Snapshot
By Steampunk . Chuckster
Summary: Photojournalist Sarah Walker has spent her short and acclaimed career walking the tightrope of societal norms and an inherent yearning for adventure. When her duty to making appearances for her career puts her in Bartowski Electrics CEO Chuck Bartowski's path, their very different worlds collide. Will she discover there is more adventure to him than meets the eye? Charah AU based on Hitchcock's Rear Window.
A/N: Honestly, these two in particular refuse to let me have my damn peace. So here's some more. I dunno what to say. I go where they tell me to go. And lemme just preface this chapter with the fact that I had so much fun writing this chapter. So. Much. Fun. Hope you have even a tiny percentage as much fun reading it as I had writing it.
Disclaimer: I do not own CHUCK and I'm making exactly $0 from this story. Per usual.
His hotel suite was larger than her whole apartment. Maybe it was larger than her apartment and old Mrs. Guggenheim's apartment next to hers stuck together, even.
She'd taken pictures of places like this for magazine assignments. She'd stepped into places like this for a paycheck.
But she couldn't imagine ever staying in one, living in one. Lounging on a couch like this one, walking over the elegant rug in the main living area, being able to wander out onto that balcony he'd spoken of earlier whenever she wanted. To say nothing of the bedroom. She'd caught herself glancing over at the open doors that led to that forbidden area of the suite.
Forbidden. It was forbidden. She wasn't letting herself think about that part of the suite. This suite didn't have a bedroom. Not at all. There was no bed in this hotel suite.
Because Chuck Bartowski didn't sleep. He was a figment of her wildest dreams. She was dreaming. And dreams didn't need things like sleep. Or sustenance.
Or alcohol.
And still, he poured the gin, stirring it. And she still had her imagination of his glorious hair, so soft, running through her gloved fingers, how it might feel without the gloves. "Taste that and let me know if you need me to do better." He passed it over to her and she plucked it from him.
She took a deep breath and sipped the drink.
He wasn't real. He couldn't be.
"How is this the best gin and tonic I've ever tasted?" she asked in awe. "I've had gin and tonics from the most high class, gin-specific spots in Europe and this beats it all." She took another sip and hummed, shutting her eyes.
"Can I tell you a secret?"
"Yes," she breathed. She was still drowning in how good this drink was. Perhaps it was just an extension of how good this night had been. Perhaps it was impossible for bad to sneak its way into her experiences on a night like this. She feared finally falling asleep would break the spell, and when she woke up in the morning, a flurry of bad would hit.
She shook herself of the deep pessimism. Not right now…
"It wasn't exactly legal but I tended bars on the side from the time I was eighteen. While I worked at Roark Instruments. It helped pad my savings."
"You tended bars before you were twenty-one?" She gaped at him.
He winced. "I'm tall, you see. Nobody really questioned me because I got pretty good at…erm…lying about my age. And then I got just as good at pouring drinks, so they didn't want to know. I never got caught."
She shook her head and furrowed her brow. "You really are a rebel, aren't you? Tending bar at an illegal age for years. Look at you." She lifted her drink as he blushed. "But I'm reaping the benefits so I'm not going to tell on you."
Chuck laughed, fixing his own drink now that he'd given her what she'd asked for. He seemed to prefer brandy. It made sense, considering it matched his eyes. She shook herself again, willing herself to stop being like this. "Thank you, I appreciate that."
He sipped his brandy and leaned back against the bar with his hip. "I have a question for you."
"And what's that?"
"Can I take your coat?"
Not expecting that at all, she laughed and nodded. "Yes. Please."
Grinning, he gently took her drink from her fingers and set both of their glasses down, helping her take the coat off, moving to drape it over the back of the couch next to where she set her clutch she'd forgotten in his car earlier.
She'd forget about it again, and her coat as well, for the rest of the night, the morning, and beyond.
But Sarah couldn't know that at that very moment as he came back to her side and handed her the gin and tonic again.
"Only regret I have is that this place doesn't have a phonograph or a radio. Otherwise I could put some music on and we could dance."
Sarah raised her eyebrow. "You want to dance again, even after the seventeen thousand songs we danced to tonight?" He shrugged, sipping his brandy, his other hand in his pants pocket. "And this is the same man who said he isn't much of a dancer. Ha."
He blushed, ducking his head sweetly. "Touché. I'm really not much of a dancer. I nearly flattened your feet a few times there, I'm not sure if you noticed."
"I did." She smiled at him. "No harm done."
"I suppose I can find the energy for it when I've got the right partner."
Oh, he was good. She felt something inside of her melt. "Me?" she teased.
"I didn't dance with anyone else. Erm, that is, I was forced to before we met on the balcony. Very forced." He rolled his eyes a bit. "But after we spoke, I didn't dance with anyone else."
"I noticed that, too. Nor did you let me dance with anyone else." He winced and she let out a bubbly giggle. "Oh, don't worry. That isn't a complaint. Though I'm sure Cole Barker, oil baron extraordinaire, might have some complaints. Not sure if anyone's ever told that man no before."
"He didn't seem to know how to handle it, did he?"
"Mmm mm." She shook her head slowly, sipping her gin just as slowly, and then she ran her eyes down this man's tall, lithe frame, clad in the deliciously tailored suit.
