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: Enjoy! This one was fun to write.
Disclaimer: I do not own CHUCK and I'm making exactly $0 from this story. Per usual.
"So this is how the rich and famous live?"
She could see she caught him by surprise with the question as the waiter left them alone at their table on the open second level of the restaurant, away from the dance floor and the band. It felt rather more private, nestled in the corner up here, but they could still look down over the railing and see the action below.
He gave her a self-deprecating look. "I suppose it is." It became a wince. "I'm the worst person to ask. See, I've only been at this for a short amount of time."
"Still cutting your teeth on it, whipper snapper?"
Chuck laughed, throwing his head back. Oh, that laugh. How she'd memorized it in those short twenty-four hours she'd spent with him in Paris, knowing the memory would have to last her for the rest of her life. "All right, now I'm properly humbled."
Sarah chuckled and slid her hand over his where it rested on the table between them. "I'm not trying to humble you, I'm just teasing. You're fun to tease because you're such a good sport about it."
"So you're telling me if I'm less of a good sport, you won't tease me so much?"
Not quite sure where this was going, but strangely enjoying the sensation, she leaned in just slightly, squeezing his hand. "No. All you have to do is ask, and I'll drop the teasing."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
Chuck leaned in as well. She could smell his aftershave, a gentle scent.
"Don't drop the teasing. I like it." The corner of his mouth turned up in a crooked smile, so slow, and with intention.
She swallowed hard.
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Good. Do that." He sat back again, gesturing at the bottle of wine as if asking if she'd like him to pour. When Giuseppe came back with the wine they'd decided on together, Chuck asked if he could do the pouring. Sarah wasn't sure why. Wasn't it customary for the staff to do it at these places? They were professionals after all.
But then Chuck had gotten a little more cozy after Giuseppe walked away and she understood her date's intent perfectly. He wanted to be alone with her.
As alone as they could be in a restaurant and nightclub like this one, as full as it was with diners and dancers.
"Now, which side of the bottle do we drink out of?"
Sarah laughed at that, shaking her head. "You're just terrible."
"Was it that bad?"
"Yes, actually. I might ask your friend Giuseppe to call me a taxicab."
"Nooooo," he groused and they laughed together as he reached over to pick up the bottle. She handed him her glass when he reached for it and he poured. She raised an eyebrow at how well he poured. "What? You can't imagine me ten years ago, fresh-faced and innocent, working as wait staff at a place like this?"
Sarah's jaw dropped. "No. You worked here?"
"No, no, not here," he chuckled. "But at a place like it." She gave him a dubious look. "It's true. I swear it. I needed extra money to keep… Well." He cleared his throat. "I just needed it is all. So I got a job at a fancy joint like this, bussing tables."
Leaning back away from him, running her eyes down his body and back up again to his face, she tried to think back to what he must've looked like ten years earlier.
"What?" he prompted, smirking. There was a shyness to him now. It was exceedingly charming.
But the waiter returned with their beef tenderloin and filet mignon dinners. They patiently waited for their food to be set in front of them and Sarah subtly took in the full ensemble of the waiters who served them.
Pristine black double-breasted tuxedo jackets over crimped pure white dress shirts, meticulously pressed black tuxedo pants, black shiny shoes with pointed toes. And then there were the white gloves they somehow were keeping immaculate in spite of working with food. What a skill that was. To top it all off, of course, were the red bowties.
And then she pictured a young Chuck in the same outfit. His hair still as curly, but perhaps slightly longer. He might've made an attempt to tamp it down a bit with product, slicking it back from his forehead in a part.
When they were left alone again with their food, Chuck shook out his napkin to the side and laid it on his lap. "What?" he asked again, and she realized she was staring most likely.
"No, it—I'm just imagining you, younger, dressed like them. I suppose."
He let out an adorable giggle. "Are you really? Please. Don't do that." He wrinkled his nose and smirked.
"Why not? I think it sounds rather adorable." She followed suit with her own napkin.
"I suppose it must've been. I was basically a child in a grown man's suit and bowtie." He shrugged. "I'd just hit my growth spurt though, so I got away with it."
This time she raised her eyebrows along with her jaw dropping. "You mean to tell me that you… Noooo." She laughed as he nodded. "Well then, how old were you actually when you got the job bussing tables?"
He wrinkled up his whole face. "Okay, just…promise me you won't rat me out to the coppers?"
Sarah gave him a flat look. "You know I won't."
"I do know. I trust you."
She melted, hiding it behind a mask. Just in case. He was too much for her to handle and she didn't want him knowing it.
"I was thirteen when they hired me." She lowered her chin and raised her eyebrows. Thirteen? That probably was illegal, though not nearly as illegal as her father recruiting his seven year old daughter for cons during the economic depression. Stealing from people who already were hurting, like everyone was.
"I know. Super young. I convinced 'em I was sixteen. But I was already a head taller than everyone else at that age, and then when I was fifteen, I hit a major growth spurt so I got away with it. All of the other fellas older than me were gearing up to go to war." He shrugged.
What on Earth had been happening in this man's life that he needed to work at thirteen years old? What kind of a parent—Oh, right. Her parent. At least Chuck Bartowski had done honest work. Bussing tables, rather than swindling money off of old women by feigning illness.
And then she remembered what he'd told her in Paris. His parents weren't around. Or had he said they weren't around much? She decided not to bring it up.
She nibbled on her bottom lip, watching as he picked up his silverware and began slicing into his filet mignon. She did the same with her tenderloin and nearly melted off of her chair with how tender and flavorful the meat was. People with a lot of money really ate food like this all the time.
