes. This isn't what she'd expected at all. "Oh, yeah?" she asks, trying to inject some confidence into her voice. "What kind of surprise?"
"You have to close up shop and come with me to find out."
Sarah swallows. The intensity in his gaze makes her heart race, her throat feel dry. She's never seen him so bold, and the sight unnerves her. She shakes her head. "I can't just leave."
His confidence falters, but he manages to challenge her. "Sarah, this isn't even a real yogurt shop. So what's the problem?" When she doesn't answer, he takes a step back, his disappointment palpable.
The look in his eyes is enough to break her heart. He thinks she doesn't trust him.
No fear.
She takes his hand. "All right, Chuck. Let's go."
He breaks out into a ridiculous grin. "You mean it?"
"Yeah," she nods, reaching a hand behind his neck and playing with his curls. "I mean it."
Ten minutes later, they're in the Nerd Herder speeding down the highway. Chuck still won't tell her where they're going. The only thing he would say is that they'd be gone the whole weekend. He had packed for her, too, and their bags are in the backseat, along with a few grocery bags full of food. The warmth of the summer afternoon makes her sleepy, and when he tells her that they'll be on the road for a few hours, she settles against the seat and closes her eyes.
She wakes a little while later, her eyes still heavy in the afternoon heat. Groggy, she looks over at Chuck, who wears a calm smile on his face.
"What's that smile for?" she asks.
He glances over and replies, "When you're really tired, you talk in your sleep."
Sarah feels like the car drops out from under her, like she goes from traveling at sixty miles per hour to zero in the space of a second. Keeping her voice even, she manages to ask, "And what did I say?"
He shrugs, that enigmatic smile still present. "I couldn't tell. It's a different language."
Her stomach unclenches in relief. Although she hadn't been aware of that particular nighttime quirk, it's not the worst thing. And as Bryce had been her last bedfellow and he'd never told her about it, she has to conclude that it's a recent development.
"What's it sound like?" she asks.
"Mmm . . . some kind of Eastern European. Hungarian, maybe Polish."
She smiles. Definitely Polish. One of the first languages she'd learned in the CIA. She knows it so well she can practically think in Polish.
"Jestem w Tobie zakochany*," Sarah says quietly, looking at him sideways.
His brows narrow in curiosity. "What does that mean?"
She chuckles. "Figure it out." She shifts in her seat, watching the scenery go by for a while in silence. After another few miles, she ventures, "Do you really think this can work?"
She sneaks a glance at him, suddenly dismayed by the frown on his face.
"I do," he responds softly, not taking his eyes from the road. "I have to. Don't you?"
"How can I? With everything I've seen in my line of work, I've practically been trained for disappointment." She sighs, feeling utterly inadequate next to a man whose heart has such a stunning capacity for love. "But you make me want to try."
Smiling, Chuck reaches over and takes her hand, still bruised from last week, the gashes not quite healed. He glances at her before looking back at the road. "Then that's all I can ask for."
Sarah meanders slowly around the cabin, her arms crossed against her chest, looking out at the surrounding trees. Chuck's taken her a few hours northwest, to a secluded campground he said his family used to go to when he was younger. After they'd gotten settled in, Sarah had grabbed him and taken him on a hike until it had gotten too dark to see five feet in front of them. By now, he's probably passed out on the bed, exhausted, and she's out here, sorting through the web of emotions she's felt for the past week.
It's not fair, really, that he can make her feel so much, so intensely. She's used to skating through life, never giving a second thought to what's going on in her heart. But Chuck . . . Chuck makes her want to stop and finally take the time to live.
Taking one last deep breath, Sarah walks up the steps to the front porch of the cabin and heads inside. She finds Chuck in the bedroom, reading a book. Stopping in the doorway, she leans against it, her arms crossed.
He glances up, quickly returning his eyes to the page. "How was your walk? Perimeter secure?" he teases, a smirk on his lips.
She chuckles, watching as he sets down his book, sits up, and scoots over to the edge.
"Fine," she says, "I figured I'd find you either already asleep or frantically communicating with the outside world."
"Uh-uh," he shakes his head with a smile. "I promised you no laptop, no phone, no nothing, and I fully intend on keeping that promise."
Sarah doesn't answer right away. He didn't need to do that for her, didn't need to do any of this. The fact that he has only makes her fall even deeper. She walks over to the bed and sits on his lap, straddling his legs. He looks uncertain, but his arms slide confidently around her waist and hold her tight.