She realized for the first time tonight that his suit didn't quite fit into the current fashion. The shoulders of the suit jacket didn't extend much further than his shoulders. It fit him well, but she imagined Garnier had probably eyed him like a fly landing on his caviar all night long.
This man had so much money and apparently he didn't spend a lick of it on a stylist. And still, she loved how he looked. His hair was so soft and curly and delicious—why mar that by tamping it down with product? Why cover his strong shoulders and slim waist with an oversized suit jacket?
"What?"
She shook her head, flicking her eyes to the side, taking a deep breath, trying to be as subtle about it as possible.
How rude would it be for her to say her thoughts out loud? It'd sound like a backhanded compliment. You aren't wearing the right style, you don't have any idea what the current fashion is, but you look really good in that suit.
Ridiculous.
"Just thinking about the way you handled the oil man," she lied. "It was very funny." That wasn't a lie.
"I'm a funny guy, I suppose," he said, making a silly face.
"You are," she giggled. "I am…not funny. At all."
"You liar. I've been laughing all night." He sent her a chastising look.
"I am a liar, but not about this." She twisted her lips to the side. "You have to be able to lie at least to a certain degree to get anywhere in a business like mine. As a woman, at least. Bow and curtsy and stroke egos to put them at ease about sending a woman into a situation you might not think she should be in."
Chuck narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Like dangerous situations?"
"Sometimes."
"I saw that photograph in the gallery from the Indonesian Revolution. Did they not want to send you into a war zone?"
"I sent myself for that reason. No news agencies wanted to send a woman photojournalist. It wasn't safe. As if it was safe for the men who went with their cameras and notebooks." He shook his head with a flat look and she matched it. "So I just scrounged up the money, took a shaky flight from LA to Hawaii. From Hawaii to a crummy little weed-ridden airstrip in northern Australia, Queensland I think it was. And then I hopped onto a plane with some of our boys—U.S. servicemen—who probably only let me on because I was pretty. Dealt with a slew of flirtatious jabs and come ons for hours on end, and finally landed in war torn Indonesia. I was lucky enough to be there to see the end of it. That's the photograph you saw."
He let out a low whistle and sipped his drink, shaking his head. "I envy your adventurous spirit, Sarah Walker. I really do. I mean, for the stories alone. But then just the experience, all of the people you must meet, speak with. Did you have a translator there?"
She raised her eyebrows and shook her head. "No, I'm nearly fluent in the Malay languages. At least, I can get by in most of the countries across the Malay world."
His jaw dropped. "You speak all those languages?!"
"They're relatively similar," she said modestly. "It isn't as impressive as it sounds."
"How is that not impressive?" Shaking his head, he downed the rest of his drink and turned to pour more of it for himself. "I'm sorry, I'm just flabbergasted. I've never met anyone who has been able to speak in more than, oh I don't know, three languages? If that."
"Really? Even in your business?"
"I don't count computer language," he chuckled and she smiled at him in amusement. Then she looked down at her drink, finished it, and held it out towards him, pouting teasingly. "See, that? That's very adorable. You do realize I'd do a lot more than just pour you another drink when you toss a look like that at me, don't you?"
As Chuck took her glass to make her another drink, she sidled up to him at the bar and looked at his profile. His tongue poked out between his teeth, determination in his face as he worked, and it was boyish and sweet, especially with his hair sticking up the way it was. "A lot more…like what?" she flirted.
He blushed, not looking at her. "Now that's not nice," he said quietly, a small smile on his face.
She giggled.
"Don't you go to these sorts of galas often?" she asked then. "You must meet people from other countries. And they tend to know more than just their own language and English because their education system actually teaches languages."
"That isn't entirely true, I took Latin in grade school." She sent him a look and he winced. "Yeeeaaah, I don't remember a lick of it, I see what you mean."
Giggling again, she accepted the fresh gin and tonic he passed to her and she lifted her glass towards his. "What should we cheers to?"
"Hmm. To knowing, like, five or six languages."
Sending him a dry look, she corrected him. "Fourteen."
He choked. "What?!" He shook his head. "You're pulling my leg now. You speak fourteen languages?"
"Yes."
"How?" he asked breathlessly.
"When I'm on assignment in another country, it feels imperative to at least try to converse with them in their own language."
"That makes sense. And now I feel like a louse for being to France three times in the last five years and never once deciding to actually learn French."
"No, no," she laughed. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad. It's just my own personal ideology. I don't push that onto other people. And I suppose I'm built different. I pick up on languages easily. They just click in my brain. You, on the other hand, have a brain for technology that I'd never come close to having."
"Hmm. Mhm. Trying to push it off onto me, are you?" He sent her a dubious look. "You with your fourteen languages you keep up in that impressive brain of yours."
She giggled. "Stop. Like I said, I pick up on it easily. As easily as I can snap a photo with one of my cameras, I can capture words and their meaning, vocabulary, and grammar in my brain."
"That's incredible. You're simply incredible."
She blushed and tilted her head. "Perhaps we can change the subject before you make my head too big for me to ever leave this suite," she teased, because she genuinely wasn't sure if she could handle much more of the look he was giving her, as if he was in awe of her, his eyes soft and his brow furrowed.
He grinned happily. "Fine, then. But I won't lie to you. That doesn't sound all that bad to me."
