A/N: Quite a bit to this second half of Crown Vic. Hope I did it justice. A few housekeeping things here too. The scene of the argument in front of the tree in Chuck's apartment-her lines after he shouts "...about me?" were added in later. We never see her speak them, and more so...her jaw doesn't move in the shot over her shoulder. So maybe the writers thought of letting her storm out with no answer at first, but then added dialogue that could be just as ambiguous. A mistake, but not because she didn't want to-because it complicated the entire thing. Also, time in the Chuckverse moves at a different rate than the real world, we know this. Counting the way I have been, Sarah's phone conundrum happened on Black Friday, 11/23/07. Crown Vic starts the next day-she is still in bed with her stuff beside her. Big Mike says the Christmas party was on Friday, or 11/30/07. The episode seems continuous, but there would be 2 days not covered for that to be true. I added a bit. Nothing in canon contradicts that the party wasn't the same night as the explosion. This time stamping gets harder, but I maintain as much as possible.
I slept, maybe a little, but I certainly didn't feel rested when I woke up. All I remembered of my dreams were multiple versions of Chuck's pained expression…the pain I had caused him. I had spent so much time convincing myself that resetting everything would solve all of this, I was not prepared for this lingering misery. Had I honestly not anticipated Chuck's reaction? I somehow convinced myself it wouldn't happen. Why, I don't know. Desperation, maybe? I wasn't used to being desperate. But, he wasn't like me, and I should have remembered that. He couldn't turn off his feelings or stuff them deep down inside himself. Although as of late, my ability to do the same had diminished somewhat, so gradually I hadn't taken concrete notice of it at all.
I tried to clear all that away and focus on the mission. That had always worked in the past, and it was what I was hoping to do again. Prioritize the mission.
It was only then that I allowed myself to react to what that mission actually was. Seduction mission. The similar missions I had done before were variations on that theme, with assassinations sandwiched in between. As far back as working with the Secret Service, I had been asked to fact-find using any means necessary, and most frequently that meant using my looks and the promise of sex to get information. Alone or with Bryce, always it seemed, that was what I was ultimately doing. In the beginning of this mission, that was what Graham sent me to Burbank to do to Chuck…only Chuck had unknowingly turned the tables on me that first night.
It should have felt familiar, almost easy, something I was good at and had done so much I had perfected it. But today, as I sifted through the clothing I had, it felt different. Chuck had made this all different…and not just because of the one really bad night we had shared the night before. The thought of what I was going to have to do today was making me feel queasy. Unsettled.
I need to clarify something here, perhaps, because it is a fine distinction that I made, starting with this mission with Lon Kirk. What bothered me as I sifted through my clothing looking for a bikini wasn't about what I was going to do. There was always a line, and I told myself long ago, I would never cross it for this job, or for any other job. I was not the government's prostitute. Any means necessary did not include sex. Sure, there would be closer contact than most normal people would be comfortable with if their feelings weren't genuine. I had been groped more times than I even remembered. It was my job, and like I had told Chuck, however harshly the night before, someone like Bryce would understand that.
Bryce maybe, but not Chuck.
What was truly bothering me, crawling under my skin like an itch I couldn't scratch, was the thought that Chuck knew what I would be doing. Or worse…that he didn't know, his imagination left to wonder all of the sordid possibilities. I'd never had any reason to be so forthcoming with him, especially not to tell him I would never sleep with a mark or anything like that. Nothing felt right as I got ready. I couldn't keep Chuck out of my mind.
Again, it came down to that special way that Chuck looked at me. Even when he hurt, even when I had been the one doing the hurting, it never faded or altered. Constantly, I felt like I was waiting for the moment, the incident or the fact, that would make it go away, flinching and holding my breath after moments like this. It never did, as I've said before. But the worry used to eat away at me, most prominently at times like this.
While I tell this particular tale, Chuck will sound jealous, at least the way I describe it. Any normal man infatuated with any normal woman would feel jealous about that kind of situation. That was all normal. He seemed jealous, and for a while in my craziness I actually told myself that was all he was…but you must know, it wasn't the whole truth. It wasn't even half of it. Casey, of course, made it worse before he made it better, as he almost always did this early on…why, I can only guess. But understand this, because it is perhaps the most important lesson this mission taught me. It wasn't jealousy that made Chuck follow me to the marina that day. It was that same protectiveness he had displayed towards me since almost the very beginning, the real reason why he could never just stay in the car, like we'd asked him to.
