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: So anyway, I think you folks might enjoy this chapter if I do say so myself, probably not as much as the next chapter. But I'm kinda proud of this one. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own CHUCK and I'm making exactly $0 from this story. Per usual.
He smiled as she opened her door, the grin on her face letting him know she'd been waiting.
"Ah. I was hoping I'd see you tonight."
"Do I ever let you down?" he asked, shrugging.
She made a thinking face, backing up to let him in. "Yes, actually. You do."
Chuck winced. "Sorry about that. I'm here now though."
"You are." She shut the door behind him. "Want a drink?"
"Oh, yes please."
"Gin?"
"Perfect."
He stuffed his hands in his pockets but he had to take them out immediately when Lou grabbed the lapel of his jacket, slowly pushing it off of his shoulders and down his arms. "Get comfortable, handsome."
"I'm comfortable. I'm always comfortable here."
"You're not. You're always all stiff like a flamingo." She giggled and hung up his jacket. "Gimme that hat of yours."
He tossed it to her and she caught it gracefully. Always graceful, even when she was a little gruff. And blunt.
And he liked her, even though this wasn't anything he imagined going much further than it already had. She seemed to be on the same page, at least.
It was fun.
And he was different from the mean mug she'd just barely squeaked away from in one piece. A guy named Stavros Demetrios who apparently looked like a tank. He'd driven a tank in the World War too, she said. For the Russians. When Chuck had shown concern, she'd immediately taken it to be concern for himself. And when he'd dispelled her of that notion, insinuated that he was actually concerned about her, she'd scoffed, told him she threw a lamp at Stavros's head, that he still sported the scar from it. And then she'd taken Chuck to bed.
That was the first time.
There'd been other times since.
This was the first time he'd been able to clear his head enough to meet with her since Paris. It felt like something he needed. A fun roll in the sheets, connection with a woman who didn't expect much more out of him, and he didn't expect it from her, either. A harmless distraction.
There were no explosive sensations here, no passionate moments, meeting of the eyes during love making that turned his world on its head. He didn't spill his guts to her, nor did she spill hers to him.
And when it ended someday, as he knew it would, neither of them would be too beat up about it, because neither of them had ever really let it begin in the first place.
"Wanna sandwich? I made a big long one for myself for dinner. It's got some of your favorite stuff on it."
"You know what? I'm a little hungry, I won't lie."
"Ahhh. See? Way to a man's heart is his stomach."
She wasn't making her way into his heart, and she knew it. She just didn't know why—she probably didn't care why. And she was fine with all of it.
But his heart was occupied. And that was the truth. He knew it was the truth. After just one chat with Miguel last week, Miguel had known it was the truth.
Still, he was here with Lou, and he was starting to feel like…maybe he shouldn't be. Not that Lou would care if he told her. If he told her there was a woman he'd met in Paris, that she'd changed his whole life, turned his world on its head, made him feel things he hadn't thought possible, but that they'd both walked away after a blissful night together because their lifestyles didn't jive… Lou would probably be kind about it, try to comfort him the way a friend might. And if he wanted to sleep with her, she'd jump straight into bed with him. There wouldn't be any betrayal, no shock, no anger. That wasn't what this was between them.
And yet, as he watched her lean into the fridge and emerge with a huge hunk of Portuguese meat slapped onto it, as well as a wedge of Swiss, he was starting to feel…not so great. Why was he here? How would this solve anything?
Lou wasn't getting him over his hang-ups. And it wasn't fair to assume she might. It felt almost a little like he'd be using her without her knowledge. And that definitely wasn't right.
She handed him the plate with the sandwich and he frowned down at it.
"Hey, now… nobody's ever looked at one of Lou's sandwiches like that! I should kick you outta here on principle."
He laughed. Lou was funny, too. That had always been a plus in this thing between them. Whatever this thing was.
All he knew was that when he was away, he didn't miss her.
And maybe he felt like a bastard for that thought. What in the hell was he doing here?
"Sorry. It isn't the sandwich."
"It's not you, sandwich, it's him," she directed at the sandwich and he laughed again. "Come on, come over here. Sit down and eat. Let me get the gin."
Chuck sat, but he didn't take a bite, as hungry as he was.
When she came back with the gin, he drank it all down in one gulp, making her boggle at him.
"Whoa there, Guzzlepuss." She plopped into the seat near his. "Had a day?"
Had a last three months, more like it.
As he stared at the glass, the sandwich mocking him, he finally blurted: "I met someone. I met a girl in Paris. A-a woman. She was…such a woman. And I met her. Yeah."
Lou stared at him with wide eyes, then pressed her lips into a tight line and asked, "Didja meet her?" He sent her a flat look and she chuckled. "Sorry. I'll try not to be so glib. She's a woman, huh? Sounds nice." He gave her a flatter look and she huffed. "Tough crowd. Sorry. That was my last glib comment. But that's nice, you met someone. Good for you. What's the problem?"
"I-I can't sit here with you, with this…expectation that we're going to sleep together. And I can't—I can't eat your sandwich either. Not without telling you I met someone. That isn't fair."
