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: Hope everyone had a lovely holiday yesterday if you celebrate. All I ask is that everyone keeps an open mind as they read this fic, and try to allow these characters a bit of humanness. They're people. People have issues. They don't always follow the rules or come up with the most sound ideas for how to proceed. They can't see the future. Hope you enjoy this chapter, all that being said! Please review, I appreciate it.

Disclaimer: I do not own CHUCK and I'm making exactly $0 from this story. Per usual.


She rubbed her feet in her hands as he poured the coffee, noticing that he glanced down and gave her a strange look. She glared at him. "You made me go out there on the balcony barefoot and now my feet are icicles."

"I made you, oh." He chuckled. "How do you like your coffee, Ms Icicle Feet?"

Sarah glared a little harder, twisting pursed lips to the side to try to hide her amusement. "I'll take it black this time."

"Do you not usually?" he asked, passing her the cup.

It felt so good clutched in her cool hands. She shook her head. "I like a little cream and heaps of sugar, usually."

"Heaps of it?"

"Mm. Yes. So sue me."

"I won't," he said, smiling. He poured himself a cup and sat down close to her, taking his black as well, she noticed. "That feels so good going down," he said with a happy sigh after taking a sip and swallowing.

"Mhm. It's nice. It was a good idea."

"Thank you." He grinned and she noticed the way his nose wrinkled up not for the first time. She wanted to lean in and kiss the wrinkles. What she really wanted to do was wrap herself up in him entirely and just stay there, reveling in the softness and warmth and sincerity and kindness.

But before they could get even halfway through their coffee, the phone broke their quiet early morning peace with a shrill ring.

Chuck fully jumped, sending her a wide-eyed look. "I don't remember asking for a wake-up call but maybe I did," he said, shrugging at her. She smiled politely as he set down his cup and went to the phone. "I mean, I'm already awake," he teased over his shoulder, and she grinned.

He picked it up then. "Yes? This is Charles Bartowski." He paused. "Oh no, that's quite all right. You didn't. If she insists, please connect her to me, yes."

Chuck looked at her and shrugged again. "Head of public relations," he whispered at her, covering the receiver of the phone with his hand. "Sorry."

Sarah shook her head, waving a hand through the air dismissively.

}o{

"A mighty pile of it you've gotten yourself into, Chuck." She paused. "Or maybe it's a blessing. I can't decide. Is it shit or manure?"

"Uh, it's much too early for gardening metaphors, Mrs. Beckman."

The middle-aged woman who'd quickly become his right-hand woman, his confidant, his backbone once he made the wise choice of hiring her four years ago, begged her to work for him more like at that point in his company's existence, gave off one of her heavy sighs. "I take it you haven't snagged the newspaper outside of your suite's door yet?"

"I…haven't. Why? Oh hell, it isn't War of the Worlds outside, is it? I was just out on the balcony and I didn't see any water tower-looking creatures walking through the streets of Paris." He sent Sarah an amused look and she gave him a confused one back. That was fair.

"Will you drop the shenanigans, damn it? This is potentially serious. At least, you should be taking it seriously, however we deal with it."

"Deal with what, exactly?"

"Go grab that paper."

"Uh..."

"Go now."

"All right, all right. Just a second." He set the phone down and held a finger up towards Sarah, rushing to the door, muttering, "Keep your skirt on, Becks" as he swept the door open and leaned down to snag the paper they'd left outside of his door.

He noticed that Sarah stood up while he went to grab the newspaper, leaving her own coffee behind. She was curious, with a hint of concern. He picked up the phone again, trapping it between his ear and his shoulder so that he could hold the paper up. "All right, Mrs. Beckman, where am I look—Oh. Oh boy."

"I take it you've found it?"

"Um. Found it." He winced, his gut dropping to the floor.

"So you get what I mean about the shit or manure comment?"

Chuck stared blearily at the gossip column. There was a photograph of him at one of his conferences, on stage, leaning in as he spoke in the mic to the attendees. And beside that was a photograph of a stunning young woman in slacks with a camera around her neck, one heeled boot propped on the travel case in front of her, sun shining luminously off of her hair. Her smile was beguiling. If you followed her, you'd be in for some adventure, and maybe even a bit of danger.

Beneath the photos? He didn't know what was going on.

"Mrs. Beckman, I don't know French."

"Context, my boy. I'm sure you can figure it out. In case you're having some trouble, you were seen with one Sarah Walker all night long at that benefit gala you went to last night. According to this columnist, you danced together for hours," she said, and he winced. "After which, you spent the rest of the night at one another's side. And, catch this, you left together in your car. One question, buddy boy, is she standing there right now? Still?"

He looked up at Sarah who still was completely out of the loop. And something told him she wouldn't be taking this as well as he was taking it. "No," he tried.

"I'll let you have that. Listen, you have time to figure this out. We don't have to release a statement. At least not yet. Could be this blows over. Either way, keep it under your hat for now. Does she have people I need to reach out and connect with?"

"I…don't know. We'll have to revisit this later, Mrs. Beckman. When I'm, A, more awake, and B, not feeling quite as blindsided."

"Well, you're the one who was dazzled by the big blue adventure eyes, kiddo, not me."

He winced. "You have no idea."

"I'm sure I can guess," she drawled dryly. "Call me back when you can. And with some answers, huh?"

"Got it."

He hung up the phone and stayed put, just staring at it.