He wasn't jealous of Lon Kirk, thinking he should be the one touching me instead of Kirk. He was troubled for me…that it was my job to allow Lon Kirk to touch me, even just generically. Empathy there yet again. The thought of Kirk touching me did drive Chuck crazy, but not with envy…with indignation. Very honestly, he thought I was worth more than that. It took me a while to see that, considering I never really thought that way about myself. I truly thought I was worthy of someone like Kirk groping me, but not of someone like Chuck respecting or admiring me the way he did.
So, I met Kirk at the marina and he escorted me onto his yacht. I played a dumb blonde, batting my eyelashes while maintaining that low level seductive tone, simmering just below the surface. He showed me his expensive craft, bragging like any billionaire might, minimizing and maximizing at the same time. The sky was overcast and there was a crisp breeze off the water, but Kirk insisted I put on some sunscreen…and that he would be the one to do it. I played along, hoping he didn't notice my goosebumps, both from the cold and the lizard feel of his hands on my back and upper arms. He wasn't grotesquely moving his hands, although he could have. He was dangerously close to my breast and my backside, but he stopped at a respectable distance. It gave me room to tease, which was easier, if only a bit. He rubbed the lotion on areas of me that I could definitely reach myself, leaning against me very closely while he was talking. I flipped my hair back and forth as a distraction. We were eating lunch and drinking champagne not long afterward.
Alas, it turns out that Morgan saw me on Kirk's yacht at the marina, a one in a million fluke thing that had just never popped up with my cover before. Morgan's girlfriend, Anna's, parents were in town and were dining at the yacht club at the same time. Morgan called Chuck, of course, because of his bro code or whatever that is, to tell his best friend he thought he saw his best friend's girlfriend getting too friendly with another guy. It turns out that was what got Chuck upset enough that he decided, on his own, to sort of crash my mission…by bringing Casey coffee and donuts.
Kirk was spectacularly boring to talk to, the type of man who just droned on and on about himself. I kept pretending that everything he said was so interesting. Having the amount of money he did, I'm sure he was used to pretty girls falling all over him, typical gold diggers and the like, and was quite full of himself. There was a kind of tit for tat in that strata of people. Money didn't buy happiness, but it could buy plenty of trophy girls.
We finished eating and he offered for us to go below deck, where we could have some privacy, as there were deckhands loading crates onto his yacht. Medical supplies, he told me, falsely humble, for his humanitarian efforts. He poured more champagne and sat closer to me on the sofa. I blocked out everything else and thought about keeping him talking. I thought I might have to kiss him, maybe even withstand a bit of groping, but I kept telling myself it was a job, and though I was out of practice, I could still do it.
We were barely below deck for a few minutes when I heard the commotion. Casey's voice, loudly announcing federal agents. What the hell was he doing? I thought. I was in the middle of my mission. What could possibly have triggered him to move in so quickly? Both Beckman and Graham had warned us to be careful, to be absolutely sure before we made a move. Kirk left me alone to go "deal with it," as he explained. I could have used that time to search, but instead, I followed him up the stairs, curious as to what was really going on.
I watched from a distance as Casey confronted him. Kirk was terribly self-righteous and self-important, giving the usual "do you know who I am" line. Casey threatened…but Kirk opened one of the crates while we stood there. Casey searched, but found only what Kirk said was in there–medical supplies. Casey passed his gaze over me; I showed mild surprise and confusion, still in character, but some of that was genuine. What made Casey move so surely…when he wasn't actually…well, sure?
I had an awful, sinking feeling then, that it was Chuck. Anger started boiling under my skin. The only reason I was even here with this arrogant son of a bitch was because Chuck had gotten all flippant and gambled away 100,000 dollars in the first five minutes of the mission last night. Now all of that flirting that had started to make me feel sick was wasted as well, it seemed. Kirk was alerted to the federal agent's presence, for nothing! Why? Because Chuck got jealous and came to spy on my mission?
You aren't handling him, that is the problem, I scolded myself. It was why he felt he could just come down here and do whatever. I was furious, a profoundly uncomfortable feeling when it was directed at Chuck.