Twirling a curl around her forefinger, she asks, "What kind of man gives up his whole weekend to take care of me, to make sure that I'm okay?" As he's about to answer, she cuts him off. "And don't try to lie to me. I know you had plans with Morgan."
"You sound surprised," he exhales, his breath warm on her neck. "But how could you not have known?"
She stares at him, running a finger down the side of his face. Stunned into honesty, she confesses, "I'm only surprised that someone like you could love someone like me."
He smiles and gives her a swift kiss on the lips. "You underestimate yourself, you know that?" He asks, and he's kissing her before she has a chance to refute the allegation.
She had intended to come in and talk to him, but, too wrapped up in the feel of his mouth against hers, she doesn't stop him. There'll be time to talk in the morning. His lips move leisurely down to her neck, heading towards that weak spot he'd found last week, and the feeling sends shockwaves coursing through her.
Besieged by the sensations brought on by his touch, her eyes flutter closed as she wraps her arms around his neck and murmurs huskily in his ear. "Make love to me."
He pauses abruptly in his intrepid exploration and raises a timid gaze to hers. "Are you, uh, are you sure?" he asks nervously.
She swallows and looks at him. With a hesitant smile, she says, "I've spent the past week, almost the past two years, agonizing over my relationship with you. Yes, Chuck, I'm sure. Finally."
She kisses him again, gently on the lips, but he pulls away, stroking her hair.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he apologizes softly. "It's just . . . I hope you don't think that I brought you here for this."
Sarah chuckles. "Of course not. I know why you did it."
His eyebrows lift. "You do?"
"Everyone needs a few days away from the chaos," she shrugs. He looks appeased, but when she moves to kiss him again, he backs away again. Her stomach sinks. Of course. Just when she's starting to get used to the idea of a real relationship, he gets scared. Running her fingers through his hair, she asks, "What's the matter?"
He sighs, leans his forehead on her shoulder. "I don't know. I guess I've just been thinking too much over the past few days."
"About what?" Her voice comes out muffled as she places a kiss on the top of his head.
"About what made you so scared," he replies in a whisper.
"And you think you're inside my head, Mr. Bartowski?" she teases, but it's not as light-hearted as she wishes. "All right, then. So tell me what I was thinking."
Chuck looks up at her, his eyes heavy with apprehension. "Was it me?"
"Chuck," she breathes, "why would you think that?"
He's silent, but the look in his eyes tells her exactly what she needs to know. His past, his heart lay open for her. She slides off his lap and onto the bed next to him, turning his face towards her with her fingers. Tilting her head towards his ear, a smile on her face, she whispers, "Chuck . . . you were the fourth."
She watches as a smile slowly spreads across his face. "Really?" he asks.
"Really. Although I feel like I should be offended that you have to ask . . ."
"No, no, it's not –"
"Relax, Chuck," she assures him, playing with his curls. "And no, none of them were for a job."
He flushes. "What? I wasn't . . . that wasn't what I was thinking about at all."
"I know," she says, kissing him lightly on the lips, her fingers still flitting through his hair, "but I wanted you to know."
And when his lips crash into hers again, Sarah can feel the instant spark of happiness in her chest burst to life.
Sarah stares out at the forest, framed in the early morning light. She sits on the cabin steps, a sweater over her tank top, and watches the sun rise. He had been sleeping soundly when she'd sneaked out of the bedroom, but he surprises her by coming out onto the porch, the boards creaking as he shuffles over to her. She looks over as he sits down next to her and hands her a steaming mug of coffee.
A hand on the side of his face, she places a gentle kiss on his lips. "Good morning," she says quietly, her eyes still closed. "And thank you."
She's not sure what she's thanking him for, but he takes it in stride.
"Morning," he mumbles happily, softly kissing her neck.
Sarah turns back to view the mountains, and Chuck, one arm around her back, burrows his head into the crook of her neck. She lifts a hand to his head, her fingers sliding through his unkempt curls.
It's not even nine in the morning, and already she's pretty certain that this will easily prove to be one of her favorite days.
Fourteen months. Fourteen months is a long time to watch your life change.
Sarah sits at the desk in her office in the building of Chuck and Morgan's new video game company, Secret Agent Games, supposedly named after their respective girlfriends. It's a small company, started only ten months ago, but they've already finished and sold their first game. So now she's the PR rep, complete with her own office at the end of the hall, and Casey's the head of security, a job that suits his sensibilities much better than his previous job at the Buy More.