"I'll have you know that's kidnapping," she flirted as she jauntily backed towards the doors that led out onto the balcony. He laughed, throwing his head back. And she leaned against the sliding glass door with one shoulder. "Am I allowed to go out here?"
"Of course," he chuckled, and he joined her as she turned and excitedly unlocked the door, sliding it open and stepping out onto the hard, cold stone of the balcony. "I actually haven't been out here since I arrived. It's pleasant," he chirped as he stepped out next to her and slid the door so that it was still cracked open.
"Hmm. Charles Bartowski of Bartowski Electric is on a business trip. There's no time for lounging on a business trip," she announced in a deep and serious tone, leaning her hip against the railing.
He smirked. "You're not wrong. I haven't had the time to pause long enough and take it in. Especially not from out here. But I'm pausing now. And I'm taking it in. Thanks to you." He lifted his glass towards her and tilted it just slightly, a cheers gesture, and then he sipped his brandy again.
"I'm glad I could help," she drawled, making him smile harder. And then she turned and faced the Sienne River, taking a deep breath. It sparkled in the moonlight on a clear and cool night like tonight. "It's such a strangely still night, isn't it? Not even a breeze up here, at the top floor of this hotel. Like everything is pausing with us."
"Perhaps that's exactly what everything is doing. Pausing. With us. For us."
She turned to look at him. "And what makes us so special?"
Chuck laughed. "I have no idea. You-You know fourteen languages. That's certainly special. But then I come into the equation and I sort of cancel you out with my blandness."
Sarah found herself frowning then as she looked at him, standing there with his glass to his lips again. He was taking a self-deprecating jab at himself, and she wasn't sure how much he meant what he just said because she didn't know him well enough to decipher the little looks on his face, the way the moonlight played in his eyes, the twitch in his jaw.
"You're the furthest thing from bland, Chuck Bartowski." The dubious look he sent out of the corner of his eye made her think he actually believed that about himself. She frowned harder. "You think I missed the way women looked at you all night?" she decided to say, in spite of a voice in her head telling her not to venture into this realm with him.
He was surprised by that. "What?"
Sarah rolled her eyes a bit. She couldn't help it.
Men.
"Women. At the gala. Tonight. They looked at you as if they wanted to gobble you up. Their fathers' money spilling out of their ears, a dashing and successful engineer in their midst, and with your looks? One woman tried to throw herself at you in spite of me hanging on your arm," she said with a giggle. "A bit desperate, if you ask me."
And maybe she'd been jealous. So sue her.
Sure, this man didn't belong to her, and he wouldn't belong to her. Not ever, she realized as she stood on his balcony on the top floor of a Paris hotel. This dream would end and she'd go back to her life, and he back to his. He would belong to some woman somewhere at some point. And she felt a spike of envy go through her at the thought of that woman.
Chuck let out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. "Not to disparage those women, but a man could walk through that room with the kind of money I have and he'd receive the same response. Whether he looks like Jimmy Durante or…Cary Grant," he said with a one shoulder shrug. "I wouldn't put too much stock in that."
She stepped in close, looking up at him. "Well, you don't look like Jimmy Durante. Or Cary Grant, for that matter. You look like you, which is a sight for sore eyes, if you ask me. You didn't ask me." She bit her lip shyly and looked away from him again. "Sorry. I don't mean to embarrass you. I just felt some kind of frustration rise in me hearing you call yourself bland. The man who's single-handedly put a color television in just about every middle class home in the country. You told one of the richest and most powerful men in the oil business, in the world most likely, to take a hike when he tried to exert his power over me. You fascinating so-and-so." She reached up and curled her fingers around the knot of his tie, giving it a cute little tug back and forth. And against her better judgment, she pushed up onto her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek, softly, slowly. She felt him tense, and then he melted against her just as quickly.
It did something to her.
And she backed away from him, his gentle touch falling away from her elbow where he'd cupped her as she kissed his cheek. She sipped her gin and tonic, feeling almost bashful. Ridiculous.
Putting distance between them, she sat on the wide cushion of the chaise lounge, scooting back to lay herself out over it, leaning against the pillows behind her and sighing, swirling the ice in her drink.
"See, this…" He cleared his throat. "Nothing. Never mind."
"What?" she asked, looking up at him, amused.
He was blushing and she could see it clearly from the light that spilled out of his suite. He merely shook his head, sticking his hand in his pocket, still leaning his hip against the railing. From this angle where she draped herself over the chaise, Chuck looked so much taller, slim and svelte and with this sort of…messy elegance. She'd skewed his tie a bit, his hair was mussed, his jacket unbuttoned. She wished she had the courage to wrap herself around him right now. Climb up from this chair, close the distance, and wrap herself around him. And she wished she didn't have such a sharp sense of self-preservation.
"Tell me," she said quietly, giving him a reassuring look as he glanced at her curiously. She bent one leg just slightly under the navy blue chiffon, and she saw his brown eyes drop to stare at her doing it, before his gaze slid up her long legs, her torso, and finally stopped at her blue eyes.
She found she didn't mind him looking at her like that. It felt so different from the unabashed, entitled hunger of a rich and powerful, privileged man, used to getting everything he wanted.
