It's a Wonderful Cover Life
A/N 2013: Welcome to post 13 on Friday, the 13th. Thanks for rereading the rewritten chapter rebeta'd by the awesomely fantastic, Nervert. Hope you all had a lucky, lucky day.
A/N: Thank you Nervert for the great beta job, your support and encouragement, and the occasional whip cracking. And thank you quistie64 for your continued involvement in this story and your sage advice when it comes to the little ones. Also, welcome to team Cover Life, Shawnny, your input was really helpful.
I don't own Chuck.
58. Drive and Tell
If it hadn't been for the slight rise and fall of her chest, Chuck would swear that he was sitting next to a mannequin. Sarah hadn't moved or spoken since they'd pulled apart a good three minutes ago, not that he was in any condition to carry on a conversation. His brain felt fuzzy – whether it was as a result of downing the tequila or being kissed by Sarah was debatable – and the only thing he was fairly certain of was that several eyes were still fixed on them.
They had put on quite a show.
And that was all it was, Chuck told himself. Sarah wanted to prove a point and his were the most convenient lips around, though he would never have thought that a fake kiss could be so intense. Either way, he realized that they couldn't spend the rest of the night just staring at each other. The way he saw it they had two options, but even with the jolt of liquid courage, he was not going to venture out onto the dance floor. That would be the quickest way to go from hero to zero in his co-patrons' eyes, unless it was a slow song which didn't require dancing so much as swaying and taking the occasional step, but that would involve Sarah and arms and touching and not being sure if he should pretend for her sake or not. The thought alone made his head spin and his palms sweat.
That left option two.
"Can we get out of here?" he asked.
At first it seemed like Sarah hadn't heard him, then she blinked. "Yeah."
She started riffling through her purse and he used the opportunity to signal the bartender for the bill. After being told that it had been taken care of – how, he didn't ask – he turned back to Sarah who handed him a valet ticket.
"Would you mind getting the car? I need to go fix my lipstick."
Her lips looked fine to him but he didn't mention it, grateful for the reprieve to gather his thoughts before they had to share the cramped space of her sports car. Then the implications of her first question hit him. "Do you want me to drive?" He felt both excited and nauseated by the prospect.
"Yeah. I think I've reached the legal limit two mojitos and one tequila shot ago, so you're less likely to be arrested."
"Okay," Chuck said, "that explains it. Your judgment is impaired so you don't really mean it when you say I should drive your car." And the kiss probably didn't mean anything either, he thought.
Sarah frowned. "What's wrong with my car? Why don't you want to drive it?"
"It's a Porsche," he replied. "I don't know if I'm ready for the responsibility. Plus you know kung fu, so maybe we should leave it here and get a cab, because what if I – "
Sarah cut off his babbling, her scowl gone now that she'd realized he wasn't dissing her ride. "Chuck, it's just a car."
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Really? And how many people, besides you, have driven it?"
A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, but when she leaned forward to make sure she had his full attention, she was all seriousness. "You're trusting me with your kid. It's just a car," she said again.
He couldn't argue with that.
"But," Sarah continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "if Carina asks – "
"This never happened."
"Oh, no." She shook her head, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "I want you to tell her. Every little detail."
Chuck laughed quietly. "That'd be mean. Can I tell her even if she doesn't ask?"
"I was hoping you would." Sarah smiled and slid off the barstool. Chuck made a move to get up too, but froze when she reached out and touched his cheek. Her thumb wiped over the corner of his lip and he was positive that he stopped breathing.
"Not my color?" he tried to joke when his voice came back.
"Actually," she replied, letting her hand fall away slowly, "I think it suits you rather well."
Sarah was halfway across the room before it even occurred to him to try and come up with a response.
59. An Unexpected Observation
Sarah sighed as she stared at the dark ceiling. Her hand traveled to the empty space beside her. Chuck had claimed that he was too wired to sleep and had opted for some video gaming, and she couldn't help but wonder if that was because of the kiss or the fact that he had driven her Porsche. He hadn't said much on the way home and she was still dying to know what he was thinking. Probably that she was a nutcase, giving him the silent treatment and then kissing him like they had three seconds to live. She could blame the alcohol, but she had no excuse for her behavior afterwards – the kiss had sobered her up pretty good.
What was wrong with her?