"Did they replace your uniform or did your pants end at your shins and your sleeves halfway down your forearms?" she asked, taking another.
He laughed. "They couldn't have one of their busboys looking like a clown so I got a new one."
"Well, you pour beautifully, Busboy Bartowski." That made him laugh harder, a blush on his cheeks. Then he reached out and picked up his glass again, holding it out towards her. She picked up her own and they clinked them together. "Cheers," she chirped.
"Cheers. But to what?"
"Growth spurts."
His amused grin and wink nearly made her blush. They each sipped and set their glasses down. "They used to call me Stringbean at the Cormorant when I worked there. I was pretty bony. Hilda, one of the cooks, used to sneak food to me because she thought I wasn't eating properly."
Was he eating properly, she wondered?
"I've filled out since then luckily. Uh, mostly." He poked his arm with his finger and chuckled.
"I'll say you have," she drawled. Just to watch how he reacted.
She got the reaction she'd wanted. He choked a bit on his steak. "That was cruel," he rasped after gulping down water.
Giggling mischievously, she went back to eating, trying not to think of the price tag of all of this. Just enjoy, enjoy the food, eat the damn food. Especially enjoy the wine.
A horrifying thought occurred to her then and she looked up at him with wide eyes. "Wait, you said ten years ago. You were hired at that Cormorant place ten years ago?" Oh God, had she made love to a youngster? Sure, twenty three wasn't exactly a teenager, but that was still much younger than she'd thought he was. She figured he was at least in his thirties.
"No, no. I, um, when I said that I was talking about when I was sixteen. At least in my head. I left the place at sixteen when I got my internship."
Oh thank God.
But then she had to come to terms with the fact that he was…
"You're only twenty-six."
He raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly. "Nearly twenty-seven, though. Well, not that nearly. I've got many months to go, heh. I don't know why I said that." He squirmed in his chair. "Wait, why? Are you…?"
He was the same age she was.
She'd turned twenty-six that very summer, surrounded by a sandy beach and no one around. She'd purposely done that, not wanting anyone to know what day it was, and not wanting to make a thing about it. She hated birthdays, her own at least. The memories of her childhood on her birthday weren't good ones. Fights that rang down the hallway and through her closed door as she sat on her bed with a paper party hat in her hands. Anger and bitterness roiling in her chest over the fact that they couldn't just be nice and normal for one day—her day. Waiting around for him to come back for her party in the years that followed, only to be disappointed. Phone calls about getting stuck at airports, missing trains… "Next time, darlin', okay?"
She looked up at him as something occurred to her then. "Hold on, now. You mean to tell me you've accomplished this much and you're only twenty-six. Your company sells more color televisions than any other company in the world. You have a stronghold on the market. At twenty-six." She'd sworn he had to be older, even with how young his face was. Especially when he slept. She'd just thought he had really good genes.
He did have good genes, only perhaps that reflected more within his brain chemistry. He was a damn child prodigy. Securing an internship like that at sixteen, working his way through the industry to get his own company started, and now, having hundreds of B.E. storefronts in the country, most of them in California. And he'd done that in a handful of years.
When he nodded slowly, seeming a little embarrassed—she had no idea why—Sarah shook her head in awe.
"I thought you were older. I was sure you had to be, with how massive your company is. It must've happened overnight."
"It did, rather. It was a shock to the system for me, I'll tell you that much. Wasn't sure I could make my rent in the dilapidated one room apartment I was living in at the time, and then overnight, money started coming in, loans going through, investors streaming towards me, and my luck did an About, Face. It was sudden. Got a bit of, um, whiplash. And I've been scrambling to keep up ever since." He let out a breathless chuckle, rubbing the back of his head.
"That's pretty amazing. And it isn't like you didn't deserve it."
"This much? I dunno." He puffed his cheeks out and widened his eyes, making her giggle. "Either way, it's happening."
"And now you're all over the place, the name on everyone's lips. Charles Bartowski, CEO and founder of Bartowski Electric. 'Every middle class home has a B.E. TV.' Isn't that how the ad goes?"
He chuckled, then paused, giving her a suspicious look. "How'd you know that? Miss I-Don't-Watch-TV."
Sarah blushed. The gig was up, she supposed. Biting her lip, she shrugged. "Maybe I do…now." He tilted his head in question. "I, uh, bought a television set, maybe. A few months ago."
He shifted in his chair to face her, setting his silverware in his plate with a clink. "You bought a TV set?" His jaw fell open. "One of mine?"
"I dunno, some of the shows come on in color. Annnnnd it has a logo with a B and an E in the corner of it. I assumed it was one of yours, but…" She shrugged teasingly.
A slow, heartwarming smile grew over his handsome face and he let out the happiest giggle she'd ever heard. She thought she could float from here down to the dance floor, her insides felt so light. "Why? I mean, that's…the best thing I've ever heard. But still, I'm wondering what…made ya decide to do that?"
"I said I might when we were in Paris. Didn't I?"
"Yeah, but…" He shook his head. He'd probably thought she'd just been saying it. And maybe at the time he was right.
"I missed you," she admitted quietly. "And I guess I thought it was a way to support you from afar and…it made me think of you. Just like I said it would. Every time I turn it on, I think about you."
He turned back to stare down at his plate, a mad grin on his face, his eyebrows raised in shock, or maybe awe, perhaps both even. "This is the best night of my life."