"What's going on? Everything all right? Are you all right?" She curled her fingers around his wrist, concerned. "Something with the company?"

"Uh, no. No, I'm all right. Company's all right. Thank you for asking. That's sweet of you. But you're going to want to see this too." She raised her eyebrows, letting him pass the paper over. "I'm sorry. I-I feel responsible."

She looked down at the paper and her 'big blue adventure eyes' got a lot bigger. "Oh," she breathed. "Oh, no."

"Oh yes. Oh no. Wait, what's 'oh no', what is that? I-I can't read French. All Mrs. Beckman told me is that they saw us…sticking close. And, uh, leaving together." He winced.

Sarah blinked at the paper, looking pale, then looked back up at him. Then there was anger. "You can't glean the context?"

He threw his hands up. Her, too?!

"It's in French! I only read English!" He controlled his tone a bit better when she raised one eyebrow at him. Effective, that was. "She said that about the context, too. How do I glean context from these photographs of us side by side and a lot of words that, when spoken, sound like someone's got something lodged in their throat?"

She snorted. "Good point. Sorry." She gave him an apologetic look. "Shall I?" She pointed at it and he knew she meant should she read it…

He nodded eagerly. She turned to look down at it again and took a deep breath.

"Last night at Monsieur Garnier's benefit gala for his latest pet charity, this reporter spotted Bartowski Electric CEO and founder, Charles Irving Bartowski…" She paused, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

Chuck huffed. "I don't know where Irving came from so don't ask. I likely never will know." Because he didn't have enough time with his parents to ask those questions. Or maybe he could've asked but he'd taken it for granted that they'd be there for much longer than they'd been.

She smiled a little at him, but there was something in her eyes. A determination mixed with a sadness. He didn't like the combination at all, he decided.

She cleared her throat and kept reading. "This reporter spotted Bartowski Electric CEO and founder, Charles Irving Bartowski in tight congress with one Sarah Walker, rising star of photojournalism. Rumors are she's in search of a new sort of adventure, one that takes her out of the wilds of Africa and drops her into the arms of a multi-millionaire playboy whose spheres of influence could push her career to higher heights." He straightened up, pulling his shoulders back, anger rising in him. She worked her jaw a little, and he thought he spotted a light blush of embarrassment on her face as well. "It helps that the affluent Mister Bartowski is easy on the eyes, though people in his social circles have said he rarely sets his sights on romance, his one track mind focused solely on his color television production company. What is it about Miss Walker that changed the unattainable entrepreneur's mind? Whatever the answer, they spent all night dancing in each other's arms, Charles couldn't take his eyes off of her, and they even left the gala in the same car. Bystanders say there may be a big romance on the horizon, and the potential of skyrocketing popularity for an artist whose work was receiving minimal attention before last night's romantic coup. When she's got it, she's got it. Stay tuned." She grit her teeth and smacked the paper down on the desk, turning away from him, hugging herself and hunching forward.

His anger increased with every single word. It was much worse than he'd expected it to be. Gossip laced with implications that went beyond hinting at a potential romance. Sarah's career was maligned. And her honor smeared with an accusation of social climbing.

He didn't even know how what to say, or how to say it.

He tried anyway.

"Meanness and lying junk disguised as trivial gossip," he said quietly through a clenched jaw.

"Yes, that's exactly what it was," she said just as quietly. "But if Miss Barbara Opportunist Oppenheimer came up with this drivel, I'm sure others were thinking the same thing. They just don't have a gossip column to print it in." She turned back to the paper and looked down at it again, still hugging herself. "I didn't think about who might see or what they would glean from us spending time together at the gala last night."

"Neither did I," he admitted. "I just wanted to dance with you and…be beside you. But I-I don't care, either. Let them talk if they want to."

Sarah shook her head. "I don't mean this in a begrudging way, as a knock on you, Chuck, but…" She sighed, glancing away. "You don't really have to care." He narrowed his eyes, not quite getting what she meant. "People buy your color televisions. They don't care who you spent the night with after a benefit gala. They don't care who's behind the logo imprinted onto the corner of their TV set." She leaned back against the couch and frowned. "My livelihood, my ability to have the career I have, falls on my reputation. As it does with every woman trying to build her own career. I step wrong, that's it. This?" She poked the column in the paper with her finger. "This insinuates that I've snagged you to promote my art, bump myself up the social chain to get better assignments, more access, to be more…popular." She said that last word with a certain begrudging clip.

"Well, it isn't true." Sarah sent him a long look through her eyelashes. "You know I don't think that, right? I'd never think that. Last night, this morning—We connected, we're having fun. We're…talking and enjoying one another's company. It has nothing to do with my…influence in my social circles or whatever it was she wrote."

"I know," Sarah said, nodding. "I know you aren't—That isn't something that would occur to you because you're a good man, Chuck. And like you said a few hours ago, you have faith in people."

"Sure, that." He huffed. "But I also know what it looks like when women want access to my capital, to my company, to my…affluence." He winced. "I hate calling it that, but I suppose that's what it is, isn't it?" He frowned unhappily. "I know what it looks like and feels like, so I know this isn't…that."

She smiled, but the sadness was still in her eyes. "You're sweet. More than that, you might be the best man I've ever met."

He smiled back at her. And then he looked away, angry again. "I'll go to the paper and make sure they pay for this slanderous garbage, Sarah. They insulted you."

