marshmallow's a/n: Don't listen to the lamb, it's not her fault this took so long to get out. It's mine. She's been awesome, as always, and I'm the one who has dragged their feet. Really, this shouldn't be a surprise to any of you. At least not to anybody who knows us. Anyway, enough about that. Hope you guys enjoy the chapter and let us know what you think. It'll make moo happy. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. You're awesome!
malamoo's a/n: hey, mxmoo is back! so sorry for the delay. I've been putting in very very long hours at the library. speaking of which, i have to head back now. bye!
Chapter 4
Chuck laughs half-heartedly as Morgan becomes even more animated in his retelling of last night's dating fiasco.
"So then she asks me what kind of job I had and I told her I was the Alfred to your Bruce Wayne and do you know what she did? She just stared at me like she didn't even know what I was saying!"
Chuck shrugs. What can he say?
"Can you believe that?" Morgan asks, waving his arms wildly.
Chuck shakes his head dutifully and with an indulgent smile asks, "So what did you do?"
Morgan sighs, resigned to his fate. "You know how much I love Italian chicks, Chuck, but a man has got to have standards."
"I hope you at least paid for dinner."
Morgan nods his head with an enthusiastic grin. "Of course I did." He leans forward, wary of Casey's presence at the other end of the conference table and adds in a conspiratorial whisper: "I charged it to your expense account. Just, uh, don't tell Casey."
Chuck laughs more vocally this time and winks at Morgan. "Your secret is safe with me, Buddy."
It's the first genuine laugh he's had in awhile and he allows the tension to temporarily drain from his body as he imagines Casey's outrage at American taxpayer money going to support Morgan's failed romantic engagements.
It's a much needed release from the tension that's been building all week. He doesn't care what everyone else says, and yeah, maybe Morgan is riding his coattails a little, but he needs his best friend.
Morgan bounces in his seat and taps out an uneven beat along the tabletop. Casey looks up from his paper and growls, giving Morgan the glare reserved for morons and screw-ups. Somehow, the bearded fellow manages to miss the look of loathing and barely suppressed rage. Chuck is not surprised.
Chuck looks over at Casey and smirks. There are days, too many of them, when he wishes for the old days when Casey gave him that same look.
"I thought I told you no more Red Bulls!"
Morgan spins around in his chair and looks helplessly at the big burly man. "But they call to me, Casey. They call to me and I can't say no!"
"It's completely out of his hands," Chuck chimes in and his friend shrugs his shoulders in agreement.
"What can you do?"
Casey groans and looks like he's itching to shoot something or somebody. "Does he really have to be here?"
Morgan stops bouncing in his seat. His smile falls and he looks at the man in all seriousness. "I'm here for moral support," he intones.
Casey's silent for a moment. No quip about notions of over-inflated self-importance or being just plain stupid. No.
He gives a half nod, as if they've reached a silent agreement without their team leader.
"Okay."
Chuck frowns and now both of them are staring at him, gauging his reaction. Casey forgets the paper in his hand, Morgan forgets about how the evening with his hot date came to a disastrous conclusion and suddenly it seems there's only one topic of interest.
He hates that his relationship with Sarah has become that unmentionable elephant in the room. He clears his throat but there's no clearing the air. It's become thick and oppressive, the way it always is before an impending storm.
"I'm fine," he says for the hundredth time—no exaggeration. He's told them he can handle things and be professional about all this but the looks of disbelief in both men's eyes remain.
They're just waiting for him to slip up—a simple twitch of the lips or shade of the eyes will suffice—or perhaps they'll let him slide and wait for the aftermath, for when he reaches for the bottle and two pints of cookie dough ice-cream.
Chuck's stomach turns at the memory of that particular nauseating combination.
"Guys, trust me," he reiterates. "Anything we may have had ended a long time ago. I've accepted her decision." He pauses and then feels compelled to add: "Really."
It's become a mantra; surely if he says it enough times he'll start to believe it.
That's how it works, isn't it?
"So let's just get this meeting over with. The faster we finish, the faster we can finish the mission and then everything will go back to normal."
His quiet life in Rome. Sarah's quaint life in Washington with Shaw.