Sarah giggled and reached over to put her furthest hand on his cheek, using it to pull him in closer so that she could kiss his cheek hard. "You're the sweetest man on Earth."
His chuckle was breathless as he shook his head, and this time it was awe for sure.
"I can't believe it. I can't believe you bought a TV because of me. That's-That's expensive." He blanched, whipping towards her with his hand out, backtracking. "Not-Not that I think you don't have money or-or that you're—"
"I don't have much," she said. "It's true. I'm practically flying by the seat of my pants trying to pick up these assignments, getting my pictures bought by magazines, plagued by dry spells here and there because that's how freelancing goes sometimes. But I saved up. I had enough and I wanted it."
But his words sat in her gut like an anvil. Because though she knew he wasn't the type of man to see it as a barrier, she knew their financial disparity was a barrier anyway, whether he saw it that way or not. Still. Just like it had been in Paris. Nothing about that had changed. Nothing about any of the barriers they'd cited in Paris when they split off from one another had changed.
"This is also not exactly the type of food I'm accustomed to eating," she admitted, because she might as well make this all very clear to him, right now, as they sat here on a date. Before it got much further. "That shindig in Paris isn't the norm for me. If I am invited to something like that, it's usually an assignment. Taking pictures for a fella like Garnier to use for promotion of his charitable causes, or a magazine might be covering it and needs pictures to accompany the article. That whole deal. I'm not usually invited as a guest."
He had a thoughtful look on his face…then he glanced down at his half-eaten filet, and back up at her again. "Should I have opted for something less…opulent? I didn't mean to assume you'd want something like this. I would've been just as happy driving through for burgers and shakes and eating 'em in the car or-or…"
"No, no." She reached out and squeezed his bicep. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad for taking me someplace this nice. Not at all. It's lovely. All of it. And this tenderloin is incredible. I'm just talking about—You run in different circles than I do. Our…circles managed to overlap for a moment, in Paris. But I doubt that'll happen again. You have…a lot of money and I do not. You're a high-powered magnate and I'm your typical starving artist." She ended that with a self-aware smirk.
"I…know. Yes." He glanced down, clearing his throat. "We talked about it in Paris as a reason why we shouldn't pursue anything further. But…"
She was eager to hear what else he had to say, so she scooted a bit closer. Admittedly, if this man could find a way around the disparity between their respective means, she would welcome it at this point.
"But what?" she prompted.
"Well, I'll admit something to you, Sarah. In the spirit of full honesty. It doesn't take a very long time to get used to having money, walking through the doors that open up for you. It's…quite easy. Eating food like this, wearing suits that are…tailored to actually fit me. That's a new thing, certainly, and I got used to it very quickly." She couldn't help letting her eyes run over him, appraising him. He did have suits that fit him very well. She certainly wasn't going to complain. "But that doesn't mean I've forgotten what it was like before. I-I haven't. I haven't forgotten. And while there might be a chasm here, between our lifestyles, I wonder if the both of us, if-if we can't figure out how to…meet somewhere in the middle sometimes. Adapt?"
She sniffed in amusement and looked away. "As you learned very quickly that night in Paris, I don't adapt well. I hacked a chunk off of you the moment we met. In front of other guests, no less."
He grinned affectionately. "You certainly did. And it took my breath away and I…wanted to see you again. To talk to you. Immediately."
A little breathless herself, she giggled and shook her head. "I don't know how well I can fit into all of that…high society business. I fear I'll be torn to shreds if I wander into your world."
"I'll tear them to shreds first," he replied immediately, his jaw clenching. "And I can."
Oh.
Her heart was racing.
Then he swallowed hard, and he took her hand closest to him which had been resting on her thigh. He squeezed, glancing down at the main floor of the nightclub. "Sarah…"
"Yes, Chuck?"
"I was…thinking. While I was driving over here. Fretting, really…"
"Fretting? About this date? Second thoughts?"
"No, no," he reassured her, looking into her eyes. "Not that. Never that. I suppose this is just different from Paris. We're in Los Angeles. It's a proper date with dinner and…being in public. And I always get nervous about dates. It's my curse."
Sarah giggled with a small pout. "That's cute." She winced when he gave her a flat but amused look. "Sorry. Not intending to be patronizing, but it is cute."
He sighed, blushing. "I also got to thinking about another thing we mentioned. Having to do with what was said in that…unforgivable gossip column that was published the morning after the party. About us, but mostly about you. What was insinuated."
"You mean when they surmised I might be going after you for your money?" She snorted, but she still felt the sting of it.
Something in his jaw twitched as he looked away, down at the couples dancing. "That, yes. And you told me you feared that would follow you in your career." He turned to look back at her, then reached over and picked up his wine, taking a gulp of it, and quickly putting it back down again, running his hand down the leg of his pants. Was he nervous now? Whatever for? "You feared that it would sully your reputation, people believing you were some sort of gold digger. And that for the rest of your life, anytime you saw success—be it another art gallery or getting your work into magazines, being sent out on assignments, being given commissions and other jobs—you were afraid they would claim you only got it because of your connection with me. Someone with money…power."
Sarah sighed, nodding slowly. Three months later, he was able to recite all of that back to her, almost verbatim. No one had ever respected her enough to listen that well, to actually listen and understand her. "I did say that," she breathed, in awe of him. "I meant it."
"I know you did. It's why I agreed we go our separate ways, Sarah. I could see, feel, how important it was to you that you not have your successes connected in any way to…a sort of nepotism. I understand how that could potentially…add a bad taste to a win or-or a step up in your career. And you don't want that. I don't want that for you, either."