Lou giggled and ducked her head. "Gosh, you're really a sweetheart, you know that? Eat the sandwich, stupid." She paused. "And unclench a little, huh?"
He chuckled. "Sorry. I just…being here with you, following you to bed, even this…I-I don't want to use you. That's not what this is with us. There's no using here."
"I did…soooort of use you to get back at Stavros the first time. Full disclosure." She winced.
"Is that what that was? Because you were…rather…"
"A wildcat? Yeah. That's what that was. Also, that's kinda my first-time setting. Sorry about it."
"I'm not," he laughed. She laughed too. He sobered up and took a bite of the sandwich finally, speaking around the food. "See, I… It feels like cheating. Even though it isn't. It isn't cheating and it feels like cheating."
She blinked at him, obviously not getting it. He didn't blame her. He was being very unclear. "Well, of course it's cheating, Bub. If you've got a girl now and you come over here to wrestle with me in my bed, that's cheating. Textbook." She sent him a chastising look.
Chuck swallowed and sighed. "It isn't cheating. Because she isn't my girl."
"Now you've got me all perplexed, fancy guy." She reached over and poked his shoulder. "What are you on about?"
"I met her in Paris, we had this…amazing night together. Everything—I mean, everything clicked, Lou. In every single way."
"Well, now. Tell me more." She squirmed in her seat with an excited grin and he sent her a look that calmed her down. "Sorry. But what's so bad about all this?"
"Nothing bad about it. It was the best twenty-four hours of my life. No offense."
She laughed. "Uh, none taken. I know what this is." She gestured between them. "The world isn't flippin' for us two and neither of us expect it to."
Chuck nodded. "I know. But—Well, anyway, she's got this life that's so different from mine and I'm in the limelight, you know? With my company. I'm on the rise, too. I've got eyes on me. Lots of eyes. And a…well, lot of money. She…doesn't so much. There's just so much that would…come between us, so we agreed to make the most of the time we had and then…cut ties after, go our separate ways."
Lou sat back against her chair. "Oof. That's…rough."
"It felt right then. Even while we were there, because some two-bit rag gossip writer spotted us spending time together at this function, there was a whole column about it. And they really tore right through this girl in it. It was awful."
"Like what?"
"Insinuating she's some kind'a gold digger." He frowned, clenching his teeth.
"Is she?" He sent her a mean look she didn't deserve and she held up her hands, scooting back a bit. "Hey, I don't know this doll from Adam. You said she doesn't have much money. And I know for a fact you're the richest guy I've ever heard of. That's why I let you bring me alcohol and meats and cheeses all the time." She looked off to the side wistfully.
"Are you…thinking about meats and cheeses now?"
She turned her eyes back to him. "I often think about meats and cheeses…"
"You're such an oddball, Lou Palone."
"Yeah. I know." She smirked and leaned her chin in her hand. "But I take it with that rough glare you shot at me that she ain't a gold digger."
Chuck shook his head. "Never. She's all about adventure. Settling down, snagging a rich guy like me? Not exactly at the top of her list." He chuckled, shaking his head, and he was struck again with the memory of how understandably upset she'd been reading that column. The hurt he'd seen in her. The anger. He frowned quickly. "She's trying to be something in an industry that…well, reputation is important."
Lou scoffed. "We're women, Chuck. Reputation is important for all of us. We can't do anything anywhere if we don't got a reputation that's intact."
Sighing, he nodded. "I know, you're right. Sorry."
"S'okay." She slid her hand over his, picked it up, and pointedly put it on the sandwich again. It made him snort. "You couldn't know, baby. You're a man." She shrugged when he looked at her. "Am I wrong?"
"No." Chuck huffed, taking another bite, letting himself chew and swallow, then take another bite and chew and swallow that one, before he continued. "We knew all the hubbub from that column would die out if we weren't seen together again. So we decided to break it off. For her, you know, so she could do what she does best without people thinking she got there 'cause of me. But also, our paths are going in such different directions. We thought…we'd get in each other's way."
"Isn't that the point of a relationship? Getting in each other's way? How else do you smash together?" She winked. He merely sighed at her and she grit her teeth in a wince. "Sorry, slugger. Just trying to make you smile. But I get it. Sounds like a tough break for ya both if things clicked that much. But still, I…I get it. I left Stavros behind because he threatened to murder other guys he saw me with. That was for my business, even though I'm still…ugh, stuck on the asshole. Kinda."
Chuck made a face. "You are?"
"Listen, don't judge me, pal. You had true love in your grasp and you let 'er go because of reputation and paths or something." She sighed when he frowned deeply. "Sorry. Don't mean to put it so cruelly." She nudged his shoulder. "She wants to go somewhere, she doesn't want people thinking she got there 'cause she's on Charles Bartowski's arm. Kind'a respect her for it."
"So do I," he moaned. "It made me even crazier about her. But it seemed like the right thing to do. Stepping away. But God, she…changed somethin' in me, Lou. Top to bottom, I feel like a new man. She singlehandedly injected this…joy of life into me that just wasn't there before."
"Like a shot of adrenaline."