Kirk made an enormous stink, threatening to report everyone. I politely excused myself, telling him it looked like he was too busy and maybe we could just continue our "talk" some other time. He apologized, telling me some ridiculous excuse, mentioning how frustrating it was to be persecuted by the people whose salary he paid. He was a total ass, but I smiled and left him with just a wave. I went back to my hotel, took a long, hot shower, and waited for Casey.
Apparently he had been stuck on Kirk's boat for hours. Worse than a typical scene report or debriefing, because of the level of harassment Kirk was accusing the U.S. government of inflicting. Casey told me he had moved because Chuck had flashed. Amazingly enough, by this point, Casey trusted Chuck's flashes. And at the end of the day, Chuck was right. He flashed on the crate, just not the crates that had the counterfeit plates in them. Kirk had already transferred the contraband onto another vessel. Maybe more of Chuck's inexperience…or just dumb luck maybe. It made Chuck look guilty of falsifying…and I was so furious, so off my game with this entire situation, I lost a little of my faith in Chuck. In my right mind, I know he would never just lie like that for something trivial.
But the second I got off the phone with Casey, I went straight to Chuck's apartment. It was another frenetic drive through L.A. that I didn't specifically recall, just in one place and then the next while my mind was anywhere but on driving. I was out of breath when I rang Chuck's doorbell.
He opened it rather casually. I didn't say hello. I asked him crisply if his sister or her boyfriend were home. He told me they were working…adding a sarcastic…"...and hello to you, too," as he shut the door.
I stormed inside, past their Christmas tree, which was positioned almost directly in the main entryway of the apartment. I noticed it without really seeing it. It was an odd place to stop and argue with him, but I wasn't thinking straight.
"What the hell happened today?" I snapped at him, turning to face him.
He blanched a bit, obviously surprised that I was so angry. He stammered over his answer. "I–I don't know. I don't get it. I had a flash."
"Right when I went below deck with Kirk. It's pretty convenient timing, I would say," I accused, my voice full of ice. He had never quite seen this side of me, I realized, as he looked back at me, hurt and confused. My anger in that moment protected me from his pain, but it was short-lived.
"What are you talking about?" he said slowly, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed.
"Just when you thought that I was getting intimate with Kirk, you decided to have a flash," I pushed, gesturing with my hands in my ire. I can tell you now, looking back, that part of that anger was me, deflecting my self-loathing at him. He was a decent person, a normal person…appalled by that type of behavior, no matter if it was my job or not. I hated that he was right to feel that way, and I had no good argument to support myself other than it was my job…and I had traded away my soul long before I ever met him. Because we love each other, and I know that we did, even then, as we stood shouting at each other in front of Ellie's Christmas tree, I also know that the only thing Chuck found appalling about that behavior was that I essentially was a human being owned by an insubstantial entity that required that type of sacrifice of me in the first place.
His body language altered drastically. He tensed, pulling back his arms. His eyes flashed like a white hot flame. "What exactly are you implying? That I faked the flash? That I'm a flash faker?" he spat at me.
I cut him off. "You know, I think we need to discuss the fact that you let your emotions get in the way today." Of him, that had always been true, since day one. It was a legitimate argument. His emotions complicated everything and caused problems on missions. For crying out loud, he'd gotten Fleming killed, technically speaking, because of those emotions, though I would never tell him that, not so bluntly. I was right…and yet, this was the worst possible situation to bring that up, especially like this, in the heat of anger. It was my job to manage his emotions…because he was my asset, not a trained spy.
Objectively again, 20 years removed from that time, I know I was deflecting again. Factually I was right, but I was so angry here, not at him, really, but at myself, for letting my emotions get the best of me, almost since the first day I had ever seen him. He occupied almost all my waking and dreaming thoughts more than anything else. He had permeated my life and I didn't know how to extract myself from the quicksand I had been slowly sinking in since the end of September.
Chuck knew that too, and called me out on it before I could finish the sentence. "My emotions?" he huffed, his eyes wide with a kind of fury I had yet to see in him.
I stammered a bit before speaking again, surprised by that vehemence. "Things have been a little off since the incident, Chuck." Oh, god, why…why did I say it like that?
