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: I won't waste everyone's time with stuff here. I hope you enjoy the chapter!
Disclaimer: I do not own CHUCK and I'm making exactly $0 from this story. Per usual.
They didn't say anything when they finally reached the point in which their bodies could no longer physically continue, she didn't know how much later. All she knew was that the sun had risen, and it was still morning. Probably.
And his arm had gotten heavy slung over her midsection, his breath steady against the back of her neck. She shifted, her back against his chest, and she glanced over her shoulder at him. He was wrapped around her, completely asleep.
It would be the perfect time for her to sneak out of his embrace, get dressed, and go back down to her room. She would stay there until her flight left in a handful of days, hiding. And reliving every last moment, every kiss, every touch—God, his touch. Tender, heated…desperate in the best way.
But she didn't do that.
Instead, she carefully eased out from under his arm and rolled over the edge of the mattress, gracefully landing on her feet and standing to her full height, stretching, grinning like the cat who got the cream as she felt aches in all the best places.
Fluffing out her hair which must've looked a fright after all of that, she heard the rustle of sheets and turned to look at him over her shoulder. He stayed sleeping, rolling into the spot where she'd been and ending up on his stomach, hugging the pillow his head was resting on closer to him.
She smiled and walked around the bed. For the first time, she noticed he'd left a button-up slung over a nearby chair, and papers were strewn about the desk it was pushed against. Working all the time, wasn't he? So they were both workaholics.
Sarah Walker, photojournalist, thought she might get to work too. Snagging the shirt draped over the chair, she shrugged it on and buttoned it up. It hung on her tall, lithe figure a bit like a nightgown, and the hem stopped about halfway down her thighs which was modesty enough for her.
She wandered out of the bedroom into the main room of the suite, her feet pattering lightly on the floor as she went. Glancing around the room, she finally found what she was looking for and stepped around Chuck's shirt that he'd been wearing all night until she took it off of him. It was on the floor now, thrown there in a fit of passion.
Snagging her camera bag, she rummaged inside to get the camera and popped a new roll of film into it.
Going back into the bedroom, she let herself take in the man still sleeping soundly in the bed, his dark brown curls sticking up from his head, his bare shoulders and back uncovered, the sheets pooled at his hips just about covering his backside.
He was beautiful in an entirely different way than the men she'd deemed beautiful in the past. Men she'd also slept with, though with most of them she hadn't gone that far. There was an elegance in the slope of his lower back, and the lines made by the bones of his slim hips disappeared under the covers.
Sighing, she lifted the camera and took a picture of him, his face turned away from her. She would file this under things no one would ever get to see, ever, by pain of death.
She moved to the foot of the bed and took another picture, one with him in focus, the other with him a little out of focus. And then she padded over to the other side of the bed, the side she'd ended up on when they'd finished.
Chuck's face was turned towards her now, his cheek a bit squished by the pillow it pressed down against. His eyelashes were so unfairly long, with his strong jaw, equally strong chin. His lips were a little pursed in sleep, almost as if begging for her to kiss him. She didn't.
Instead, she knelt beside the bed and propped the camera on the edge. She looked through the viewer and messed with the focus again, snapping a picture of him in his most peaceful state. She raised her head to look at him without the aid of the camera and allowed herself the small sin of imagining what it would be like to be the type of woman who deserved a man like him. Waking up and seeing him like this multiple mornings, perhaps even in a row. Instead of this. Seeing him like this just the one time, and…never again.
She let herself imagine having more mornings like this one. The insatiable need coursing through her body, his hands on her hips, the look on his face as he peered up at her with that intense stare of his.
For what must have been hours on end.
The breaks and pauses peppered with laughter and teasing before they dove right back into each other again.
It was hard not to wish for more of this. It was hard not to wish she was someone with means, someone who had more than just a small one bedroom, one bathroom apartment with a kitchen she could barely cook in, a couple of cameras, and…well, that was virtually it. She could only just afford an apartment in Los Angeles, on top of feeding herself, paying her bills. She relied on assignments coming in, and art shows that were still rare.
She would never be able to fold herself into someone she wasn't, even if it meant fitting into the box he needed her to fit into. Someone who moved around parties on his arm with a permanent smile, and who stayed much more quiet than she had last night when she'd blurted judgment at him from the back of the group that gathered to hear him tell his stories.
That was the woman he needed. There were plenty of them out there. And she imagined none of them would mind setting their own things aside to be where he needed them, and there when he needed them to be.
She never would be.