"Sure."
"Like the first time I tasted capicola."
He chuckled and shook his head. He really did like this woman. She was a gem. A gem for someone else, though. Not for him.
"It just felt like, I dunno, Lou, like with everything that felt so good, with how calm and yet how excited she made my insides feel…even with all of that, she just wasn't meant for me. No way was she meant for me. She's too…everything. And I just didn't know how to handle that. Like holding onto a firecracker, ya know? How do you keep hold of that?"
"You don't."
"Exactly."
"Don't mean you can't be with the firecracker. You just have to figure out how. I don't get why guys think you have to hold onto things like they belong to ya. Don't hold onto her. Let her be and then just…you know, exist next to her." She crossed her arms as he let her words ruminate in his head. She was making a lot of sense. "Tell me about her."
He eyed her dubiously.
"Aw, c'mon. I'm curious."
"She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He realized how that must sound and he winced, giving her an urgent look. "Not that—That's—Oof, sorry. No offense. You're absolutely stunning, Lou. Gorgeous."
She laughed, throwing her head back. "You don't have to 'no offense' every time you spit poetry about this doll that swept you off your Size Thirteen feet."
Lou leaned in to kiss his cheek as he muttered, "Thirteen and a half."
"A'right, I take back the kiss. You bum."
Chuck snorted. "Lou, you don't understand. She's so damn talented. I've never seen anything so powerful as her art."
"She does art? Oh boy. Ooooh boy. She a beatnik or some shit?"
"No, no." He laughed. "No, she takes photographs."
"Ah. That's different."
"She travels the world, taking photographs of…war and…and people living their lives, cultures that are so different from ours, the Africa wilds. She has photographs she took in the Serengeti."
"The Seren-WHAT-i?"
"It's a reserve in Africa that was just established a few years ago. Where they protect wildlife."
"Oh. Like elephants and giraffes and all that?"
He nodded. "Most beautiful photographs I've ever seen…she took them. I mean, her talent…"
"So what you're saying is…she's to pretty pictures what I am to sandwiches."
"Yep." He nodded, chuckling. "But at an even deeper level. You know how your sandwiches have, like, this…depth of flavor? You eat a Lou Palone sandwich and it takes you to new places, places you never thought you'd go…changes your outlook on food in general, makes you think differently about the whole entire concept of taste itself?"
Lou melted a little, smiling dreamily at him. "You sure it's cheatin' if we play around a little?" He gave her a frustrated look and she snorted cutely. "Fine. Fine. We won't. But you talk pretty sometimes and it's hard to resist."
"Well, that's what her photos do. They changed how I look at the world and my place in it."
"Whoa. That's pretty intense."
He nodded. "Just sitting and talking with her made me feel such things, Lou. Like I belonged somewhere finally. Sitting there with her, that's where I belonged. Having her smile at me and look at me with those incredible blue eyes."
"Ah. Blue eyes. Ouch. I'm a sucker for blue eyes, too."
"Stavros?"
"Nah. A fella I went to school with back in the day. Name was Punky. Beautiful lookin' kid."
Chuck laughed. "His name was Punky? Yeeeesh. He's a grown man now, with the name Punky. Messed up."
Lou leaned forward, cracking up. "Didn't think'a that. Poor guy!"
When they both sobered up, she put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. And then she scooted her chair closer and propped her chin on the same shoulder. "You're so sweet talkin' about this girl, Chuck. Almost makes me wish you talked about me like that." She winced when he sent her a regretful look. "Oof, didn't mean to make you feel guilty, fancy guy. It's just that Stavros is a very different sort of fish than you. Not used to hearing a fella be so…"
"Sappy?"
"Sure," she giggled. "That. She sounds great."
"She is great. That was three months ago now though. That's why I said it isn't cheating. Even if it feels like it is."
"Because you're in love with her?"
Chuck groaned. "You people and that word. I never said that. I'm…stuck on her. She's got a spot here in my chest. But that-that isn't—"
"Okay, well, whatever you say. Fine. We won't use that word. You men are so weird. But sure, okay. No love. She's got a spot here." She poked his chest. "So even though you stopped it before it became a relationship, even though she's moved on and is living her life, you doing that, specifically hoppin' into the sack with me, feels like cheating. I get it."
"Thanks for understanding. I'm sorry. I feel like you're wasting this sandwich on me."
"Yeah, you know what? Lemme wrap that up and put it back." She laughed as he smacked at her hand to keep her from taking the rest of the sandwich. "Chuck, my sandwiches will never be wasted on you. And I think you should find that photo lady."
He shook his head. "How? Where? She's on the other side of the world probably."
"But you didn't say no. See that?" She raised an eyebrow.
Groaning, he rolled his head back and looked up at the ceiling of Lou's apartment. "I want her so badly, just as badly as I wanted her three months ago. If not…even more badly."
"Oooooh boy, you're in trouble, Mister."
"The worst trouble."
"Kiss me."
He blinked. "Huh? Even after all that?"
"Especially after all that," she said, pulling her face back and giving him a look like he should really know why she was saying these things. She sighed and rolled her eyes. And then she leaned in to press her lips to his.