He sighs. That's all he really wants.
Space.
Distance.
Casey gives him a look—a different kind of look these days—and then gestures to the clock on the wall.
"She's late." The two words are spoken in a voice vaguely laced in disgust.
Chuck nods wordlessly. It's not like Sarah, and he can't help thinking that she's late because she doesn't respect him as a fellow spy.
Is she disappointed in her latest assignment?
Is this a sign of her protest?
He's aware of Sarah's resistance (Beckman saw fit to share that little tidbit) and if it weren't for Carina, he's not sure she would have come at all.
Chuck blinks and shakes his head. Despite all his misgivings towards Sarah, he knows deep down that she's always conducted herself as professionally as possible. She wouldn't jeopardize a job because of a personal grudge.
Chuck looks discretely down at the watch on his wrist.
Twenty minutes past.
They should give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she's run into trouble. What then?
Chuck tries to hide the worry from his eyes; Casey's not good with the "lady-feelings", but Morgan's radar is attuned to him. He'll see right through the mask.
Chuck's hand inches a little closer to his pocket. Not for the first time he contemplates calling her contact number.
Don't be a moron.
The voice from his conscience sounds eerily like Casey; so much in fact Chuck turns to the man just to double-check. Casey gives him a blank look.
"What?"
Chuck shakes his head. "Nothing. Just...waiting."
His hand itches for the phone again but his conscience (and Casey) are right. He's a spy now and he understands that sometimes delays happen. He just needs to be patient.
And stop being so over-eager. It's not worth it.
Chuck looks over at Casey again.
The door suddenly opens and his eyes immediately dart to the front. A pair of slender legs slips through the gap and saunters towards them.
Chuck can't help the sigh of disappointment when he realizes who it is.
"You're late," Casey growls.
Carina grins. "I'm not late, Casey, you're just early."
Chuck snorts in bemusement but quickly schools his face into a serious façade. The last thing he wants to do is encourage Carina. He gives her his best stern look, which even he knows isn't very stern, and says, "You promised to be on your best behavior, Carina."
Carina rolls her eyes and takes the chair next to him. "Oh no, Chuck," she purrs. "I guess I've been naughty." She gives him a saucy smirk. "When can I expect my spanking?"
Despite the months of flirting, innuendo, and over the top come-ons, Carina still manages to make him blush. He looks away and faces Casey instead, and the man's anger-filled visage quickly banishes any inappropriate thoughts Carina's words might have inspired.
"Shall we get started?" she hedges.
He feels the tension drain out of him as her eyes leave him to take in the room.
"There's no point without Walker."
"Oh Sarah's just wrapping up a call with her man outside." Carina turns in her seat and suddenly her eyes are locked on Chuck again. "She should be done any second now."
The wave of anger hits him before he has any way to control it and Carina doesn't miss a thing. She ghosts a smile, an insignificant gesture compared to the gloating smile he can tell she's holding back, and her mercurial eyes flash with interest.
Chuck clenches his fists underneath the table. He bites his lips to prevent himself from snapping something petty and angry and glares back at Carina.
Carina gives him a perfectly blank expression in return.
"Don't," he mouths quietly to avoid detection by the men. He knows Carina's just trying to get a rise out of him and despite his best efforts he's sure his feelings about Sarah and Shaw show clearly on his face.
Casey grunts in disgust. "She should know better. Doesn't she know she's keeping us waiting?"
Carina shrugs. "Fools in love. You wouldn't understand, Casey."
The dig goes too far but Chuck bites his tongue. He may have accepted Sarah's choice—that he wasn't and could never be what she wanted, but that doesn't mean he likes thinking of the two of them together.
Was it juvenile for him to dislike Shaw so much? Maybe. And maybe if he were a better person he'd accept that Shaw gave Sarah something he couldn't.
It's a hard truth to swallow. In fact, even now, months later, he still struggles with it. That's why he needs this mission to be over as soon as possible. The faster Sarah leaves Rome, the sooner he can lock Sarah back up in that part of his mind he rarely visits.
"She's being unprofessional—" Casey halts. "Oh wait. That's pretty much in line with Walker's MO."
