Chuck Versus Thin Ice
By Steampunk . Chuckster
Summary: On the doorstep of the Olympics, top American curler Sarah Walker has lost her mixed doubles partner and her boyfriend in one fell swoop. Her coaches throw newbie Team U.S.A. curler Chuck Bartowski onto her team and thrust them into the Olympics, hanging America's curling hopes on two people who only have a short amount of time to learn to trust one another.
A/N: You people are absolutely out of your minds and I love it because I just feel like I'm in such good company. THANK YOU for how much you've all embraced this story so far. It's astounding to me. You're all pretty freaking fantastic. Prepare yourselves, though, because this chapter...is a chapter.
Disclaimer: I don't own this show. I don't own the characters in this show.
He wasn't prepared for the entirety of Morgan Grimes' bodyweight to land on his head and back as he walked into the Curling Center, and he nearly wasn't able to catch himself.
"Chuck, it's your time!"
"Jesus, man, I could've cracked my skull open!" he laughed, holding Morgan up against his side as the snowboarder clung to him like a bearded koala.
"It's your time, though, man! You're about to get a medal! Norway is going so down." He leapt off of Chuck and landed on his feet cleanly, clapping his hands. "You kids ready? I'm gonna be in the audience. Look at this sign I made."
Sarah sidled up next to them, having kept her distance at first, probably to keep from also getting jumped on, Chuck thought. And Morgan pulled a rolled up sign from inside of his jacket.
"Aw, shit. I crushed it a little when I tackled you. No biggie, though, no biggie…" He unfurled it and flashed it at them. "Ehhhh?"
Sarah leaned down with a frown. "Who run the world … Curls."
She stood up and smashed her hand against her mouth to keep from cackling.
Chuck just groaned. "Did you seriously just appropriate Beyoncé, dude?"
"Get it?" his best friend asked, apparently choosing to ignore that. "Curls. Like your hair, dude. But also because you are curling. It hit me last night when I was in bed, man, and I just had to write it down."
Sarah finally let a giggle come out, underscoring it with a cute snort. "I mean, I like it. I especially like the stick figure with crazy hair. Is that me or my partner?" Chuck sent her a flat look. "Oh. Of course it's you. You're 'Curls'," she said with a straight face.
"Do you wanna be on it?" Morgan asked, and he immediately pulled a Sharpie out of his inner coat pocket. "I'm sorry! I totally didn't mean to leave you out of it, Sarah! Your hair isn't curly, ya know? So I didn't even think about it."
She laughed as he just straight-up dropped to his knees in the middle of a crowded lobby and spread the sign out on the floor, uncapping the Sharpie. "I'm using purple for you, Sarah, because it's a really enigmatic, royal color, and girl, you a hot mystery queen."
Sarah laughed even harder and Chuck just shook his head, chuckling as Morgan drew another stick figure holding a broom and with long hair. Reporters were taking pictures as they realized gold medalist Morgan Grimes, the Flying Beard, was on his hands and knees, drawing on a poster while the U.S. mixed doubles team were standing over him looking on. Chuck didn't even want to know what that headline would be. And honestly, he didn't care.
He couldn't let himself care about press, media, public perception, or even Twitter. Because this was the most important game of curling he would ever play in his life, and he was fully focused on that, and that alone.
He had scores to settle. Against every single person who doubted him, doubted Sarah, doubted them as a team. And Bryce. Always Bryce. Bryce was all three of those things, with the added annoyance of the jerk getting to voice his opinion to a live audience all across America.
"Chuck!"
He spun just in time to catch his brother-in-law who hurtled himself into his arms for the tightest hug he'd ever felt in his life. When Awesome stepped back, he held Chuck's arm in one hand and pointed in his face with the other. "You, my man, are about to get a bronze medal. I consulted my horoscope this AM, bro, and it told me that great things will happen today to the people I love. I love you, bro."
"I love you, too, Awesome. Thanks for that." He thumped Captain Awesome on his chest with a fist a few times. "Didn't realize you were into astrology. Huh."
"It's a new thing we're trying." Ellie pushed her husband to the side and brought Chuck in for a much warmer, less intense hug. "Couple's therapy." He gave her a look when they pulled back. "Oh. No, not that kind. We're not in trouble. It's just something we read on the Internet, something to help us connect with each other when we're apart, on the road for competitions and whatnot."
"Aw, damn. I thought maybe I could…ya know…be a shoulder, Ellie." Morgan staggered up to his feet and lifted his poster. "Uh, and Awesome. I'd be your shoulder, too, dude," he rushed out when the taller, more muscled man turned an unamused look on him.
Ellie made an annoyed "Ugghh" sound and moved to give Sarah a hug. "Good luck, Sarah."
"Oh, I don't need luck. I've got the best partner anyone could ask for." Chuck felt his heart beat faster as he turned his gaze to her and smiled. He saw the shit-eating grin too late. "Morgan's sign."
She laughed at the flat look he sent her, but Morgan was pleased, because it gave the gold medalist another reason to show off his sign. He presented it for the Awesomes to look at and got completely different reactions from them.
Ellie's was a highly dramatic, "Seriously? And I have to sit next to this?"
And Awesome's was a high five with, "Curls! Like Chuck's hair. And it also rhymes with girls! And they're curling! AWESOME!"
Chuck gestured to his brother-in-law for Sarah's benefit and she made an 'oooooh' face.
"Captain 'Awesome'," she said. "I totally get it now."
