The Detective and the Tech Guy
Authors: Steampunk . Chuckster & dettiot
Rating: T
Summary: A case of mistaken identity and murder brings Sarah Walker, Pinkerton agent, to sunny California. Protecting the heir to the Bartowski Electronics Corporation should be just business - but Chuck Bartowski fills out a suit nicely and makes a mean martini. Chuck lobbied to hire the Pinkerton Agency, but had no idea the detective they'd send would be as alluring, intelligent and fascinating as Sarah Walker. Will the detective and the tech guy solve the mystery, distracted by the riddle in their own hearts? An homage to The Thin Man movies co-written by Steampunk . Chuckster and dettiot.
Disclaimer: We don't own Chuck or The Thin Man series. And we're making no monetary profit from this story.
Author's Note: This one was written by none other than Steampunk . Chuckster. In other words, me. This is also a two parter: "The Non-Detective and the Tech Guy, Parts 1 and 2". Part 2 is coming soon! But first, enjoy part 1!
XOXOXOXO
This had always looked so dangerous in the movies. Lighting a million candles and strategically setting them around the bathtub.
But as she had stomped out of the law office in which she'd made her latest attempt at acquiring a job, she'd known something powerful was needed to calm her down. It was all getting so frustrating and, frankly, demoralizing. And Chuck's can-do attitude and constant "Keep on keeping on" advice could only help so much before it started to grate on her nerves.
As she lit the last candle in the bathroom and set it on the edge of the tub, she felt guilty for thinking that way about Chuck. He was the bright spot in her life, the one thing that made the hours and hours of job hunting, the mindless channel surfing on the couch, the dealing with his family's questions…worth it. She would go through just about anything for those quiet moments just before bed time when they were curled up on either side of the couch, their legs tangled in the middle, laptops on their laps, working away at their own projects. It was such a lovely bit of normalcy—something they didn't have time for during the six months they were in a long-distance relationship.
They'd been forced to make the most of their short time together back then.
But now he was a frequent and consistent part of her existence. He was right beside her when she woke up in the morning, and right beside her when she went to bed. He was her jogging partner every so often, and her martini mixer very often. And being with him was everything she hadn't even known she needed until he was there.
Even while so much in her life wasn't making sense, wasn't clicking, while so many of the pieces were floating around and refusing to settle into place…Chuck was the one thing that made sense. He was the one thing grounding her, keeping her sane.
Their relationship gave her energy and life, when her lack of future prospects threatened to drain her of both.
And yet, it was with absolute, all-encompassing, and almost overwhelming relief that she undressed and slid into the bubble bath all alone, sinking down until the water lapped at her chin.
She took a long whiff of the sweet gardenia-scented bubble bath she'd found at a natural skin care store downtown and smiled with a soft moan, shutting her eyes and leaning her head back on the lip of the tub.
This was all she needed. Peace and quiet, her favorite scent, warm water surrounding her…
And the soft candlelight helped, too.
She could fall asleep like this. And then Chuck would come home, and he wouldn't be able to find her anywhere, and he'd walk in to see a blonde-haired prune sitting in the tub, all shriveled up…
Realizing what a horrific image that was, she squirmed uncomfortably and settled again, letting herself decompress.
It had been about two months since she lost her job with Pinkerton. She'd also had the pure joy of finding out what it was to be in a real relationship with undoubtedly the best man in this entire universe. There was that.
And yet…being without a job, without prospects, for two whole months left her feeling so adrift. It was all she could do to keep from climbing up to Chuck's roof and just screaming.
It wasn't supposed to be this difficult.
Granted, she hadn't been allowed to think much about quitting Pinkerton since it had all happened so unexpectedly. All she'd been able to think about in that moment when she was standing in Langston Graham's office was bursting into Chuck's condo and holding him as tightly as she could until her arms fell off. All she'd been able to think about was staying with him, seeing him every day, being in the same city for longer than a week, no more Skyping or phone calls or texting because they didn't have the option of seeing each other face to face.
And while they always said hindsight was twenty/twenty, Sarah couldn't imagine making a different decision. Even now, if she could go back knowing that she would end up spending two months out of work, she still would have walked out of Pinkerton without a second thought. Because in spite of the perpetual job hunt and the fear for her professional future, the last two months had been the best two months of her life. It wasn't just about Chuck. But about the doors he'd opened, the emotions she was slowly acquainting herself with, and the friendships she'd been building.
He'd given her a reason to settle down in one place, and that meant she was beginning to form attachments. Because she could now. She could text Chuck's sister about something silly he'd done and get a wonderfully sardonic response, or an affectionately chagrined reply, or a promise to tell Sarah about such and such that happened when they were kids the next time she came down to visit.