"It's just a crush," she whispered to herself. One she was having trouble getting a handle on. Chuck liked Lou and why wouldn't he? She was pretty and perky and Sarah would bet that Lou didn't suck at relationships as much as she did. Granted, Lou seemed a bit immature to raise a child, but ultimately that was Chuck's decision. But he had liked her first, and maybe if she had said it back, he wouldn't even have noticed Lou. She could still tell him, Sarah thought. Or maybe she shouldn't tell him at all. She'd be in Europe in a few weeks, and where would that leave him and Maggie? Of course she didn't have to go, but there was no guarantee that she'd stick around forever. Dating Chuck would mean making a commitment, and commitment wasn't the Walkers' strong suit. Besides, he'd made it clear that he just wanted to be friends. But then, he did kiss her back – talk about mixed signals.
She rolled onto her side and grabbed one of Chuck's pillows, hugging it to her chest. The room seemed eerily quiet without him sleeping beside her. Like it would be once this arrangement was over, she realized. Granted she didn't sleep well when he was around – she'd gotten used to his presence, but she was afraid she'd do something embarrassing, like subconsciously cuddle up to him, which wouldn't be a problem if their relationship were remotely real.
Huffing a frustrated breath, she burrowed into the pillow in an effort to find a more comfortable position. This was supposed to be simple and she was supposed to count the days until the contract of sale was signed and the ruse was over, but now she was caught between the reasons why she shouldn't pursue him and dreading the day he and Maggie would leave.
There was definitely something seriously wrong with her.
She turned onto her back and rubbed small circles over her temples. The pounding behind her eyes had turned into a full blown headache, brought on by too much rum and aggravated by overthinking her life.
Sighing again, she pushed the covers aside and padded to the bathroom in search of some aspirin. Not finding any she went back into the bedroom and pulled on a robe before making her way downstairs. In the kitchen she flipped the light switch and squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden brightness. An amused grunt prompted her to open them again, albeit reluctantly.
"What's so funny?" she nearly growled. Casey shrugged a shoulder and took a sip of his whiskey. It was the type of response she'd expected from him, being a man of few words. "Why are you still up?" she asked as she crossed to the sink and pulled out the first aid kit from the cupboard beneath it. She placed the case on the table, unzipped a side flap and located a bottle of Tylenol.
Casey tilted his chin in the general direction of the den. "Can't set the alarm yet."
"You know," Sarah spoke while filling a glass from the tap, "you could ask Chuck to do it." Again he just grunted. Her head hurt too much to try and decipher what that particular one meant, so instead she shook two tablets from the bottle and washed them down with water. Then she arranged everything as she'd found it and stored the kit in one of the top cupboards.
"That's not where it goes," Casey said.
"Maggie can't reach it there," she replied, mentally kicking herself for not remembering it sooner.
Casey smirked before downing the remains of his drink.
"What?" she asked.
"This isn't what you expected," he answered cryptically and pushed back from the table. She waited for him to elaborate, but he merely stood, took the glass from her and rinsed both before placing them in the dishwasher and drying his hands on a towel. "For what it's worth," he finally said, "you're nothing like her."
The comment surprised Sarah. If it had come from anyone else she wouldn't have believed it for a second, but John Casey had been a part of the Walker household for almost as long as she could remember, and her father aside, he was probably the only other person who'd really known her mother and why she had left. Maybe there was hope for her yet.
"Casey," she called him back just before disappeared through the door. He stopped and turned, folding his arms across his chest to hide his discomfort – "lady feelings" was not his thing. Sarah smiled at him anyway. "Thank you."
60. Slippers and Cowboy Hats
Chuck was jostled from his sleep when a knee bumped his. His eyes blinked open and were met by a pair of blue flannel pajama bottoms and white sock clad feet. Yawning, he pushed himself up against the couch cushions and swung his legs to the floor before tilting his head back to meet Sarah's gaze.
"Good morning," she said quietly and held out a steaming mug.
"Morning." His voice sounded croaky and he cleared his throat as he took the coffee from her. "Thanks."
Sarah acknowledged his response with a small nod as she sat down on the opposite end of the couch, one leg tucked under her, cradling her mug. Chuck took a sip from his own and, over the rim, caught her sneaking a glance at him. Her eyes darted away and he didn't miss the faint blush coloring her cheeks as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Something about her seemed different, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
He swallowed another mouthful of coffee and cleared his throat. "This is good," he said, if only to fill the silence.
"Surprised?" she asked, her gaze meeting his as one corner of her mouth tugged upwards. "I do know how the coffeemaker works."
What actually surprised him was that she knew how he liked his coffee, though he didn't say it.
"So what's on the agenda for today?" he asked in between sips.
"Well," Sarah said, picking at an invisible thread on her robe, "it's Sunday, so I was thinking some sort of family activity. I think Beckman would expect that."
So it was back to business as usual, Chuck thought, swallowing his disappointment along with the last dregs of his coffee before placing the empty mug on the center table. Not that he knew what to expect after last night. "What did you have in mind?"