She wasn't quite sure why he was bringing that up again. She raised her eyebrow, leaning in closer. "I…appreciate that. I mean, that you care."
"Of course I care," he said, furrowing his brow and shaking his head, as if wondering how she could ever think he'd do anything else. And his sincerity was overwhelming, she decided. It stole her breath from her. "Which is why I'm—" He seemed to be searching for words and she gave him the time to do that, then he rolled his eyes at himself and looked down. His eyes slipped shut. "Gah, I'm not trying to mar this perfect reunion, or send you running for the hills again. I'm really not. But I have to at least—If this progresses further than tonight, I don't want this hanging over you always. I'd like to face it now, right in the beginning."
Sarah widened her eyes, sitting back against her chair. She didn't know what to say. She merely stared at him.
He snapped his eyes open and took another drink of wine. Liquid courage, perhaps? He slowly licked his lips, and he took a deep breath. Finally, he looked at her. "Sarah, the situation is still the same. Even having taken us both out of Paris and planted us back here, in Los Angeles, our home. Nothing has changed. I still have money and power, honestly even more so here, you still have your career at the forefront of what you're trying to do, your reputation is perhaps even more at risk in Los Angeles, with the way those vulture gossip columnists seem to almost be…bred here." He wasn't wrong about that. "Aren't you still worried being seen with me might…usher in a whole slew of gossip columns attacking your reputation, trying to undercut your successes in photojournalism, in the art world?" Sarah blinked, biting her bottom lip between her teeth. Shocked he was asking this right now, in the middle of dinner. "That was the biggest reason why we made our decision in Paris not to continue…what we found there. Well, that and…the fact that the paths we're on are so very different. This part, though, this is what really got stuck in me. I can't…I get angry at the thought of the attacks you might face. Especially when it's all because of me."
She couldn't help being in awe. And the thing was, this had all occurred to her throughout the day. Even standing in that hallway, it had occurred to her. Perhaps more in the back of her mind, as floored as she'd been seeing him again. As caught up in the sensations of having him standing in front of her as she'd been, and when he'd gently taken her into his office only to press his lips to hers, the way it awakened everything that still lurked inside of her from Paris, everything that had been dormant for three months…
She'd been rather too distracted by her own feelings to think too hard about those concerns she'd had in Paris. She'd been serious about those concerns, as much as it hurt to realize what they had to do. What they couldn't do.
And Chuck had the opportunity to never bring it up again, for them to continue to see one another, the way she was sure he wanted to, and had wanted to in Paris too…just like she had. And did now.
Instead of brushing it under the rug, he hefted it onto this table between them, for them to both look at it, discuss it again.
He was either stupid or the most glorious person to ever walk the face of this earth.
Maybe both.
}o{
"Chuck," she breathed. "I…"
She seemed to be searching for how to respond to him. He felt like he was most likely the most idiotic person to ever walk the face of this earth. He had a future with her in his grasp, all he had to do was keep his damn mouth shut and ride this train they were on.
Instead he yanked on the brakes.
And brought up why she'd decided to end things in Paris again.
Was he not the most self-sabotaging numbskull?
But he couldn't stop himself. She'd been so adamant. And he'd felt it so deeply. He couldn't be the man who sullied her career, the way she saw herself as an artist, as a professional. He couldn't ruin the way she felt about her work, her art.
And he didn't want to be that person here in Los Angeles either, simply because he wanted her.
"I…don't quite understand," she finally said quietly, looking at him with her stunning blue eyes so wide. She seemed confused. He'd confused her.
"Sarah, I'm not sure what sort of a person I'd be if I—if I dismissed something now that seemed to mean so much to you in Paris…when nothing has changed in our situations, our very different situations in the last three months, between there and here in Los Angeles…I-I know," he rushed out breathlessly, "I'm making no sense. But how could I dismiss your fears about your reputation, the hits you'd have to weather being connected to me, how could I do that now when I didn't in Paris? Simply because I want to keep seeing you? Nothing's different between then and now."
Sarah bit her lip, a thoughtful look on her face, and then she turned to glance down at the dance floor. "Dance with me." She turned her eyes back to his, determination in her face.
"W-What?" She wanted to dance? Now?
She nodded slowly. "Dance with me. Please?"
This was setting a dangerous precedent. Her eyebrows turning up in the middle, her lips pouting just so, blue eyes shimmering in the chandelier light… there was no way he could deny her.
He swallowed and nodded back. And then he stood, offering her his hand.
She took it, smiling gratefully up at him, and he helped her stand up, then led her down the curling stairs, their eyes meeting as they went.
He took her in his arms when they reached the reflective tile covering the dance floor, and he pulled her in close. They swayed gently to the slow music, not bothering to follow the steps the other couples were taking, faster, shifting and waltzing their way around the floor… Instead he kept them in the same area and held her hand tight, pulling her front closer to his with his hand on the small of her back. He felt her warm skin under his fingers, as the back of her dress dipped low. And he watched as her brilliant bright eyes finally swung up to meet his.
"You asked what sort of a person you'd be, Chuck…" She hugged him closer and slid her hand to the back of his neck, her fingers cool and gentle, and she propped her chin on his shoulder, her lips brushing his ear. "Simply asking that question makes you a better person than I deserve."
"That isn't true," he said adamantly, shaking his head and turning his face into her hair. It smelled like roses in bloom, a hint of vanilla. He closed his eyes and held her tighter.