"Really? And what incident are you referring to, Agent Walker, huh?" he snapped back at me. I was charged, feeling the emotions surging in my blood like electricity, but I heard that address–Agent Walker–like it was a slap to the face. He had never, ever, called me that. I was Sarah. The most beautiful sound in the world to me, even then, was the sound of his voice, when he said my name. But no more. Agent Walker heard the rest of what he said, while Sarah withered inside.
"Could it be the incident where you planted a kiss on me right before a bomb was supposed to go off, ending our lives?" I had to look away from him, once he said it out in the open like that. "That same kiss right before your boyfriend, Bryce, came back from the dead, that kiss?"
I almost screamed to cut him off. "Stop saying kiss! It happened, ok? What's done is done. Can we just not talk about it, please?" My reset, now gone horribly amok, was spiraling out of control.
He retreated inside himself, worse than I had seen before, after I said that. "Ok, fine. Absolutely, of course. Just answer me one little thing," he said sharply, making a gesture with his fingers as his eyes went through me like daggers.
"Chuck–"
"Did you kiss me that night because you thought we were going to die, and mine were the most convenient lips around, or was it actually about me?" he demanded. Anger and hurt, piled upon each other, battling for dominance when the words spilled out. All I heard then was the pain. I couldn't breathe, but I also couldn't look away.
"What happened was a mistake," I breathed, and stormed past him. "One I will not make again," I added as I blew through the door and shut it hard. Again, all factually true. It was a mistake, perhaps the worst one I had ever made. But not because I hadn't meant it–but because I had. I couldn't let it happen again, or everything I had vowed to do on the roof of that building, protect him from another mistake I had made, trusting Bryce, would have been for naught. Just because it was true didn't mean I didn't feel like I had been run through with an arrow once I was outside in the night air.
Heels and all, I did run to my car once the door was shut. That sprint released the tension, the burning anger, but by the time I was in my car, I was crying too. It was about him…it was always about him. Everything I had ever done for the past two months had been about him. Damn it, he really thought it meant nothing? That I would have just kissed anyone? It was good for the cover, good for the reset…so bad for me. How could I continue like this? This was all my fault, considering he was my responsibility.
I wanted to drive like crazy again, but I was crying as I drove, and my tears obscured my view through the windshield in the dark. I very rarely cried like that, probably could count on one hand the times I had. I know I've heard people say crying can be cathartic, even helpful to ease suffering. That might be true, perhaps when one is grieving, or trying to move on. Those tears were helpless, hopeless tears…which are bottomless. I could barely breathe by the time I let myself into my hotel room. I cried myself to sleep, in my clothes, on top of the bedspread.
The morning was even worse at a briefing with Beckman and Graham in Casey's apartment. We were chewed out for the failure from the day before. Casey explained about Chuck's flash, but they really didn't want to hear it, since Chuck ended up being wrong. Beckman came right out and asked if there was some reason why Chuck flashed incorrectly. I felt Casey almost look through me. Graham was downright nasty when he signed off, benching us after our colossal failure. I wasn't used to garnering disapproval from Graham, ever. It stung.
Once we were alone, Casey let it rip. I had been waiting for this since I had recorded that stupid log entry about the kiss. He knew, but he wanted me to tell him to his face anyway. He even said he was giving me one last chance to come clean. He asked me if I had compromised myself and the Intersect. The Intersect. Like he was a thing, not a person.
But that was how Casey thought. He was a soldier. Black and white, right and wrong. Duty and honor and everything else second. To him, Chuck was the Intersect first, a person second. I was an agent first, a person second. He was an agent first, a person second. I don't know if it was the way he said it like that, with me still smarting from Graham's hissy dismissal, but it pulled a bit of me out of that pit in my chest to confront him.
"Do you ever just want to have a normal life? Have a family? Children?" I asked him. I had, and then I'd had to put those dreams away. They were taken from me when my ability to choose for myself was taken away. I didn't think the answer from him would be yes, not for a second. But I was trying to make him understand. It didn't work, or at least, not right away.
Like I mentioned before, he willingly gave up all of those things to give his entire life to the NSA. He erroneously believed at some point in my young life that I had done the same. He used that in his argument. It was years later when Casey apologized to me for this statement, almost five years in retrospect. He learned a bit when my father returned to Burbank about a year after this incident, and more when he read my full file, about how my dreams had been stolen from me when I was still a girl. Here, he just didn't understand, and he didn't want to.