He would get some sort of Nobel Peace Prize type of award, knowing him, and when he asked her to be there, she would instead be in Alaska, capturing the lifestyles of the indigenous ice fishers with her camera.
Sarah Walker knew she would disappoint Chuck Bartowski. And he deserved a woman who never disappointed him. He, in turn, wouldn't disappoint her. Could he even be disappointing? After the last few hours, she didn't think so.
Smirking a little, she shifted the camera closer to him on the mattress and took yet another picture, just his eye in the corner of the frame with his mile-long lashes, and the way his hair stuck up every which way.
Suddenly, Chuck blinked his eyes open.
She froze.
He stared. And then he furrowed his brow in confusion. "G'morning. W-What're you doing?"
She shrugged one shoulder. "I'm being…artsy."
Chuck laughed, turning so that his face was buried in the pillow. He pushed himself up onto his elbows then and stretched a bit like a cat, groaning. He seemed like he'd gotten a taste of the same cream she had, a wide grin on his face as he yawned, smothering it in his fist. "Artsy, is it? Taking pictures of someone who's sleeping." He snorted. "Can't be mad at you, though. That is rather artsy."
Sarah giggled, climbing onto the bed, the camera strap around her neck, and she snapped another picture of him like this. So bedraggled and deliciously sated.
"What are you going to do with those, may I ask?"
"Shall I ship them to you once I develop them?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh dear God, no," Chuck replied instantly and she threw her head back with a laugh.
"I will do whatever you want with them. I'll probably get rid of them. Can't have this getting out to anyone." He had a dubious look on his face now. "What?" she prompted.
"N-No. Nothing. I just—You aren't putting me on a wall in an art gallery, are you?" He widened his eyes.
Sarah laughed again. "No! Of course I'm not. I don't use photographs without the permission of the people in them. It's an intrusion into a person's privacy. These can sometimes be very personal." She decided to give him a small insight into her art. "There are times you can see things in people they might not want seen. In their eyes." And still, as he turned over to lie on his back, she took another picture of him, making him narrow his eyes at her. She took a picture of that, too, liking the whole presentation quite a bit.
"Anybody ever tell you how annoying you are with that camera?" he teased, making a half-hearted swipe for the camera. She pulled it back and pouted at him. "Taking an asinine amount of pictures of me practically naked. And here we are trying to avoid scandal."
She smirked. "So sue me. I'm enjoying the presentation," she informed him, waving her hand up and down his body and raising an eyebrow.
"If I had a dime for every time I heard that I'd…"
"Be rich?" she filled in for him glibly.
"I was gonna say, I'd have a dime."
Sarah laughed, tipping over so that her head landed squarely in the middle of the pillow she'd been using. She leaned up from the pillow then to get the camera strap out from where it was uncomfortably wedged against her neck, and she took the strap off altogether, setting the camera on the mattress beside her hip.
"Can I ask you something?" His voice interrupted the calm silence.
Pushing herself up onto her elbows, she rolled onto her side, closer to him, and looked down at him, still lying on his back, his arm furthest from her folded under his head. "Mhm. Ask away."
"Where do you get the courage to do all the things you do?" She gave him a perplexed look. "I mean, uh, going to a war torn country and taking pictures of soldiers, putting yourself in harm's way to get these…miraculous pictures of harrowing situations."
The photographer raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, unsure of how to answer his question.
"You don't have to answer. I realize now it's a foolish question…"
"It isn't," she said, shaking her head. "And it isn't courage. At least, I don't feel brave, Chuck. It's…a need I have." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, still struggling to find the words. She wasn't used to pillow talk. She'd never done it before.
Not even with the man who'd hurt the worst, who she'd been with the longest. Because pillow talk was dangerous, she let her guard down, and things slipped out she didn't mean for anyone to know. It was too vulnerable. So she would pretend to be asleep while he got dressed, until she heard him leave for whatever it is a man of his calibre had to do—meetings, making appearances for his family, his reputation, whatever else it was that he was probably still doing now, only this time with a woman who didn't pretend to be asleep in the morning, who had his ring on her finger, and last she heard, the wedding was approaching fast…and the woman he'd ended up with had a suspicious bump under her dresses as well.
Sarah pushed all of that out of her head, knowing that in spite of the lingering hurt, the sting, from that past relationship when things had felt so sturdy and good, she was here in bed, cuddled up against this technology magnate with a lot more of a reputation to lose, a lot more money and notoriety, and a deeper sense of who he was…and she was engaging in pillow talk with him.
Did that mean something?