"It is." She pulled back just a little and he was forced to open his eyes and meet her gaze. "That gossip column about us—about me—took me by surprise, Chuck. I was in shock, and…well, loathe though I am to admit it, it stung terribly. It felt very unfair."
"It was unfair. It was utter nonsense."
"Yes," she said, nodding. "It was cruelty and it felt purposeful. A dagger sunk into my side to see how I reacted." She sighed. "I've dwelled on it…admittedly been rather obsessive with how much I've thought about it…since then."
She was quiet for a few more moments, and the song ended, leaving them standing there together, arms still around one another, as everyone around them clapped for the band. They both seemed to snap out of it at the same time, turning with their peers and facing the band, clapping, but Chuck wasn't able to concentrate on anything besides the fear of what her response was going to be. Was this another short-lived tryst between them? Dinner, dancing, and a good night, mere memories that would have to last another three months, or longer? Or perhaps this time it would stick…
The bandleader faced his musicians and they began a new song. Chuck stepped in against her, holding her in his arms once more, not ready to relinquish her from his embrace just yet.
She seemed more than willing to continue their dance as well, sliding her hand around the back of his neck again, squeezing his fingers in her other hand.
She met his gaze again. "Chuck, I'm good at what I do. There's no sense in being modest about it. I'm skilled with a camera. I have talent. I work hard. I get the assignments I get, the commissions I get, because of my drive, my talent, my skill sets." He smiled a bit, and he smiled harder when she hugged him closer and turned her face into the spot under his jaw, nuzzling him with her nose. "Barbara Oppenheimer, gossip columnist extraordinaire…and raging bitch," she hissed under her breath, making him choke out a surprised laugh and pull back to appraise her with raised eyebrows. "Well, she is," she insisted.
"I'm not disagreeing with you. Though that isn't something I'm allowed to say."
"I'll say it for you. She's a raging bitch. And mean. An ambulance chaser if I've ever seen one."
"If the ambulance was wearing a skirt and had higher aspirations for its career?" he added, making her snort adorably, finishing it off with a giggle.
"Precisely. I just keep thinking about how her intention was so clearly to be cruel. And I don't know if I've somehow offended or harmed her in any way, if there's some sort of bitterness about my success there. Or maybe she just wants notoriety and big scoops off of my misfortunes and it isn't personal at all, I just made for a good target at the time." She shrugged. "Either way, I am an artist. No one took those photographs in the first art show I scored besides me. I did that. I took those photographs, I developed them, I printed them, and I sold them. That was me. I sat on those rickety aircrafts with soldiers. I closed myself up in compartments in the belly of barges headed down untrustworthy rivers on the other side of the world. I did all of that work and traveling. I met people. I spoke with them, connected with them, learned from them, won their trust. That was all me. And I put myself out there, sending prints to magazines with the hopes they'd publish them. I earned my assignments. I sought out work on my own. And people reach out to me for commissions because of the work I have done."
Sarah Walker looked him in the face again and raised her chin, pulling her shoulders back. The confidence, determination, and pride he saw there made her the most beautiful thing he was sure he'd ever seen in his entire life. His entire being reached out to her, his very soul aching to be closer to her.
To belong to her.
"My art speaks for itself now. My photography, it speaks for itself. And it will continue to do so, no matter what cruel drivel is printed in the papers, no matter how many backhanded comments make their way into the pieces published in the magazines. And if anybody thinks I'm invited to have another art show because I'm connected to a man of your caliber, a man with money and power…if they think that's how I've gotten commissions or assignments, if they think that's why they're seeing my photographs alongside articles in magazines, then they don't know a damn thing about photography. Or art in general."
Charles Bartowski had met enough confident women in his life, many of whom looked right past him (and rightly so) for most of his life, and some who allowed him to catch their eye once he was a man of substance. Never in his life had he been more attracted to another person. Never had they left him this breathless.
It was like he was standing in a fire pit.
He squeezed her tighter, one side of his mouth tilting up in a crooked grin as he shook his head at her in awe. "You are incredible," he breathed. "You give 'em what's good, Sarah Walker."
That made her chuckle, rolling her eyes at him in amusement. But he thought he spotted a blush too.
"Can I just add one thing, though?" he asked, shifting even closer to her as she nodded, seemingly intrigued. "As a fella who admittedly doesn't know a damn thing about photography or art in general," he started off and she looked a bit dubious and contrite all at once, "it's saying something that I walked in off the street that rainy day in New York City and immediately became utterly enthralled with the photographs I saw hung on those walls in that gallery. So much so that I remembered so many of the details of those photographs even three years later. I think I'll remember some of those images for the rest of my life."
Sarah melted against him and he found he rather had to carry her about the dance floor for a few moments until she regained the use of her bones. She sighed and moved to prop her chin on his shoulder. "Then you do know a damn thing about photography and art," she muttered glibly, making him laugh. "Chuck?"
"Hm?"
She lifted her head and looked right into his face. "Do you think it'd be all right if I asked you to whisk me out of here?" She glanced off to the side then, blushing again, almost tentative as she turned her eyes back to his.
He felt the blood racing through his veins. "I'll get the bill. You head for the coat check…?"
Sarah's smile had a certain bit of adrenaline in it as she nodded eagerly. "Don't forget to snag my purse. I left it on the chair next to mine."
Chuck stepped back and bowed slightly, earning a giggle.