"They insulted you too. That you're some pliable idiot who can have his head turned by a woman batting her eyelashes over blue eyes. That you'd allow yourself to be used in that way." She shook her head then and cut her hand through the air. "But no. Please don't. You try to bully the paper into a retraction, it will only underscore what Oppenheimer wrote. That plays into their hands. It's best to just let the gossip pass."

"I agree with that."

"And you won't bully them?"

"I won't." He snorted. "I promise."

"Thank you." She reached out to squeeze his arm gratefully.

He met her gaze then. That sadness still in her blue eyes unsettled him. "What is it, Sarah?"

She squirmed in discomfort, swallowing hard.

"I've been building a persona for the public as well as my career and things like this gossip column have…the ability to ruin all of that. Years of work perfecting my reputation going down the drain. Just like that." She snapped her fingers. "I can't afford to have it happen. This probably won't get that much traction outside of Paris. But…she made this assumption and others, in New York, in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Chicago, wherever else…if they see us together, pit us as a new romance, they'll make the same assumption. I can't have people thinking my relationship with a very rich man moving in the right circles is the reason for the career wins coming my way. I don't want my peers to see every top notch assignment I get over them to be because I've got an electronics magnate wrapped around my finger. I refuse to let that be my lot."

Now he had his reason for the sadness he'd been seeing in her eyes since she read the column. And he felt that same sadness—no, more like a pit—opening up in his chest.

"I don't blame you," he said with a nod. It would be kinder to say what he knew she was getting at out loud, save her the difficulty of doing it herself. But he was feeling raw, and unsure, and he was only human.

"Chuck, tonight has been…" She sagged a bit, even as a breathless grin crossed her stunning features. "One of the best nights of my life. I've been all over the world, met all sorts of people, and I've been to parties in the wine-soaked alleyways of Venice that were most likely very illegal. And here, all we did was talk and dance, talk some more, abuse my camera most likely," she added with a giggle, "drink, and talk yet again, and it still beats all of those crazy fun parties." She looked at him in awe. "I know it has everything to do with the company. You, Chuck. You're marvelous."

He swallowed hard, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. "But," he provided for her.

Her sigh was heavy, upset. "I think it's best if this is…" She paused. "I was already thinking about how vastly different the worlds are that we live in. Yours and mine. I'm a struggling artist, a photojournalist scrambling after any assignment I can get my hands on, that they'll give to a woman in this field. We're so delicate, you know, us womenfolk." He snorted and shook his head, that pit deepening inside of him. "You, Chuck? You're a technology magnate, richer than… Well, you already have more money than I could possibly even imagine and I'm certain you'll only earn more. You're on your way up. All eyes are on you, on your ascent. And I'm glad. Because you're a genuinely good man, the type of man who should have the power and affluence. You're a good leader. I can already tell. You're going to do great things. You're going to change the world. I don't fit into that." She bit her lip, looking away. "And I know you don't fit into my life, what I'm doing."

"So then we're two ships passing in the night?" he asked, feeling deeply wounded. He understood what she was saying but it also felt incredibly unfair. He knew she wasn't trying to hurt him, and still it ached terribly.

"I'm afraid so." She sounded wounded too. "I have so much left to do, Chuck, and I can't let these attacks on my reputation stop my own ascent. My work is the…most important thing in the world to me. It's my whole life. It has to be if I'm to achieve… Well, I have dreams, goals I want to accomplish. And I've come a long way from where I…was." She looked down at her bare feet, sitting up a bit straighter. "I'm sorry. You have no idea how…sorry I am."

"Me, too," he said quietly. "But I understand where you're coming from. It feels…unnecessary, unfair, like something we can….I mean, maybe if we try…" She shut her eyes and sighed. She was coming from someplace wholly different though. Her life wasn't his life. And that was what she was trying to say, wasn't it? "

But you're right," he said quietly, and she opened her eyes again, fixing them on him, seeming unsure. "My reputation is…a lot like teflon, isn't it? Virtually indestructible, yet malleable. And it won't impact who buys the products my company sells or how many."

"Planning on getting involved in a few scandals, Mister Bartowski?" she teased.

He smirked and shook his head. "No. Not my style."

"Not mine either. Usually." She gestured to the paper and gave him a wry look.

"I'm sorry," he said, stepping closer. She raised her eyebrows at him, watching him steadily. "I'm so sorry. I feel like I'm responsible for what was put in that column about you. If I was just some…painter. Or…"

"Accountant?" she offered.

He chuckled. "Yes. I didn't think they would say those things about you. I didn't think about your reputation, though. I'm sorry, I only thought of myself, how much I was enjoying being with you."

"It's the same for me. This isn't your fault. You can't help the way they're going to take all of this. That's not fair, you carrying all the blame. The blame falls on Barbara Oppenheimer and the rest of those gossip columnists. It falls on everyone whispering and clicking their tongues over us spending time together last night. Truly this is the most ridiculous—" She stopped herself. "Well…" She sighed, shaking her head.

"I know," he said, nodding. "Our circumstances are different. They'll pin you with all of the negative twists in the columns they write. And I'll just be the young millionaire showering the artist with gifts and money and the space for her to work on whatever it is she wants to work on."

Sarah laughed, even as her eyes stayed sad. "Do you mind me saying that last part sounds wonderful?"