Chuck glanced at his watch. "Hey, we gotta get in there."
They thanked their cheer section and rushed through the side door, flashing their athlete badges, then hurried down the hallway to the prep room.
"Think Becks and Graham will show up to give us any last minute advice this time?" he asked, starting to tug his extra layers off as Sarah did the same next to him.
Sarah smiled a little crookedly, shrugging out of her coat and hanging it up. "No. I don't."
"No advice? We're about to play our last curling match in the Olympics as a coup—Nope, heard it as it was comin' out. But I caught it." He cleared his throat and lowered his voice as she gave him a wide-eyed look. "This is a huge deal."
"Not really." He raised an eyebrow at that and she chuckled quietly. "I mean, it is. It is a huge deal. By the end of the night, we could either be Olympic medalists, or we could…not be." She gave a one-shoulder shrug. "That's a big deal. But on the other hand, it's no different from any other curling match we've played. Our coaches are trusting we know what to do. And they're there for us if we need to consult, remember?"
"Man." He blew out a long breath and smoothed his hands down the pristine gray shirt with dark blue U.S.A. printed across the back of it and black hems on the shirt sleeves. Then he fixed the black collar, and checked to make sure his zipper was zipped…it was just a thing he did every game…it made sense, what with the millions of viewers watching on TV. He'd never hear the end of the memes if he was caught curling with his fly down.
"Do you sort of feel like your parents have taken the training wheels off the bike and pushed you down a super steep hill?" he asked her.
"No." She gave him a look.
"Oh. Good. Me, neither."
"Chuck…"
He turned to look at her and decided a bit distractedly that her eyes went super well with the grey of their uniform shirt. "Mhm?"
"Charles Irving Bartowski."
She got an unamused look for that, but he still felt the nerves messing with him. Why now? Why at this moment? When all day he was totally fine?
And then she had his face cupped in her hands, the gloves she wore scratching his cheeks a little, but still so reassuring and comforting all the same. They met eyes and she lowered her voice so only he could hear it.
"Don't freak out."
It was like she'd killed the nerves dead and they all tumbled down out of his body to land at his feet, nothing but ash now…dust.
"Thanks." He cleared his throat and gently wrapped his fingers around her wrists, reluctantly pulling her hands from his face. She cast her glance to the side, but the Norwegians hadn't seen anything, as engrossed as they were with their coaches. He reluctantly (again) let go of her wrists even, keeping his arms at his sides. "I'd say good luck out there, but what you do isn't luck. It's pure talent. So basically just…do what you always do, and we'll have ourselves a bronze medal in a few hours. Deal?"
She bit her lip. "Shit."
"What?" He frowned. "You forget somethin' at the apartment? Is it a lucky talisman I don't know about? I can call Casey back here and have him get it. Wasn't he, like, Black Ops or some shit twenty years ago? I bet he can get it real fast."
She snorted. "No, it's just…I really want to kiss you and I can't. So…shit."
Her pout was the cutest damn thing he'd ever seen.
"Oh. I getcha on that. Totally. Just, um, think about what I did to you this morning…should tide you over 'til later."
Sarah's eyes widened and she pursed her lips, twisting them to the side. "That's not a good idea. I don't want to be completely distracted from the bronze medal match I'm about to be playing in."
"See, what you just said right there? That's really good for my ego."
"Good. Hold onto that and curl like the confident curler I know you can be."
The attendant called them out then and they went to the tunnel, meeting the Norwegians there. They shook hands like old friends, but the moment they got out onto the ice, it was all business.
Well, mostly.
The first End was a blank as both teams were finding their footing in the match. It was in the second End, with Sarah having laid three counters, Team Norway with two biting the twelve foot ring at the front and the back respectively, that things got a little more relaxed, at least between Chuck and Sarah.
He was throwing the hammer for the second End. All he had to do was comfortably slide the shooter as close to the button as possible without knocking one of their own rocks out of counting position and they'd get four points.
He had to split two Norwegian guards, though. Right through the port. The guards were placed in just nasty enough of a spot, meant to minimize the number of lying stones Chuck and Sarah had, that it would be impossible to curl around.
"Damn, this is a narrow port," he breathed as he hunched over to look closely at the room he had to work with. "I think maybe there's an inch or two on either side. Barely. Tight squeeze."
"You're going to have to be really precise," Sarah said, kneeling down at his side and eyeing it for herself.
"I can do that."
"Yep. You can. You gonna try it? Or just try to curl it around these guards and hope?"
"Please," he scoffed. "Sarah, it's me. Of course I'm going through the port."
She gave him an amused look and shook her head.
"But I need you to have my six."
He slowly backed towards the hack as she sent him a confused look.
"My six o'clock?" he tried again. And then he stopped completely and gaped. "My back, Sarah. I need you to have my back." He shook his head in faux disappointment. "Have you never watched any cop shows, Walker?"
"Nope. Too busy training for the Olympics," she clapped back.
His jaw fell open and he grinned at her, sliding to the hack and grabbing their last rock. That was cheeky. And true. And even though he had an insanely tough shot to make, he let his mind settle on thoughts of all of the buddy cop television shows and movies he could show her when they got back to San Jose.
Chuck let out a long breath as he cast off from the hack, and the moment he let go of the rock, he felt it. Like the stone was speaking to him. The voice of some Scottish god in his ear (Did Scotland have gods? He didn't know.) telling him that bronze medal was his. Or something. The important thing was that he suddenly felt like this was it.