The truth was that she felt connected to Ellie in a way she'd never felt with anyone else in her life, past or present. Maybe it was the brunette's wit, or her outright warmth. Maybe Ellie Woodcomb made everyone feel that way because she was such a kind-hearted, welcoming person.
Either way, things were just so much better in general.
That didn't mean today hadn't sucked buckets.
Sarah let out a huff and rolled her shoulders, lifting her arms out of the water and setting her hands on either side of the tub. At least she had this. An empty condo to come home to, a candlelit bath in silence, the scent of gardenias and vanilla candles.
It paid to be living with a man who worked late hours, like the workaholic he was. It had sometimes been frustrating when she was on his case, attempting to protect him from people who potentially wanted him dead. And even now, the inconsistency of his schedule was a little annoying at times. She had to call him all the time to ask about dinner. Would he be home for dinner? Should she make him something? Or should she just make herself something because he was going to eat at the office? Or was he going to eat later when he got home and she could put his share in the fridge?
At the beginning, he'd kept more of a schedule so that he could come home for dinner and they could eat together. He'd almost been like a puppy in some ways, he was so eager to rush home at five or six and have a leisurely dinner and just hang out with her.
But then work started piling up and he started getting a little more frazzled, and the workaholic within him reared its head and he was back to overworking himself and keeping strange hours at the office, and coming home late some nights, going in early some mornings…
She didn't begrudge him for it. Not in the slightest. Because it was a part of who he was. And she didn't want him to change.
Granted, he had some maturing to do. That much was evident. But it was nothing serious.
Chuck Bartowski was a bachelor. He was twenty seven years old, working at his father's company, and for all intents and purposes, he'd had his life laid out for him. Not that he hadn't worked hard to get where he was, or that he took everything for granted. He was responsible and charitable and selfless and thoughtful when it came to his fortune. And by no means did he splurge on ridiculous toys that anyone else might splurge on if they had as much money as he did.
Loud motorcycles. Or cars that drove five hundred miles per hour and were just about as low to the ground as an ant was. A three hundred foot yacht…Although, she should talk to him about that because she could actually imagine two weeks on a yacht in the Mediterranean being absolute Heaven.
And God, she'd really needed this bath. To soak for awhile and just be with her own zany imagination.
With no interruptions…
Suddenly she heard shuffling down on the main floor of the condo, through the cracked open door of the bathroom and the shut door of the bedroom she shared with Chuck. She knew immediately that he was home and she couldn't help the soft and pitiful whimper. Just a half hour. Is it so hard to let me have just that much?
"Sarah?"
She bit her lip and gently thumped the back of her head on the tub, rolling her eyes to the ceiling.
"You here, baby?"
His voice carried up to her, and then his footsteps followed, thumping against the stairs that led to the bedroom and she heard him turn the doorknob and step inside. Not five seconds later, he pushed the bathroom door open and stood at the threshold, his eyes sweeping from her head to her feet sticking out at the other end of the tub.
"Hey, you. You didn't fall asleep in there, did ya?"
"Nope." Didn't really get the chance.
"Probably good. You'd get all pruny. Which would be super cute, I'm sure." He smirked and stuck his hands in his pocket jauntily. She hadn't seen him get dressed this morning because he'd left while she'd been on a run, and he looked really good. Not that he ever didn't look good. But the slim cut of the suit fit him perfectly and the dark gray color made his skin look more olive-ish. And he was just really attractive.
But she really wanted him to back out of the bathroom and give her just a few minutes to herself.
Instead, he strolled across the tile floor and squatted next to the tub. She had to move her right arm so that he could rest his elbows on the edge of the tub and for some reason that just made her a little more peeved. "Chuck, you're gonna get your suit wet."
He glanced down at his arms and shrugged. "It'll be fine. So I was thinking maybe you might want to go out tonight. Not for anything fancy because you've already had dinner and I've already had dinner. And I'm really not feeling like getting fancy. But maybe an ice cream soda? How's that sound?"
"I don't know. I'm kind of tired, Chuck."
Sighing softly, he sobered a little and reached out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. "You okay?"
"I'm fine. I just had a long day." She smiled at him and caught his hand in her wet one, giving his palm a kiss. His features softened at that.
"Oh. I get that. Why don't we talk about it?"
Oh you darling man, no. Please not right now.
"I don't need to. I'm fine. I'm just here in my bathtub, soaking. It's totally doing the job."
"Is that it?"
"Hm?"
"The job. I mean, was it a long day of job hunting?"
She let her eyes slip shut and took a deep breath. Apparently she wasn't going to get the bath. And she didn't want to order him out of his own bathroom. It wasn't polite. If she did ask him, she knew he would leave her for as long as she needed him to, but she didn't have the heart. He was trying to help and he really was being so sweet.