Perhaps knowing this would be it, that when she finally walked out of here they'd agreed not to meet like this again, not to explore what was here for the good of their own careers and reputations, was making her feel more comfortable about letting her guard down a little.
She knew she could trust him not to blab to other people about her. That was something she was sure of. He was trustworthy.
"What?" he prompted when she didn't speak for a long stretch. "You said you have a need… what kind of a need?"
Sarah saw he was intrigued, interested. And she wondered if she'd ever met anyone who wanted to know more about her in the way he so obviously did.
"When something is happening, something big…transformative…something that tells a story or teaches people about…I don't know, life or… Well, I have to be there. With my camera. I have to capture it. I have a need to capture things on film, preserve them, tell their story. It's like this…buzz in my gut, in my soul. And I slip into warzones and thick jungles full of deadly venomous snakes and whatever else I do that probably isn't good for my general well-being," she added with a giggle. "I just have to."
"That sounds a lot like lust," he said quietly, reaching up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. The way he reverently touched her temple and cheek, his gentle fingers stroking over the sensitive rim of her ear, felt impossibly tender, intimate. It made her breath catch in her chest. "Perhaps different from…erm…this. I mean, what we were doing."
"Were we doing something earlier? I must've missed it," she teased, tilting her head, still trying to recuperate from the way he'd just touched her.
"Oh, if you missed that, I must've done a shit job of it," he said with a laugh.
She laughed with him and shook her head. "You might be right, though. About it being like lust. It does feel sort of similar."
"Like when you caught that picture of the crash in the Grand Prix, ending up with all the bones in your hand being broken to get the perfect shot?" he asked.
Sarah furrowed her brow, confused. "What?"
"Three years ago, when I wandered into your art gallery and was looking at your photography, I came across one of a race car crashing. The back of it was in the air, wheels flying off the car, a blast of fire coming out of it. Never seen anything like that before. But as I was standing there staring at it, someone behind me told their companion that you broke bones in your hand to get the photograph. Don't remember his exact wording, but something about breaking your hand."
She blinked down at him, and then she laughed, throwing her head back. She lowered herself onto him and pressed her face under his jaw, kissing his neck and squeezing. "Where do people get these stories?" she asked, her voice still dripping with glee. She pulled back and looked down at him.
"So it isn't true?" She loved his cute little pout and she really hated to burst his bubble, but…
"No," she snorted. "Though I suppose I'm all right with people thinking I'm such a toughie," she added with a giggle. "I took the photograph and then scrambled out of the way. But the damn heel of the shoe I was wearing caught on one of the TV camera wires, snapped, and I went down with a sprained ankle." She scoffed. "Trust me, the driver of the car was much worse off than I ended up being. Though my pride took a hit, and my habit of wearing heels to these things. I don't do that anymore."
Chuck laughed. It was a full body laugh that made the bed shake beneath them, and she watched and listened to him with a deep, deep sense of personal happiness she hadn't felt in quite some time, if ever. It was a truly lovely sound, and sight. And she loved that she'd been the cause.
He grinned up at her as he stopped laughing finally. "That's the best thing I've ever heard. Well, don't worry. Your secret's safe with me. If anyone ever talks about Sarah Walker sacrificing the bones in her hand to get a shot, you won't hear me correcting them."
"Oh, I'm much obliged," she said with faux seriousness. "How's a girl ever supposed to get another art gallery in her name without stories like that?"
His giggle made her heart soar.
Sarah found herself imagining this man, three years younger, in a suit much like the one he'd been wearing all night before she desperately peeled him out of it, his hair extra curly from the rain he'd been caught in outside, shoulders damp, hems of his pants soaked, leaving light footprints along the pristine marble floors of the gallery. She could almost see him with these golden eyes of his wide in wonder as he looked at her photography, quietly making his way around the place for a whole hour, slipping between the cracks, going totally unnoticed by everyone, including by her.
"I'm…sad your name wasn't on the guest list for my photography show," she said quietly, not sure how she'd let that escape. It was the pillow talk curse.
His hand fell to her hip, his fingers tracing the waistband of her underwear, sliding along the bare skin of her waist under his shirt she was wearing. She shivered.
"Why?" he asked in genuine curiosity. "I still managed to see all of your photography anyway."
Sarah paused. And she admitted something she probably shouldn't have. "Well, you saw all of my photography but you didn't see…me. And I didn't see you." She shrugged one shoulder shyly. "That makes me kind of sad now."