"I'd do it for you in a heartbeat if you'd let me." She sent him a significant look, melting a little. "But I understand what you mean about the sort of talk that comes from something like that. You don't want it following you wherever you go, whatever you accomplish. That you wouldn't have any of it, or get anywhere, without me and my money and influence."

Sarah pushed off of the couch and stepped in close to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and hugging him tightly. "Thank you for being so kind about this. And yet, at the same time, your being so understanding and agreeable almost makes this feel worse."

He pulled back from the hug to give her a concerned look. "Oh. No, that isn't my intention. I don't want you to feel—"

"I know you don't. I suppose I'm just trying out this…honesty thing. You deserve that much. Honesty. In fact, I'd go so far as to say you deserve a lot more. Certainly a lot more than me." The way she said that as if it was an objective fact, the confidence in her voice and in her face, knocked him off his guard.

"Don't do that," he said, shaking his head. "Don't say things like that, knocking yourself down. You don't have to do that to get your point across, Sarah Walker. I understand, you don't think we should see each other again for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that people out there will unfairly accuse you of being a gold digger, using me for status. And I understand your reasoning, as much as I hate it. As much as I hate the idea of you eventually going back down to your own hotel room and this…ending there. I understand that the state of the world, this…trite nonsense…makes it feel necessary," he said, picking up the paper and smacking it back down again. "But please don't talk about yourself like that. You-You don't really know me. You don't know what I do or don't deserve. No offense. You just don't. And I can't listen to you dress yourself down to lift me up. I'm-I'm not worth that. No man is."

Her eyes slowly widened as he spoke, shock in her face. And then she smiled just slightly when he finished, and she nodded. "I'm sorry. You just seem…like I said, marvelous. What you just said underscores that. And there are plenty of marvelous women out there. Even if you take that part of this out of the equation, Chuck, you have a world to change."

"So do you. You don't think there's any chance whatsoever that we might…change it together? In different ways, perhaps, but still…"

She put her hands on his chest and let her weight fall against him, setting her head on his shoulder and sighing. "You say such things, Mister Bartowski."

"I know." He cupped Sarah's elbows gently. "But you won't budge from this, will you?"

"I can't," she said after a long pause. His heart dropped. "I didn't mean to…string you along, make you think that—Well, maybe I thought we could too. And then that column happened and it just won't work. I fear that if we try, it's…going to be that column, over and over and over." She pulled back and frowned, apology in her face. "That isn't a statement about you, either. It's just that I don't think it's possible to reconcile the two different worlds we're existing in. And how important our work is…to both of us. They'll ruin it all."

Chuck nodded. "My work is important to me. But I keep wondering if there isn't a chance that…" He reached up to gently pinch her chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting her eyes to meet his. "…you might become just as important if we give this a shot."

She gave him an aching look. "If we let it go on long enough, we'll both be hurt." She winced with a certain amount of self-deprecation. "Worse than this."

"This does sting quite a bit." She pressed her lips together, her eyes quivering as she glanced away. "The whole honesty thing. Thought I'd try it too," he explained.

"I believe that's your only setting, Chuck Bartowski. But I appreciate the camaraderie." They shared a melancholy chuckle. "I wish I could do this. I wish I was strong enough. Good enough at…life. Doing multiple things at once. But I don't have the capacity to prioritize my work and be with someone at the same time. Not without being a horrible partner, and that would be entirely unfair to you. I don't want to do that, especially not when it's you. We'd be miserable, both of us. I've…" She swallowed thickly and shook her head, diverting her gaze down to his shirt and playing with one of the buttons. "Well, I've tried that already. With somebody I…cared about quite a bit." He couldn't help the slight sting of jealousy. He was only human. "It didn't work. And I believe it's because it can't work. And maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm the problem. But I'm not where I need to be in my career yet, so I'm not willing to…rework my priorities." She slid her hand up to the back of his neck and it was so soft and cool against his skin. He wanted to melt into her, hold onto her and not let go. "I'm so sorry, Chuck."

He lifted his hand to tuck a stray bit of blond hair behind her ear, away from her face. "Perhaps it's for the best. I'm, um, not the most adventurous guy. And the last thing I'd ever want is to hold you back."

"Maybe we'd hold each other back," she said, sliding her arms around his shoulders and stepping in closer. "Thank you for being…" She looked almost ashamed then, glancing down at his shirt collar, away from his gaze. "…so kind and understanding."

He was in the midst of imagining all of the What Ifs and What Could Have Beens. Late nights and early mornings like this, so many of them, just him and Sarah, talking, he'd show her his life's work, since he'd seen hers after all. They would cut up the gossip columns like Oppenheimer's together, laughing together. They'd explore this intense connection that was here, the softness, the depth of it, the warmth.

And he realized she might be waiting for a response.

He affected a bit of good-natured sarcasm. "Sarah Walker, I can't believe your dreams and life goals take precedence over some guy you just met a few hours ago."

Chuck saw the surprise in her face, and then she grinned at him and threw her head back with a laugh. He hugged her tight against his chest as she laughed, and then she pulled back just slightly to shake her head up at him.

"If this were another time, and we were in different situations, I don't think I would hesitate to dive into you headfirst." She played with his curls again. "And I'm not much of a dive headfirst kind of girl when it comes to this sort of thing. Trust me."

He chuckled. "Well, it is 1954, and we're in…these particularly different situations. We're workaholics. Career-driven. And maybe—just maybe—we're fools. But if you're inclined to stay a little longer, we can enjoy our coffee together. And we can take advantage of this time we have left together. What say you, Sarah Walker?"