When she opened her eyes again, he had his chin leaning on his folded arms and he looked so young and adorable and it was all she could do not to lean in and kiss him. But she wouldn't let him compromise the supremely comfortable position she was in, so she stayed put.
"Yeah, I had two meetings today and that was about all I could take." He didn't say anything, raising his eyebrows and waiting for her to continue. She didn't want to talk about it. She just wanted to let it seep out of her into the bath water, and then when she finished, she would dry off and cuddle up on the couch with a martini or two. Or three.
Or four.
But instead, she rolled her head to the side to meet Chuck's warm eyes, glinting in the candlelight. With one more sigh, she continued. "I went to a couple of law firms in town, just to scope 'em out, you know?"
He furrowed his brow and tilted his head. And there was the puppy again. He was such a puppy. "Are you going into law do you think? I mean, you were already in law before but it was different because you were enforcing the law. Whereas this is…practicing the law?"
She frowned a little. "I didn't study law. You kiddin' me? I would never pass the California Bar Exam in a million years."
Chuck just smiled, which was a little curious.
"What?" she asked in a mumble.
"You really think you wouldn't pass it? Because I think you would. For my money, there's no one smarter or more clever in the entire world."
She couldn't help it. In spite of everything, a slow grin stretched over her face. "And you've got a lot of money."
Pursing his lips and doing his eyebrow dance, he leaned a little closer. "Mmm I've got plenty. So you know I mean business."
Sarah giggled and lifted her hand from the water to poke him in the nose with a wet finger. "I like you."
He grinned, swiping his sleeve over his nose to dry it. Then he sobered a little. "So? Why'd you go to the law firms?"
"Oh. Right. Well, have you ever seen courtroom dramas? Lawyer shows?"
"O'course. Seen millions of 'em."
"A person like me can be very valuable to a lawyer. I mean, a person with my skill sets."
"You have plenty of skill sets that are very valuable to a boyfriend as well, Sarah Walker, I gotta say." The cheeky grin he wore was the sort that made her want to shove him away, but that required effort, so she just lowered her chin and looked through her eyelashes at him. He sobered quickly and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at him.
"Not those, Chuck."
"Certainly hope not."
She laughed at the affronted look on his face, then slapped his cheek with a wet hand, causing him to laugh as well and rock back from the tub, wiping his face with the towel hanging nearby.
"No, just…imagine you're a lawyer. Which is hard for you, baby, I know. I know how you feel about lawyers."
"Not all of them, just—Look, when you are a man in my position, with a company as big as Bartowski Electronics, lawyers can be a really good thing. Or they can be…absolutely terrifying. Vultures. They're vultures." He eased himself back into his position against the tub.
Sarah watched him for a moment and slid a little further into the warm water. It was losing its heat fast, though, she realized with an inward pout.
"So anyways, you're a lawyer. And your client has been accused of sexual harassment by one of his clients, or say one of his employers or something, and he insists it isn't true. Sometimes lawyers don't want to waste their time going into the plaintiff's background, digging through all of the crap to find something that discredits their character. You know, finding out if the man or woman accusing the client has done that sort of thing before. If it's just a ploy to win lawsuits. Or something like that. They don't want to do that stuff, or any dirty work really, so they hire someone like me to do it for them."
He nodded, and she could see in his face that he was at least a little impressed. To say it was gratifying was an understatement. Though she was confident in her own intelligence, to see that particular glint in the eyes of the man she loved was heartwarming. "So you're like a private investigator almost, right? That makes a lot of sense. I would never have thought of that. Fantastic work, gumshoe," he finished in a James Cagney lilt.
Sarah giggled. "Well, this is my racket, after all."
"Your racket. God, that sounded sexy. Mind if I climb in there with you?"
She knew he was teasing, especially with the wink he sent her, but she was standing firm on this. Any other time, she'd invite him in. But she was still doing her best to preserve at least a semblance of the peace she'd sought setting up this peaceful atmosphere in the first place. "No."
He chuckled. "Just as well. I'd probably kill us both by knocking these candles over. Which, by the way, where'd they come from?"
"The store."
He sent her a flat look and she grinned with her tongue between her teeth.
"So what happened anyways?"
"What?" she asked.
"At the law firms?"
"It's just not gonna work out."
"Why? What happened?"
"Chuck, I don't need to talk about it. This is what I do. It's how I deal with stuff. Annoying things happen, I regroup, I move on. I don't need to let it out or anything. That's what this bath and the candles and everything are all for. To decompress. I decompress alone. I don't…chat." She knew a hint of vexation had crept into her tone and she could see he recognized it when he tilted a single eyebrow and rocked back on his heels.