Chuck's annoyance comes back with a vengeance and he contemplates stalking to the door and demanding that Sarah join them. She can talk to her...boyfriend on her own time. She's holding them back and it's disrespectful.
Suddenly he understands how Casey must have felt every time he tried to engage Sarah in talk about their feelings. He understands how that word can sound so much like a curse.
This is precisely why spies don't have relationships.
Chuck sighs. He has to learn to be better at stuffing his feelings into a box.
Frankly, he's surprised Sarah's forgotten her own lesson—not that he's not used to it. He's learned in the time since Union Station that Sarah's rules only apply to him.
"What the hell does she even see in that moron?" Casey suddenly asks the room.
"Oh, don't you know?" Carina gives a flippant smirk, all the while still watching Chuck like a hawk. "Apparently the sex is fantastic."
Chuck's reaction is immediate. He flinches as if struck and turns away but there's nowhere to hide.
Damn her. Chuck grits his teeth and hastily tries to recover. He has no idea why she's picking at his scabs today of all days but if she wants a confrontation later she's going to get it.
Morgan makes a face. "Really?" He shrugs, and looks like he's mulling it over. "Well now that I think about it, that chiseled jaw...I can imagine—"
"Idiot," Casey growls.
Morgan realizes his mistake too late. He gives his friend an apologetic look and between Carina's twisted grin and Casey's snarl it's too much. He explodes out of his chair and stalks over to the large bay window, trying to clear his thoughts with help from the picturesque view.
"Chuck?" Morgan hedges. "You okay?"
Chuck doesn't give a response. He just can't face them right now.
"Come on, Chuck," Carina says. "Don't be like that."
He stares out the window, knowing he's being immature and melodramatic but he doesn't care.
To his surprise, Casey is on his side this time. "Just shut the fuck up, Carina."
Chuck relaxes slightly at the venom in Casey's voice.
"Hey, you asked," Carina says, getting defensive. "I was just giving you my honest answer."
Chuck closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. If he doesn't say something soon they're going to start an all-out brawl in the conference room.
"Guys—"
Just then, the door opens again and he catches a woman's silhouette in the reflection of the window. The clear glass makes it difficult to see and it's probably for the better, because he's not sure he can take in all the details of Sarah at once.
That little box he's stuffed all his feelings into starts to spill over the edges. Chuck clenches his jaw and tries not to stare at the blurry reflection. There were a lot of things that could have been, but he can't think about any of that now.
He has to man up.
He has to remember he's a spy now.
Chuck nods with determination. He's not sure what she'll think once he turns around. He's not sure what he'll think once he turns around.
But one thing's for sure. Things just got a whole lot more complicated.
Sarah arrives at Chuck's office too early. Well, ten minutes isn't exactly early but she'll do anything to delay the inevitable. Even though she's had more than a month to get herself ready, she still feels like she's clawing at every second she can to muffle her pounding heart and create some semblance of a professional within herself.
Sarah nods at the security guard sitting at the front desk and gives him her name. He studies her cover ID intently and after checking with his computer, allows her through. She pauses just before leaving the lobby and gives her nod of approval.
The cameras are inconspicuous, the windows thick, and the guard alert. The building is as secure as it could be without drawing any unwanted attention.
Sarah forgoes the elevator and ascends the long spiral staircase to draw out the time. Checking the security of the building only delays the inevitable, and it doesn't provide the escape she needs. She's in one of the most elegant neighborhoods of one of the most beautiful cities in the world and none of it makes a difference. Even as she carefully takes in her surroundings, she doesn't feel a thing. New city, new assignment; it's all been done before.
Dragging her heels down the hallway, she finds the room number and hesitates. A second is all it takes and suddenly she remembers things better left forgotten.
There's no way to separate the good from the bad; if she wants to hold onto those few stolen kisses, the feel of his arms taking her in, she'll have to accept how he took all the air from her lungs and all the color from her sight when he pressed that train ticket back into her hand.
The memory is bittersweet and leaves a bad taste in her mouth.
Sarah sighs and has to step away to catch her breath. She can't bring any of that into the room—no baggage.