He found he resented the fact that he had to let her slip her hand from his, even for a short few minutes as they split off to their respective duties. But his blood boiled in his body, tingles going through his fingers and toes, as he caught Giuseppe's eye and summoned the man to hasten over with their check.
}o{
"Where's your car?"
She turned to look over her shoulder at Chuck as he snugly fit his hat down over his curls and stepped up behind her, looking to and fro down the street. "I took a taxicab. 'Member?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Oh. Of course. I helped you out of it." He thunked himself in the head, and then he smiled at her. "Even better. Follow me then. I'm around the corner."
Sarah hastened to fold her hands around his bicep, letting him lead her to his car. "Let me get this straight. All that money you've got and you drive your own car around? Are drivers that expensive?"
Chuck laughed. "Not so expensive, no. 'Least not for me. And sometimes I do have a driver. I had one in Paris. I usually get one in New York, too. I like driving myself here unless I have to make some big appearance at an awards show or something. They like you to arrive with a driver for those." He rolled his eyes. "But otherwise, I drive myself around when I'm home."
"Because it attracts less attention?" She raised an eyebrow.
Wincing, he nodded once in assent. "Yes." She giggled. "That's only part of it, though. This is my home. I know the ins and outs of the streets, it's been my stomping ground since I was born, you know?"
"That's rather sweet," she said quietly. "It's a nice sentiment, I mean. I don't quite understand it," she admitted. "Driving here feels like such a chore sometimes."
"Oh, it ain't all sunshine and rainbows, I'll admit it," he chuckled. "It's Los Angeles, after all. But there's a freedom to not having a driver here. To having my own car. I can jump into it whenever I want, no waiting, no having to tell anyone where I'm going. I just…go."
"Hm. I see."
He shifted them out of the way of a woman who wasn't quite watching where she was going, walking fast while looking down and digging in her purse. Sarah turned to glare at the back of the woman as Chuck added, "And then there are things like that. Welcome to LA."
"There are things like that in every big city," she giggled. "I had that happen to me in Rome, only the man was on a scooter."
She loved the sound of his laughter. And she wondered if she would ever stop thinking that whenever he laughed. "Sorry." He held up a hand. "I'm not laughing at your misfortune. For some reason, those little scooters just strike me as funny. Every time I see one out and about or I picture one in my head, it makes me chuckle a little."
"What?" She snorted, squeezing his arm. "Why?"
"I don't know." The giggle he let out sent a light through her.
"You're an odd one, Chuck Bartowski."
"I am. Yes." He pointed to a sleek black Bentley parked at the curb nearby. "Here we are."
Sarah paused at the passenger door as he unlocked it and popped it open for her. She sent him an appraising look. "So…a man of the people…" She ran her fingers along the clean lines of the hood above the doorframe. "With a very nice car."
He winced. "I'm not allowed a toy here and there? How do I pass up a V6 engine with the capabilities of hitting a hundred miles per hour? And the horsepower is through the roof."
She smirked at him. "I forgive you." And then she took his hand and let him help her lower herself into the passenger seat. God, the interior was phenomenal. Pristine. Comfortable. Top level luxury. She really didn't blame him at all. If she had the money, she wouldn't be able to resist this either.
Chuck carefully closed the door after she pulled the skirt of her dress inside and came around to the driver's side, opening his door and diving in behind the wheel. "Will you also forgive me for the Jaguar I have in the garage at my beach property?"
Sarah threw her head back with a laugh as he tore away from the curb onto the street.
"So where am I taking us? Where do you live? I can take you home."
A spike of dread shot through her and she shook her head vehemently. "Oh. No, that's… We don't have to go there." He seemed confused. "I really just wanted to get away from all of the people in Giovanni's."
"Ah. So you don't have a Bible-thumping landlady keeping you to a strict curfew?" he teased. "No men allowed in your apartment, or I'll chase 'em off with a broom!"
Sarah sent him a flat look and he smirked back. "No. No curfew. This single young woman would not function well under such circumstances," she said breezily.
He snorted. "I'm just imagining someone trying to hold you down like that. Can't imagine it would go well for them."
"Men have tried."
She watched him carefully to see how he reacted to that. He merely smiled harder. "Oh, I'm certain they have. We talk a big game about not wanting to be tied down by a little woman, but the moment we find a woman we want, we tie her down so fast, so tightly, that she can't even lift a finger." Sarah raised her eyebrows, surprised by his candidness and self-awareness about his own sex. She blushed slightly and looked straight ahead, unsure of how to respond. He'd really turned that around on her, hadn't he? And with a sincerity and ease that left her overwhelmed. "Don't worry. I do want you. An awful lot." Oh. Did these seats have some kind of heater installed in them? Because all of a sudden… "But I have no intention of keeping you anywhere you don't want to be. I meant what I said in my office today." She turned to look at him, her eyes widening. He stopped at a light and met her gaze. "If you aren't ready for any sort of…commitment…I understand. I simply want to keep seeing you."
Sarah ducked her head. "Thank you. Thank you for saying it. And for meaning it." She wanted to keep seeing him, too. She wanted him. And he seemed to say things like that to her without conditions, without embarrassment, shame, or even a bit of pause. She didn't feel like she had that freedom.
There was something inside of her that resisted it.
And perhaps there were things she'd had ingrained in her from the time she was a small child, things women could and couldn't say, the way they'd be received if they said things with their full chest. How easily and quickly they could find themselves cast out, with nothing to their names.
Especially things that had to do with wanting a man, wanting in the same way that men wanted.