I told him I would fix this…or ask for a new assignment. The thought of that killed me, but unless I could plug the holes in this boat, Chuck was sinking. I couldn't let that happen to him. I would not let my feelings ruin his life.
I went to work another hot dog shift, letting the mundane routine of that mindless job settle my frazzled nerves. I kept running what I would say to Chuck over and over in my head. How I could potentially fix this…maybe even tell him I would be reassigned if we couldn't fix this. In all of that, I realized how awful I had been the night before, accusing him of lying to me. Chuck never lied to me, at least not here in this frame of reference. He would, unfortunately, for more than one reason…but never with malicious intent, always because he was trying to protect me.
In the middle of the day, Chuck came charging into the Wienerlicious like a man on a mission. There was a purpose in his stride, very noticeable because Chuck hardly ever walked like that. He was more of a saunterer. "Look, I need to talk to you," he said intently as he approached the counter. I thought he had come to rehash the argument from last night. I wasn't prepared to do that again, not when I was still trying to figure out what to say to him.
"Chuck, please, not now," I said as firmly as I could without being angry.
"Sarah," he said, interrupting me intensely. He presented a photo and placed it down on the counter. "These are the same crates that I flashed on yesterday, right here on a boat with the Taiwanese attaché. The one you saw arguing with Kirk. He's getting away with the plates."
"You think Kirk put the plates on Rashan's boat?" I asked him as I studied the photo he had brought with him.
"Yes," he swore, holding my gaze with a fiery intensity in his eyes. "Look, I know that your orders are to stay away from this, but you have to believe me. The plates are on that boat, possibly with Morgan and Anna."
I did believe him. He was worried about the people he cared about. Like he had been worried about me.
I turned away, fully intent on leaving with him. He continued when my back was turned. "Look, trust me, I wouldn't even be here right now if I wasn't 100% sure…" I didn't let him finish. I sailed over the counter and ran, telling him to hurry up with me.
He drove his car and I changed out of my hot dog uniform in the back seat. We talked about the plan as we drove. I can't tell you how good it felt to work with him, on the same wavelength, after what felt like weeks of stress and strain. We were a good team, even if we had a lot of problems. We were always at our best when we were together.
He asked me if I was going to get in trouble for going against orders. I told him I didn't care. I used to be as strict with orders as Casey, but I found my way to sanity by trying to do what was right, whenever I could, even when it didn't match my orders. Molly was literally living proof of that. We hit the ground running at the marina, surprised to find Casey already there. Chuck had mentioned he had told Casey first, and Casey quoted the stand down order to him dismissively. Apparently, Casey still had enough faith in Chuck to trust him the second time.
We ran as fast as we could towards the boat. I was still faster than Chuck, even with his long legs, but we ran as a group. Casey got winded. He was a large man, as tall as Chuck but half a man wider and broader. He was brute force, very little agility or speed. Chuck came to a screeching halt when we were at the water's edge.
We saw, and heard, Morgan on Rashan's boat, standing at the bow of the boat, apparently mimicking a scene from a movie. Chuck flashed again, locating a missile tracking system that had been attached to Rashan's boat. It was apparent what Kirk's plan was…blow up the ship, sink it with the counterfeiting plates on board. There was very little time to act, especially if we had to save Morgan and Anna without them seeing any of us. We briefed Casey on the plan, modified now due to Casey's additional presence, and then got it going.
I approached Kirk's yacht, calling for him from the dock. I played extra flirty, twirling my hair, feigning distracting romantic thoughts and feelings. The man was a few hours away from committing murder to get away with another crime…but there was always time for a beautiful woman, if she flirted the right way. It seemed foolish, yet I had been doing this for so long I knew the truth. The CIA taught us the way they did because those methods worked. For the most part, human behavior was very predictable, easily exploitable. One large hole in that practice were people like Chuck, who were not coercible by means such as that. He was different, special. I knew this. I had known this from the first five minutes of knowing him.