They might as well be strangers.
That's how it has to be. That's the only way this is going to work.
She's here to do a job and nothing else.
She leans against the wall as she rifles through her bag for her cell. Carina saunters into view. Judging by the grin on her face it would appear that there were no hard feelings about the night before.
"Hurry up, Walker, or you're going to be late," Carina greets with a smirk.
Sarah frowns. "You told me nine-thirty."
Her friend feigns shock. "Did I?" she asks and then shrugs. "Oh. I must have gotten confused. I meant nine."
Sarah emits a barely audible growl, channeling all her anger into the poor cell phone in her grip.
"Carina!" Sarah wonders what the point is in getting mad. It's not like her friend will actually feel an emotion that could possibly resemble guilt.
Carina shrugs. "Relax. I'll smooth it over with them first." She doesn't leave room for protest. "Give me five," she says with a wink and disappears through the door, closing it quickly behind her.
Sarah wouldn't entrust Carina with a potted fern much less her already less than stellar reputation but it's not like she has a choice.
Before she can think of barging into the office, the cell in her hand goes off. Sarah stares at the call-screen in frustration, but if she doesn't answer now…
"Why didn't you call me this morning?"
Well hello to you too, she thinks wryly.
"I was getting ready for my meeting and I overslept," she says. The lies come so easily now she's not so sure it's a lie at all.
She hears an unhappy grunt and can almost picture the frown Shaw has on his face. There's no question, he's not even hiding the fact—
"Well you shouldn't have. Why didn't you go to bed earlier?"
Sarah rolls her eyes. "Because I was really tired from the flight and I was trying to get ready for the meeting this morning—"
"Then you should have gone to bed earlier. This isn't a social visit, Sarah; I thought I made that clear."
Sarah bites her tongue. It's not like she went out for a night on the town, but he'll see it just the same when Carina's involved.
"Isn't it three in the morning in DC?" she asks.
"Don't try to change the subject," he says. "Now promise me you aren't going to see her."
"She's my best friend." And more importantly… "She's on the team."
"You know what I mean," he says. "If she wants to go out for drinks, you make an excuse and go back to the hotel. You need your rest."
"But I feel fine—"
"You just said you were really tired," he accuses and just like that, Sarah realizes she's fallen into another one of his traps.
She bites her tongue again. Damn him and his semantics. Why did he have to go through everything she said with a fine-tooth comb?
"I have to go," she says, avoiding an argument nine months in the making. "I'm late."
As soon as she says the words, she realizes her mistake.
"Late? I thought you were busy getting ready this morning. How can you be late?"
"Shaw—" Sarah grits her teeth. She knows she'll get nowhere if she calls him that. "Daniel. Please, I'm late."
He sighs and Sarah feels her shoulders fall. She's difficult, she knows. She'll never measure up to his dead wife, she knows.
"I'm sorry," she says, almost out of impulse.
"It's okay. Just get the mission over with as soon as possible. I need you back here."
Some of Sarah's disappointment fades upon hearing those words. It always felt good to be needed.
"I should only be a few days and then I'll be back," she assures.
Shaw sounds happier too. "Good, because I need you on the op in Miami."
His words take out her fledgling hopes like an arrow piercing the sky and the spiraling disappointment descends upon her once again.
"Of course," she whispers quietly, afraid she'll give more of herself away if she speaks any louder. It was probably too much to hope he might actually want her back because he misses her.
"I love you," he says, the phrase now synonymous with goodbye.
"Yeah," she replies, her usual response. "Me too." And then she hangs up before anything else can be said.
Sarah puts her cell phone away and takes a deep breath. And then another. She pushes all thought of Shaw aside and forgets everything. She can't think about anything right now except the mission.
You can do this. You can do this. You can do this.
Sarah nods, trying to convince herself as she chants the mantra in her head as she smoothes down her clothes and walks forward—with purpose now—and opens the door.
Instantly, all eyes at the table are on her and she feels quite literally like she's the grotesquely large elephant in the room. It doesn't matter how quietly she can tiptoe or how much she tries to shrink herself with her mind, everyone is watching her every move—well, except for the one person she'd been hoping to see.