His rock was going exactly where he wanted it to.
He was very careful with the way he swept, listening to Sarah as she skipped, calling the line, telling him how hard to sweep.
And then he stopped as the rock neared the two guards it needed to go through, and he expelled a breath when it oh so gently eased past, just barely grazing. The audience let out a breathless, "Oh!" and he knew they were right there with him. The shooter eased in oh so slowly…and stilled right next to their rock on the button.
He mimicked shooting a bullseye with a bow and arrow, directed towards the button, and laughed as Sarah thumped him on the back with an open palm. Four points to Team U.S.A.
"You are crazy!" he thought he heard Becks' voice yell from her coaches' table.
He couldn't be sure, but it didn't matter because they had the next End to set up for.
They forced Norway to one point in the third End, the way Sarah was taking out Norway's rocks like she was a damn assassin or something.
And in the fourth End, Sarah had the hammer with a rock in third position, Norway with positions one and two.
"I have to do a double takeout, but they're in such terrible positions for that. I mean I'd have to hit them in some crazy spots to get the right bounce…Here maybe?" she asked, looking at him for his opinion.
He chewed on the inside of his cheek and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Well, you can't use the roll of either of theirs to take the other out, so is there one of ours that makes it possible?"
"Oh. God, duh. Right." She scratched the back of her neck. "This one."
Chuck made a high-pitched, doubtful sound. "I dunno. That's rough."
"No, look. I've seen you make a shot like this before. Remember in San Jose? When we were drin—You know the one," she covered quickly. "You made a shot almost exactly like this. You hit your rock with just enough power to knock it into mine here, but at the perfect angle to send your shooter bouncing into my second rock here."
He knew exactly what she was talking about. He remembered it well and it was one of those moments that had genuinely cemented his feelings for her. It was way in the beginning, just a few nights after everyone had played drunk curling. He and Sarah had snuck in alone to learn a bit more about one another's curling game, and to just enjoy themselves. There'd been Jameson involved. And fig newtons, randomly. She'd mostly whooped his ass, and she'd had enough to drink to be all smirkish and flirty with him. But he hadn't learned as much about her personal life as he'd been secretly hoping he might.
And he had made a shot, a shot that had impressed her enough that she hadn't held back much. She'd yelled, "WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE FUCK?" over and over, thrown her brush down, and jumped at him with her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, and he'd been in freaking heaven, laughing at how dorky she was when she'd had enough to drink.
"A'right, do it," he said, lifting his confident gaze to her. She didn't look quite as confident, which wasn't all that in character for her. "Do it," he said again, and he made sure she could see just how sure he was that she could do it.
She bit her lip and smirked. It was a similar smirk to the ones she'd given him that night over a month ago. Things were different now, though. He wasn't unsure of where he stood with her. He didn't feel like a burden to her success or her career. He didn't feel like he was less than the partner she'd had before him—the boyfriend she'd had before him. Sarah'd made sure of that, hadn't she?
And instead of putting a giggling, drunk Sarah Walker into her bed with a glass of water and aspirin on the nightstand next to her, oh so tenderly untying her favorite orange Converse low-tops and peeling them off of her feet before tucking her legs under the covers, the way he'd done back then, Chuck would be climbing into bed with her, burrowing against her strong body. And damn, no matter what happened tonight, life was good, wasn't it?
He had to force his fist against his mouth to keep a satisfied, almost cocky grin from his face. It'd be misread as gloating, perhaps. And he never wanted to be that curler—the one unsportsmanlike asshole in a sport full of the nicest folks in any event, in any Olympic games. (Except for Bryce Larkin. Screw him.)
Sarah threw it perfectly.
"Line's good," he called, watching her skate alongside the rock. "Still good."
Then she bent over and cleared a bit of ice out of the way with her broom.
"Whoa!"
She stopped, and they both watched as everything went almost perfectly according to plan. The shooter rolled a bit further than she'd meant for it to, but it still counted. They came away with two, Sarah having taken out both of Norway's rocks.
-oooo-
"Sarah 'Hot Shot' Walker over here."
She slapped her hand over her partner's mouth the moment they got into the prep room. "Sh. No gloating," she whispered.
"They can't hear me," he whispered back. "They're arguing."
Sarah winced a bit and looked over to see that the engaged couple was, in fact, arguing. Again. She turned back to Chuck and took a drink of her water. "Well, no gloating amongst ourselves, either. It's bad joojoo."
"Yikes. Good point. All I'm sayin' is you are on actual fire out there, baby, and it's somethin' to see."
She felt herself blushing so she turned away from the other team, putting her back to them. Baby? That was a new one. And she was almost annoyed at how much she found she liked it.
She sent him a warning look. He just shrugged in response, and she could see a bit of cockiness in the way he was standing, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, bottom lip pulled between his teeth, smile in his eyes.
"Hey, we're in the middle of a bronze medal match. Maybe chill with the cockiness, huh?" she breathed.
"We're winning six to one," he said quietly. "And wait, I thought you liked when I'm cocky."
She eyed him dryly. "Only because it's so rare. If it becomes a less rare thing with you, I can imagine it getting old real quick," she teased. She giggled when he wrinkled his nose and frowned. "It is kinda hot sometimes, though. But no cockiness right now," she said quickly, pointing at him an arching her eyebrow. "We have to focus on playing as well in the second half as we did in the first."