"Okay. Well…I'm gonna let you do the bath thing. Take your time. I'm gonna kick up my feet downstairs." He thumped his hands against the edge of the tub once, gave her his closed-mouth, wonderfully understanding smile, and stood to his full height. "Need anything before I get out of your hair?"
"No. Thank you."
He smiled again and ducked out of the bathroom, leaving Sarah to shut her eyes tightly and take a deep breath. She hated herself for losing control like that. But that was the effect he had on her. It was the effect he'd always had on her, from the very beginning.
She lost control around him. Her barriers fell, the mask she wore crumbled, and he made her feel safe and vulnerable all at the same time. He'd seen sides of her she'd never shown to anyone else. Even before they began dating, when she was still working on his case. When he was off-limits and yet so incredibly irresistible.
Try as she might, she had a hard time keeping him from sensing her emotional state, from seeing the cracks in her mask. She didn't want him to think she was annoyed at him…but she was. If only a little bit.
And it wasn't fair because it wasn't his fault.
It was just that even two months in—two months after dragging her things into his condo and sharing his home, his food, his family and friends, his bed—she was still having a difficult time adjusting to living with another person. It had been a long time since she'd had a roommate. Not since college had she had to share her space with someone, and there'd been nothing romantic about it. It had been financially necessary.
But Chuck wasn't just a roommate. He was her boyfriend, her lover, her partner. He was the most important thing in her life. They weren't just sharing a condo. They were sharing a bed. They were sharing each other.
This was something she'd never experienced before. She'd been alone for such a huge chunk of her life. She'd never yearned for more than that until she met Chuck and saw him with other people, until she got to know him, until she fell in love with him.
But the truth was that she still found it strange, coexisting with another person.
And the privacy she'd gotten used to after so many years, the personal time she always seemed to have in abundance, hadn't been compromised while she and Chuck were in a long-distance relationship. Because weeks and weeks would go by in which she was back to being alone save the frequent phone and Skype calls from him.
Things were different now. And living with Chuck meant forsaking a good deal of personal time. And it meant forsaking some of her privacy. It hadn't mattered much the first few weeks because she and Chuck were essentially drowning in each other the whole time. She was lost in lovesickness—so lost that none of that personal time and privacy stuff had even crossed her mind.
But it did now.
In moments like this. Wanting, no needing, to be completely alone with her thoughts, needing to soak in the bathtub for at least fifteen minutes to reflect, decompress, meditate. Chuck didn't meditate. And his form of decompression was a lot louder than hers. With gunshots and the sound of grenades exploding and his excited voice talking into his headset as he played video games over the internet with Morgan, his controller gripped in his hand and his eyes glued to the television for hours sometimes.
The only true way she could really solve this minor problem was if she found her own place. She wasn't tired of Chuck. She wasn't upset with him. Nor was she frustrated or annoyed. It was just better for her, for him, for their relationship if she proved to herself that she was capable of living out of his protective bubble for a little while.
Away from his financial security, buying her own food, paying her own rent and bills. She needed a space that was all hers. Only hers. A space Chuck could come into, a space he could feel at home in, a space where he could hang his coat or leave a pair of pajamas in her extra drawer…a toothbrush next to hers in the holder by her bathroom sink. But it would be her place. Her home.
It wasn't that she didn't love being with him. She just knew that in the long run, living in separate places from one another for awhile before cohabitating again at some point in the future would be so much better for their relationship.
As it was now, Sarah realized her bath water was lukewarm and she didn't want a lukewarm bath. She also felt bad about Chuck. He hadn't looked butt-hurt at all. Or put-out in any way.
But she could see the curiosity in his face, and more importantly, he'd understood. He didn't know what was bothering her. But he knew something was bothering her. And maybe it spoke to his faith in her that he was giving her a bit of space.
Or maybe he's just a really good boyfriend.
Good boyfriend or not, she needed another place to live. She loved him more than words could describe, but she'd just proven she wasn't impervious to snapping at him when he invaded her "me-time". She didn't want to snap at him. Because he didn't deserve it.
And now her water was less than comfortable. She could always let some out and refill it again, but more than anything she just wanted to dry off, put comfy pants on and fold herself up on the couch, preferably with Chuck somewhere nearby.
Part of her was worried he wouldn't want to make her a martini after her behavior. But he hadn't looked upset when he left…
Nevertheless, it took her fifteen minutes to climb out, dry herself off, throw on her lounging clothes, blow out the candles, and walk through the bedroom to the stairs.
And as she cast her eyes over the living room, standing at the top of the stairs, she saw him emerge from the kitchen and stop, looking up at her. "Have a nice bath?"
Sarah stifled the sarcastic replies that popped up in her head and smiled warmly. "Yeah. I did."
"Good."