Those thoughts ran through my mind as I waited for Kirk. How could I have been so awful to him last night? I just wanted to erase it all, everything that had happened since Lou Palone had walked into the Buy More and disrupted my world. But I couldn't. We were both here now, living in the aftermath of all of that…Lou, Bryce, the kiss.
On cue, Chuck arrived and played the part of my rich, jealous boyfriend. Chuck and I fought while Kirk looked on, perhaps a little uncomfortably. The words I used made Kirk even more uncomfortable, since I was talking more seriously than anything he had anticipated. Casey was sneaking onto the boat while we were distracting everyone with our phony lovers' quarrel.
Casey sprung…and hell broke loose. Chuck was told to stay clear, for his safety, but he didn't really listen, not that I should have been surprised. Casey was throwing men overboard, I was pummeling Kirk's men while Kirk himself was ducking for cover below deck. I ran up, Casey ran down…but I never saw Chuck go after Kirk when he disappeared.
Kirk shot the missile from his newly acquired launcher almost straight through Chuck. He was very lucky he wasn't killed. I heard the discharge, but fortunately, I heard Chuck at the same time so I knew he hadn't been hit. Casey and I watched the rocket, whistling in the sky, headed straight for Morgan, Anna, and her parents.
Chuck knew enough to grab the controller and told us that if we could just reset the coordinates, that we could reset the missile. Computers were his thing, even way before he was the Intersect. Hacking, programming…even things like the GPS tracker. He could look at something and figure out how to work it in seconds, which was a gift that came so naturally to him he wasn't even aware of how ingenious he really was. He canceled the first sequence, but he didn't realize that could have the unwanted consequence of the missile resetting to return to home–which was the boat we were all standing on.
Chuck needed new coordinates to enter. That's not something any of us could just pull out of thin air. Fortunately for us, or unfortunately for Casey, Chuck remembered that Casey had told him his 1985 Crown Victoria had a GPS tracker. Casey gave them up, but very reluctantly. We ducked as the missile cruised by and crashed straight down, obliterating Casey's car in a fireball explosion.
The look on Casey's face–I had never seen him so…distraught. He looked like he could have cried. He really did love that car, I guess, but it was strange, considering how emotionless he seemed about everything else. It wasn't Chuck's fault, but Casey was still directing all his anger at him.
Not ever one to add insult to injury, I still took this rare opportunity to jab Casey the way he always seemed to jab Chuck and me. I made sure Casey knew that if we hadn't listened to Chuck, Kirk would have disposed of the plates…and Rashan…before the CIA slash NSA could even get their heads up out of the file. Make sure you tell Beckman that, I told him a tad harshly. He never said another thing, but I think we reached some kind of détente there, about the kiss, about Chuck and me and whatever that was or wasn't. That awful confrontation with him in his apartment, where I had cracked a bit under the strain and let some of my insides show, seemed forgotten, at least for now.
Clean up at the scene was extensive, as we had all gotten accustomed to. We were there well into the late evening. Chuck was a little concerned that Morgan would have seen the commotion, but luckily, or unluckily, depending on the viewpoint, Morgan ended up getting pretty significantly sea sick and missed everything. Chuck said later when it was on the news and he brought it up in front of Morgan, saying literally, "Dude, you were there," Morgan said he never noticed a thing. Be thankful for small favors, I guess.
Casey had to ride home with Chuck, in the back seat of the Nerd Herder. Between losing his car and that, Casey was in a pretty foul mood. Chuck dropped me off at my hotel first, since Casey lived in his apartment complex. Casey in the back seat took care of any awkwardness that could have ensued between the two of us. I hadn't reset anything the way I had hoped to, but at the very least things were not as bad as they could have been. I started to have more faith in my words to Casey…that if I could just talk to Chuck, set things right, that we would be ok.
Two entire days and half of a third passed without me having any direct contact with Chuck. This time, there were at least legitimate reasons. I had a private briefing with Graham, where he actually apologized to me for pulling me prematurely from the mission. I was shocked, never having experienced that kind of reaction from him before. His praise and my insubordination canceled each other out and left us back where we were. While the CIA was processing Kirk and handling the counterfeiting plates, I was actually contacted by an old acquaintance from the Secret Service, who saw my name on the file and recognized it. I wasn't much for chit chat, or catching up, but it turned out they were just looking for more information to complete the case file. I set up another call for the next day, and it took several hours before it was all said and done.