He nodded once. "You're right. No cockiness. Only focus." Chuck straightened up and grabbed his water, guzzling it and dabbing his face with a towel. "So you're throwing our first rock. Should we crowd the house? Like usual?"
"Yeah. I have a feeling they'll be setting up guards."
"You're right. Should I take 'em out or just keep piling as close to the button as possible?"
She huffed and scratched the back of her neck, gnawing on her lip a little. "Get as many in counting position as possible. Just go at the button and try to bury as much as you can."
"I like the way you think, Blondie."
"I know you do," she said, then she glared a little. "Wait a second, who gave you permission to call me Blondie?" She gave her voice a flirtatious lilt.
"Mmmm'nobody."
"Exactly."
By the time the fifth and sixth Ends were finished, they managed to keep Norway to one point, while they scored two of their own again.
Sarah's last shot was so slick—Chuck's words when he high-fived her—that the audience was swept up in a chant of "Walker! Walker! Walker!" she was pretty sure had been started by Tyler and Morgan, since they stood in the front, basically conducting it like two short, bearded Gustavo Dudamel's.
The seventh End was a complete flaming pile of garbage, however.
Once the chants died down, Aud Olsen found some sort of otherworldly strength to make every single shot of hers perfect. She took three of their rocks totally out of contention and put two of her own in counting positions one and two.
Sarah had the last shot for Team U.S.A., with Aud's fiancé, Erik, taking the hammer shot after her. The problem was that Aud had buried the two counters lying. And she'd buried them good.
"Crack it into this one with enough power and you might take 'em both out," Chuck offered.
"Can I get around all these landmines?" Sarah asked, gesturing to two guards Norway put on either side of the T-line, and the rock Chuck had landed at the front of the house, biting into the four foot ring, in counting position three. "I mean, we can get it to curl, but not this much. This needs some insane curl."
"Yeah, it does. But what else can we do? The button itself is basically buried and that'd be the only way for us to get a point besides trying to hit these out."
She sighed. "If I'm too thick or too thin with my delivery, I could crash on a guard."
"I personally think it's a risk we have to take."
It didn't sit well with her, but she also didn't see anything else they could do. So she finally nodded. "All right."
"We're trying to take out one and two?"
"Yeah. The button's just flat out impossible."
"Roger, Sarah."
The way he chuckled at that made her sniff in amusement as she traversed the long path back to the hack. They still had quite a bit of time on the clock for deliberation, so she used some of it up in preparation.
This was a seriously hard shot, not because she had to hit the opposing rock in the house just right, but because the guards were situated in such terrible positions for her and Chuck that Norway had basically stymied them.
But Chuck was right. All they could really do was try.
So she took one last deep breath and pushed off from the hack, and as she let go of the stone, she could immediately tell it just wasn't going to curl enough. Shit!
"Line!" Chuck tried.
She scrubbed to try to force it as far to the left as possible.
But as she pulled back, she watch as it crashed into the guard just enough so that the roll took it all the way past the end of the house, harmlessly passing by both of Norway's lying rocks.
"Sorry," Chuck said as she slid up next to him at the back of the house. "That was my call. I think anybody would've crashed there. We shouldn't have gone with that."
"No, it's okay," she reassured, switching her broom to her other hand so that she could cup his elbow reassuringly. "There wasn't anything else we could even do there."
She realized she kept her hand on him too long, but she'd needed the reassurance, too. And she thought he probably felt that, because even as she dropped her hand to her side, Chuck subtly moved in closer and stayed there as they watched Erik deliver his stone perfectly, getting Norway three points for the seventh End.
Going into the eighth End, as she watched the stones get positioned for Aud to make the first delivery, Team U.S.A. sat at eight points to Team Norway's five. But Chuck had the hammer. It would come down to how well she could set things up for him with her shots.
There was so much tension in the air, not between her and Chuck, but with their coaches, with the crowd behind them. As she glanced up she saw that Morgan wasn't even holding up his adorable but weird sign about Chuck's curls.
This was it.
No flirting, no cocky eyebrow waggles from Chuck, no funny business.
Especially considering the first thing Norway did was start piling rocks into the house. By the time they came to Sarah's last shot of the match, her last shot of the entire mixed doubles Olympic tournament, the placement of the rocks was making things look bleak. Sarah's guard hadn't done its job. Erik had curled right around it. And the only thing Aud would have to do after this, with Norway's last shot, was take out the U.S. rock near the button. Chuck would be put in an incredibly impossible situation. There was a way, here, for Norway to come from behind and steal the match for the bronze medal. Or at the very least, they could take the three points they'd need to tie it and send it into an extra End.
Sarah decided to slide her shooter into the house, hiding it behind a corner guard. That would at least set things up for Chuck if he was in a position to take out Norway's lying rocks.
It was an easy enough shot for Sarah, and she executed it perfectly.
She then watched as Aud tried to follow up her shot in exactly the way she'd thought she would, bumping the U.S. rock away from the button and out of counting position. The only problem was that Aud had hit their rock a bit on the thin side, and it stayed in the house.
Sarah put a hand on Chuck's lower back, too enveloped in how important this moment was for her career and for so many other things to care about how it looked. Things stood in a precarious position for them. Norway had three rocks lying. If Chuck missed this shot, Norway would tie the match and they'd have to play a ninth End.