She trotted down the stairs, suddenly feeling a bit more peppy as she noticed he'd dressed down significantly. She spotted his suit jacket draped over the back of the couch. "You know, it'll get wrinkled if you lay it like this."
Picking it up, she moved to the nearby chair to drape it over the back, straightening the shoulders.
"Eh, I don't care about it. I can always get it dry cleaned."
"You should care. As your girlfriend, I need you to know that it's imperative you look sharp in a wrinkle-free suit every day—" She stopped talking as she turned to give him a teasing smirk because she saw for the first time that he'd lined up six martinis on the bar while she was finishing her bath. "Wow. Six?"
"I figured we're probably going to have three each by the end of tonight, considering the day you've had and…Well, I just wanted three." He looked a little sheepish and she snorted at him. "And I like the idea of having them all prepped at once so that I don't have to keep jumping up and making another one and another one and…et cetera et cetera."
"You're such a brilliant boy, Charles Bartowski." She closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his torso, clinging to him and taking a deep breath, smelling a hint of his aftershave still from the morning, enjoying the way his arms felt around her, his large hands gently kneading her back.
"I'm a man," he squeaked teasingly and she chuckled into his shoulder.
She should probably apologize for kicking him out of his own bathroom, but then again, she wondered if he thought of it the same way she did. She wondered if he thought of this astheir condo. Their living room. Their bed. Their bathroom. Because even in the deepest recesses of her mind, these things were all his. And that was the disconnect. She felt at home here, but…she was still searching for something she could have all on her own.
Shaking her head, Sarah pulled back and grabbed a martini. "Down the hatch, huh?"
He grabbed one as well. "Martini numero uno."
Sarah clung to the feeling of warmth in her throat and chest and finally her stomach, pushing the rest of her thoughts out of her mind. If she had to compromise her independence for just a little while, so be it. Because with that came her handsome nerd who also happened to be a damn good bartender.
—
His lungs burned and his legs ached, but he kept running, feeling the packed sand under his shoes, and the morning sea breeze whipping at his face and hair.
"Cramp! Cramp!"
Chuck turned as his shorter running partner pulled to a stop, clutching at his side and wheezing as he hunched over and crumpled to his knees.
"Morgan, come on." He jogged in place, smirking a little. "You have to push yourself, buddy."
"There's pushing myself…and then there's knowing my limits. And Chuck? This is my limit." He groaned and folded into himself before flopping onto his back spread eagle, seeming not to care at all when the wave trickled over his foot and ankle before sweeping back out again.
With a chuckle, the taller man trotted back to his friend's side and stopped, his hands on his hips. "Fine. We can walk the rest of the way. That suit you?"
"Oh thank God."
Chuck reached down and grabbed Morgan's hand, lifting him back to his feet and shaking his head. "But you need to run with me more often or you'll never get in shape."
"I don't need to be in shape, Chuck! I'm a chef! Is Paula Deen in shape? No! Is the Barefoot Contessa in shape? No!"
"They're also middle-aged women, Morgan, sooo…"
Morgan blinked. "Granted. But still…why do I gotta run with you? I mean, isn't that why you have your leggy valkyrie girlfriend?"
"Um, no, actually. I'm not dating Sarah because I need a running partner. Good try, though." He chuckled and shook his head, slowly walking back the way they came.
"Don't be cheeky. You know what I mean."
"Yeah, I do. And we do jog together here and there, if our schedules line up. I didn't want to wake her up this morning so I invited you instead."
"Ah. I didn't realize she was a sleeper inner. She seems more like the, um, up and at 'em type. The go getter who wakes up at the crack of dawn and does a marathon and then eats egg whites and a protein shake."
"Morgan, are you mistaking my girlfriend for Captain Awesome?"
"Oh shit, yeah, I was. Sorry."
They both laughed.
"They're both super-humanly hot, though."
"You don't have to tell me. I live with that girl. Woman."
He really didn't mean to look smug. Honest.
"Oh, shut up. You jerk. You get to spend the rest of your life living with a woman who makes Vicki Vale look like Medusa."
Chuck snorted a little. "That's not entirely true. She's going to move out as soon as she finds a place."
And when Morgan did a double take, the taller nerd realized that had come out way too easily. And he'd definitely had a tone when he said it. He hoped Morgan didn't misunderstand. He wasn't bitter about it. It was just sort of a bummer. Which was a lame way to describe his feelings about Sarah wanting to live on her own.
He had already decided it was definitely for the best. Until they were really ready to make that commitment, take that step. Until Sarah had established herself on her own, until she was standing on her own two feet.
"Wait, wait, wait…She's moving out? Jesus, Chuck. You guys okay? Are you fighting? Does she hate your place? Did you use all her girlie shampoo or something? I mean, I never lived with you, man, but I'm pretty sure you don't smell that bad."