"A thousand times yes, Chuck Bartowski."

"You gotta promise me somethin' though," he said, wrinkling his nose and turning his head a bit to give her a sideways look. She nodded, biting her lip. "You can't fall in love with me in these last couple o' hours—"

She laughed again, hugging him tight and burying her face in his neck. He hugged her back, trying to fight off the ache. Because he knew she was right. Maybe it was for the best that they'd seen the gossip column. Sarah would surely be deemed a gold digger and it would affect how people saw her work from that point on. The split would hurt so much worse later.

But more than that, she went on far-off adventures, into war zones, and jungles and deserts, she took photographs of car crashes at the Grand Prix. He sat in an office, day in, day out, a phone on one ear, a stack of plans for the next project piled high on his desk. They were so different. He didn't fit into her world, and she didn't fit into his.

They'd only met a few hours ago. And they had their own lives to lead, lives that hinged on their own careers. He couldn't truly understand what it was like to be a woman with such a visible career, how she relied on her good reputation and how the smallest misstep would sully that forever, changing the upward trajectory of her work as an artist and photojournalist.

He didn't want to be the one who wrecked this for her.

}o{

The sun was starting to oh so slowly come up, and the lighter the sky outside got, the softer the blue on the horizon behind the Eiffel Tower, the more she felt the nervous tingle in her body—regret, reluctance, and a feeling like time was running out.

It was similar to when she had a deadline looming, creeping closer and closer. And dozens of photographs sat waiting to be developed in her darkroom.

Only this was a little different. Because she was hurting.

She couldn't help hurting.

But if she was going to make her life what she wanted it to be, if she wanted to get where she needed to be—on her own, without someone else's influence or help—she knew it wouldn't be without hurt and sacrifice.

The more time she spent with him, the more this felt like an incredible sacrifice.

Walking away from him would be much harder than she'd anticipated, and still, it was what needed to be done. They both knew this wouldn't work.

She knew it the moment her eyes took in Barbara Oppenheimer's words in her trash column. They were mean, purposely or not, and Sarah felt the sting of them. A woman of little means, spending the night in the arms of a man with plenty of means and then some—what else could it be but a gold digger digging for gold at the most viable spot in the room full of affluent men?

And instead of looking at her art the next time she had a gallery in some city somewhere, people would cluck and whisper about how it was probably funded by her own moneybags, the electronics CEO Charles Bartowski.

There was no other explanation. It couldn't be the quality of the work, the effort and talent she'd put into everything she'd ever let anyone publish or see.

She'd hear the whispers around her and it would destroy her ability to put her all into her art, it would creep into her mind in the worst way, and she would start to doubt herself, her work, all of this. It would sully the most important thing in her life.

He didn't belong in her world and she certainly didn't belong in his, just like she said, but God, how she wished it were different. Because she wanted this in her world. This comfortable quiet, the gentle way he lifted his mug to his lips to drink, his shirt unbuttoned further down than was probably decent, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his curls fluffed, a tired heaviness to his eyelids.

Sarah let herself imagine what it would be to share moments like this with him for longer than just this morning. To have more mornings like this.

She thought about how impressive he was—not just as a man, but as someone with his own company, his own technology empire. And he had to be at least somewhere around her age. In his twenties or maybe early thirties. That was young to have this much success. And she couldn't remember hearing the name Bartowski the way one constantly heard these purely American dynasty names. The Rockefellers, the Vanderbilts. The other names she heard tossed around in her travels, oil families like the Barkers, car production families like the Fords. Where did this man even come from?

"How did you do it?" she asked him then, unable to keep her curiosity at bay.

He blinked, almost as if he'd forgotten what talking was, forgotten that voices existed even. And he turned to look at her. "How'd I do what?"

"Your company. Bartowski Electric. I'm assuming the company wasn't passed down to you by parents… I've never heard of the Bartowskis. I've only seen your televisions in people's living rooms with that little B.E. logo in the corner."

"Have you?" He sat up a little more.

"Yeah. I've spent all these hours with you, it's a little silly I didn't remember before. But I do remember seeing your TVs. It's madness that I'm sitting here with you now, the man who created the company that built those strange boxes with the people inside of them."

"Strange? Nothing strange about it. It's entertainment, baby," he growled like Cagney.

She giggled. "Well, don't be offended, but television isn't my thing. I barely get out to see the movies. I'm very interested in pictures, but not so much the ones that move."

He clutched at his chest. But she could tell he was teasing. Mostly.

And she wondered if their interests being so completely divergent only added to the fact that this could never work between them.

"My question stands," she said, raising her eyebrows, sipping some more coffee.

Chuck sighed and sunk a bit lower on the couch, ruffling his hair even more. Sitting slouched like this, his feet up on the coffee table, his knees sticking up, he looked much younger. Like a boy.

"It seems like a blur now. I know I worked hard, extremely hard. Worked myself to the bone. Barely slept. Misstepped, failed a few times… And still, it's a blur." She nodded when he lazily let his head flop to the side to look at her. "No, really it was an internship with a man named Teddy Roarke—the Roarkes are that type of family you mentioned. They go back to the beginning of the century, beyond that probably. Roarke Instruments, have you heard of it?"

"Oh, sure." She had.