She saw a blush color his cheeks, a pleased look in his warm eyes. And then he shook his head. "Oh, Sarah Walker, if only you knew. My name would never make it onto a guest list like that back then. Much has changed for me in just three years." She raised an eyebrow, interested. He continued. "I am in a very different place now. Things were so…up in the air and unsettled then. My life was on very shaky ground and I was risking everything for this…madcap idea of mine. Nobody cared about my ideas or my business model. Nobody cared about me," he insisted. "You know where I'd been before rain forced me into your gallery?" She shook her head quietly, paying attention with every fibre of her being. "Trying to sell my idea to a potential sponsor. It fell flat. Hard. And I'd spent a lot of money I didn't have getting to New York to try to sell it to him." She felt his hand stroke her hip tenderly and she shivered again. The image she had of him in her head a few moments earlier transformed. And instead of the expensive suit he'd had on tonight, she imagined something a bit more threadbare, shoes with soles that were a bit more worn down. She found herself aching for things to have gone differently three years ago. Perhaps she would glance over from one of the patrons flirting with the young "genius" whose art was hung on the walls, and she would see him there, staring up at her photograph in wonder. And she would wander over and talk to him.
He wouldn't realize he was talking to the photographer in question until she revealed herself. And these beautiful warm eyes would instead stare in wonder at her. She would talk to him all night again, this blazing connection they had traveling through them both, and he would finally introduce himself and she'd realize he wasn't on the guest list, and he would admit he snuck in, and they would laugh together.
So many things would be different now.
"People then didn't talk to me the way they talk to me now. They didn't see me, then. And now I get people flocking to me, needing my ear, needing me to know their names for some sort of…future partnership or sponsorship. Or they need my money for some charity they're working on. Sometimes I find myself stopping—like now—and just marveling at how drastically and suddenly my life changed. It's almost scary, you know?" He stared at the ceiling, his brow furrowed.
"Quite a change in just three years," she said quietly.
"Going from being a guy who'd never get invited to an event like that, to being on everyone's guest list? Yeah. Really." He made a face. "I must sound like I'm boasting. That isn't my intention at all. I'm not—"
Sarah shook her head and sent him a chastising look. "You? Boasting? I don't know you well, Charles Bartowski—in fact, I hardly know anything about you save for a few…choice things…" She flirted, lowering her voice as she let her fingertips dance over the spot on his abdomen that was right beneath his belly button. He let out a rough breath and she smirked, pleased by his reaction. "But I know you don't boast. Your head is not even close to as big as it probably should be. Certainly not as big as some of the men at that party who only have what they have because their parents passed it down to them." She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips.
He whistled low. "You aren't wrong, jolie fille." She giggled, feeling herself blush. He knew a little French. Where it counted, she decided. "There's a lot of hubris in a room like the one we were both in tonight. And I'm only human so I'm not immune to something as crass as hubris."
"None of us are," she insisted.
"But, um, let's just say my climb was so…sudden, i-it's hard for me to forget what it was like before. Before I got my internship with Roarke, even during the internship, the hours I worked, the mania of that lifestyle. I think it's important to remember your roots. They…keep you grounded."
She didn't want to remember her roots. In fact, it was her life's work to get as far away from her roots as possible.
And still, she found herself going back all the time, didn't she? In small ways. To make ends meet.
Aiding and abetting crime oftentimes paid better than the slots next to news articles where her photographs were placed.
And that reminder helped to solidify this decision they were making to cut this off here.
She felt a lust inside of her then—different from the one she got when she was out on an assignment—looking down at this man, knowing this was it, that this was all the time they had, knowing he would be sullied if this became an actual relationship, that she would bring him down from this place he'd worked so hard to get to. At best, she would put a halt to his ascent.
It was a need to have what she wanted for a little while longer, to give him what he wanted back. For them both to take and take and take…while they still could.
Sarah pressed a sloppy kiss to his chest and slid against him until she was lying directly on top of him, pushing her hips against his, eliciting a soft groan from him. "Know what else keeps you grounded?" she asked a bit breathlessly.
He laughed, surprising her. And she pouted down at him. "I'm sorry. I know what you were going for but it just didn't work."
"Oh. Well, I guess I could just climb off of you then and we can—"
He laughed harder, grabbing her, trapping her against him as she laughed with him. And he rolled her over to pin her to the mattress. "You aren't going anywhere," he growled into her hair.
And she found he was exactly right.
She wasn't going anywhere.
}o{
Chuck Bartowski thought the loud crash was in his own ears, something only he'd heard as he clung to her, his body igniting, toppling over the edge at the highest of heights. But when her body froze on top of his, her hands tightening where they clutched onto his shoulders, he thought maybe she'd heard the crash too.