With practiced ease she quickly assesses the room as she makes her way to the empty seat. Casey looks annoyed and angry, probably because of her lack of punctuality. Carina, having already been reacquainted earlier, has already glanced away to stare at Chuck's back. Morgan gives her an unsure smile and she nods her head in response. She dismisses all three as inconsequential.
She focuses on Chuck, and something she isn't even aware she still had inside her awakens. She can't explain it. The simple nearness of him makes her feel as if all the colors in the room are more vivid than they were seconds ago.
She does her best to quash the feelings, but no matter how hard she tries, her heart's still ticking like mad and her stomach is churning with butterflies.
It doesn't mean anything.
It's just a sympathomimetic overload. She didn't sleep well, she's nervous, she's stressed from the phone call.
Just because she doesn't see colors more vividly or feel short of breath near Shaw doesn't mean their relationship is anything less.
Sarah knows she's staring but she doesn't care. No one's saying anything; everyone's waiting for him to say something.
Anything.
Sarah clenches her jaw. Turn around.
He looks broader around the shoulders than she remembers, and there is a stiffness to his stance that was never there before.
His hair is still tragically short and curl-free.
Turn around, Chuck.
Doesn't he know she's here?
Of course, he must.
So is he dreading this moment every bit as much as she is? She's anticipated and feared for this moment in equal measure, especially since Carina's visit last night, but it's now or never.
She can't keep up this façade alone. She needs him to play his part.
God damn it, turn around, Chuck!
As if on command, he spins around and walks back towards the conference table. Their eyes meet, however briefly, and Sarah feels all the air in her lungs escape her.
His face is impassive, and his normally expressive eyes are guarded and unreadable. When they glance at her, it's calculating and dispassionate, like she's a target or a mark and nothing more.
Then again, why is she surprised? This is the new Chuck. Her Chuck has long since gone.
He frowns slightly and she wonders if there's something wrong with her appearance. She touches her hair self-consciously, trying to reassure herself in spite of such a fragile mask.
"Nice of you to finally join us," he says and the annoyance in his voice is obvious.
She tenses. "I was taking care of a personal matter," she says, taking on a similar tone. She doesn't mean to sound so cold, but it's not her fault she's late. He has his teammate to thank for that.
Casey snorts. "Deal with your personal crap on your own time, Walker. Don't bring it in here."
She turns to glare at Carina. Obviously her friend has taken to the task of covering for her in true fashion.
"I didn't. That's why I dealt with it outside."
Sarah's not altogether clueless. She knows speaking about Shaw with Chuck around is going to make things uncomfortable for everyone; it's not like she wants to talk about her personal life anyhow.
She watches Casey's eyes narrow and it looks like he's about to give a snappy response when Chuck clears his throat and clears the air.
"Okay, that's enough."
Sarah gives a small sigh of relief and turns around to thank Chuck—there's no reason she can't at least be polite, even if she really didn't need him coming to her rescue—but he won't look at her.
She frowns. Some semblance of civil behavior while they were on the job was probably too much to ask for but if he can't even look at her, she has no idea why she's even here.
Chuck's eyes finally settle on a spot near the middle of the table. She watches as he takes a deep breath and then raises his eyes to level with the man sitting across from them.
Chuck nods his head once and Casey grunts.
"Finally." Casey opens the dossier in front of him and begins to go over the relevant details.
Sarah tunes him out. She's studied the document forwards and back a hundred times since she agreed to this assignment; she could recite all fifty pages of notes verbatim if the need arose.
As expected, Carina seems to be paying attention for once. Sarah snorts quietly. Knowing her friend, this is probably the first time Carina has even bothered to pay attention to the mission parameters.
Not for the last time, Sarah wonders why she's even here on such a seemingly straightforward mission. It's a relatively simple reconnaissance and information gathering operation. The person of interest is one Lorenzo Garibaldi, a suspect facilitator of illegal materials in and out of the Mediterranean with strong ties to various North African terrorist groups, Somali pirates, Afghani drug runners, and Eastern European human traffickers etcetera etcetera. Perhaps more importantly and to the point, are the tenuous pieces of data that connect him to the Ring.