"Hey!" Chuck laughed and playfully shoved Morgan.
"No seriously, man. You okay? What's up?"
His bearded friend put a supportive hand on his shoulder and stopped him, bending his knees to plop into the sand and patting the ground beside him. "Talk to Morgan, Chuck. Come on."
"Okay, don't do that. Don't do the weird thing."
"What weird thing?"
"Just—Never mind." Chuck plopped down next to Morgan and stretched his long legs out in front of him. "There's nothing wrong between me and Sarah. Everything is great. But she wants to move out."
"Why?"
"It's not like she doesn't have a great reason. It's a great reason. This whole not having a job thing is getting to her, I think. That's why I let her sleep this morning. She was up until four last night, doing nothing but looking at job listings and researching." He'd heard her finally trudge up the stairs, prep for bed, and fall onto the mattress beside him and he'd eyed his bedside table without alerting her to the fact that she'd woken him up.
"Man, that's not fair. She's a smart lady. And Pinkerton! I mean, come on! Who hasn't heard of them? Like, who wouldn't want an ex-Pinkerton agent working for them?"
"Right? I don't get it! Sarah hasn't been giving me many details about it. I think because she doesn't want to add things to my plate, but…I guess I wish she would trust me with that stuff." He paused, rubbing his hand down his sport shorts. "I mean, I don't want to bring it up, but maybe she just needs to look into different things, you know? Maybe the whole detective thing is something she works back up to, and in the interim she does something else."
"Why don't you want to bring it up?" Morgan asked.
He shrugged and distractedly pushed the sand between his knees into a pile with both of his hands. "Nobody really wants to hear that, you know? 'Maybe put off the work you know you were born to do for a while and do something else less rewarding.' I mean, come on. That sucks. I guess I don't want to be the person to say that. I don't want to be the person who doesn't have faith that she can do this. I'm just worried…I'm worried she'll be upset with me. That she'll misunderstand. She knows what she wants and I think I've just got to support her no matter what. She needs to know I believe in her."
Morgan nodded. "I get you. So she wants to move out…"
"Yeah. Yeah, she needs to feel independent. And I'm not sure she can if she's living in my condo, eating food I've bought, surrounded by my stuff. I mean, how bored would you be if every day you had to sit around in someone else's pad, eating their food, watching their television, feeling like you're a drain on them."
"Um. Dude. That sounds like Heaven."
Chuck rolled his eyes. "Okay, well, thankfully you and Sarah are two completely different people. I just wish I could make her understand that she isn't a drain, you know? All modesty aside, I've got so much money. I mean, if I quit now, I'd be set for life."
"Dude, your kids and grandkids would be set for life."
"Exactly. I don't begrudge her any of this. She quit her job for me. Her dream job. I mean, she took this massive leap of faith just to be with me. And it meant so much to me. Still does. The least I can do is take care of her for the rest of her life." He paused, letting what he'd just said sink in a little. The rest of her life. That was a little intense. But no less true.
"But she doesn't want that."
"No, of course she doesn't." A small smile grew on his face. "But that's one of the things that makes her so admirable. And impressive."
"Yeah. Chuck. Dude. Your woman is a bad ass. Like, what other guy can say that his girlfriend saved his life a handful of times? I'll answer for you. No other guy, dude."
"She's such a bad ass. And I wish she didn't want to move. But I get it. And it'd be a really smart thing for her to do. Like, I know that her getting her own place, having her own stuff, getting back the independence she lost when she came back here…I know that'll be really great for her. And our relationship, too."
"Yeah, man. I love you, but I don't think I could live with you."
"What? Why not?"
Morgan smiled a little and shrugged. "Being around you all the time…you know, fighting over who gets to use the TV, which game to play…I'd probably get pissed at you for making my knives dull. You'd use 'em on the wrong things."
Chuck scoffed, a little offended. "I know which knives to use, a'thank you."
"Dude. I'm talking professional knives, dude."
"Oh, ooh okay. Professional knives. Oooo."
"See? That, right there? I can't live with that, dude."
Chuck laughed and shook his head. "Okay, fine. Point taken. We're better friends because we don't live together."
"Right." Morgan shrugged. "I mean, and picture this hotness. She could show up at your door and surprise you some night wearing…" He gulped then, seeming to notice the dark look Chuck was giving him. "…a lot of layers. Many things. And…a hat! And a hat."
He made a popping noise with his lips and cleared his throat. "You know what I mean, though. It'll be…better."
"I'll miss her."
"Well, sometime in the future, after she's figured out her job and stuff and she's all settled and in the right place, maybe you can live together again. Find someplace you can both move into that's new, ya know? And then it will feel like it belongs to both of you equally."
Chuck gave his best friend an appraising look, his smile a little crooked. "You're brilliant, buddy. I know you don't get that often, but seriously, you are."