Or maybe it was more of a thump and a crunch.
He blinked his eyes open, every fibre of his being still singing, buzzing, tingling from his finish.
"That…can't be good," she panted against his hair. All he could do was shake his head, still trying to catch his own breath. Her delicious weight lifted from his lap and she shifted to the side, peering over the edge of the mattress. "Oh."
Chuck scrambled up a bit to follow her gaze, their legs still tangled, his chest still heaving.
Oh God.
Her camera.
One side of it looked crunched in where it had landed on the hard floor, bits and pieces of it broken off and scattered around it. Her prized camera. Her beautiful camera that was the crux of her entire existence, her career. Her tool to make a living.
It was incredibly important to her, and because of him, what they'd been doing, thoughtlessly and with utmost abandon, it now lay broken on the floor.
"I-I forgot it was…on the bed," he breathed. "Sarah… Sarah, I'm so sorry. Your camera. Can-Can it be fixed?"
She wordlessly reached down to the floor, half hanging over the side of the bed, and she clutched it in a strong hand, lifting it up to turn it around. Chuck winced. That looked bad. "Probably not," she said quietly.
And that was the end of this, he knew. She would get dressed, cradling her broken camera, telling him goodbye, and she wouldn't look back as she left. And God, his body was thrumming, loose, sated, feeling absolutely magnificent. And yet, still wanting. Still wanting her.
He heard a sound coming from her then and he thought she was crying for a split second, but then he cast his gaze to her face and found her lips were pressed shut tightly, her blue eyes bright, nose flared. It was…a giggle.
And the giggle erupted into outright laughter.
Chuck gaped at her.
She moved to sit up beside him, modestly pulling the sheet up to her chest and trapping it there under her arms as she looked down at the camera, a highly amused grin on her lovely face, her beautiful blond hair spilling down around her shoulders in messy waves. He would remember her like this forever, he knew. Just like this. With the broke camera clutched in her hands, her very, very skilled hands.
"I'm sorry," he tried again. "I-I feel responsible." He sat up with her, to be closer to her, hoping she knew how sincerely he was sorry. In spite of the accident making her laugh apparently.
"Oh, we're both responsible," she said jauntily, raising her eyebrows as she finally lifted her playful blue eyes to his face. "I'd forgotten this thing even existed for a while there. I forgot where I was. Hell, I even forgot my own name." She flirtatiously reached up to play with one of his curls. "That part's your fault, certainly. But this?" She lifted the camera. "It's both of us." He swallowed hard and she snorted. "Chuck, it's okay. I mean, this camera is kind of expensive, but it isn't like I can't just get another one." She shrugged. "And I have plenty of cameras back home. It isn't the end of the world."
Sarah must've seen the relief in his face because she giggled and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "You're very sweet being so concerned over this." She wiggled the camera and he heard something loose rattling around in it. "Oof. That doesn't sound good, does it?" She rattled it a bit more and winced. He grinned at her, knowing he would never in his life meet anyone else like this. "I wonder if the film survived." She popped something open and peeked inside. "Hm, I think it's fine. We'll find out when I develop it."
He shook his head, chuckling. "I appreciate you taking this so well. I still feel bad, breaking your camera."
"Well, don't feel so bad. I've had cameras end up broken in ways that felt a lot worse than this." She bit her lip and looked down his torso saucily. "This was kinda worth it. Very worth it." He didn't know how to respond. "Oh come onnnnn. You know it was."
"I'm…reticent to admit it. It isn't my camera."
"And so it was even more worth it for you," she teased, leaning in to kiss him square on the mouth. She pecked kisses to his chin, down his jaw, to his neck, and back again, before she shifted to straddle him, reaching over to set the camera on the nightstand and then coming back to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
She leaned in, her lips grazing his ear, and she breathed. "I'm not done with you, Mr. Bartowski."
And he found that she wasn't…at least not for a few more hours.
When the need for sustenance finally became apparent to both of them, he thought that was it, that she would get dressed, pack away her broken camera, and leave. But she just stayed all deliciously splayed out in his bed, nothing covering her save one flimsy sheet, and she let him order room service.
They ate in bed as she regaled him with some of her adventures. The time a wildlife sanctuary let her sit with lions to take pictures and one of them looked like he thought her head was a big juicy steak. "It was," Chuck joked with a shrug, making her laugh so hard she tipped into him.