However, Chuck and Sarah had a rock in fourth, fifth, and sixth position—one in the four foot ring, one at the back of the eight foot ring, and one just biting into the eight foot, the one Sarah'd just buried behind the corner guard off to the side. If Chuck could take at least one of Norway's rocks out of contention, they would still win eight to seven and have the medal.
"This one," Chuck said, point down at the Norwegian rock sitting in third position, closest to the front of the house.
"You mean take that one out? That could work."
"Yeah, but they'll still be stealing two points."
"We'll win."
"Yeah, I don't like it."
She didn't, either. And she spared a moment to wonder if Bryce was losing his mind right now in his cozy little booth, telling anyone watching this live that hubris and pride had no place on the curling ice. All Chuck had to do was remove one rock and they'd win. That was it.
"I can get all three maybe."
Sarah did a double take. "Chuck, number two is all the way over here…" She stepped over to the rock she was talking about and extended her broom out towards the guard lined up in front of it. "It's hiding perfectly behind that guard. You can't touch it."
"I can from this angle."
"You mean with the roll of this one?" she asked, pointing to the one Chuck had first set his sights on.
"Nope. The roll of this one. In first position."
He was insane. He was wonderful. He was insane and wonderful and she couldn't tell if she was made stupid by how crazy she was about him, or if he was basically the Stephen Hawking of curling, seeing things that no one else could see.
Either way, she nodded. "Okay, Bartowski. Show the world what you're made of."
She felt the heat of his gaze on the side of her face, and she was almost afraid to look. But then she finally did…and she was surprised to find she was still standing when he went off to the hack without her a moment later. Her apparent trust in him, the way she was giving him the opportunity to do this mad, almost entirely unnecessary thing—the last play of his 2018 Olympics career—had Chuck giving her a look like he wanted to devour her.
She had to take a deep, slow breath and focus on the fact that this was it. This was the shot. This was their last chance at the bronze medal.
And she knew the stress she was currently feeling didn't even have to be a thing. He just had to remove one damn rock for them to win. But he wasn't doing that. Because neither of them wanted to end their first Olympic tournament with Norway stealing points from them.
Was it pretentious? Maybe.
Was it stupid? She could imagine Beckman and Graham were probably gnawing on their notepads right now, ready to murder their mixed doubles team. She wasn't going to look to confirm.
This was crazy stupid and she knew it.
But the one thing she'd clung to throughout the nine regular games they played in this Olympic tournament, the tie-breaker, and the two finals, was just how fun curling was with Chuck. She'd always enjoyed curling. More than anything, it enriched her soul and gave her confidence to be out on the ice. But actually loosening up and challenging herself and allowing herself to have fun, make mistakes, take risks…That had never been a part of her curling life. Because no one had ever made her feel like that was open to her. Fun wasn't an option during professional bonspiels.
As a partner, Chuck had opened so many doors for her to do all of those things and more. Because she knew that no matter what happened, even if her coaches were yelling at her, the fans were pissed, Bryce was smack-talking her decisions on air…she never had to worry about Chuck. He was honest with her if she made mistakes, but he also got so revved up when she took risks, or when she agreed with him on risks he was taking. That insane shot he took in the first half, when she heard Beckman scream he was crazy from the coach's table, she'd backed it one hundred percent. And he did the same for her. And no matter what, they'd be okay.
This relationship was eclipsing the need to win, she suddenly realized. She was standing out here on the ice, waiting for Chuck to make a shot that might get them an Olympic bronze medal, and she was coming to terms with the fact that being with Chuck Bartowski on but mostly off the ice was more important than whether or not they won.
If he missed this shot somehow, they'd be a laughingstock. There would be a ninth End. Bryce would triumph over the situation. The naysayers would have a field day. The memes would explode. And she and Chuck would feel terrible. But this relationship wasn't going to suffer even a bit. She wouldn't let it, and she felt that he wouldn't, either. And that, to her, was so much more important than she'd ever thought something like this could be.
Nothing had ever bumped curling from her highest priority in her life. Not her job, not any boyfriend, not this attempted thawing of her relationship with her mom and the black hole of worry and unhappiness that was her relationship with her dad.
Until this.
She peered down the ice at Chuck as he pulled the last rock of the match over in front of the hacks.
He was such a huge nerd. He tucked his broom under his armpit and blew on his hands, rubbing them together like that made any difference, especially with the gloves he had on. And she wondered for a moment if he fancied himself some sort of superhero from his comics, the way he posed at the hack, his broom propped on his shoulder, feet spread, broad shoulders pulled back, and his spine straight and proud.
Just a few nights ago, they'd been lounging in bed and he'd grabbed one of the Olympic posters she'd bought, climbing up to stand over her and ruining it by accidentally shoving it up against the ceiling, yelling, "By the power of Grayskull! I have the power!" He'd bought her a new one the next day and kept the bent one for himself.
There was the random coding language that had come out of his mouth when she was blowing him in the shower. And his unabashed, shameless giggle fits when he thought something was funny enough.
She even valued his faults that had become the most apparent to her, his lack of self-esteem and constant comparing of himself to men who weren't worth it, his need to be liked by everyone and the fact that he checked up on it so often through social media.
He wasn't perfect, and God, she wasn't, either. But he'd made it pretty clear he was hers. No Hannah's and no Lou's were changing that. Not just because she wouldn't let them, but because he took the time to send her an extra wink down the ice before he climbed down into position.
They'd still be dating whether he made this shot or not, whether he got one point to win the game or allowed Norway to tie it up and force it into overtime.