"I-I was going to say. This—you all splayed out on the deck chair like…you are—makes me wish I had your talent. Photography I mean. I would love to snap a picture of you like this." He surprised her even further when he moved in close, one quick rush of movement, and he knelt beside her, his hand landing on the cushion dangerously close to her hip. She wished powerfully that he would move his fingers just so, his knuckles brush against her. Or that he'd touch her outright. This restraint would burst and there'd be no turning back if he did. "The goosebumps on your arms," he continued reverently, his brown eyes landing on her long, bare arms. "That proud way you've got your chin lifted. The way you're holding your gin and tonic. This…lacy thing around your neck. So glamorous, though I can't imagine it's keeping you at all warm." His adorably confused look as he reached up to finger the tulle she'd tied at the base of her neck to drape down over her gown… She thought she might die, something in her chest throbbed so hard.
"It isn't meant to keep me warm," she said quietly, feeling almost breathless. He gave her a perplexed look that made everything ache even worse. "Fashion," she chirped. "Always fashion."
"Ah. Well, it's effective. This is very beautiful. Angelic almost." She gave him a look. "Sorry. That probably isn't the most complimentary word, is it?"
"Well, it isn't accurate, not applied to me, I'll say that much."
"Still… I'd love to take a picture of you like this."
"Would you frame it and keep it by your bed in your LA mansion, Mister Bartowski?" she flirted, letting her fingers move up to play with his soft curls again. She couldn't not. Her fingers were drawn to his hair, magnetized. Even with her gloves.
"I don't have a mansion," he chuckled. "But I might consider framing it next to my bed anyway, Miss Walker."
"Scandalous," she teased in a low voice, dripping with something it shouldn't have been dripping with.
Oh well.
He reached up to catch her hand that was playing with his hair, and he slowly lowered it peel her glove off as she watched, her heart racing. And then he pressed his lips to her palm, his eyes not straying from hers for even a moment.
It took everything in her not to sit up and grab him, to kiss him with the furious sensations swirling in her breast.
Sarah bit her lip, removing the other glove. "I might have an idea…if you're game."
"I'm not the most adventurous man, Sarah Walker—surely, if you gave me the option of discovering Machu Picchu amongst the jungles of Peru or sitting in the lab at our Los Angeles headquarters with a circuit board in my hands, I'd pick the circuit board and four plain white walls surrounding me—but if you ask me if I'm game, you in particular, I think I'd be game for just about anything."
She raised her eyebrows. "I'm that powerful?"
"Yes," he said immediately. Completely unabashed.
She had nothing flirtatious or teasing to say about that. "Oh my. It's hard to tease a man who's so sincere…"
"You're doing just fine."
And she could tell by the look on his face and the tone of his voice that he was enjoying the teasing quite a bit. Oh, this was a problem.
"Can you bear being away from me for five minutes while I go down to my room and grab something?"
He blinked, not seeming to have expected that. And then he bit his lip and gave her a shy look. "As long as you promise to come back."
Sarah took a deep breath. "I'll come back. Just five minutes."
He nodded, and then he nimbly raised himself to his full height, using his grip on her hand to help her out of the chair. She stood gracefully and smiled. "Hurry back," he said with a smile.
Grinning, she did hurry. Oh, she hurried.
And the adrenaline of all of this threatened to spill out of her, make her laugh like some sort of a maniac as she tumbled into the elevator, a mess of chiffon and tulle and gloves and emotions.
}o{
Even if she meant not to come back tonight, if she had a mind to escape, she would have to come back eventually, he mused. Because she'd forgotten her coat, even though she'd had to snag her clutch which was set on top of it.
And because he didn't know what to do with himself otherwise, he just went back to the bar to set their glasses down. And he stared at the lipstick on the rim of hers. He let his pointer finger press against the red print on the glass, where her lips had touched. The same lips she'd pressed to his cheek.
Lips he wanted to taste so badly.
He wouldn't. This felt more powerful than that. He'd had women in his hotel rooms before. Not many, but some. And it had been fun. And then it usually was over soon thereafter, none of them lasting too long in his life. A few days, a week, a few weeks at the most. The interest fading on both sides.
This felt like more than just heated flesh, like a deeper connection that touched his soul, something deep in his chest.
Chuck Bartowski knew he fell in love too easily. It was in his makeup. His sister reminded him of it all the time in an attempt to keep him from allowing himself to get hurt. So he promised himself this wasn't that either. He convinced himself.
But he really did like her.
And when she turned the handle of his suite door to poke her head back inside, a small smirk on her face, her blue eyes sparkling, framed by that stunning lustrous blond hair of hers, his thoughts flew out of his head like they were never there at all.
And he grinned at her. "You came back."
"Yes," she said, stepping into the room. She had an extra box-shaped bag slung over her shoulder. "See, I forgot my coat," she teased.
His giggle was bubbly and boyish. A grin grew on her face as she shut the door behind her and locked it again. He gulped at the way she did that, a quick flick of the lock between her fingers.
She didn't mean anything by it, he knew, and still…
"What's this?" he asked as she put her clutch back onto her coat on the back of the couch and shrugged the strap of the boxy bag off of her shoulder. The gloves she left behind in her room, he noticed.
"You gave me an idea with all of your poetic flowery language about taking a photograph of me. I thought, well why not?" She set the bag on the bar and unzipped it, lifting a camera out of it. "I can teach you. To use it, I mean. If you want."