Or how she climbed a tree using vines, her camera slung around her neck, much to the chagrin of her guide who rolled his eyes at her. Just so she could take a picture of the toucan perched there. And then he'd flown away before she could get her camera around to take the picture, leaving her stuck up in the tree for no good reason.
He just let her talk, loving how she became more and more animated as she told her stories, talking about the creatures she met, the people she spoke to, the strange people, the wonderful and inspiring people, even the bad people. And he listened with everything in him, wanting to memorize all of it.
Every word.
And the way her eyes became such a vibrant blue that it took his breath away, how much she used her hands for things. Touching him as she spoke, or waving them around, spreading her fingers in the air. The way her neck sloped so perfectly and smoothly to her shoulders, perfectly symmetrical, like pretty much every part of her was.
She stayed there with him for much, much longer than he'd anticipated, and he'd adored and worshipped every last moment of it.
The way they gravitated back towards one another, meeting physically again and again, drowning in each other, taking and giving in equal measure, so much that Chuck was sure it wasn't possible for him to get enough of her, because he would've met his threshold hours ago if it was possible.
And then she crawled out from his grip finally, sitting up, pushing her hand through her hair. And when she turned to look down at him, the sun setting outside of the glass doors behind her, he saw the look in her eyes.
He knew she was leaving.
And it burst the bubble he'd kept himself in all day.
She seemed not to know how to say it. How to broach the subject of her leaving. And an ache crashed through him that was so painful he nearly gasped from the pain. Instead, he licked his lips and nodded.
"I know," he said quietly. "You have to go."
Sarah took a deep breath and looked away, facing forward, glancing down at her lap with the covers bunched up in it. She played with her fingers, clearing her throat, nodding back. "Yeah. I do."
Chuck sat up beside her. "Will you stay for dinner? L-Let me feed you." She gave him a look and he wrinkled up his face, shaking himself. "Ugh. Sorry. That sounded…very strange." That earned him a quiet giggle and an affectionate look. "But please have dinner with me. And then I'll let you go. Really. I promise."
She swallowed loud enough for him to hear it. And then she sighed. "Okay. Dinner. Then I'll leave."
Chuck smiled, leaning in to press a slow kiss to her cheek. He thought she blushed, but he pretended not to notice, instead scooting out of bed to get the dinner menu from the other room.
}o{
She watched him sip his wine, his amber eyes looking off the side. He dabbed at his lips with his cloth napkin then and glanced down at the steak still left on his plate. He was thinking about something, his brow furrowed.
"What?" she prompted quietly, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over their otherwise lovely meal.
He glanced up at her. "Oh, I was just thinking about that lion and how much he'd enjoy this steak."
Sarah rocked forward with a laugh that erupted out of her, not expecting that at all. And then she leaned her elbows on the table and grinned at him. "You know what, Chuck Bartowski?"
"Hm?"
"There is some woman out there, living her life, not knowing that someday she's going to run into this guy who is going to make her laugh all the time," she cast her eyes down at her wine. "And I hope that this woman is exceptional. Extraordinary even. She's going to have to be to deserve you." She lifted her gaze to his again as he softened. "I sincerely hope that you get everything you want in life. The whole world. I hope you get the whole world, Chuck. You deserve it. All of it."
He smiled warmly. "I don't want or need the whole world, Sarah. I'm sort of a simple guy like that." She let out a one syllable giggle as he grinned toothily. But then he sobered up significantly. "Weird, I know, but…sitting here, right now, even with my whole life ahead of me, the things I wanna do, achieve, places I want to see, things I wanna experience… I can only think of one thing I really want."
The way he looked at her left nothing unsaid, even as he didn't verbally say it. He didn't have to. She understood perfectly.
Because she wanted him too. So badly she ached deeply with it.
But they couldn't. They wouldn't. And he knew that so she didn't say it. She just stared into his eyes.
They were on the same page.
Chuck cleared his throat, glancing down with a self-deprecating look. "Anyway I hope you don't mind if I end up with stacks and stacks of magazines that have your photographs in them. I'll collect 'em in bins that I keep in my garage, stacked five and six high all the way to the ceiling." She giggled. "Because I'm gonna, even if you do mind."
"What I don't know won't hurt me," she teased. "But I'm…thinking of maybe getting a television. A color television. See what all the fuss is about."
He grinned and she beamed back at him. "Bit of advice, Miss Walker." She raised her eyebrows in interest. "Get one of the ones with the B.E. logo on it. I hear those'll give you the most bank for your buck."