Garibaldi's forty-fifth will be celebrated in style and Team Bartowski intends to be there. As with all extravagant parties involving rich, dangerous men, there's talk of the party being nothing more than a front for a gathering of his chief lieutenants.
The mission calls for Chuck and Carina to attend the party as a couple (okay, so the idea still rankles her more than she'd care to admit), bug Garibaldi's office where the potential meeting will take place and dump his hard drive.
Sarah is to attend as a guest and cover for any unforeseen difficulties while Casey plays the role of chauffer. The arrangement is so reminiscent of old times it causes Sarah to smile faintly at the memory.
She can't describe the feeling in words but sitting here in this chair with Chuck to her right and Casey across from her just feels…right.
Just like the way things used to be.
Work these last few months had felt like trying to jam a square peg into a triangular hole; she's almost forgotten why she does this for a living.
Still, she can't help the nagging feeling that all is not as it appears. Besides a passing familiarity with Garibaldi's organization during a mission in Warsaw years back she has no more connection or knowledge of the man than any other random CIA agent.
Was it possible Chuck had just wanted to see her?
Then she catches Carina staring and all pleasant thought dissipates into the air. Her friend gives her a wink and the expression makes her skin prickle. She's acutely aware of Chuck's presence beside her…so either Carina's goading her—
Or maybe she's just being playful with her boyfriend.
Sarah swallows with some difficulty. Knowing Carina she's not one to pass on the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.
Carina smiles and this time Sarah's sure it's directed at her. She knows that look, she's seen it a hundred times, and suddenly Sarah's queasy with dread.
A straightforward mission? Perhaps.
Simple? Never.
# # # # #
The meeting adjourns but not before Casey has gone through the itinerary so meticulously there's no conceivable way for Carina to deviate from the plan. Naturally her friend will have to think extra hard tonight to find loop-holes for improvisation. She doesn't doubt that Carina will find something.
Sarah takes her time, moving slowly to gather her things from the table and to rise from her seat. Morgan leaves first, something about pizza or other, then Casey, Carina…until it's just her and Chuck.
He seems to be taking his time clearing up the conference room. She's never known him to obsess about the arrangement of chairs at the table before.
Even something as insignificant as that that makes her frown.
She used to love Chuck's ability to find order in the mess of things. Chuck would never insist on making the bed immediately after getting up in the morning, or scold her for not using a coaster every single damn time.
At least not the old Chuck.
She takes a deep breath.
It's now or never.
She can't work under these conditions. Something needs to change.
"Chuck?"
He stills and his back goes rigid but at least she has his attention.
She bites her lip. "Um…can we talk?"
Chuck doesn't respond and it's a strange feeling, being left hanging. The old Chuck would have rushed to fill the smallest gaps of silence. She loved that about him too. She's not much of a talker herself.
"Please?"
Still no response. Chuck doesn't turn around to face her.
"The thing is…" Sarah hesitates. She's not really sure what she wants to say. To be honest she was kind of hoping she'd give the offer and Chuck would take charge. "The thing is…" She tries again but to no avail. She's asking for something she's not sure she can put to words.
You want the truth?
"We're…" Her heart starts beating erratically and she's so nervous she feels like she might faint on the spot. "We're still…friends, right?"
She knows there's no hope for them romantically (she knows that, she knows that), but she needs to know that there's still a chance for something…anything (she'll take anything) between them. Even if he's not the Chuck she fell for.
The truth?
"I…"
The truth is, Chuck once told her that he'd always be her friend. That he'd always care for her.
And she missed that. More than anything.
He became a constant in her life and then suddenly, one day he's the unknown variable. She used to know him. She used to be able to read him just by his smiles.
And now he won't even turn around to look at her.
"I need to know that we're okay."
Chuck whips around and Sarah knows she's said the wrong thing. The look of disbelief is so mired with disgust she'd like nothing more than to eat her own words.
"I mean I need to know that we can work together—professionally."
She looks hesitantly at him and she knows there's no hope for anything more at this point. Maybe if she doesn't slip up again she might get some semblance of their old working relationship back by the end of this mission.