"I applied and won an internship there when I was still in high school. Roarke helped me get through college and paid me really well for my work with R.I., I mean really well. I was rolling in it." She giggled. "Well, all right, I felt like I was. When you're still practically a kid and have that kind of money, it feels like a fortune. Especially when before that, you had to look under the couch cushions for enough change to not go to bed hungry again. It was a pittance compared to what I've got now." He pushed himself to sit up straighter. "I kept my head down and worked 'til I went cross-eyed. Extra hours, overnighters, creating a few new products for the company, whatever else Teddy needed me to do. But as much as he'd done for me, as grateful as I was, I witnessed the company do things that weren't sitting right with me."

"You mean, like…ethical things?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. I don't want to go into too much detail, I don't want to soil their reputation or make you think badly of them. It-It's just that my sister and I have a code of conduct. Well, really, my sister. And Ellie practically brought me up on her own, so it stuck." Sarah's eyes widened as what he said settled in her. His sister practically brought him up on her own? What happened there?

"What sorts of ethical things?" she asked instead, feeling uncomfortable asking him about his parents. She didn't want him asking her about hers, either. She winced when he sent her an amused look. "Oh. Right. You said you don't want to go into too much detail. I'm listening, I promise."

Chuck laughed. "Don't worry about it. Besides me and some upper level folks working there, they didn't have the greatest record as a good employer. What I mean is, there's a lack of respect for lower-level employees, the folks who are the engine of the Roarke Empire. Working conditions weren't good in factories, hours were terrible for the engineers, Roarke was blocking unionizing as well. Women were largely blocked from roles that didn't include secretarial work or cleaning."

"Ah." She pursed her lips. "Women's work."

Chuck curled his lip and nodded. "I needed a way to get out of there without losing Roarke's respect or his support. And I know it's not exactly… Well, maybe I should've done something to try to fix R.I. for the people still there, but I was scared of the guy." He blushed. "He scared everybody. There was something about him, a thread of…an unhinged nature that he kept under a respectable facade. I knew I'd never get anywhere if I ended up on the wrong side of the guy who gave me a huge break. He's also, erm, powerful."

"So how'd you do it?"

"I went into something I knew a lot about, I enjoyed, and knew wouldn't compete with R.I…."

"Television sets?"

He snapped and pointed at her. "Bingo. I started amassing capital from investors, built up a few portfolios, did unprecedented amounts of research… And like I said, I tried things that didn't pan out, and kept working it, tinkering, until I found a way to improve the definition on a black and white television. I knew color was the way of the future, though. The way movies are starting to be filmed with color, too. I mean, imagine watching footage of the Grand Prix in Monaco, seeing the stunning clear blue of the water, the colors of the cars, the vibrant green of the trees. The colorful buildings. Women in their bright yellow and orange hats that match their dresses. All of that on the device that's in your own living room." The way he spoke with such awe in his voice, she couldn't help propping her elbow on the back of the couch and leaning in closer to him, watching with fascination. "It's like your photographs that are in color. The one in Calcutta with the woman who made jewelry. Imagine that photograph on your television screen, but you see the way she walks, the way her arm swings, you hear the sounds of the bazaar. The laughter, the sellers calling out their wares."

She took a deep breath. "The way you talk about it, I imagine investors kicking your door in."

"Not exactly," he said, chuckling. "But I did get a good number of them, which helped me get Bartowski Electric off the ground. And once it got off the ground, well…I tripped a few times, we had some bad periods, a few months of terrible numbers, but then I got the best PR rep in the business, we got a good ad, the stock skyrocketed, sales went through the roof. And here I am."

"Here you are," she said, unable to keep from admiring him. "And your old boss, Teddy Roarke was it? Do you still keep in contact with him?"

"I moved away from him, from that, as much as I could, without making it seem like that was what I was doing. So…no, not much anymore. I didn't want B.E. to be compared to R.I. in any way, shape, or form. I felt it might sully our reputation. Bad stuff like that sticks to a new guy a lot easier than someone whose name's been established in the American mindset for over sixty years."

"Smart." And she imagined he also hired good people, and then treated them with the respect Roarke hadn't treated his employees with. "How are the benefits at Bartowski Electric?" she teased.

Snorting, he sent her a knowing look. "Great, actually. I encouraged my employees to unionize and they did. But if you're looking for a job at B.E., I'm afraid I'll have to put your application in the no pile."

She gasped in faux offense. "Is it that I know nothing about being an engineer?"

Chuck laughed. "There's room for people with all sorts of talents at Bartowski Electric. Advertising, maybe." She shook her head, amused. "Or I bet you'd be great at selling a color TV set."

"I don't even own one, and I'm supposed to sell it?!" She laughed. "No, sir."

He beamed sleepily at her and she ached to push her hand through his hair. But that kind of touch now… She wasn't sure how he would take it, if he would resent it now that they'd come to an agreement about where this was going—or not going as the case was. "I'd put your application in the no pile because we agreed that this thing between us isn't going forward, that this is gonna be the last of it, the end of it. If I were to hire you, Sarah Walker, I'd be forced to see you roaming the halls of my company and it would destroy my resolve."

She melted into the back of the couch, squishing her cheek against the cushion. "That's oddly sweet, though you made me sound a bit like some jilted lover ghost out of a Victorian gothic novel."

Chuck hunched forward with a laugh, slapping his knee with the hand that wasn't holding his coffee. "I apologize," he said once he sobered up a bit, the grin still on his face.

