A/N: Sorry, I forgot to post this earlier...So we had some serious action last chapter, and Sarah isn't happy...she's about to get even more unhappy...Walker, PI, Ch 8, The Real Case Begins
Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck.
(Italics indicate a voiceover)
That night, I slept in my bed, alone. I tossed and turned all night. I sat up, frustrated. It wasn't the heat bothering me, it was this case….and other things. I spent some of the day with the cops to finalize their report. It was an open and shut case…but it wasn't. I didn't call Chuck. I went back to the office, got the money, and put it in the bank. I then went and paid six months rent on the office, and six months rent on my apartment. I had plenty left, but I wanted to make sure I got those two paid. I had a sinking suspicion if I was right, I would want to return the money.
Things weren't making sense. There was a nice little story for the cops, wrapped with a bow, but in what world did any of it make sense? The cops didn't want to look too hard because two men they knew were criminals were dead. As I sat in bed, lightening flashed outside my window. I looked on the nightstand beside the bed at my phone. I should just call him, go see him, and get on with my life. That's what everyone else would have done. The thing is, Chuck Bartwoski hired me to solve a case. I'm not sure why he did, because if he knew anything about me, he knew I would solve it, and part of me wondered if he really wanted me too.
I should let it go, my heart told me to move on, and let it go. I laid down with the intention of sleeping. Tomorrow I would call Chuck and see where that lead…the thought of that didn't sit right with me, with my mind. I knew what I had to do, what I owed myself. The question was would I hate myself for it? As I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, I saw him, the way he looked at me…I know what I wanted to do, and what I had to do…why couldn't they be the same? I knew why, until I had the answers, any decision I came to was based off of incomplete facts, and I had to know. I hate myself sometimes. Why did I ever take this case?
A few days later I was sitting at my desk, looking at all the messages I had from potential clients. Casey had been better than his word and had sent me many potential cases. Others would be happy with that…me, I wondered….I found it was the case I had supposedly closed that I kept thinking about. Captain Casey not answering my direct question the day before left me leery of everything I thought I knew. That wasn't true…it left me leery of what I was supposed to think. I was pretty sure I knew what was going on, I just didn't want to admit it, because if I did... As I sat there, swirling my drink, I wondered was I upset at what I had thought had happened, or was I upset because no one had ever cared like that for me? Did he care like that for me? As I pondered this question, my door opened, with no preceding knock. Chuck came in, trying to look confident, but failing miserably. I hadn't seen him since the incident at the hotel. I hadn't even talked to him. Part of me was very unhappy about that. Most of me was very unhappy about that. Okay, all of me was very unhappy about that, but I wasn't sure how to handle what I was thinking.
"It's been a while," he said. I just looked at him, swirling my drink, pretending to be unaffected by him, lying to myself. I did that well.
"I've been busy, paperwork, phone ringing, that kind of stuff." I replied, trying to keep things professional, why, I didn't know. Yes I did. Deep down I didn't care what he did, but professionally…professionally I was supposed to, and I wasn't about to throw away my career for him, no matter how he made me feel. That was my line in the sand.
"I thought maybe I had done something," he replied. I sat up, confused. Mostly by my own feelings, and my response was petty, but I needed space to sort this out.
"You never called me," I responded, flippantly.
"You said, you would call me," he replied, looking unsure of himself. I shrugged. "Have I done something?"
"I don't know, you tell me, Chuck. You tell me exactly where you were the night Daniel Shaw was killed, or better yet, why were you armed when we entered the hotel, or my personal favorite, why did you hire me?" The look on his face was almost one of relief.
"I needed someone to help me. You know where I was when Shaw was killed, and I didn't trust those two is why I was armed." I stared at him. "Perhaps you should tell me what you think it is you think I've done and I can know what it is I should be explaining." I smiled, I had him, and we both know it. All he had to do was tell me the truth, but he couldn't. I don't know if he was too ashamed of what he did, didn't trust me, or a little of both, but right then, I didn't care. I had to fix this for me. As much as I wanted him, I had to put me first, because no one else was going to. The problem was, part of me felt putting me first was letting him off, but I couldn't and wouldn't be someone in this town that was not respected.
"Get out," I said softly, but intensely. His jaw dropped, it was clear he didn't think I would throw him out. I didn't want him to go, but he had to, while I figured all of this out. I pointed toward the door. "Go. I have a mess to clean up, because I think someone played me, and I'm going to look like a world class chump that got taken by my client. I have work to do." I paused. "Unless you'd like to tell me exactly what it is I need to look for to clean up this mess, I don't need you around." I gave him one more chance, but the look on his face told me that he wasn't going to hand it to me on a platter. That was fine, I was good, and I began to wonder if he knew exactly how good, and that's why he hired me; to actually figure out this mess because he couldn't take the guilt. Chuck nodded and turned to go. He paused, reached in his coat, turned, and tossed an envelope onto my desk.
"Give that to Morgan, and tell him the debt is paid, just like he was promised. Tell him I said to give you anything you ask for." With that he turned to go. He stopped, his hand on the doorknob. "I never meant to hurt you in this. I never meant for us to get involved. That much was real."
"Doesn't make this hurt any less," I replied. He nodded, and I knew. I knew what he did, and I knew why he wanted me to know. He was directionless. Why he picked me to be the one to figure all of this out, I didn't know, and frankly, I really didn't want to know. I wanted to move on with my life, and I probably would have. I probably would have left it all alone, and never figured it all out, but what he said next floored me.
"You do what you need to do, but what I did, is what others wished people would do for them." With that he left. He shut the door. I was so mad, I picked up a paperweight from my desk and threw it at the door, shattering the glass. He never turned around. He headed down the hall and out of my life. I put my head in my hands, and tried to figure out who I was maddest at, him, or me. I sighed and reached for my phone. He had me and he knew he did. I don't know what it was about him that drew me too him, but I had to figure this out, and I then had to figure out what to do about him. I was going to charge him for the window, but that would require me to see him, and that wasn't happening. I was never going to see Chuck Bartowski again. At least that's what I kept telling myself. At this point even I didn't believe me.
A/N: Reviews and PMs are always welcomed!
DC