How would the nuns at the school she went to as a child react if they knew she had every intention of taking this man to bed again tonight? Out of wedlock? With no intention of producing a child, of being part of a "normal" family straight out of a wholesome television program?
"Are-Are you sure we can't go to your place? I don't mind bringing you home. Just tell me where and off we go."
Sarah shook her head again. She couldn't bring Chuck there. Not this man who had a Bentley and a Jaguar in a garage beneath his beach property. God, her apartment hadn't been cleaned in a few weeks. Longer, even. She couldn't hire people to clean it for her. And she rarely had the time, or the energy, to do it on her own. When she did, she set herself to the task of cleaning the whole thing at once, and luckily it was small enough that it was only half a day's affair. But she hadn't gotten that far yet. And Chuck had appeared back in her life so suddenly earlier today.
It never occurred to her he'd ask to come to her place. Few men did.
Mike was the only man who'd been allowed into her most private and personalized space. Which was why that one had hurt as badly as it had. Why it still hurt when she thought of it too hard.
She surveyed Chuck, sitting there, waiting patiently for her to answer. Was he going to be someone she let into her apartment? It took a long time before she felt comfortable enough, trusting enough, to let Mike in.
"I don't mind," Chuck said again. And she wondered if she didn't sense something in him that wanted to go to her home, see it, be in it.
She wasn't ready. And her apartment wasn't, either. "No, it isn't… I mean, we won't be comfortable there. Trust me." She let out a breathy laugh to cover up the desperation she was feeling. Please don't ask me again…
Chuck pursed his lips and nodded. "If you're sure. You know, I'm not…some wilting flower. I'm not gonna melt if I'm not in a place that's a five star hotel suite," he teased. "I know I've got…lots of money now. But I didn't always. When I struck gold, I had roommates in my little apartment. They had little pink noses and big round furry ears and whiskers." She had a feeling he wasn't exaggerating about having mice in his place. "I bet I'd be comfortable anywhere."
Sarah knew he wasn't hearing himself, so she didn't take it personally. He was being awfully sweet, in fact. So she reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "Honestly, I haven't been able to clean at all since the last assignment I had to take out of the country and that was a…let's just say, long time ago. And I'll be ashamed to have you see it." She blushed. At least that wasn't a lie.
He sighed and relented. "I don't want to be the reason why you feel shame about your home, so we can skip Sarah Walker's apartment. But where do we go instead? Another club?"
"I wanted to get away from people," she said with a chuckle.
"Oh. Right." He huffed in amusement. "You did say that. We could…" Sarah watched him reach up and scratch behind his ear, and she wondered if that was something he did when he was nervous. Because he seemed a bit nervous all of a sudden.
Maybe she should help him.
"Well. We could go somewhere with…less people. Preferably where it will just be…you and me…?" He swallowed hard. She heard him gulp. "Unless…that isn't what you want…?"
"Oh. Oh no. I want that. Definitely," he rushed out. "I definitely want that. I was going to offer up…my place but that's…presumptuous and I don't want to presume—"
"Presume away," she interrupted.
He raised his eyebrows.
"I imagine your place is cleaner than mine. And much more comfortable," she smoothed over, lest she come off as too eager.
She was sure she was right, anyway. His place was likely bigger, cleaner, nicer. The bathroom faucet probably didn't leak until you smacked it hard enough with a blunt object, the way hers did. When she was first shown her place, the landlord brought her over towards what he'd called a "kitchen", though she imagined it was more of a kitchenette. She made do with what she had when she had time to cook for herself. Chuck likely had a massive kitchen with every appliance, working space, and storage space he needed.
"Oh. I…don't know about that. But we can go there. Sure."
"We don't have to if you aren't…comfortable. It's your personal space."
He guided his Bentley around the corner and sent them in a new direction, shaking his head. "We'll go there. I-I just don't want you to think I've got…certain ideas."
Sarah giggled. "That's very sweet, Chuck, but what sort of idea did you think I had when I asked you to whisk me out of that nightclub? A slice of pie at the corner diner?"
Chuck was laughing, but she could see she was embarrassing him, too. She felt guilty, when he was clearly only trying to do the right thing, not have expectations about her that other men would certainly have.
Still, he took it all so well. And that was rare for any man, but he was specifically a man with money and power, and she was certain men in his shoes weren't teased often. And they weren't going to accept being teased. Not by anyone.
"I actually like pie. A lot," he said smoothly, knocking her back on her heels again.
She laughed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry I made fun of pie."
"It's all right. Pie shall endure."
They spent the rest of the short drive in companionable, amused quietude, but Sarah Walker's mind was anything but quiet.
Because she'd laid herself out on a platter for him while they were on the dance floor earlier. In no uncertain terms, she made it clear that she was willing to field the gossip columns accusing her of being a gold digger, attributing her professional wins as nepotism because of the man whose arm she appeared on in public.
She couldn't go back on that now.
Come what may.
That was frightening. But even more frightening was the prospect of trying to cut herself away from him again, when it had been so difficult in Paris.
But she'd meant what she said to him as he held her in his arms, swaying to the band onstage. Her photographs had to speak for themselves. Her work would have to speak for itself. And anyone questioning her gains as having to do with the powerful man she was being seen with knew nothing about her in the first place. And therefore, they weren't important.
Chuck took his car around the back of a tall condominium building, guiding it down below into a garage. As he pulled the car into a parking space beside an elevator door, turning off his car, she found herself simply sitting in her seat beside his, silently, her finger fiddling with the clasp on her handbag.