She pulled back a few moments later and made a funny face. "That's pretty interesting."
"What?"
"It's not the same. You are definitely in a lot of trouble, Bartowski. There is nothing here anymore. You're limp. Look, here, watch." And she moved in to kiss him again. It really wasn't the same. Was it?
Suddenly the door to her apartment burst open.
They pulled out of the kiss and he turned to see something flying at his head.
Lou gave him a hearty shove, and he flew backwards off of the chair he'd been sitting on, landing hard on his backside.
A meaty fist met the table. An angry man with slicked back brown hair, and a scar above his eye shook his hand out, then turned to look down at Chuck, still splayed out on the ground.
"Stavros, get out of my apartment, you fuckin'—"
"How could you, LouLou?!" he demanded, spinning to look at her.
"We aren't together anymore, ya asshole!"
But Stavros was already charging at Chuck, who scrambled up from the floor and up to his feet, moving backwards until he hit the back of the couch and tumbled over it into the cushions.
"Hey, go! Run!" Lou yelled.
"But are you—?"
Lou was already hopping onto Stavros's back, choking him out. "I've done this before," she said through a clenched jaw.
"I'm going to KILL YOU!" Stavros was yelling, trying to get to Chuck, rage in his face.
"He means it, you idiot! RUN!"
Chuck didn't have to be told twice. He made a beeline for the door and escaped, taking the stairs two at a time. An elderly woman hung out of her apartment with a disgruntled look.
"Hey, you! What's going on?!" she demanded to know.
"Call the police! There's a crazy man in apartment 2D! Hurry!"
"Oh Jesus, her again?" With an annoyed sound, she rushed off, hopefully to call the police like he told her to.
Chuck didn't stop until he reached his car, diving in behind the wheel and buzzing away. He'd call Lou in the morning to make sure she was okay, but for now, he was saving his own skin. He had to trust she could handle herself because she said she could.
But once there was enough of a safe distance between himself and the bastard ex who barged in at the worst possible moment, Chuck found himself dwelling on that kiss. Lou had looked perplexed at first, and then realization had come over her.
She was right. Kissing her felt…less now.
It wasn't what it should be. What it was. Before.
Because she wasn't…
He sighed, pushing a hand through his curls.
She wasn't Sarah Walker.
He was in some deep, deep trouble.
}o{
She dropped the envelope onto the table between them, then took a step back.
"Those my pictures?"
"Nah. It's your money. I can't take that in good faith."
Larry Eberle exchanged a confused look with his bandits. Then he snatched up the envelope and climbed up from his chair, opening it to look inside. "Will ya look at dat? It's my money." He looked back up at the photographer in front of him.
"Son, I gotta warn ya. I don't like being fucked with."
"I ain't fuckin' with ya, Sir. Like I said, I can't do this job in good faith."
"Why's that?"
"It'd be like leadin' lambs to the slaughter."
"Fuck's that mean? I ain't a lamb. You guys hear this little shit?" Eberle gestured to Sarah.
"That's-That's not what I meant. I went there, see, and they got security up the wazoo."
"Great. That's why we're paying you to case the joint, take pictures. So's we know how to get around the security."
"You can't."
"What?" Eberle snapped.
"You can't get around it. They've got…" She paused. "Cameras. A whole lot of them. And a high-tech alarm system, likes o' which I ain't never seen, boss. This guy who runs this company, he must have a lotta dough. Put a lotta money into this joint's security. Don't think a fly can buzz in there without 'em knowing about it. Did you know guy's buddy-buddy with the PD, too? Cops swarming the place. Even a hint of somethin' goes down on the sidewalk outside of B.E.'s flagship, coppers show up in two secs flat." She held up two fingers, then fixed her glasses.
"Listen, Poindexter…"
These guys really weren't imaginative at all with their stupid nicknames.
"You tell us what to look for, take ya pictures, give 'em to us, and we'll worry about the rest."
Shit. Her plan when she showed up was to scare them off, but it didn't look like that was going to happen. They were set on Chuck's store. She couldn't protect him like this. She needed to take another route. "Take this money back, you stupid monkey. And give me what I want."
She shook her head. "You'll have to find someone else. Sorry. This is too hot for me. I don't wanna see thirty while I'm sittin' in a jail cell."
"Coward."
"Sure. Yeah." She shrugged. "I guess I am. Sorry about the inconvenience. I'm not goin' up the river because of this Bartowski guy bein' so paranoid about his storefronts."
They let her leave, mocking her the whole way.
She didn't care. They were letting her go in one piece. Part of her worried they wouldn't. But she gave the money back, in spite of having to dig deep to get enough, considering she'd already used it on fixing up her car at the shop.
But she thought she could push them off their mission. They could hit some other store. The Montgomery Ward store where she'd bought her Chuck television set. Because that was how she thought of it now.
Like a sap.
It sounded like they were going to hit Chuck's television store, though, in spite of what she'd said. Damn it.
She needed to do something else.