She giggled, shaking her head at him. "You know, I've heard the same thing. I might have to go with them." And then she took him in and sighed. "And every time I turn it on, I'm going to think about you."
And maybe she shouldn't have said it but she knew it was true. She'd wonder where he was, what he was doing. If whatever he was doing, he had some woman at his side who was warm, interesting, smart, had a good sense of humor, was beautiful, an equal partner for him in every way, the type of woman he deserved to have at his side.
"I hope you remember me more fondly than that I broke your camera."
Sarah laughed and sent him a slight pout, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "Stop chastising yourself for that, please. Like I keep saying, both of us broke my camera. I'll get a new one easily enough when I need it." She shook her head. "And trust me, I'll remember you…very fondly."
"I suppose that's the best place to break away, isn't it? Before you learn too much about me and decide I'm not all that great after all. Step away when your view of me is still nice and rosy." He grinned.
She had a feeling knowing him better would only improve her view of him. And that was why they needed to end this here. Before ending it cut a dagger through her that was harsher and sharper than the one that had gone through her the last time she'd had to let someone who got under her skin go.
"That goes both ways," she said, smiling quietly.
"Sarah?" She looked at him. "Do you think maybe we could've had a chance? If things were different, I mean… If-if…I don't know, if I was someone without the successful company and the money and responsibilities and you didn't have this reputation to keep up."
"Yes."
She shouldn't have said that. She should've said she didn't know. But her mouth had blurted it before she could stop herself. It was the truth. This would've been a home run if circumstances were different, if they'd met at different junctures of their lives, when their existences fit together better.
Like if they'd met in her art gallery three years ago.
But maybe his life would start changing, his company and his color television taking off, and things would change between them too. He'd eventually get to where he is now, and she'd get to where she is now, and they'd be saddled with each other. Would that have worked? That, she didn't know.
Chuck nodded and let out a one syllable chuckle. "Kind of feels…unfair. That we met when we did, how we did, now instead of some time when this could've been…something great."
"It does, doesn't it?" She sighed. "But you're going to meet someone who makes you forget about this. Or-Or your company is going to forge the future in a way no one is ready for and you're going to be bigger than Einstein, an iconic figure whose name rockets throughout our history. It'll all work out. Even if it feels unfair now."
That was what she'd keep telling herself.
This was for the best.
And when they finished their food, the bottle of wine empty, she really didn't have anything she could use as an excuse to continue staying here with him. She had to leave.
If she didn't, they'd each find some other reason for her to continue to be here, and then another thing and another, and next thing she knew, it'd be tomorrow morning and the next day, and it'd go far enough that she didn't leave.
Ever.
Until things became untenable and hard, and bitterness arose between them, and the break would shatter her heart, and his.
But as she stripped down to pull her dress back on, he was there, his lips against the backs of her shoulders, up her neck, his fingertips dancing against her abdomen, dipping into the grooves of her muscles.
And maybe just the one more time wouldn't hurt.
They fell right back into bed together. And this time, the desperation scorched both of them, lava hot, their bodies meeting with an absolute fury of want and need. As if they both knew this was it and decided to get the most out of it that they possibly could.
They kept going, over and over again, her body crying out for her to stop, no more, rest, please…and still she kept grasping for more from him.
Until finally, one last gasp, they tumbled over the edge for the last time, this time completely and totally in sync for the first time ever in her life, their limbs wrapped around each other, a sheen of sweat on their skin, a deep and impossible ache surging through her.
And not just physically.
This time, as she pulled her dress up her body, feeling him step in to help her with the zipper, fastening it for her, sealing her up in a gown that meant the end of this, Sarah wasn't going to let anything else keep her from walking out of the door.
He walked with her to said door, her camera bag with the broken camera inside slung around his neck. He was teasing her, she knew. It was adorable.
And it made her giggle as she turned to face him, her back leaned against his door. She would remember Charles Bartowski like this.
His hair a curly mess on top of his head, in nothing but his striped boxers that flared out a bit at the hem, midway down his thighs, and an unbuttoned shirt that revealed his chest, the smattering of hair she'd felt under her fingers, under her lips. And her camera bag strap around his neck. The bright smile on his face, his teeth showing…and the underlying sadness in his shining golden eyes.
She didn't have her camera, he had it still hanging from his neck, so she took a mental photograph of him. She would keep it forever, no matter where she went, who she met, whatever she ended up doing with the rest of her life.
This would be the moment that would follow her forever.
And she'd been so sure it would be the time she was on vacation with him, the mountain cabin in Colorado, the peace and quiet around them, the joy she'd found with him those scant few days.