"Hey! I get that all the time."
And as they finally climbed up from the ground, Chuck marveled at how talking to Morgan always seemed to help. It was like his thoughts, his fears and worries, would get jumbled up in his mind and just saying it out loud, having his Morgan sounding board, ironed them out and made it all seem so manageable.
In spite of Morgan's protests, they jogged part of the way back home. Chuck only half-listened to Morgan's talk of cooking competition shows and whether or not Gordon Ramsay actually deserved as many shows as he had. The other half of his brain was focused on how he might be able to make Sarah see that he supported her. That he understood and meant to do everything he could to make her happy.
The thought process continued as he snuck past her still form to the bathroom to shower and get ready for work.
She was awake by the time he got out of the shower, considering she was nowhere to be seen in the bedroom. And when he walked downstairs half-dressed, he saw that she was preparing a breakfast fit for a king. (And his queen.)
They chatted about nothing in particular, and by the time he finished dressing and grabbed his briefcase, she was already on her laptop, looking for more work.
It steeled his resolve and the moment he got to his office, he powered up his computer and set aside any and all work for Bartowski Electronics. He had something more important to focus on this morning.
—
Chuck fought the urge to sigh loudly as the door to his office swept open without warning. Only one person came into his office before knocking or alerting his assistant. Sarah knocked. Ellie knocked. Morgan knocked. His assistant knocked. Even his father, the CEO of this company, knocked.
"Hi, Mom."
He heard her shut the door behind her.
"Your father sent me here to get you for lunch. We're going to your favorite for surf and turf."
He raised his eyes from his computer screen and swiveled his chair to face her. She had a large smile on her face and it was sincere, her eyes sparkling. "Wow. You're having a good day, I see."
"Not particularly. But it isn't a bad one. Why? Are you having a bad day?"
The interest in her face irked him a little. His mother had been tiresome more often than not in the last two months, and it was mostly concerning Sarah Walker. It would be way too cliché if that was all she had to occupy her mind, so of course she also badgered Ellie being close to her due date. He'd gotten enough infuriated phone calls from his sister about it.
Mary Bartowski was subtle, though. And that was what annoyed him the most, if he was being completely honest. No corny "Trouble in paradise?" She would never outright ask about Sarah even unless her husband brought it up first. But Chuck knew when his mother was digging for dirt on his girlfriend. And he knew what she meant by "Are you having a bad day?"
Are you and Sarah fighting?
What's Sarah doing wrong?
Does Sarah have a job yet? Is she still living off of you?
"Actually, my day is going swimmingly, thank you for asking. I'm having a fantastic day."
"Well, good." Her smile widened. "Let's go to lunch."
"I had a massive breakfast compliments of Sarah, so I'm thinking I'll just get a salad." He typed a few more words in the email he was writing, checked the link and attachments one more time, and closed the websites he'd pulled up throughout the morning.
His mother had paused, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder. "A salad? But you always get steak and lobster."
"Yeah. I'm not, like, super starved for lunch today. Like I said, big breakfast."
"Well, that's nice that she cooks for you…" Because she doesn't do much else.
She didn't have to say it. He could hear it in the way she let the sentence drop off…
"Mhm. Actually, I'm just gonna read through this email real quick before I send it. I'll meet you and Dad in the lobby in five minutes. Is that okay?" He looked up from the email and met his mother's gaze.
Her smile twitched. "Of course, dear. We'll be downstairs. Hurry, though. We want to get a table by the window. And it fills up by one o'clock."
"Gotcha."
His mom left him to read over the email he was sending to Sarah. He stared at the words for a moment, a little tentative about pressing send. But the truth was, this really was for the best. She wouldn't be as happy as she deserved to be if she didn't feel like she could make it on her own.
And, frankly, he was feeling a little pestered here and there. Things that had been cute at the beginning were a little less cute now. While Sarah had plenty of attributes that made him wonder if he was dating an actual goddess (or as Morgan would say, a leggy valkyrie), the truth was that she was incredibly human.
That wasn't to say the last few weeks hadn't been anything less than fantastic. Being with Sarah was better than he could have ever imagined. Watching her walk out of his bathroom wrapped in a towel, comfortable with pulling one of his shirts out and putting it on. Waking up to find her doing stretches on the floor beside their bed. Going for jogs together every so often. Cooking breakfast for her. Having her surprise him with his favorite sandwich at lunch time when he was suffering from a draining day at the office.
But then there were little things that reminded him that living with another person took some getting used to. He'd never had an actual roommate. Not since he and Ellie were kids and had bunk beds, before his dad sold his first bestselling computer software and they moved to a place that had more rooms than the family of four knew what to do with. Even in college, he'd lived in his own dorm room, and then in his own apartment. Because by then, his parents could afford it.