"How do you feel about a picnic on the beach?" Sarah asked, lifting her gaze to meet his. "The weather's perfect and I can order a basket from the local deli. We could make a day of it. I have horses stabled just outside the city and I think Maggie would love to – "
"We can't ride," Chuck interrupted.
Sarah raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Have you ever tried?"
"Unless you count plastic horses that go around in a circle, then no," he confessed, keeping his fear of heights to himself. "Isn't it dangerous?" Like that's better, he scolded himself.
"Not if you're taking the horses for a leisurely walk. I don't expect you to race a derby. Maggie can ride with me and I promise we'll stick close to you. You'll be fine." Then she bit her bottom lip, contemplating something. "I should probably get her a helmet, just in case. Do you want one too?"
Chuck was tempted to say yes, but he didn't want to come across as a wimp. "How about a cowboy hat?"
At that Sarah chuckled. "This isn't Texas."
"So I guess a Mountie hat is out of the question too?"
"Who's got a Mountie hat?" Maggie asked as she barreled through the door, not stopping until she'd practically leaped through the air and landed on Chuck's lap. He'd moved his head just in time to avoid getting a face-full of Mr. Oink. "Who's getting a hat?" she asked again, panting with excitement.
"Good morning, Boo," Chuck said pointedly, wheeling her in with one arm for a hug which she promptly returned, squishing the stuffed pig between them. Then she gave him a kiss on the cheek.
"Good morning, Daddy."
"That's better." All he got in response was a toothy grin before she whirled around and broke free from his arms, heading straight for Sarah, Mr. Oink forgotten on his knees. Her "Good morning, Kitty!" could be heard a block away and Chuck caught the slight wince crossing Sarah's face when his four-year-old tackled her. Belatedly he remembered that she was probably still suffering some after-effects from last night's alcohol.
"Easy there, Boo," he said, leaning forward to take Sarah's mug that was dangerously close to spilling coffee all over the couch, "Kitty's not feeling well."
Maggie pulled back immediately, tilting her head. "Are you sick?" she asked Sarah.
"My head hurts," Sarah replied, holding her thumb and forefinger together, "but only a little."
"I can make it better," Maggie declared and was on her feet before Chuck could warn her about standing on the furniture. Her little hands framed Sarah's face and she started peppering her forehead with kisses. He reached out to try and save Sarah from the onslaught, but she blindly swatted his hand away. Apparently satisfied that her remedy had worked, Maggie pulled back. "Are you still sick?"
Sarah shook her head, her expression serious, but Chuck could see her biting back her laughter. "I feel much better, thank you," she said solemnly.
"You're welcome," Maggie replied and spun around before plopping down onto the cushions. With her head on Sarah's lap she stretched out, planting her feet against Chuck's leg. He picked up the pink pig and dumped it on Maggie's stomach. Clutching the animal to her chest, she tilted her head back to look at Sarah. "Is Lou making breakfast?"
"Isn't it a little early for food?" Chuck cut in, earning himself a sour look.
"I'm hungry now." Her gaze bounced back to Sarah's. "Can I ask Lou to make pancakes?"
"May I," Chuck corrected her.
Maggie let out an exaggerated sigh. "May I?"
Sarah smiled down at her, brushing a wisp of hair from her face. "Lou's not working today," she told the little girl, but that didn't dissuade her.
"May you make us pancakes?" she asked Sarah, who was now visibly biting the inside of her cheek.
Chuck fought his own laugh. Teaching his daughter proper grammar wasn't the easiest thing he'd ever undertaken, but it sure was entertaining. He decided to forego another lesson and winked at Sarah. "May you?"
Sarah just shook her head, unable to speak. He was quick on the uptake though. "I don't think Kitty knows how to make pancakes."
"That's okay," Maggie said, "we can have ice cream…may have ice cream," she quickly, though incorrectly, amended.
"Nice try," Chuck replied, playfully pinching her toes. "I will make the pancakes, but only if you go put your slippers on before your feet freeze and fall off."
"May I have extra syrup?" Maggie asked, seeming unconcerned about his warning.
"Maybe." Chuck smiled, proud that she got it right, though it was probably a lucky guess. "But slippers first."
"Okay." Maggie shot up and, with Mr. Oink under her arm, took off in the direction of the door.
"No running in your socks!" Chuck called after her. She slowed down, but he suspected that would only last until she was out of sight. "I better go make sure she doesn't split her head open on something," he told Sarah as he got up to follow his daughter.
"Meet you in the kitchen in five?" she asked.
"It's a date," he spoke over his shoulder before breaking into a jog, knowing from experience that four-year-olds were deceptively fast.