But as he cast off and let go of the stone, the line was immediately beautiful, and she just knew…
Chuck Irving Bartowski wasn't missing this shot.
-oooo-
His shooter hit the Norway rock in third position a bit to the left from where he'd been aiming and he silently cursed. But then three veered just enough to the right to hit one, which slid into two, sending all three out of counting position. And the shooter slowly rolled to stay in the four foot ring.
The audience had gasped with every hit, and his heart lurched every time.
But once every stone stopped, with Sarah off to the side, guiding the Norway stones as far out as possible by sweeping in front of each of them, he counted four.
Four points.
He was an egotistical bastard for doing this, he knew. He knew it. But he'd had to know if he could. He had to know.
And he could. He did.
The weird silence in his mind had crowded out everything else. And it wasn't until Erik came up to him to shake his hand and give him a gruff one-armed hug that the roar of the crowd filled his ears. It was deafening as he hugged Erik back.
"You're a crazy bastard," the Norwegian said, patting the side of his face as they pulled out of the hug.
Chuck shook Aud's hand and accepted a hug and a congratulations, thanking her profusely.
And that was when Sarah Walker hit him in a running jump, her arms flying around his neck. He caught her and pulled her in for the most important hug of his life, shutting his eyes tightly and willing himself not to cry.
"We did it!" she yelled, laughing. "Oh my God!"
He just laughed with her, blinking hard to keep those tears from escaping, and when he managed to control himself, he pulled back and looked down into her face. "Teamwork makes the dream work."
She laughed and cupped his face.
God, for a second he thought she'd say, "fuck it" and kiss him. He was here for it. Here. For. It.
But then she stepped back, keeping hold of his hand as she laughed again, letting her head fall back.
They faced the crowd together and lifted their arms up over their heads.
He cast his eyes over every last face. Beckman and Graham were having a moment together, clinging and rocking back and forth laughing. And oh God, he had to look away because he saw tears on Becks' face and he couldn't see that right now. Morgan and Tyler didn't seem to care that the cheering men behind them dressed as shirtless vikings (…interesting) were quite possibly spilling beer near them if not actually on them, because they were losing their damn minds, thrashing around and screaming.
Ellie and Awesome were kissing. the rest of Team U.S.A. Curling was chanting, "BAR-TOW-SKER! BAR-TOW-SKER! BAR-TOW-SKER!" along with the insane fangirls around them.
Great.
He just exchanged a look with Sarah and laughed.
Sarah signed off on the win and the officials came over to congratulate them on their medal. The gold medal match was scheduled for the next morning, so any sort of ceremony or awards wouldn't be until after that, they were told, but Chuck didn't care. He couldn't hear anything. He was lost in a haze. He just kept repeating "Okay" and "Thank you" over and over.
They'd won the bronze medal in Olympic mixed doubles curling.
He followed the stream of officials and the Norway team through the tunnel and towards the prep room, still completely numb.
"Sarah! Chuck!"
He felt Sarah's hand on his arm and she tugged him away from the door that led into the prep room, towards Joe Samson of ESPN again. The man was waving them over.
Oh, no. He couldn't do this right now. He needed time to process.
"First Olympic medal in curling for the U.S. …How are you two feeling right now?" the well-intentioned man just doing his job exclaimed once he got them in front of his camera.
"I need time to process!" Chuck blurted. "I think I'm losing my mind!"Samson laughed and immediately switched his microphone to Sarah, obviously recognizing she was probably the safest person to talk to at the moment.
Sarah's grip tightened on his arm for a second and then she let go, beaming. "I honestly never even dared to dream I'd get here."
"You're here! And with a bronze medal!"
They all laughed.
"Yeah! I am! It's crazy!" Then she paused for a second and reached up to put a hand on Chuck's shoulder. He turned to look down at her profile as she seemed careful not to look back at him. "But at the same time, there was just this feeling I had through all of this, once we really started clicking on the ice and taking risks…I felt like we'd do well. I'm not saying a medal was ever something I believed possible in my wildest dreams."
"Yeah, not with such a newb as a partner," Chuck joked. Sarah shook her head and laughed.
"For such a newb, Chuck, you made some pretty great shots out there."
"Thank you, Joe! No, I just…I really take a lot of risks. I don't know if everyone else heard it, but our coach kept screaming I was crazy whenever I decided to take those shots." He chuckled. "If you aren't giving your coach an aneurism, you aren't doin' it right, kids!"
Sarah clamped her hands over his mouth. "Oh my God. Do not listen to him!" she laughed, pushing Chuck off-camera teasingly. "We're just really happy making history for Team U.S.A. Curling is an under-represented sport in the States and hopefully this invigorates interest in it."
"I think you two have done some great things for the sport stateside. Everyone was watching. Congratulations on that bronze medal."
"Thank you!"
They were dragged into another interview, then another, and another. Until finally they were allowed to escape to the prep room. Team Norway was nowhere to be seen, having probably already packed up and left. But his much-needed alone time with the partner he'd just won an Olympic bronze medal with was postponed yet again when he saw Beckman and Graham were waiting for them.
Graham hugged him first, pulling back and putting his hands on Chuck's shoulders. "I'm proud of what you did here, son. You came through."
"There was no other choice, Sir. You took a huge risk on me."
"Diane took a risk on you. I just had to trust her. I'm glad I did." He hugged him again. And then he thumped him on the chest as he pulled back and went to gather Sarah up in a bear hug, lifting her off the ground as she laughed in surprise.