As she looked at this man—this CEO of a majorly successful electronics company—she was stunned to realize this had overtaken the mountain cabin. The joy she'd found here, in this hotel suite, the laughter, the heat, the comfort… this was that moment now.
How he'd managed this in less than twenty-four hours, she didn't know.
She took a deep breath and pointed at her camera bag. "Am I going to get that back?"
He lifted it a little, an innocent look on his handsome face. "This? You want this back?" He looked down at it then. "Hmm. Haven't decided yet what I'm gonna do with it. Not sure if I wanna give it back."
"Keep the broken camera, I guess. Be my guest," she drawled with a giggle.
Chuck laughed, shaking his head. "Oh right. It's broken. Nah, I don't want it." But before he could swing the strap up over his head, Sarah stepped in and ran her fingers over it against his shoulders, his collarbone, and she reverently reached up to lift it over his head herself. She lowered it between them, meeting his gaze, letting it just hang from her clutched fists…
"Genuinely, do you want to keep it?" she asked quietly. "You can."
He shook his head, still staring into her eyes. "No. You keep it. You've got all that film in there. All the photos you took. I really don't want a bunch of pictures of myself," he chuckled. "That's…a little odd. And I don't know how to develop film anyway. You keep them, do whatever you want with them. Even if it means I end up on an art gallery wall somewhere."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Boy, you sure have a high opinion of yourself. Think you're some kind'a work of art, ending up in a gallery on the wall?"
He laughed, blushing brightly, shaking his head. "I-I didn't mean it like—" He narrowed his eyes at her then and snorted. "You're teasing me. Of course you're teasing me. It's insane how much I love it when you tease me."
She'd never met anyone who took teasing so well. No childish pouting, no piqued anger, no offense taken, like other men.
Even he'd been bad at being on the receiving end of her teasing, crossing his arms and looking away until she apologized and made it up to him with little kisses on his jaw, something he'd liked quite a lot.
Sarah swallowed thickly, knowing this man in front of her now was very different from anyone else she'd met. He liked it. Being teased by her pleased him. It didn't make him feel emasculated or impotent. And that was because she wasn't beneath him, not in his eyes, even if society might disagree. Her gender, her class, her circumstances aside all considered, he saw her as his equal. And that was an intoxicating feeling, it was so rare.
"Sarah… You, um, you keep this. Please. And I mean it. Do whatever you like with the photos you took. You have your subject's permission." He smiled warmly.
She bit her lip, smiling back at him around it. "Thank you."
Nodding, he wrapped his hands around hers, then took the camera bag's strap from her and gingerly lifted it to put it over her head, around her own neck, adjusting it so that the camera bag rested against her hip. "There. Where it belongs."
And they were both going off to where they belonged. Apart.
Then why did this hurt so bad if it was how it had to be?
She stepped in to hug him then, holding onto him so tightly. And she shut her eyes even more tightly, willing herself not to let anything escape from her eyelids. Not in front of him, please God. It'd make it so much worse for him. It would be so sad and awkward.
But it felt so good, having him squeeze her back just as tightly, his lips pressed into her neck so that she shivered in his arms.
"Chuck, I want all the happiness in the world for you. Please try to do that for me, huh? Be happy."
"I'll try. Only if you promise to do the same."
She nodded. "Yes. I will."
And then they pulled back and he reached around her to unlatch the lock on the door and quietly snap it open. She waited in the doorway, looking up at him, then running her hands down the lapel of his shirt, fingers catching on the small white buttons as she did.
And then she closed her fist around the cotton and gave an affectionate tug.
"My Einstein."
He gave her an amused look, and it fell away to utter adoration, so sudden and powerful it took her breath away. He cupped her face, then ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek, along her jawline.
"My Dorothea Lange."
She couldn't stop herself. She sprang at him, cupping his face in both hands, kissing him ravenously, one last kiss, one last chance to give him her all.
And when they broke for air, she let go of him, turned away from him, and stepped into the hallway.
She looked at him over her shoulder as she walked away from him. He blinked his eyes open, lips still pursed from the kiss, and he held up a hand that wasn't propping open the door, a wave, resolute and knowing, but sad.
She held her own hand up, then turned and kept walking.
Sarah Walker didn't cry until she was submerged in her own bathtub, head underwater, the tears merging with the soapy water.
A/N: Remember, it's me. The question isn't whether or not this will be solved, it's HOW it will be solved. Please review, even if I made you upset. If it helps, I was very upset writing it.
-SC