Excitement rose in him immediately and he almost bounced on his toes. "Really? You'd let me touch that?!"
She laughed hard, rocking forward. "Yes! Why not? So long as you don't throw it off the balcony, I think it'll be just fine."
"Oh, I won't do that. It just—It's like picking up a masterpiece painter's brushes. It feels strange."
"Oh, stop," she groused, snorting.
She peered through the camera and fiddled with dials, and he knew almost inherently that he was seeing Sarah Walker the photojournalist, the artist, in her element for the first time. It was a sight to behold; this stunning woman, this genius, behind her camera. He could almost imagine her in trousers, an oversized shirt and jacket. A hat to shield her eyes. Maybe a smudge of dirt or oil on her chin, depending on if she was in the wilds of Africa or on the racing strip of the Grand Prix. For just that moment, his whole entire world was downsized, focused, pinpointed onto her.
"Here," she said, busting his reverie. But not fast enough, because he kept staring at her and she ended up having to give him a funny look, the camera held out between them for an awkwardly long amount of time.
He shook himself. "O-Oh. Sorry. Yes. Right." He cleared his throat. They both knew he was staring, and she had a pleased look on her face as well as a slight blush as he took the camera from her. Very carefully, delicately…even wincing.
Sarah giggled. "It's just a camera, Chuck. It isn't going to stop working simply because it has someone else's fingerprints on it."
He grinned at her. "Are you sure?"
"I am."
Chuck looked down at the camera, turning it in his hands. "She's a beautiful machine."
"Mhm, well, hate to be the bearer of bad news, but she's an 'it'."
"You're the owner, you get to decide," he said with a chuckle. And then he knelt to three-quarters of his height and pointed the camera at Sarah's glass on the bar counter, peeking through the viewer. He pulled back and straightened again.
"What are you taking a picture of?" she asked, sounding intrigued.
"The glass you've been drinking out of."
She raised an eyebrow. "That's rather an artistic choice. I'm kind of impressed."
"Is it?"
"Yes. You could've pointed it at me or…I don't know, that lamp over there."
"A lamp? How boring."
"See? You're already pretty good at this."
"Not really, I'm not sure how to work this thing to actually take the picture."
Sarah giggled and stepped in closer. "May I?" He moved to hand her the camera altogether and she shook her head patiently, folding her hands around his on the camera and moving it back in front of him again. He felt the heat of a blush on his face, just the slightest touch of her fingers over his and this was what happened? Heaven help him. "Let me show you. Here. This right here." Her fingers ran over the wheel with the grooves on top of the camera. "This is the focus. And this is what you press to take the picture." She was standing very close to him now, and he felt her chest brushing against his arm. "Shall we? I'll do it with you."
All he could do was nod. And then he passed the camera back to her. "Hang on now, just a second." She blinked, obviously confused. But still, she took the camera. "Thanks. I just need to get into a serious—This is—I'm Serious Chuck now," he rambled as he shrugged his suit jacket off and tossed it off to the side, not caring where it landed. She rocked to the side with a laugh, watching as he unbuttoned his sleeves and began rolling them up to his elbows.
"So this is Serious Chuck? I'm humbled he's joining us for something as small potatoes as using one of my cameras."
"One of your cameras?" She sent him a look and he winced. "Yeah, I heard how foolish that question was the moment it left my lips." Maybe it was just his imagination, or wishful thinking, but he thought her blue eyes flicked down to look at said lips for just a split second before they hurried back up to meet his gaze. "That's like asking if Michelangelo uses just the one chisel."
She laughed, shaking her head. "You are so intense. I'm not anything close to Michelangelo."
"Uh, I've seen your work. So…"
"Oh my God," she groused, rolling her eyes. "That being said, you're very sweet. Now get into position and take the photo. Come on." He nodded, kneeling down, and he felt heat rise from his collar as she knelt down next to him, their faces nearly cheek to cheek. He pressed the button to take the photograph and heard the loud click and bzzzt sound. Then he pulled his eyes back and made a dissatisfied hum sound. "What is it?" she asked.
"It seemed a little unfocused or blurry when I took it. I mean, what I was looking through, things seemed out of focus. Will it come out better once you develop it?"
She shook her head. "You need to focus it."
"I thought it was."
"Let me show you." She pulled him back down. "All right, Chuck. Look through it." He did. There was Sarah's glass, behind that was his glass. The bottle of brandy off to the side. And the small mirror mounted on the back of the bar reflected portions of each subject in the background. "Now, what you need is a single focus. What's your single focus?"
He pulled back and looked at her. "Right now, it's you."
Sarah blushed, looking pleased even as she twisted her pursed lips to the side shyly, glancing down. "You're a shameless flirt," she teased. "But let's try to narrow it down to things that exist within that frame, huh?" She reached up to tap the camera.
Grumbling good-naturedly, he went back to the camera. "Your glass. I like the lipstick on the rim. It's artsy."
She giggled. "My goodness, you're cute." He pressed his lips together and looked at her. She stifled her giggle and cleared her throat daintily. "But that's actually right. That's a pretty artsy decision, picking the glass with the lipstick stain."
"Thank you," he chirped. "Yeah, I want that as my single focus."