Chuck had to drive Casey to the Buy More. I know Chuck hated it, because Casey was more than his extra angry self, but at least I knew Chuck was safe with Casey while I was tied up elsewhere. I wondered if Chuck thought I was ignoring him on purpose again, still working with some remnant of anger from that fight in front of the Christmas tree. I called him that night before I went to sleep.
I thought about all of the things I could say, but when I heard his voice on the other end of the phone, I forgot everything that I was planning on saying. Instead, we just talked, like normal people, on the phone. We had a generic, casual conversation. No arguments, no drastic revelations…just talking, the way that we had always done in the ruse of cover dating. There was that feeling of the 800 pound gorilla in the room with us, but it wasn't oppressive to the conversation. He asked me if I wanted to come to the Buy More Christmas party the next night. I told him I would be there. I wished him goodnight and hung up the phone. Everything felt…ok. Not all better, but ok.
I fell asleep that night without incident, sleeping soundly through the night, for the first time in a very long time.
I was a little late to the Christmas party, mostly because I took such a long time picking out my clothes. I still wasn't quite sure how I should dress. Too casual? Chuck would be in his Nerd Herd uniform, so closer to casual seemed right. I settled on a clingy red top and a dark denim skirt. I spent extra time on my hair and makeup.
The party was in full swing when I walked through the doors of the Buy More. There was food, music, and lots of people dancing. I scanned the crowd, looking for Chuck. Being as tall as he was, he was never that hard to find in a crowd, but the vista inside the store was very busy with displays and Christmas decorations. I finally found him, standing next to Skip's DJ table, dancing by himself with his back to me. It was one of the most adorable things I had ever seen.
I felt like my knees had turned to rubber and my heart started pounding against my ribs. I missed him, I told myself, feeling like the few days I had been away from him an eternity. Talking to him on the phone the night before had intensified that longing, just to see his face. To see him smile at me.
I had told Casey I would talk to Chuck. I had convinced myself that I could find a way to talk to Chuck and reset the situation. I realized as I stood there then, that was never going to be possible, to put us back where we had been. But that was ok, I told myself. This could be the new normal.
It is important to note, this happened frequently—Chuck and I growing closer, me resetting out of necessity, us reaching another understanding. Each time this happened, the status we returned to was on a higher level. It peaked while I was standing on the beach at Ellie's wedding, knowing I could never leave him—because I loved him. That was the top of the pyramid—this Christmas party was the first step up the base.
I would fall, hard, off the top of this pyramid not long after Ellie's wedding—so hard it almost broke me. That is for later. But it helps to understand here how much more I felt, a year and a half into the future, considering how strong it already was now, in the late November of 2007.
What I needed to do now was just apologize, like a normal person would do when they knew they had caused someone else pain. I was not a normal person, however, and just how I was supposed to go about doing that, I had no idea. As his handler, I should have manipulated the situation in my favor. I was not his handler, in practice, and I almost never had been–that was the truth, but a truth I could not accept at this juncture. I just knew I had to be truthful to him.
I braced myself and approached him, walking up behind him while he was dancing. The moment he saw me over his shoulder, he stopped. He looked surprised. He had asked, and I had told him I would come…but he was still surprised that I had. He maybe hadn't trusted me, I thought, which caused a sharp pain inside me. Tell him the truth, I told myself. I wanted him to be able to trust me, like I had always wanted him to. I positioned myself to stand in front of him.
His eyes were soft and clear, open to me. I smiled, feeling my cheeks ache in that familiar yet recently missed way.
He was a little out of breath, maybe from dancing, saying, "I'm glad you…I'm glad you came." He smiled a little bit and licked his lips, an unconscious thing he did when he was nervous, but it made my legs feel like they could barely hold up my weight. "I got you something," he added.
We were in front of another Christmas tree. He walked away from me and stooped down to retrieve something placed under the tree. It wasn't wrapped, but it had a bow on it. He bought me a new alarm clock to replace the one I had skewered to my wall. "Ta da," he sang. "It's a new alarm clock. Merry Christmas."
"You shouldn't have," I said, looking at it instead of him, worried about how his eyes were making me feel.