"Shall we go up?" he finally asked.
"Yes. Of course."
"Wait-Wait there. I'm coming around."
She giggled as he scrambled out of the car, calling after him, "You know, I'm more than capable of climbing out of the car on my own!"
Chuck popped open her door and knelt down beside her, smiling. "I do know. But this is part of the presentation." And he outstretched his hand towards her, his long welcoming fingers pointed towards her.
"Presentation?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is that what this is?" He shrugged. "For what?"
She slipped her hand in his, allowing him to have his small win and help her out of the car. As she stood up beside him, he smirked a little.
"For me," he chirped with another shrug. "I'm presenting myself."
"You don't have to do that," she giggled. "We had a whole thing in Paris, don't you remember?"
He gently put a hand on her hip and shifted her out of the way so that he could shut the passenger door, and as he straightened to his full height, she was reminded again of just how handsome he really was. Even in the bad lighting in this garage.
"That was my Paris presentation. This is my L.A. presentation."
"Are they so different?"
He wrapped his fingers around hers and pulled her towards the elevator door, pressing the button. "In some ways, yes. I'm home. This is my home. In Paris, there wasn't anything tying me there, there were no rules, no holds barred. Here, I'm afraid I—" The doors slid open when the elevator arrived and he gestured for her to enter first. She smiled and did, feeling him follow on her heels. He pressed the button for the ninth floor, the doors slid shut, and they were off. "I have no choice but to be myself in a way I'm not…anywhere else. Where I have ties. There's something much more….private…personal about…things here."
She furrowed her brow, thinking on his words. "You're…letting me in to see all of this? Is that what you're saying?"
Chuck nodded slowly. "Yes. For better or for worse. Here, I have a much, much harder time not showing…who I really am. Hence, the presentation. The real Chuck Bartowski."
She tilted her head, looking at him, really taking him in. And she sighed. "Terrifying," she said quietly, smiling softly.
"I know. I hope you have a strong constitution."
"Strongest one I know."
"I wouldn't be surprised if that were true for me too." He frowned at himself and shook his head. "I meant…that you have the strongest constitution I know."
"I knew what you meant," she giggled as the doors opened on the ninth floor and he led her off of it into a wide open lobby-looking room. "Is this…it? The whole ninth floor is yours?"
"Erm…" He seemed shy again as he pulled the key out of his pocket. "Rather, uh, this half of it at least." She couldn't help gawking at him. She knew he was rich, but she supposed she didn't truly know what rich looked like, in spite of all of the high fashion parties she'd been to and taken photographs of.
He unlocked the door and she felt a buzz of nerves light up, adrenaline going through her, as she gave him a tentative smile and swept past him into his condo.
Sarah boggled at the floor to ceiling windows that flanked the west and south walls of the large open space, because through those windows was the downtown L.A. skyline, lit up like few things she'd seen before. "You live here," she breathed. "You see this every night."
"I do. Yeah. When…well, when I'm home." He cleared his throat. "That was a stupid thing to say. Of course only when I'm home. I don't…know why I…ahem."
She bit her lip, turning to face him. A thought had occurred to her and she shook her head just slightly. She was surrounded by the splendor of this stunning condo with the even more stunning view through the large windows and she was thinking about her camera. It was silly. Especially with this situation, she should be living in the moment, not worrying about taking photographs of the moment.
"What?" He stuck his hands in his pockets, interested as he watched her with that warm gaze of his.
Sarah shook her head. "It's silly."
"No, tell me! I won't think it's silly, I promise."
"And how can you make a promise like that when you have no idea what it is I was just thinking?"
"I have no answer for that."
She laughed. He was so good at making her lower her guard. She decided to just take the loss for the moment and she sighed. "I was thinking about how much I wish I had my camera with me right now. With that view out the windows. And then I realized how foolish it is to want a camera to take photographs when I should be living in this moment. Enjoying it to its fullest."
Chuck smiled, and then he pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. "I don't think any of that is silly, first of all. You love taking photographs. I imagine part of living for you is having a camera in your hand." Well he struck the nail on the head there, didn't he? "But I do wonder. What constitutes living in the moment to you? Right now, I mean? How are you planning on enjoying this moment to its fullest?"
He stepped in close, his hands still buried in his pants pockets.
She felt the warmth of his presence, his body, so close to hers, but not touching. Almost, but not quite.
Sarah didn't respond, instead hitting him with an inviting look, heat swimming behind her belly button as he leaned down, his golden eyes flashing, his lips nearing her own.
"I was thinking maybe a drink," she said at the last minute then.
Chuck pulled back a bit, and he blinked at her. She hit him with a devilish grin and he laughed so hard he rocked forward. As he stood to his full height again, mirth and outright adoration shining in his face as he looked at her, she reached over to put her handbag on the nearby end table beside his couch.
"Mind if I leave this here?"
She didn't wait for a response, instead shrugging off her coat, tossing it over the back of the couch, and lunging for him, her lips slamming against his, arms winding around his neck. He smiled under her kiss and hoisted her up off of the floor so that her heels dropped from her feet to the wooden floorboards, and then he turned and began walking…somewhere.
She didn't care where.
And when she felt the soft comfort of a mattress under her back, nothing else mattered but having his weight on top of her, his lips on hers, his body under her hands. And so she grappled at his clothes until there was nothing else to grapple away, her fingers finally finding a home in his thick, soft curls.
A/N: The nuns would be very displeased indeed.
Please review if you're able. Thanks!
-SC