And as she got back to her apartment, making sure she wasn't followed—some sick game Eberle was playing or something to make her think she got away safe only to be ambushed later—she began to unwrap her bindings again, freeing her breasts, sighing with relief.
Sarah Walker knew what she had to do, but that meant getting too close. Much closer than she had when she'd stumbled across Chuck Bartowski's best friend Morgan.
It meant venturing into his space, once she found it, being where he was. It meant timing it perfectly so that he never saw her.
She bought a bit of time pulling out of the job. Eberle and his idiots would have to find someone else to case it, and that meant they wouldn't hit the store for a few days or so. But she needed to act fast, tomorrow at the latest.
First, she had to find him.
Sarah put a sundress on, ran a brush through her hair and fluffed it a bit, applied a thin layer of makeup, and stepped into her pumps, hurrying out of her apartment and heading for the first phone booth. She found a directory hanging from it and she went to the business section, thumbing through, peeking at the index. B… B, B, B, Bartowski. Bartowski.
Bardeaux
Barkley.
Barton.
…
She ran her thumb down the names of the businesses. They went on for what felt like days, and then…
Bartowski.
Bartowski Electric, headquarters.
That had to be his office. It had to be. He didn't seem like the type to have his office away from his company, his employees. He'd want to be in the thick of it, an egalitarian boss in the weeds with his people.
He had to have an office in the Los Angeles headquarters. It would be where he lived, where he had his flagship store, the first store where he broke ground, cut the ribbon, when his company first started. When he was still practically a kid trying to make it in a big industry full of big players.
Her heart raced as she pulled up the B.E. directory number, and she dialed it. Because damn it, she had to protect him. She had to protect Bartowski Electric.
And she knew how much of an inconsistent drop she was for never caring a lick about the other places these con guys broke into, helping them case those joints first to make a buck, just like she used to do for her pop… until suddenly the target was somebody she cared a great deal about.
So what.
She wasn't letting anything bad happen to this guy.
End of story.
As much of a risk as this was.
The phone rang, and rang…and it rang again.
"Bartowski Electric Headquarters, my name is Sally, how can I direct your call?"
"Yes, hi Sally. Thank you. Could you please direct my call to Mr. Charles Bartowski's office?"
"…Oh. Who may I ask is calling? It's just that…we don't usually just…send calls his way. See, he has his own private line he gives to his business partners and the like. Is there some other department where I can direct you?"
She got all the information she needed.
"You know what? That's all right. I think I'll call him at home later. Thank you!"
"Oh. S-Sure. Have a good day, hon."
"You, too."
Sarah hung up. His office was there. She'd insinuated as much. Now she just needed to get to it. If his B.E. building's security was anything like his store's that had all the damn merchandise, Chuck's office would be easy to get to.
She ripped the page with the address out of the phonebook and hurried back up to her apartment, sitting at her table and slapping the address down onto it, just staring at it and thinking. She had to tip him off that his store was a target. How did she do that without pegging herself as an accomplice? How did she accomplish any of this without him knowing it was her? She didn't even want him to know she was in Los Angeles.
And now that she was certain they were both based in the same city, it made the ache in her surge. The want and need she'd just barely managed to keep in check over the last three months. She'd been so sure it would subside, and then days had passed, weeks, and finally months, and still, it was here, beating away in her breast like an extra heart.
Burying herself in work, going out with her camera, even a trip down to Tijuana with her girls, hadn't pushed him out the way she'd wanted it all to.
Sarah Walker stayed at the table, looking down at it, just breathing, stealing herself. Because there was definite risk here. If she showed up at the wrong time…
She'd considered going to the police to tip them off first, but she knew firsthand they wouldn't lift a finger. They were useless anyway, but especially when someone who didn't have a lot of money or biological male anatomy covered with a proper suit showed up to ask them to help.
She threw that idea out and all that was left was tipping off Chuck himself. It would be up to him to do with it what he felt was necessary. If that meant going to the police, they might take him seriously. But, frankly, he was rich enough to hire his own security. Maybe she'd put that in the tip.
Sarah thought on it for hours, pacing, going to the couch to turn on the TV, finding lately that it helped her to think, especially when whatever was on was pretty brainless.
And as the clock finally neared midnight, Sarah sat down with a piece of paper and a pen, and she wrote, disguising her handwriting just in case, switching the pen into her left hand and scribbling. She hated it. So she wrinkled it up, tossed it to the side, and grabbed a new piece of paper. She hated that one too before she even got past the first sentence.
She took a break, going into her makeshift darkroom, sliding open a filing cabinet, and digging inside for a particular envelope. She knew it well by now.
All too well.
It was unmarked, nothing written on it, no dates, nothing like that. It was just blank, and as she opened it and reached in to pull out the stack of photographs, she was struck anew by the yearning.
Pure and unfiltered yearning.
Against her better judgment, she'd developed the pictures she'd taken that night, the ones he'd taken of her and the ones she'd taken of him that next morning. She'd spent a whole day developing those pictures, and then she'd sat there and just stared at them hanging in the red light, drying.
And since then, she found herself wandering into this damned room, going into this damned envelope, and reliving those twenty-four hours again.