After that, he'd lived alone. He'd never lived with any of his very few girlfriends. He'd always had his own space, which meant he'd always had his own way. His own lifestyle. He decided where things went, whether or not he left things lying around. He made his own schedule. He ate when he wanted, slept when he wanted, exercised when he wanted.
He was a young, successful, single guy. He had independence, freedom. And he'd done things the same way for years.
But living with Sarah had meant change. And while it was mostly good change—wonderful change really—there were some things that he was starting to find…frustrating.
Small, relatively unimportant things. Like, for instance, the whole groceries thing.
A few weeks after she moved in, Sarah had made fun of him about the contents of his fridge…or lack thereof, as she stated. But he lived alone for most of his life. He didn't have anyone else to buy food for but himself. And when she'd written up a grocery list, it had felt strange. When she'd gone out to buy those groceries, dragging him along, it'd felt even more strange. She'd given him the amused and slightly sarcastic, "This is what grocery stores are for, you nerd" response when he'd brought it up.
It wasn't that he'd never been grocery shopping before. But for a guy who spent so much time at the office, eating at home had been kind of infrequent. And that meant buying less food. Which meant he'd find himself strolling through the local Trader Joe's, grabbing whatever he thought looked good, tossing it in his basket, and calling it a day. Actually writing a list of the food items he needed felt…odd. Maybe that made him odd.
Sarah had teased him mercilessly about being a stereotypical single bachelor. It was sweet, because they both knew he wasn't a single bachelor anymore.
The way she'd approached him with a magnet notepad a few days later, handing him a pen, telling him to write down what he wanted from the store…even that had been sweet. And he'd teased her by writing down her name and claiming she was all he could think of off the top of his head. She'd chastised him with a smirk and made him write down things "of the food variety".
Over the next few weeks, he'd started writing down things that popped into his head, random things that sounded delicious to him at the time. Maybe he was doing it wrong, because Sarah would walk past the list, furrow her brow at it, and giggle. Sometimes she would roll her eyes or shake her head.
But then she'd started crossing things off the list, things they hadn't bought. Like fruit roll-ups. He'd wanted fruit roll-ups and she'd crossed it off, saying it was just flavored plastic. It had annoyed him. And maybe he was immature for it, because he really didn't want them all that bad, but it was the principle of it.
And then there was the time he'd been dragged over the coals by one of his dad's clients for no real reason except that he had shown up to the meeting instead of "the CEO". That coupled with waking up on the wrong side of the bed that morning had made him leave work early totally pissed off.
When he got home, the need to shoot things was so powerful within him that he'd dropped his briefcase by the door, kicked off his shoes, whipped his suit jacket off, and went straight to the television.
But his controllers weren't on top of the console. Nor were they behind the TV. Or anywhere near it. He'd left them on top of his Playstation. And when Sarah came back from her run, he'd asked her where they were. With an annoying amount of nonchalance, she informed him that they'd been all tangled and piled on top of his "game thingy", so she unplugged them and put them in the drawer. When he'd given her a look, she'd shrugged. "It's not that big of a deal, is it? I mean, you just take them out of the drawer."
It had made him angry. And yes, maybe it was childish. But he was used to having things exactly where he put them. She would move his shoes. Or pick up his suit and put it back in the closet when he had just laid it out to wear for the next day.
She meant well, which was why it didn't bother him that much. But it was difficult for him to get used to after almost ten years of living alone.
Then there was the time she rearranged the cupboards in the kitchen, putting the glass on the bottom and the plastic on top, claiming it was safer to put heavier things on the lower shelves. Because he knew she was probably going a little crazy with boredom, and maybe even feeling a little useless (wrongly so), he'd brushed it off and thanked her. But the amount of times he had to go through each cupboard to find things because of her rearrangements…It just niggled with him a little.
It wasn't that Chuck didn't want her living with him. He did. He loved having her here. He loved how routine her presence had become, and how it still thrilled him when he walked in to find her lounging on the couch with her feet up on the coffee table, or walking in to find her trying a new recipe from one of the cook books she bought him.
He would deal with any and all of her weird quirks, the rearranging of his kitchen, the misplacing of his clothes and game controllers, the teasing about how much of a typical bachelor he could be sometimes…He would even learn to love them given enough time.
But she wanted her own place. And he understood why.
Chuck pressed send and smiled to himself—really smiled.
This was a morning well spent.
"Sent Successfully" flashed on his screen and he exited out of his email, and pushed back from his desk, feeling a little lighter in spite of everything. And for some reason, surf and turf suddenly sounded a lot better than a salad as he sent Sarah a text and bid his assistant farewell.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXO
Author's Note: Stay tuned for the next part! - SC