Chuck was still beaming at the sight when he felt Beckman's hands on his face. She immediately pulled him down and kissed him on both cheeks. Hard. And as he hunched down, looking at her with wide eyes, she pressed her lips together, another tear dripping down her cheek. Oh no, ohhhh no…
"Thank you," she said in her steady, confident tone. "Thank you for being the crazy, risk-taking, dependable, consistent, hard-working kid I thought you had the potential to be. You blew that potential out of the water, and you made me look pretty damn good in the meantime." She chuckled a bit wetly, and then she brought him in for a tight hug. He had to lean down pretty far to hug her back but he didn't care.
He just shut his eyes tightly and nodded, trying to keep his own tears at bay. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't. Morgan wasn't a blubbering mess when he stood on that podium accepting his gold medal, not even when he heard the anthem being blasted in his honor. He just stood there grinning.
Channel the Beard chill, he told himself.
When they pulled back, Chuck heard Sarah's cell phone ring.
"That's probably your agent," Beckman said. "You're going to get interview requests, sponsorships, articles, photoshoots. Prepare yourselves."
Graham knuckled Chuck in the shoulder, then. "Bet you're going to get a lot of extra attention just on your own, kid. Anna and Tyler were really digging through that Bartrooskin hashtag on the Twitter."
"It's Bartosker," Becks corrected.
"Bartowsker," Sarah said, digging through her bag to find her phone. Then she looked up and blushed a little, going back to looking for the phone. She found it and cleared her throat, pulling the phone to her ear. "Hey, Z!"
"My point being that a lot of girls are suddenly pining for you, my man." Graham grinned and pointed at him.
"Pfffft, bandwagoners," he teased.
Sarah was suddenly in front of him, then, thrusting her phone towards him. "It's Zondra Rizzo, your agent. She wants to talk to you."
He swallowed the lump in his throat and cleared it. "Oh. Okay. Thank you, I'll just…heh…" He gestured off to the side as he took her phone from her and put a bit of distance between himself and his partner and coaches, lifting the phone to his ear.
"Miss Rizzo, hello."
"Zondra," she said, her voice flat.
"Z-Zondra, right. How are you?"
"Let's just get to why I wanted Sarah to put you on the phone, Bartowski."
"Chuck. You can call me…" There was a bit of a dangerous pause on the other end of the line and he cleared his throat. "Whatever you…want to…call me. Bartowski's fine. Or Chuck. Or Bartowski. Whatever."
"I've got two opportunities for you. One is a sponsorship—chocolate milk. You'd basically throw one of those stone things or whatever you kids do in that weird-ass sport, then you'd stand up and take a long drink of chocolate milk."
He paused. "Oh. But what if I'm lactose intolerant?"
"Are you?"
"No."
"Then why the hell are you even asking?"
"I dunno."
"Jesus. Let's move on. I have an offer from GQ. They want to do a two-page spread and photoshoot."
"Holy shit! Serious? GQ?"
"Isn't that what I just said?"
"Uh…yes."
"I know you kids are all stuck on this partner thing, and I get that with sponsorships so the chocolate milk is probably out, but when a magazine like GQ wants to do an athlete profile, you say yes. That's my advice as your agent."
He glanced at Sarah who was talking in low tones with their coaches. As though she could feel his gaze on her, she flicked her eyes over to look at him and smiled with a little nod. Had Zondra told her already and Sarah was telling him to do it?
"Hey. Bartowski. Is that a yes to the chocolate milk and GQ or a no? I need an answer. I usually like to give clients some time to think about it, but these are time-sensitive offers."
"Oh. Shit. Yeah. Sorry. You were right about chocolate milk, that's gonna be a no from me. Sponsorships are for both of us, me and Sarah. We're a packaged d—"
"Yadda yadda, I got the spiel from Sar already. What about GQ?"
"I'll do it."
"Good choice. They're going to contact me again when you're back in LA, and I'll set it all up for you. Anyone tries to go straight to you without going through me, you better give them my card, Bartowski. Got it? This is my job. It's what I'm paid for. I'll take care of you kids."
"I really appreciate that a lot, Zondra. Really. I feel a lot bet—"
"Cool. Put Walker back on."
"Right cool great talk." He walked over and handed Sarah the phone.
She gave him a long look and then took it back, putting it to her ear. "Hey…Yeah, okay." There was a pause as she grinned. "Thank you, Z. Seriously."
By the time she hung up, Chuck had grabbed his own phone. His screen was full of tweets and text messages, most of them from his LA friends. Hannah sent him a "Congrats, handsome! Give me a call later tonight!" That wasn't something he was dealing with at the moment. Morgan sent him the gif of Kermit the frog yelling and thrashing his arms above his head in excitement. He opened his phone and locked it again to get rid of the notifications, deciding he'd look at them later.
"Everyone's meeting at a cocktail bar Morgan found the other night in a few hours, apparently," Sarah then announced, waggling her phone. "Did you get the text?"
Chuck looked down at his phone. "Oh. Probably." He slid it into his pocket with a shrug. He didn't want to go. He wanted some God damn alone time with his partner. With his girlfriend. They'd just won an Olympic medal, for goodness sake.
They pulled on their layers and went out with their coaches into the snow again. Thankfully there weren't any extra interviews in the lobby as they walked out, and they took the shuttle back to the village, Chuck and Sarah ending up sitting in seats away from one another.