Sarah spread a few of them on the counter and took a deep breath.
She loved the ones when she caught him making strange faces at her. And then there was the one he'd called "artsy", when she took a photograph of just one of his eyes, his curls sprouting up from his head, a corner of his ear, and whatever else was behind him. But it was the way his dark brown curls coiled up from his scalp so perfectly, perfect little graceful shapes twisting together. And his long, long eyelashes.
There was the one where he was lying on his stomach with his arms folded up under his head, and he's peeking up over his bicep coyly, his golden eyes so beguiling, his arms and the chiseled shoulders bare enough to let you know he wasn't wearing anything under the sheets either.
Sarah smiled as she shifted more of the photos onto the counter, and she flipped through them, her smile becoming a grin. But then she got through the photographs she took of him the night before, his playfulness, the way he bared his teeth at her, his hair falling in perfect little curls over his forehead.
Her fingers shook a little as she pulled out some of the photos she hadn't looked much at yet. Not on purpose really, but… Well, maybe a little on purpose. The ones Chuck had taken.
They were all of her.
He wasn't bad at all, either, for someone who'd allegedly picked up a professional camera for the first time that night. But that wasn't what struck her right between the eyes.
What struck her was the look on her face. In each of them. In every one.
She saw joy. Utter joy. The kind of joy she only ever found in photographs she took of children who hadn't left the warm cocoon of innocence yet. The very young children.
These were pictures of a woman who was having the time of her life.
And underneath that, when her blue eyes were cast at the camera, the looks that were meant for Chuck, Sarah saw something much, much deeper. Something that scared the shit out of her, made her blood run cold and heat up at the same time, a bubbling mess of emotions inside of her.
There was more than affection in Sarah Walker's face in these photographs. More than passion, even.
She'd never seen anything like it in her life, certainly not from herself, and not directed at a man.
She could see how much she cared for Chuck Bartowski. There was the joy, yes, but then there was also a great deal of complete adoration. She adored him. For one night and some change, this man had made her feel a deep and abiding happiness, a happiness she could still reach out and grasp onto, remember, even three months later.
He'd captured a side of her she hadn't ever let anyone else see. Silliness. She remembered posing for some of these, and then she'd made silly faces at him and he'd snapped photos of that too. She'd never felt comfortable enough to be this way. And that night, she'd slipped into such a state of total comfort that she'd kicked down the walls around her to let Chuck Bartowski in. And she'd been silly, she allowed herself to be silly. She'd made him laugh so hard he started coughing at one point and she could still remember the sound of it, how her chest had filled with light.
Sarah reached over and picked up a photograph that she'd looked at the most. He'd been asleep still. His cheek was smashed into the pillow, long eyelashes resting against his skin. She remembered the tiny little knob at the end of his nose, so cute the way it turned up a little just at the end. And his hair was sticking up, curls springing in every which way, but so soft. She remembered just how soft they were. In her fingers, and against her body.
She took a deep breath, holding it for a few moments, before letting it out again slowly. And then she glanced back at the photos he took of her. She was jumping on the bed in this one. She reached over and shifted it to face her better so that she could look down at it. It was blurry as she was in the air, and Chuck didn't know how to take motion photography, but her laughter was evident. The fun she was having. He'd been laughing too, the camera wiggling.
It was hard for Sarah Walker to admit when she was wrong. Maybe that had spelled the end of her relationship with Mike just as much as their conflicting paths, wants, and needs had. She'd been bad at saying she was wrong when she was wrong.
And that night, it'd been so easy for her to apologize to Chuck, to say she was wrong. He hadn't deserved her heckling, though he apparently hadn't seen it as that. He'd taken her words seriously, he'd thought about them. He'd reasoned over them, out loud, while she was with him. He'd engaged in a discussion. Instead of being offended or angry. She wondered if he'd acted on them once he got back to LA, back to his work.
How had a man she'd just met managed to get her to do things a man she'd been with for almost two years hadn't? A man she'd…loved, too. She could admit loving Mike even though the relationship failed. Her heart was still a little broken. She could admit that too. It had gotten a lot better now. With distance.
And how was she supposed to take the fact that she'd been so…different and open and willing with Chuck in a way she hadn't with other men, even a man she'd been in love with when she'd been with him?
What did that mean?
Was it just who Chuck was? Did he invite that kind of thing from people because he was so kind and trustworthy?
Mike had been kind and trustworthy. He'd been loyal. He'd just fallen out of love with her and wanted more than she was willing, or capable, of giving him. So he walked away, leaving her alone with her career, her camera, her heart in pieces, even though she'd known it would happen eventually.
She wasn't going to have that happen again.
Not with Chuck.
She'd leave the tip on his desk, once she wrote it, and she'd disappear again. They lived in the same city, but she could still make this work. She could avoid him. Their meeting in Paris was a fluke in the first place.
He ran a company that produced televisions.
She traveled the world as a photojournalist.
He deserved more than she could give him. He deserved someone who would be there for him when he needed her to be, instead of on the other side of the planet. Warbled phone calls. Letters.