As she talked him through her technique, her hands enfolded over his on the device, her fingers sliding over the backs of his, her cheek brushing his. "…Now take the picture."
He did. "That feels so much better. Everything was out of focus except for your gin and tonic, which looked pristine, if I do say so myself."
"Fitting, because it tasted pristine." They both straightened up to their full height again and she squeezed his shoulder. "Good job, Chuck. I'm very proud of you."
He preened. "But here's the real test. Having a living subject." She sent him a dubious look. "Ever been on the opposite side of the camera, Sarah Walker?"
"Uh no. And no thank you."
"Why? You really could be. I mean, be on the other side of the camera. You're so…" He sent her a dreamy look and she gave him a closed mouth smile. "Well. You could be, erm, you know, a model. You're beautiful."
Sarah bit her lip and smiled. "Men have been using that line on me since the beginning."
He rushed out, "Oh, it isn't a line. Not at all. Just an observation because y—"
"It's okay," she chuckled, grabbing his arm and squeezing reassuringly. "I know. I know it isn't a line. Not from you."
He sent her a quiet, slow smile and she sent one back.
"…May I?"
"What?"
"Take some pictures of you?"
She gaped, and he wondered if he'd caught her off-guard. "Why?"
He shuffled his feet. "I'm not sure how to answer that. I guess I don't know. You take pictures of beauty, don't you? To…" He waved his free hand, trying to come up with words. "…capture it? I suppose I'd like to capture yours."
Sarah took a deep breath. "How could I say no to that?"
Chuck grinned. "Okay. Okay! Well, you—Uh, do the posey-pose," he said, flapping his hand towards her. "Whatever it is models do."
"I'm not a model. I'm supposed to know how to pose just intrinsically?"
"Oh, right. I figured you take pictures of models for magazines, but you're a photojournalist. That's probably beneath what you do."
She wrinkled her nose. "Honestly I don't like to, but I have. Money is money."
"Are they difficult?"
She hummed noncommittally. "No, not really. But it isn't my…style. I mean, it isn't what I like to do." And she moved over to the balcony, looking out over the city. He decided to take a picture of that. The click sounded in the silence and she turned to look at him, her brow furrowed. "Really? That's what you took a picture of?"
"It was candid." She snorted, her smile infused with something he couldn't decipher, a certain softness. "What you like to do, then. That's what I saw in the art gallery?"
She nodded, then turned to lean back against the glass, folding her hands together in front of her. He snapped a picture of that and she grinned at him for it so he took another one. "How are they turning out, do you think?"
"Stunning. And I have nothing to do with it."
She giggled. "Charmer. Hold on. Get me from the back." She hurried over to pick up her clutch as he chuckled, following her with the camera. She snagged the clutch and pretended to walk away from him, showcasing the back of her dress as she looked over her shoulder.
"Oh I like that."
"Yeah?"
She parted her lips and raised an eyebrow.
"Mhm. Perfect. What's your favorite ice cream?" She gave him a confused look and laughed. He took photos of both stages of her reaction. "Serious question. What is it?" he chuckled.
"Hmmm. Rocky Road," she said quietly.
"Fantastic choice." He got ready, moving the little wheel to and fro to get her perfectly in focus, and then he delivered the line: "The look you're giving is that you just heard, 'Scoop of Rocky Road ice cream for a nickel!' from somewhere behind you." She burst into laughter and he pressed the button to take the picture he'd been hoping for.
"You're mad. Absolutely mad. You know that?" she asked as she wiped the tears of laughter from under her eyes.
"I know," he said cheekily. He finally handed the camera back to her after taking a few more snapshots of her posing by the couch. "There. I enjoyed my education very much. Thank you."
"You think the lesson's over? Think again, buddy boy. I brought this camera up here. You're getting a full course. Photography 101 at the Walker School of Arts." He laughed as she wiggled the camera in the air. "I don't know about you, but I have all night." She stood to her full height and lifted her chin, giving him a cocky look. "By the time we're through here, you're going to be needing your own space for an art gallery."
Chuck snorted. "I'm not sure I have the mental capacity to be good at two things. I'm good at running an electronics company. I can't also be good at photography."
"Nonsense. You're good at more than one thing." She fiddled with something on the camera, then snapped the cap back onto the lens, protecting it, fiddling with it some more.
"Okay, like what? And please don't say dancing. It will completely obliterate your credibility from this point forward."
She chuckled.
"I know what this is," she drawled then, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "You're fishing for compliments. Well, I have news for you. It's working. That's exactly what I'm about to do." Grinning, she took the cap off again and held the camera up to her eyes, pointing it at him. There was a clicking sound and he shook his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets. She took another picture. "You're quite good at charming people. I'd go so far as to say you're exceptional at it."
He smiled at her as she looked up at him. She finally smiled back, slowly. And then she pressed that damned button and took another photo of him. "All right, enough," he laughed, closing the distance.
Sarah laughed with him, holding the camera back as far as she could reach, keeping him from snatching it the way he meant to. His chest bumped hers and he slung his arm around her lower back, pulling her flush against him. "How dare you?" she teased, still laughing. "This is my camera, you know…"
"And you're standing in my suite," he shot back with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, really? Well. I can just as soon leave if you'd prefer…"
She made like she might break his hold on her and do just that, but he held fast and shook his head desperately. "Please don't I'm sorry I take it all back," he rushed out, making her beam up at him.
