The Detective and the Tech Guy
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.
Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck or The Thin Man series. And I'm making no monetary profit from this story.
Author's Note: Say a prayer if you're into that sort of thing. (insert innocent-angel emoji here)
XOXOXOXOXOXO
She dropped a hand onto her purse and sighed in relief now that she was alone, locked away in her office. Standing up from her desk, she went into her purse again and pulled her wallet out, looking at the money she was given by the bank teller earlier that afternoon.
The rest of the money was in her bank account. And she'd used some of that to pay off a few bills the moment it showed up in her account online.
It was more than just a load off of her mind. All she had to do was give the cash to Jorge and she could breathe easy. At least until next month. But by then, she'd be okay. Right? …She hoped.
But it had been stressful walking into that bank, standing in line to wait for an available teller, knowing there was a fifty-fifty chance the check she was holding in her hand would end up bouncing.
Just like the first one had a few years ago.
That had been when she'd decided to just let the money he owed go. And to let him go, too.
That bounced check had compromised her reputation, both with her bank and with Graham, who'd been notified of the mishap—how, she still didn't know. She'd had to explain everything to him, about her father being arrested a few years before…again. And how she'd had to pay for his bail. He'd promised to give it back, he'd used that charming "but I'm your father, darlin'" crap he always used, and then the first check he sent her bounced.
Graham had been apologetic, even a bit comforting in that stone-faced way of his. He'd given her a tough case so she could bury herself in work, like he'd known that was the only thing that would help ease the embarrassment and ever-present pain her father's misdeeds brought her.
Thankfully, her father came through this time. The check had a lot more of what he owed her—not all of it, but a good amount.
But God, it had infuriated her that she'd been forced to contact him again, after years of doing her best to pretend he'd never existed. Having to stoop low enough to ask for the money. Because she needed it. She hated this. She hated needing anything from anybody, but it especially stung when she needed something from him.
That was all she needed from him, too.
She was just lucky the email she sent out actually reached him, that he wasn't totally off grid.
Taking another deep breath, Sarah grabbed her wallet, shoved it back into her purse, and left her office, going to the staircase that led up to the floor where Jorge lived with his elderly mother and a parakeet.
The sun was already setting outside, and the building was pretty empty, and as she glanced at her watch, she realized it was probably nearing the time when the Arnals had their dinner. She didn't think Jorge would mind her interrupting dinner if it meant she was finally paying her rent.
She just hoped he'd be understanding. She knew there would be a late fee tacked on.
So she'd had the teller give her a bit extra, just in case it was more than she'd bargained for.
And when she got to the door, she could hear the parakeet inside, chirping and squawking. She knocked and held her breath. She was going to kiss this man's ass as best she could, and be so apologetic it was verging on pathetic and embarrassing.
When he answered the door, though, there was no deep frown or annoyance. Instead, he seemed pleasantly surprised. "Ah. Miss Walker."
"Mr. Arnal, hello."
He held up a finger. "Jorge."
"Jorge, right. I, uh—I was hoping you would accept my apology for being so late with my rent. I promise this isn't something you're going to have to worry about all the time. I'm not that type of tenant. And I'm so sorry if this started things off on the wrong foot. Really." She winced, then smiled in as friendly of a manner as she knew how.
He just smiled back. "Ahh, forgiveness." Jorge waved his hand dismissively. "Not even necessary for you to ask. Have you had dinner? We have plenty of mamacita's posole left from when some of our family visited yesterday."
"Oh, thank you so much. That's really nice of you. But I've eaten already. Thank you, though. Really," she lied. Because she hadn't eaten. And she was even starting to get a bit hungry, but more than anything, she was completely confused.
"Come in anyway. What brings you here, Miss Walker?" he asked, opening the door wider. She felt she had no choice but to step inside, and when she did, he shut the door behind her. His mother, a small woman in her mid-seventies, hobbled out of the kitchen and waved silently with a pretty grin on her face.
"Good evening, Mrs. Arnal," Sarah said, smiling as the woman moved past them and slid into the hallway.
She turned to an expectant Jorge then. "Right, erm…I didn't just come to apologize for being so late with my rent. Obviously. I have the money here. And I wanted to give it to you now." She dug through her purse, but then she noticed he was strangely quiet, so she peeked back up at him. There was utter confusion in his face.
"I'm sorry, Miss Walker, but…Er, what do you mean, you have the money?"
"My rent. I have the rent that's overdue, and whatever the late fee is. I have it right here."
"Oh, Miss Walker, I can't take that," he said, shaking his head and holding a hand up.
"Why not? It's not a check or anything that might bounce. It's cash. Cold, hard cash. If you only accept checks, though, I can write you a check. I just figured you'd appreciate this more…"
"No, no, no. I can't take your check or your cash. I got the money for the rent already, the late fee, all of it. I can't let you pay me twice," he chuckled.
She frowned. "Twice? I haven't paid you yet. This is the first time I've come here with the rent for last month."
Jorge shifted his weight, his brow furrowed, and he smoothed a hand over messy, graying hair. "Your rent is already taken care of." Then he made a face as though something occurred to him then. "You know what I bet it is…He didn't tell you, maybe. The, em…em…the nice young guy…the tall one…he's always coming around to see you at your office..in the nice suits, you know?" He mimicked grabbing at an invisible tie around his neck. "Ah, what's his name? He told me his name. I'm so bad with names, you know?"
"Is it Chuck?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice from shaking. She could already feel the fury starting to twist at her insides. She knew. She knew what had happened. But she needed her landlord to confirm it.