"It's all right. Not the worst thing I've been compared to." She grinned back. She remembered the way his brown eyes dimmed slightly, his brow furrowing, as he spoke of his sister. Sure, it wasn't her business. But after this, she wouldn't see him again and she'd lose her chance to know more about him. About what made him tick. What really brought him here. Not just as the CEO and founder of Bartowski Electric, but as a man, as a human being. "Chuck?"

"Hm." He turned his head to look at her again, eyebrows raised.

"You mentioned your sister… Ellie, was it?" He smiled happily and nodded. "You said she brought you up practically. Is that…true?" He frowned immediately, the smile gone from his face so quick she felt an almost protective urge make itself known in her chest. "I'm sorry. That isn't my business. I shouldn't have asked. You don't have to answer. Would you like more coffee?"

"No, I—I mean, yes." He sat up. "Yes, I'd like more coffee, but let me get it."

"I can—" Chuck sent her a look, almost pleading, so she shut her mouth and nodded, handing her mug over to him. "Thank you."

Smiling, he walked the mugs back over to where they'd left the coffee pot and he poured more. It was barely lukewarm at this point, but neither of them seemed to mind it.

"I don't mind telling you. That was what I was going to say. It isn't…pretty. But most people in the circles I run in know at least some of it. They know enough that I catch them giving me certain looks every so often." He turned back, smiling tentatively and walking to the couch again, handing her more coffee and sitting next to her, this time closer she noticed.

"Looks?"

"Mhm. My mom split in the middle of the night when I was nine." Her heart plummeted. It must've shown on her face because he reached out and squeezed her arm reassuringly. "Oh, I'm all right. It was worse for Ellie. She was at the worst age for a young girl to lose her mother. Thirteen?" He whistled low and Sarah winced.

That poor girl. That poor, poor girl.

"It wasn't anything like…running away with a traveling salesman or anything like that. I…don't know what it was, but it wasn't another man. At least, that's what Pop told us. Maybe he was trying to save face in front of his kids." He shrugged. "He was an engineer, kind of a genius, you know? Eccentric. He did engineering work for the government, like, erm, contract work. And the work ramped up during the war. Whatever he was doing, and-and I don't know what that could've been, but whatever it was, it had to do with the war. Thinking back on it now. I mean, everyone did everything for the war back then, didn't they?" She nodded slowly, watching him, riveted, even as she felt her heart breaking. "I don't know if he was working on a bomb, or if it was something else, but he worked all the time. Constantly. Locking himself in his lab when he was at work, and then coming home and locking himself in his office to keep working." He took a deep breath and let it out roughly. "I think the project he was working on broke him. Mentally, I mean. I think he snapped. Because he started acting strange, you know? Fidgety. Twitchy, almost. He lost his temper with us over silly things, and then he'd almost snap out of it, like he was a different man, he'd apologize, guilt all over his face as he ran back into his office and locked himself up again. We think he went mad. Maybe the guilt of working on something that was used in the war to kill a lot of people? I don't know. But he just left one day. Without any of his belongings, no extra clothes, none of our suitcases. I was still a teenager. Luckily, Ellie and I were already old hat at taking care of ourselves. The cops went out looking, and they could never find him."

Sarah held her face in her hand, letting out a long breath and shutting her eyes. When she opened them again, Chuck was sitting there with a blank look on his face, his shoulders hunched. "Chuck, I'm sorry. That must have been so hard for you. Both of you. Not knowing."

"We do know. We think we know. We just never say it out loud. Not to each other anyway."

Sarah took a moment to realize what he meant.

Chuck and his sister were now at the point where they assumed their father had gone mad, left them behind, and died somewhere. The fact that he hadn't taken anything with him made her wonder if he'd killed himself.

And if she wondered, she knew someone as brilliant as Chuck Bartowski wondered as well.

Sarah didn't stop to think he might not welcome her touch after she cut their potential future short before even finding out if it had legs. She set her coffee down, closed the distance, and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. He fell against her and she gathered him up, held his weight up as he put aside his own cup, slid his arms around her midsection, and clung to her.

His face pressed up against her neck. She felt his breath on her skin there as he nuzzled her with his nose.

Chuck finally pulled back, but he kept his arms around her. She felt his fingers flex against her back over the chiffon material of her dress. She saw his brown eyes crackle with something that made her insides clench.

His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and she lowered her gaze to said lips, staring at them. She felt the hunger in her. And it wasn't fair. Not to either of them. So she pried her gaze back to his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled his arms back and pushed up to his feet. "Did you want coffee? Oh, I already did that. We poured more coffee. It's a bit cold now, isn't it? Should I order more so that it's hot when they bring it up? Or maybe you'd like food? There's a…menu for room service…somewhere." He was turning every which way, looking for it, his movements jerky almost.

She knew why.

She felt it too.

In spite of everything (or maybe because of it?), she wanted more. And she knew it wasn't fair that she wanted more.

He went over to the nearby desk and picked up a large cardboard menu. "I found it. The menu. If you want to eat. I'm getting a bit hungry after all of that dancing and the, um, coffee."

Sarah quietly climbed up from the couch and stepped around the coffee table, slowly sidling up beside him, watching him closely as he stared down at the menu he'd picked up. "Anything look good?" she asked.

"Eggs Benedict. I'll always love a good Eggs Benedict." He poked it, setting it down. "But if you aren't very hungry, there's also a fruit plate."