Swiveling in her desk chair, she picks up the most prominent photo frame, sitting next to her nameplate, the one that holds the picture of her and Chuck from their very first camping trip over a year ago. It's one of her favorite pictures of them, and it makes her feel exactly how Chuck himself makes her feel – like anything's possible, like the life they want is within their grasp.
Lifting her eyes from the photo, she turns her gaze to her boyfriend's office. The glass walls allow a clear view among all the rooms, excellent for her primary job, which is to protect him and information still stuck in his head. But she also likes that she can catch a glimpse of him whenever she gets bored during the work day.
Like right now. She should be booking TV interviews and comic and game conventions for the two guys in anticipation of the upcoming release but instead, she's staring at him like he's the chocolate and she's the peanut butter. He's sprawled on the floor of his office, a pen cap in his mouth, making marks on the papers scattered around him, his suit jacket thrown over the chair. Morgan sits a few feet away, his back against the couch, a grape soda in hand. The bearded man is chattering away, gesticulating wildly, while Chuck nods and, smiling, muffles an occasional remark through the pen cap in his teeth.
Sarah chuckles. She loves to watch their unorthodox work methods. Chuck scratches his head, leaning up to stretch his back. Sighing, she sets the photo back down on her desk and stands up. As she saunters across the hall, he looks up, spits the pen cap out of his mouth, and picks himself up off the floor to greet her, brushing off his pants.
He meets her just outside the office.
"Hey," he says softly, almost shyly, and she can't believe they've been doing this for fourteen months now.
A smile comes naturally to her lips. "Hey, yourself," she replies playfully, leaning into him, her hands against his chest.
Snaking his arms around his waist, he gives her a peck on the lips. "Morgan and I were gonna order Thai. Want me to get you something?"
"I have that lunch meeting in half-an-hour, remember?" she frowns.
Chuck nods. "Oh, yeah, I forgot about that." He hooks a piece of her hair behind her ear. "But you are going to be at the beach party this afternoon, right?"
"Of course. Wouldn't miss it."
He doesn't answer, his fingers poised against her cheek. He moves his thumb up to her forehead, the soft pad of his finger glancing over the fresh bruise from last night's mission. She had tried to hide it with her bangs and some make-up, but he knows it's there.
"You okay?" he asks gently.
"Mmmhmm, fine."
He gives her another kiss. "Good."
Taking a deep breath, she pats his chest. "I have to get going, but I'll see you in a bit, all right?"
He nods, sending her off with a lingering kiss.
The rest of the day flies by, and Sarah soon finds herself walking down the beach, Chuck's hand in hers, the sand cool against her bare feet. She throws a backward glance at their party – Morgan, Anna, Ellie, Awesome, even Casey, all crowded around a burgeoning campfire a hundred feet down the shore. The distant laughter brings a smile to her face, and she turns to her boyfriend to find a matching one playing across his lips.
Chuck, dressed in trunks and a fleece pull-over, practically glows with contentment. She gives his hand a squeeze and pulls him closer, the waves crashing against her ankles.
"I'm sorry that I dragged you away from all the excitement," she says as she wraps her hands around his neck.
"No," he shakes his head. "I like being with you." He pauses, looking nervous. "I finally figured out what you that phrase means."
"Have you?" She grins, saying playfully, "Took you a long time. I say it to you often enough."
He tilts his head and says in a low voice, "Well, I have a response for you."
"Oh, yeah?" she chuckles. "What's that?"
Her breath catches in her throat as he lowers to one knee and pulls a ring box from his pocket, the moonlight glinting off the small, elegant diamond.
Chuck takes a deep breath and looks up intently.
"I apologize if I bungle the pronunciation, but, Sarah Walker, wyjdziesz za mnie*?"
Tears sparkle in her eyes, and she can't find words right away. Stunned, almost unable to breathe, she covers her mouth with her hands.
"Sarah?"
"Tak.*" The answer comes out in a whisper, as if she doesn't trust her own voice. But somehow between the nodding and the grinning, the realization hits her that all this is real, that this is all right.
Laughing, Chuck leaps up and envelops her in a hug.
She squeezes him tightly, letting a few happy tears roll down her cheeks.
"Tak."
Here are the translations for the Polish phrases:
*I'm in love with you.
*Will you marry me?
*Yes.