"Ah, come on. They're on sale in Home Electronics," he added lightly, teasing. "Which reminds me, I should probably scan that thing before you leave the store with it." He was smirking adorably, making me feel all warm on the inside, like I'd had a sip of alcohol.
"Look, it's also kind of a…kind of a thank you for believing me when you had a good reason not to," he said, sincerity on his face and vulnerability in his eyes.
Here, if I had been rationally thinking, I would have told him everything that I already said about this to you, about his supposed jealousy or my deflected observations. I wasn't aware of anything I said before to you at this point, none of it, only that his calm forgiveness of the situation eased my concern, gave me hope that things would be ok, just like I'd told myself the night before.
"Well, it's my job, you know," I said in reply, still looking at the floor and not at him. I looked up. "It's what I do." I knew I needed to say more. All of that talk of staying because it was my job, going on the mission because it was my job. He needed more than that. "It's the one thing I'm good at." I meant that, and it was an incredible show of vulnerability on my part to tell him that.
"Really?" he said, smirking as his eyes sparkled with mirth. His voice was low and sweet when he added, "'Cause I'm pretty sure you're good at a lot of things."
I felt like all my blood had rushed to my feet, almost dizzy from the feeling. There was…something…under his voice, a double entendre that may or may not have been there. I had to push forward, not dwelling on those feelings or I was going to have us right back where we had been before.
"Well, as you can see from everything that happened with Bryce, I'm not so good at relationships," I admitted to him. Not so good–clueless, in fact. I had no idea how to have a real relationship.
He looked at me, steady-gazed, for several beats. "I guess that makes two of us," he said softly and slowly. I smiled at him just as long as his initial stare. "And then that makes me good at…pretty much nothing, I suppose."
Oh, that kind of talk bothered me! I couldn't stand to listen to him drag himself down. I know it was because of Stanford and Jill and his five year funk afterward, but I hated that he had allowed those things to blind him to his true worth. Sure, he wasn't the best spy in the world, not by a long shot, but being good at that would have meant, like me, he would have been good at nothing else. He was amazing…the most extraordinary human being I had ever known, would ever hope to know.
He wasn't the type to put himself down so that others would contradict him. His heart was far too pure for that. He actually believed that about himself. I had to make sure he knew the truth.
"Chuck, you're good at your job, too. And not just here, fixing computers. You know, the one where you risk your life to save others, the one that you didn't ask for but were supposed to have," I told him. Not that long ago, I had told him he had to be asked to be a hero. I realized as I said these words that I had been wrong, that I just hadn't seen enough to make an accurate judgment. He was as brave as anyone I had ever met, and the world was safer now because of that.
When I say that, I mean courage in the way he always showed it. Not without fear. Only those with nothing to lose feared nothing. He feared, and he acted anyway, because of his fear, knowing he needed to act to protect the people he loved, and even strangers that he didn't know.
He blushed fiercely when I said that, a pink hue glowing on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose as it gently wrinkled when he smiled. He looked shocked at first, obviously surprised that I thought that, and that I said it. But the slowly spreading smile was his gratitude.
"Friends?" he asked, holding out his hand to me, for me to shake it.
"Yeah, friends," I replied, and took his hand.
It wasn't a handshake, not really. He held my hand…and I held his. His palms were a little sweaty, but warm, comfortable and familiar. He shook loosely, up and down, but mostly just held my hand. I never wanted to let go.
Before I realized what happened, Jeff Barnes, another one of Chuck's direct reports, was standing beside us. He was intoxicated, which was a pretty standard state of being for him, and he purposely held mistletoe over our heads. Jeff is, well, a completely different story, which I can elaborate on later, but suffice it to say, of all of the crazy Buy Morons, as they were all so affectionately called, Jeff seemed most sympathetic to Chuck and me, how we felt about each other. As creepy as he was sometimes, he always called me Sarah…when he knew it was me he was talking to…but I digress.
Chuck asked me to dance to avoid the mistletoe kiss Jeff had implied.
I realized this was the second time I was dancing with Chuck, the first being our first date. Instead of teasing while I was trying to be a spy, this time, I was just a girl, dancing with a guy. Chuck was goofy, but comfortable, which was nice to see. We had fun, which was just what we needed. We were all better.
We were safe from that…for a while. But only for a short while.