Sarah would save his B.E. flagship from being ransacked and then she would continue her life. And he would continue his, never knowing who left the tip or why. But he'd be safe. His people would be safe.
She took one last long look at him in a photograph, her heart thumping wildly, an ache of want going through her, the most intense yearning she thought she'd ever felt over anyone or anything, and she put the photographs away, back into the unmarked envelope, inside of the drawer.
She'd shut the thing with a finality, just like she had the last time she'd taken the pictures out to look, and the time before that, the time before that…the dozens of times she'd looked at those pictures in the last three months.
Then she went back to the table, sat down, and began to write. This time, she didn't roll it up and toss it away. She folded it, slipping it into her purse, and then she turned off all of the lights and went to bed, covering her head and enclosing herself in the deepest darkness she could before tossing and turning for the rest of the night, fear and nerves and yearning all coiling together in her chest and destroying her ability to sleep.
}o{
She'd wandered the halls of Bartowski Electric the next morning, listening, waiting. And she'd discovered there was a meeting with the boss in the "big" conference room on the eighth floor at eleven.
She was hoping eavesdropping might give her some semblance of an idea about when she could slip in and out of his office. She wasn't sure if Monday morning was the best time to be doing this, when things were probably bustling and busy after a weekend when everyone had likely been home.
Though Sarah imagined Chuck had been working, whether here or in his home, his big mansion he probably owned, somewhere up in the hills. Something Frank Lloyd Wright built, likely. He had that kind of money.
Shaking herself, she glanced at her watch. It was fifteen minutes after eleven. She thought it was safe to leave the restroom and head for Chuck's office. She'd found his floor, she'd seen his name on the directory plaque.
Now all she had to do was go to his desk, leave it there, and skedaddle.
While he was in this building. Right now. Two floors down in a conference room, leading his team, his team of people who were happy at their jobs because of the type of CEO he was, and because of the way he ran his company.
Biting her lip, she pushed out of the bathroom and hurried down the hallway, quietly making her way through a large open space with a lot of cubicles. No one paid her any mind, as she walked with a purpose now, rather than wandering around. If anyone did notice her, they'd think she was here for business, making a delivery or something.
She left the large open office space and slipped into another hallway and finally—finally—she stood in front of his door. She knew it was his door because his name was printed on it in blocky austere letters.
CHARLES I. BARTOWSKI, CEO & FOUNDER
She couldn't help wondering what the I stood for. Ichabod? Were his parents religious? Something like Isaac or Isaiah? Was he Jewish? Israel? Maybe with a name like Bartowski, he'd have a more Slavic name like Ivan or Ivor?
Irving.
She remembered now. It had been in that garbage gossip column. His middle name was Irving.
Shaking herself yet again, she tried the handle and popped the door open. Not wanting to be surprised, she quietly called out, "Hello? Mister Bartowski?"
Nothing.
Peeking around the door, she spotted a large desk in the middle of the room, as well as a seating area against the wall with a water cooler and coffee machine. He had an assistant. God, of course he had an assistant.
Thankfully that assistant wasn't here. They were probably at the meeting with their boss.
She quickly ducked inside, knowing she likely didn't have much time to do this. The door clicked shut behind her as she walked up to Chuck's assistant's desk.
There was a name plate, all shiny and fancy. MIGUEL ZAVALA, ADMN MGR
So he called his assistant his administrative manager. That was exactly like him. He probably paid the guy a hell of a salary, too. If his sales clerks and custodians at his store were making $1.75 at entry level jobs, she could imagine the folks who worked here made ten times what she did freelancing.
She left the outer office behind and went into Chuck's personal office then
She paused and rolled her eyes at herself for how horribly her heart was racing. This was ridiculous. She was utterly ridiculous. It was just his office.
The office of the man she'd barely stopped thinking about for three months since they mutually parted ways. "For the best"…
And still, she clung to his memory and how good it made her feel.
When she turned to look around the room, she was startled to find art on the walls. A particular type of art, too. No impressionist paintings of wheat fields or sunflowers. No views of the ocean or mountainsides.
They were framed posters of comic book covers. One of them had Superman saving a boy from being caught in the middle of a traffic collision. It said "ACTION COMICS" at the top of it. On the other wall was another cover that said "DETECTIVE COMICS" at the top. A guy dressed like a bat and what looked to be his sidekick seemed like they were in some trouble thanks to a woman dressed up like a cat.
Sarah Walker heard something come out of her lips then. A giggle. And she let herself have a moment, standing in the middle of his office giggling.
Of course. Comic books.
And again, as she turned, there was yet another poster, this time from a movie she recognized. The Day the Earth Stood Still. It had been such a strange movie and she barely remembered any of it, but she remembered seeing it with a date because he hadn't wanted to see Show Boat, the jerk.
She thought about the man she'd spent those twenty-four hours with in Paris, and she decided it wasn't shocking he had these posters in his office. Nor did it shock her that as she moved around his desk and knelt down to look at the bookshelves behind it, there were physics texts, tech manuals…alongside pulp novels and comic books encased in plastic, probably to protect them. He must collect comic books, she decided. Which was so boyishly cute and perhaps slightly strange.