"You're also very good at apologies," she said through her giggle.
"I've had so much to be sorry for in my life."
Sarah threw her head back with a laugh. He chuckled and shook his head at himself. "Well, something you won't be sorry for…letting me take pictures of you now."
And in spite of him insisting he wasn't a model, that he was going to make for terrible pictures, that he looked like Goofy in those Disney cartoons, which made her laugh hard again, she finally won him over. Photography—at least the way she saw it—wasn't about perfection, it wasn't about flawlessness.
It was about capturing life.
"Real life," she specified, twisting her fist in his shirt at his back as she pressed herself close to him. "Real people."
"You're in luck, Sarah Walker. I'm a real people."
She was quiet for a few moments, her eyes going soft, a smile barely twitching at the edge of her mouth. "Don't think for a moment I don't know how lucky I am to be here right now, Chuck Bartowski."
He wasn't sure how to respond, his insides gooing up, so he just smiled down at her, aware of how close they were, her hand warm against his skin even through his button-up.
And then she stepped back from him and nodded professionally, lifting the camera. "All right, CEO, I'm going to need some Real People posing."
He shook himself a little and then looked down. "Shoes!"
She blinked. "What?"
"I need to take them off." And he plopped onto his backside right in the middle of the floor to do just that.
"What? Why?" she chuckled, furrowing her brow in utter confusion.
"Bare feet are trés artsy. Come on, Sarah. Keep up."
She laughed so hard she snorted. "My apologies. I wasn't aware." And then she stepped out of her heels, wiggling her toes against the floor of his suite. "There."
And she took that first photo of him all sprawled out on the floor, his last shoe half off of his foot.
}o{
He'd seemed utterly surprised when she'd wandered away from the railing of the balcony and joined him at the chaise lounge he'd draped himself over, crawling onto it with him, and spreading herself out over him.
She'd reclined back, her shoulders snuggling up against his chest,. His arms had gone around her body, even as she felt him tense up. And for a moment she'd thought maybe she'd gone too far, made him uncomfortable. But then he'd eased into their position, sighing against her hair.
They stayed lounging in comfortable silence, draped together on the chaise, looking up at the sky, and it must have been another half hour or more when she felt Chuck Bartowski turn his face to kiss her hair. It made her shiver.
And she pulled his arms tighter around her body, humming.
"What time is it?" he asked against her hair then, his voice muffled, lazy.
She shook her head. "No, we aren't asking that question."
"Ah. Yes, you're right. We need to keep that question to ourselves." She snorted. "I don't need to know the answer to that. Let's just pretend I didn't ask, eh?"
Sarah nodded. They spent so long being absolute fools—children, really—playing with her camera. Taking photos, being endlessly silly. Talking. Sharing quiet looks.
And now this.
She knew she'd never shared anything like this with another person before. It wasn't heated or charged with lust. And still, it was so intimate. Without expectations, though. She didn't feel forced towards progression. Kiss on the head? She didn't have to turn around and press her lips to his even if she wanted to. It was freeing and warm and comfortable all at once.
She didn't even care that this expensive gown Carina had let her borrow to take to Paris for this gala was probably getting wrinkled. Did chiffon wrinkle? She didn't know.
He sighed then, and it felt heavy with something. She braced herself, shutting her eyes.
"I have a confession," she heard him say quietly. "I should've confessed earlier but I didn't…know how to say it. Or how you would take it."
If he was about to tell her he was married, and that he had a child, or children, a whole damn family waiting at home, she would ward off men for the rest of her life. And she knew how ridiculous that was, considering they hadn't even done anything, not even a proper kiss. But the connection was obvious, the intimacy palpable. They didn't have to say it, they didn't have to put any sort of physical exclamation point on it.
Nothing about tonight had been innocent if he was already spoken for.
"Sometimes Morgan and I didn't have enough money for the trolley and the movie, so we'd sneak onto the back grate of the trolley for a free ride and cling for dear life in the hopes nobody saw us…mostly in the hopes that we didn't fall off and die."
She gasped dramatically and spun around against him, pretending to be shocked, aghast. All the while fighting against the laughter that threatened to erupt. Her relief was intense. "You didn't pay for your trolley ride into the city? And how many times did this occur?" she asked, still playing the game, offended beyond all belief.
"Too many times to count over the years. We got better at it but it was harder to fit on the grate safely once we started growing." He didn't look all that remorseful about it, even as he winced. And she pictured him as a small but gangly curly haired boy, dashing down the street, calling to his friend to hurry up, as they both leapt onto the grate on the back of the trolley, sneaking their fingers into the grooves and clinging, giggling as the trolley took off and headed downtown. It made her insides grin.
"This is an atrocity," she gasped out. "Gendarme!"
She called into the night then, raising her hand. "Gendarme! Gend—mffff!"
Chuck laughed and gently covered her mouth with his hand, wrestling with her as she giggled and wrestled back. She ended up halfway pinned under him against the chaise cushion and it was far too comfortable to be appropriate, and she didn't much care.
Instead, she reached up and smoothed back a few of his curls, reveling in their softness, actually feeling it for the first time without a glove in the way, and oh God it was luscious…only for them to spring back up again. It made her smile. And then she noticed he was looking at her strangely. "What?" she prompted.