And maybe (big maybe), if things went well, this might not be the only mission they'd collaborate on. There could be others.
And maybe someday far, far in the future, they could be friends again.
She'd really like that. More than she could ever publicly admit.
"Yeah…we're okay," he dismisses and goes back to shuffling papers into his folder.
"So we can talk?" she ventures.
Chuck still won't look at her. "Maybe later," he says but it might as well be a negation. Whatever lofty goals she may have for their future, he's quelled them quite efficiently in less than ten seconds.
She tries not to let the frustrated sigh slip past her lips, but she fails. He looks up sharply and glares; the look he gives her is enough to make her want to melt into a pool and dissolve into the carpet.
"I think it's best," he says through clenched teeth, "that things remain strictly professional between us, Agent Walker. There is nothing that needs to be said that wasn't already covered in the briefing."
Agent Walker?
She has to look away before he sees just how deeply he's wounded her with those two simple words. It's not so much the name in itself that makes her ache, but the way he says it.
She was always impartial to the cover but he made it real for her. He said her name like it was really her name, like that's who she really is.
And now it's just an alias. Like Jenny Burton or Rebecca or Katie.
Gone is the affection in his voice and the warmth from his eyes. She's not sure who this man is but he's not Chuck. This is the monster she's made, the spy she turned him into.
This is the man she had to get away from.
Suddenly, he slams his fist onto the table and she jumps, startled from her reverie.
"For three years, I begged, pleaded, and fought for every little piece of information you saw fit to give me. Three years," he says. His barely restrained anger makes his words fly out like spitfire; choppy but to-the-point.
She tries to meet his eyes but she's no match for the intensity of his glare. She has no choice but to look away.
"All I wanted was to know you, to understand you. I wasn't going to hurt you or betray you, but you gave me nothing. And I accepted that because I just thought you were afraid or reluctant or it just wasn't your way. But that's not true, is it? You just didn't want to tell me."
Sarah winces when Chuck opens his mouth again, preemptively preparing herself for another verbal assault but he stops abruptly and takes a seat.
Silence reigns between them for several moments. She chances a look at him and her heart breaks a little at the total exhaustion that has taken over his features.
"I'm sorry," he says. He sounds genuine in his contrition and even manages a small smile. "I'm being hypocritical and ridiculous. If I want a professional relationship, I should probably try acting like a professional, huh?" The smile widens and even his eyes partake.
She relaxes a little and tries to smile in return, but all she can manage is a nod of the head. She feels sick all over; no one has ever made her feel so awful and insignificant the way he just did and she has no one to blame but herself.
"It's okay," she whispers.
He nods his head and perhaps seeing her sickly pallor, takes pity on her. His posture eases and the tension in his face fades away.
"Maybe when the mission is over and we figure out this arrangement, we can grab a cup of coffee." His whole face brightens for a second and is overtaken by a painfully familiar boyish grin.
"Or get some gelato," he suggests. "I know this great gelato place by the Trevi Fountain. It's really…"
He trails off and then shakes his head, grinning wryly. "I'm doing it again. Sorry."
She wants to tell him that she doesn't mind this kind of unprofessional relationship. She wants to tell him that she understands, even though she doesn't really. She wants to tell him a lot of things: that's she's sorry, how much she regrets so many things in the past, how she wishes they could go back to the way they were.
She doesn't though. No words can make any of this go away and she's not looking for some excuse to ease her penance. She made a choice. They both did.
At some point in your life, you have to take responsibility for your actions and she figures just past thirty is about damn time.
Chuck frowns slightly when she doesn't respond and then he nods, like he expected as such.
"Anyway, I will see you later tonight. Remember, we're all meeting back here at nineteen-hundred for a last minute briefing."
He doesn't wait for her to respond. They had their moment and now it's all gone.
He walks out the door, never looking back.
The room grows cold with his absence and the faint din of traffic down below becomes clearer and more discordant as she becomes aware of the fact that she's all alone now.
And then she realizes to her greater dismay that she never got to say what she wanted to say, and that nothing has changed.