He was so different from anyone she'd ever met. And now that she was finding out more about his hobbies, she knew that if they had given this a chance, they certainly wouldn't be seeing eye to eye on hobbies. She imagined him lounging around his mansion reading comic books or watching television, and she'd be wanting to drive to the beach to swim and surf, or up to the mountains to hike.
It didn't ease the yearning any, trying to convince herself that this couldn't work. That they couldn't make it work.
Sarah turned away from the bookshelf then and peered at his desk. It wasn't a mess, so much as it was cluttered. It seemed there was some order to the clutter. He probably knew how to find things in it. She imagined him as someone who kept things he knew he would need out on his desk rather than putting it away somewhere safe, fearing he'd forget where he put it…so why not leave it somewhere where it was more accessible?
She smirked, and she gently set her hand on the back of his chair, running her fingers across it. He sat here, probably just about every day, even on weekends. He worked here. He took phone meetings here.
Peering down at his desk, she read some of the notes he left for himself.
Call Ollie water permits
$14,578 quarterly
Miguel — lunch Thursday
Ellie needs car Friday
Traffic a problem, possibility bus/train vouchers for employees?
And then she moved a few of the papers to look at what he did throughout the day. There were a lot of numbers, calculations, long, long, long formulas on top of more formulas, things she would never be able to make heads or tails out of even if she'd paid better attention in school and got better grades.
The man was brilliant.
The charts he made with carefully drawn lines.
And then, of course, off to the side, he'd doodled things that looked straight out of his comic books. With POW! framed by a spiky speech bubble. The superhero he drew had curly hair like his. And a mask. And he was skinny too, but with silly looking mounds on his biceps that she assumed were supposed to be muscles.
Sarah let out a bubbly giggle, and she decided to try to find more of them. So she sat down in his chair, letting herself feel the way it almost…hugged her if she tugged a little on the arms. Then she scooted close and rummaged through more of the paperwork.
She found something then.
More doodles.
And she would've just gone right past it, except that it was a woman superhero. She had flowing long hair, breasts, full lips turned into a tough little scowl under the eye mask she wore.
And a camera around her neck.
That was when she stopped breathing.
A flash was coming out of the camera. And the speech bubble above her head said, "Stop evildoers! Or I will paste your crimes all over the papers!"
On her cape that flowed behind her, he'd scrawled in all capitals, THE BRAVE WONDER.
And underneath, as if he was just wanting to put it there, write it out for himself, he wrote: "Sarah"
It took everything in her not to melt right out of the chair she sat in. He'd drawn her as a superhero with her camera and everything. She looked down at it again and took a deep, shaky breath. THE BRAVE WONDER. He'd drawn over "brave" a few times to make it bolder, as if emphasizing it. He thought she was brave.
He'd done this with absolutely zero expectation that anybody would see it besides him. She felt like she was prying massively, and into something very personal, and yet…she could've gone the rest of her life without seeing this. And that would've been so horribly sad.
He obviously still thought about her, perhaps as often as she thought about him. To the point where he was drawing her with her camera while he was at work, in the margins of the actual work he was doing. He thought she was brave, a wonder. Vanquishing evildoers with her camera.
Sarah Walker bit her lip and sat back against the chair, tilting her head back to stare up at his ceiling. How was she supposed to leave the tip on this desk and walk out of here on legs that felt like jelly?
How was she supposed to leave this place when she wanted to stay here forever, look down at his drawing of her forever? Why hadn't she brought her camera, damn it? Even just one of her smaller ones to capture this.
He'd know if she tore it out. He'd know if she stole this off of his desk, too. The actual diagrams on it seemed important. She couldn't do that to him. She'd be a total hypocrite, stopping Eberle from stealing from his flagship, and then stealing one of his diagrams because he drew her as a photojournalist superhero in the corner of it.
Sarah decided she had to get out of here fast or she'd never leave.
But she was breathless as she got up, and it took every bit of willpower she had to quietly move the papers over to cover his drawing of her. She went into her purse and left the tip on his desk, unfolded, smoothed out so that he could read it immediately and not just toss it in the trash.
Then she went to the door of his office, incapable of just leaving without taking one last look at it, everything about it, the position of the desk so that he could look out the window sometimes without having to crane his neck, the television in the corner, the posters and comic books.
Sarah bit her lip and turned back, walking right through the administrative manager's office, pushing her way out into the hallway.
She was walking away from this. The urge not to was too great, and she couldn't keep torturing herself like this.
But she merely stepped to the side and pushed her back against the wall outside of his office, thinking about that damn drawing, knowing how he felt about her, the way he thought about her. Knowing it was nothing like anything she'd experienced before.
"Sarah?"
She froze.
Her heart shot into her throat.
And she slowly turned to glance down the hallway.
There he was, standing there, his mouth agape, eyes wide, shock in every bit of him.
She'd timed it wrong.
Oh God, she'd timed it wrong.
A/N: GIRL, YOU TIMED IT JUST RIGHT!
Please review.
Thanks for reading!
-SC