In less than twenty four hours, he'd have a medal around his neck. He felt like his whole life had led him to this. Getting into ski jump, his road to Sochi, the crash at the worlds three years ago, his break-up with shitty Jill and his recuperation, that fateful trip to Chicago, seeing Sarah Walker for the first time…
He was liable to burst by the time Beckman and Graham were getting off of the elevator on their floor.
"See you at ten in the lobby?" Sarah called.
Beckman turned and huffed a bit. "This has been an emotionally draining day and I'm an old woman." She chuckled but then she got a sudden look on her face. It was almost scary, it was so severe. "You better not overdo it with the drinks, Walker. Tomorrow night is our last meeting before your first match with the girls the next morning."
"I wooooon't," she drawled, pouting.
"Good."
When they were left alone in the elevator, Chuck readjusted the strap of his bag and let out a long breath. They had just under three hours to properly soak this feeling in, settle, process…They weren't even getting their medals until tomorrow, right after Canada beat South Korea for the gold, because of course they were going to win.
Sarah seemed trapped in her own mind, so he didn't speak to her as they got out of the elevator and walked down the hall to their apartment. She got to the door first so she started digging for her key.
It took long enough that he just tugged his out of the side pocket of his bag. "Here, I got it."
She shifted out of the way with a soft "thanks" and he opened their door, holding it so that she could enter first.
The door shut behind them and he pulled his bag off, deciding not to even touch the stupid thing until the next day, then meticulously tugged and pulled at his layers until he was down to his uniform, Sarah doing the same beside him.
As he stepped out of his shoes and left them by the door, he walked further into the apartment and turned on a few more lights. "Man, is it just me or is the air, like…different in this place? Like, there's a bronze medalist air to this apartment now. It just feels so different from how it felt a few hours ago—"
Chuck stopped as Sarah walked right up to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a tight hug. He hugged her back immediately, squeezing her to his front, turning his face into her hair as her own face was tucked into the crook of his neck.
"Thank you, Chuck."
He didn't say anything. He couldn't. He just shifted his hands against her body and squeezed even tighter.
"Just thank you," she whispered, and he heard a soft sniffle. "Thank you."
She pulled back and cupped his face. There were tears on her face and she just let them fall, not bothering to wipe them away. Instead she just looked at him and smiled.
"The day Bryce broke up with me, and when he told me he was quitting the team too, I spent hours feeling so helpless and heartbroken and scared. I just…I cried. I cried a lot. Because it hurt, being dumped by my boyfriend of the last few years. But the scariest thing was that this dream I'd been working towards, this Olympic dream that was so close I could reach out and touch it was suddenly gone." She sniffed and finally wiped at her cheeks hastily, putting her hands on his chest this time and stepping in a bit closer. "There was no way I was going to the Olympics for mixed doubles without a partner. I just knew that was it. My chance gone. Yeah, I'd go with the women's team, but mixed doubles has become my specialty, my thing, and to miss out on this tournament…" She shook her head and sniffled. "And when Graham told me they were replacing Bryce with you, I was just completely confused."
"That makes two of us," he breathed, making her chuckle.
"You really did come out of nowhere. And I just thought…how insane are they? Putting the new guy on the mixed doubles team. I was still sure it wasn't gonna work, that I'd still miss out on the mixed doubles event in the Olympics." She huffed and shook her head, looking up at him with enough awe that he felt breathless, like he'd better hang onto her tighter, else his legs might just stop working and he'd crumble to the ground. "You took everyone's expectations of you and just blew them out of the water." One of her cool hands slid up to the back of his neck where she massaged gently. His eyelids fluttered a bit. "You're extraordinary, Chuck Bartowski. And I don't think I could've dreamed up a better partner." She took a deep breath and the tears started coming again. "So thank you."
He leaned in and kissed her gently, cupping her jaw in one hand. Then he pulled back and smiled, his forehead against hers. "This was you. You put in the work. You did this."
"No, Chuck. No, it was us." He furrowed his brow as she sniffled and stroked her fingers down his jaw again. "I couldn't have done this without the tools you gave me. Maybe with Casey or Tyler—or Bryce even if all that break-up shit hadn't happened—we might've gotten pretty far. But you gave me so much confidence, you made me believe in myself, and you let me just…enjoy this. And actually have fun on the ice. And it just felt so different, and it felt so much easier to play the game the way I've always wanted to. We did this together. Your crazy brain and my talents. " She giggled wetly and leaned up to kiss him again, pulling back. "Thank you for helping me get here." She kissed him again. "Thank you for letting me be me." And another kiss, much longer this time. "Thank you for spending the next few hours celebrating with me, just the two of us in the privacy of this apartment, before we have to meet up with other people in public."
The kiss she planted on him then…
She opened her mouth against his and he groaned, meeting her tongue halfway and wrapping his arms tight about her torso, giving her a heady yank into his body and making her grin.
As she pulled back, lips still brushing his, he growled, drowning in the sound of her happy giggle. "Does that celebration include the bedroom?"
"It doesn't have to."
Her hands suddenly shoved at his chest and he yelped, feeling the backs of his knees crash into something. He fell backwards over the arm of the couch and landed on the cushions with a surprised grunt.
"Oh."
A/N: OH, INDEED.
OH.
IN.
DEED.
More to come, my friends. Much much more to come! Leave reviews! They are my sustenance.
-SC