"Hm." She looked down at the menu.

"We're in Paris, though. Perhaps a croissant is…" Chuck Bartowski turned to look at her, and that crackle in his eyes was worse. He bit his lip, almost as if dealing with some kind of intense internal conflict.

The battle was won by one side then. The "id" won out in the end.

Because he shifted his body to face her better and he dropped the menu to cup her jaw with both hands, his brow furrowed. Sarah met him halfway. Their lips crashed together as she clutched onto his forearms, pulling him closer.

She didn't know what she'd expected.

But the man could kiss.

Every move she made, he met her tenfold, making her whimper wantonly.

Sarah let go of his arms and slung her own over his shoulders, tugging him in even closer, giving him as much as he was giving her. And when his hand left her jaw, she felt his fingertips run a delicate pattern down her neck, along the bare skin there, her equally bare shoulder, and even lower, down her bicep, and then she felt them over her gown, through the material, sending heat through her.

And in spite of the zipper of the gown being on the opposite side under her arm, she still thought of that zipper with his fingertips gracing her body, and how it would feel to have him undo it, slip his fingertips underneath and feel her skin in that oh so sensitive spot of her body.

Her eyes snapped open and she pulled back, just enough for her to nuzzle his nose. He pressed his forehead to hers, and his eyes finally blinked open.

"This is…perhaps ill-advised," she whispered. "After what we agreed to."

"Perhaps. But we also seem to be on the same page."

He was right. He was absolutely right. And he was pecking her lips, shifting his mouth to her jaw. She grabbed his head in both hands and pulled him back, his dangerous lips off of her skin where they wandered treacherously towards her neck. If he touched her there with his lips, she would lose her restraint altogether, she knew.

"Chuck…" she whispered. She looked at him in his eyes. "When I leave this place, that's…"

"I know," he said when she found she didn't want to finish. "Time is running out. I know that, too. I don't want to take this remaining time we have left for granted." He ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek and she shivered. "I know it's for the best we go our separate ways. But before we do…"

"Before we do…?" she prompted when he swallowed, licking his lips again.

"I'm memorizing your face, just like this, in this very moment. The many shades of blue in your eyes, the many different sensations you can make me feel depending on how you arch your eyebrow." He ran his thumb gently over the swooping line of her left eyebrow. She was breathless. "Your lips. You're the most beautiful human being on this whole planet. I don't think I'll ever see anyone more beautiful, no matter where I go, or how long I live."

They were on the same page.

If they hadn't been on the same page, she would never do this. It wouldn't be fair. But they both knew where this would end, when it would end, and they both wanted it anyway. They were taking advantage of this heat. She wanted to know. She had to know. Or she would have regrets forever.

She would wonder about him forever.

He would be stuck in her memories as a question mark for the rest of her life.

And his touch was so electrifying.

Sarah slid her hand up his back, her fingers pushed up the hair at the nape up his neck, and then her fingertips twisted in his curls, and he winced a little as she used her tight grip to yank him back into a kiss that was harder than the last one.

This time he whimpered. The heat became a raging inferno.

They grappled for one another, clinging to hair, clothes.

She pulled his shirt out of his trousers halfway to the bedroom, digging, digging, until she felt the heated smooth skin of his side under her fingers. He jumped with a hiss against her lips. And with a lusty grumble, he captured her mouth in a passionate kiss again, moving her to the threshold of the doorway between the main room and the bedroom she'd been avoiding for hours now. She wasn't avoiding it anymore.

She was doing the exact opposite of avoiding. She wanted to be inside of it more than anything.

He pinned her to the frame of the door, though, moving his lips down her jaw, and to her neck. There was no stopping now. And so she let him capture the tab of the zipper on her dress and slowly pull it down, revealing her skin beneath to the cool air of the room.

And he did exactly what she'd wanted him to do a few minutes earlier. She felt his fingers slide between the chiffon and she gasped, leaning her head back against the doorway, melting against him.

She gasped out his name and took him by his hips, backing him into the bedroom and closer to the bed, devouring him hungrily, nudging his lips apart so that she could taste his tongue.

Sarah broke the kiss then, cupping his face, even as he slowly peeled her dress apart, revealing more of her to his gaze. She let go of him, shrugging it down her arms, letting it cling to her waist, and she cupped his jaw again, forcing him to look into her eyes. "Are you sure? You know this can't… That we can't…"

"I'm sure," he said immediately, but steadily. "I'll wonder forever if we don't, and I…want you."

Oh.

She felt that everywhere, and then his hands were on her, his fingertips wandering over her abdomen, her sides that were bare to his touch now.

He pressed his forehead to hers, his jaw clenching as she pushed his shirt off of him, and they both let it fall to the floor at their feet. "Are you?" he asked then. "Sure. Are you sure?"

"Yes."

That was all that needed to be said from that point on.

She left the expensive gown on the floor, and the rest of their clothes joined it soon thereafter.

Sarah didn't think about anything else but him then, the way he felt, the sensations, the sound of his voice in her ear, giving him everything she was physically capable of giving, and more.

The sun began to rise up from the East, an orange glow seeping into the City of Love, filling its nooks and crannies, chasing away the shadows. And still they clung with everything they had.


A/N: Just keep the year this takes place in your head before y'all wax poetic about how much you hate Sarah Walker in your reviews. All I ask is you think twice before you hit send. Just give your words a second looksie.

Gracias.

-SC