"I was going to ask the same thing. You got really tense when I said I have something to tell you."
She giggled and shook her head.
"What? What'd you think I was going to say? Tell me. I won't be offended, I promise."
"I'm not saying."
"Say it."
"I was afraid for a second you might tell me you're married and have a family," she said, biting her lip, giving him her best contrite look.
"I'm so offended," he tried to say with a straight face. He laughed then, throwing his head back. She gave him an affronted look for that and he held up an apologetic hand, sobering up quickly. "Sorry. That laugh wasn't at you. It's just—Me? Married? No. A family? Definitely not. I don't have the time or the energy to be in a relationship that serious and I'd be doing everyone a disservice if I pretended I could actually pull that off—Well, I just know that requires a great deal of attention and responsibility and no. I'm not there yet." He chuckled good-naturedly. "Thank you for thinking I might be."
"Oh, are you under the impression that every man who's married with children expends the correct amount of attention and responsibility?" She snorted. "Chuck. Honey…"
He snorted back. "Touché. But when I do it, I mean to do it right." The way he looked at her when he said that, she felt very vulnerable suddenly, exposed. It was almost frightening being with someone who was this honest and sincere. He had a knack of catching her off-guard, and she didn't like being caught off-guard. "Anyway, what sort of a chap do you think I am, lying here like this with you if I have a wife and kids at home? As if I would ever stoop that low."
She smiled and shook her head, putting an apologetic hand on his chest. "I'm sorry. I genuinely apologize. It's just that…"
"You've met too many fellows who'd happily fit that bill?" he finished for her.
"Too many. Nearly spent a weekend with one of them until I found the ring he'd stashed in the bedside drawer." He winced hard at that. "Not one of my better moments. Or his, I suspect. He kept trying even as I was gathering up my things to go."
"Now that's a full-blown louse."
"A bastard, yes."
He watched her closely then. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I'm just glad I found the ring. It was all fun and games until that point anyway. Nothing serious." She gave him a shy look then. "I probably shouldn't have said any of that, huh? Probably gives you a certain idea about me. And certain…decisions I've made. With men."
He moved his fingers to gently tuck some of her hair behind her ear, his fingertips tenderly tracing a pattern down her cheek. "Only thing that stood out to me about that unfortunate tale is that you left when you found out. You weren't to blame in that situation."
Something shifted inside of her. She felt it as she looked up at him. That sincerity of his had caught her again. But this time it caught her a lot deeper. She really shouldn't have admitted those things about the bastard Mister Scripps who'd been so close to tricking her, as superfluous and fun as their tryst cut short had been. And still, she had just told this man she'd met mere hours ago all about it. And he listened, and instead of casting her off, kicking her to the curb for not being some sort of untouched, virginal miracle girl…he held fast to the important part of the situation: she walked away from it when she realized who the man was.
Without hesitation, she'd shown him the ring, took in the shock and guilt on his face, thrown said ring in his face, grabbed her jacket, purse, shoes, and hightailed it out of there so fast. The tears during the cab ride to her hotel had been furious tears. So furious for his family instead of for herself.
And now she lie beneath this man who didn't forgive her for her transgressions; he didn't believe forgiveness was necessary, because she hadn't done anything wrong, certainly not to him, but not to anybody else either. Even herself.
She wasn't sure how to react to this. But she still felt that shift. And a seed of doubt was planted inside of her. A pesky, mean seed, already rooting there and starting to grow.
"I know we said not to ask about time, but would you…happen to know the time? I might need to get a little bit of sleep is all," she breathed, feeling ashamed of herself, and still…self-preservation always won out.
"Oh. It…" He sat up a bit and looked at his wrist. "My watch. It—It's not on my wrist."
"You took it off during the photoshoot," she giggled, finding him all too adorable as he blinked in confusion at his wrist.
"I did!" He snapped his fingers then thunked himself on the forehead, chuckling. "I think that's a sign, Sarah Walker. A sign that we should get coffee sent up to this room…instead of sleep."
She huffed in amusement and sat up with him, shaking her head, trying (in vain probably) to fix her hair. "You're relentless, aren't you? We have to sleep sometime."
"Maybe. But have coffee with me first?"
"It's probably close to four in the morning, if not five," she reasoned, glancing at the sky and the way it was slowly lightening, the deep blue-black of the sky softening.
He nodded. "Probably. It's just I don't want to sleep. I want to stay awake with you."
"What, forever?" she teased.
Chuck stared at her longingly and she froze, unsure of what to do or say. He breathed oh so softly, "Don't make me answer that."
The air crackled between them. She felt it and she knew he could feel it too. But this was much too intense and she wasn't ready for this kind of intensity.
Sarah Walker was so close to denying him, it was on the tip of her tongue, but then he braced his hands against the cushion on either side of her hips and leaned in close, bumping her nose with his, then shifting his face to kiss her in the spot just beside her lips.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She allowed herself to peer into the depths of those brandy-colored eyes of his.
And she nodded.
A/N: It's so funny because they're having a face-off but with obscene charmingness. A Charm-Off. And they're both so powerful without really understanding their power. And the hours go on and they're just like...battling...and so comfortable. BECAUSE THEY'RE IDIOTS I love them. And I'd love reviews if you've got 'em.
Thanks!
-SC