"Yes!" He snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "Chuck! What a great guy. Is he your..?" He shook his head and chuckled. "None of my business. Doesn't matter. But he gave me the money for the overdue rent, the late fee, and up through the next two months. You're practically covered until the holidays," he said, beaming. "Nice, no? What a good man, eh? Mamacita liked him so much, she tried to give him half the leche pan she made. You know, the bread. Would you like some? I can never eat everything she makes. It's a rough life, no?" He chuckled again.
Sarah could barely see him through the white hot fury, but she utilized every tool in her detective toolbox to put on a good face. "Really, rough." Her laugh was forced, she knew, but he didn't seem to notice or care. "Well, thank you, Jorge. I just…didn't get the memo. Sorry if I disturbed your dinner."
"Oh no, not at all. Glad to see you always, Miss Walker. Any time you want to pay twice, you're welcome to!" He laughed at his own joke as he guided her back to the door.
Her jaw was clenched, her chest was aching, she felt the heat rising from her collar, and she was trying really hard to keep the tears from welling in her eyes.
"You have a lovely weekend, Jorge."
"You as well, Miss Walker! You as well!"
And she waited to get back down into the privacy of her office before she let it all out. She slammed the door to the office hard, listening to the blinds quivering. She couldn't even see straight through the tears of anger and hurt.
She was hurt. But she was also furious.
She let out a harsh breath this time and then she walked around behind her desk, not really knowing what to do with the adrenaline rocketing through her. So she shoved at her chair and tipped it onto its side with a crash. Feeling incredibly stupid, she grabbed it and picked it back up again, and the whole process just made her that much angrier.
Why the hell did he do it?
Why?
He'd promised he wouldn't. She'd made him promise. He'd looked her right in her face and he'd promised. TWICE.
"What the fuck?" she breathed, plopping into her chair and leaning her elbows on her desk. She buried her face in her hands, shivering. She'd been blindsided by this. She couldn't believe he'd done it.
The implications of what Chuck had done were almost debilitating for her in this moment.
And she felt like she was at a new low. The lowest of the low. She felt like a loser, like a prop, like an idiot, like a sap…Like a leech.
She couldn't do this. That's what this meant. That's what all of this meant. Or at least…he thought she couldn't do this. And that left her feeling worse than she thought she'd ever felt.
But she wasn't going to just sit here.
No…
She was going to him now. She was going to him and she was telling him he made a mistake. She was going to be calm and collected. She was going to tell him what he did wrong, and how it made her feel. She wouldn't lose her cool or blow her top. She would do it all in an even tone. Until he understood.
Because he hurt her, though she knew he wouldn't readily understand that. She'd make him understand.
There was no way in hell she was going to let him think what he'd done was okay.
XOXOXOXOXO
It didn't matter how long Chuck spent running on the beach after the worst lunch meeting he'd ever experienced. It didn't matter how hard he'd run, either. It was still the worst lunch meeting he'd ever experienced.
The worst.
He'd wanted to set the room on fire with everyone inside.
Instead, he'd taken the longest run ever along the beach, hoping to recapture some calm and bliss in nature or…something. But that hadn't worked. It didn't clear his mind, it just made everything sucky that much clearer to him, and he dwelled until he was running so hard his bones were hurting.
Tanner Van Sant was impossible. And the tone he'd taken in front of the rest of the potential investors to the company's newest enterprise, how he'd managed to not only make Chuck look small to everyone else, but also make Chuck feel small himself… Chuck was ready to punch the asshole in his ugly, tiny-featured face. Van Sant was maybe only ten years older than Chuck, but he treated him like a child, like a flunky who was the product of nepotism and didn't live up to the job his daddy gave him.
It stuck in Chuck's ribs. It poisoned his brain.
And in a room of eight potential investors, Van Sant had wheedled the others onto his side so that only two of them decided to make Chuck offers. After all of the preparation and practicing, pretending his assistant Adisa was one of the potential investors as he sold him on the project, only two of them bought in, thanks to that bastard's big stupid mouth and superiority complex.
The smarmy son of a bitch tried to make him sound entitled, when he was meanwhile sitting on millions that he'd been born into. The Van Sants had been millionaires for generations. Like Rockefellers without the recognizable name that was on buildings everywhere. A dynasty underground, so to speak. So the guy could basically shut the hell up trying to subtly accuse Chuck's father of nepotism.
None of that mattered now, though. Chuck had never been much of a salesman, and the fact that the Bartowski Electronics Corporation was asking for a lot of money just compounded on the difficulty.
He'd been hoping for at least half.
His father's words of reassurance hadn't helped. Well, you got two! We could've ended up with no investors. You did a great job, son! But Chuck had heard a thread of disappointment underneath it. Disappointment his father was kind enough to try to hide. The disappointment wasn't in him, Chuck knew, but it didn't matter. They'd needed the capital.
And it would be that much longer before they got it now.
After his run, he'd showered at work, changed back into a suit, and had worked his brain into oblivion, trying to get past his colossal failure and his hatred for the man who seemed to almost have a personal vendetta against him.
"Van Shit," Chuck murmured as he stepped up to the door of his condo. "Who the fuck's named Tanner anyway? Might as well have the name Bro McDouchebag."
He was tired, beat down, and ready for a martini or two…or eight. Then maybe a long bath and straight into bed. He couldn't face anyone else today. He couldn't face his dad, Ellie, Devon…He wasn't even sure he could face Sarah he was in such a mood, with this bitter feeling in his chest making him want to punch things.
But as he pushed open the door to his condo, he saw the lights were on inside. He scanned the room and found his girlfriend standing at the bar, her back to him. In spite of the fact that he'd just thought he might not want to face her tonight, he changed his mind a little bit at seeing she was here.
"Heeey," he drawled. She didn't turn, instead staying where she was, leaning with her palms braced on the bar top, shoulders hunched, head down.
He shut the door slowly behind him, lifting his messenger bag off his shoulder and letting it fall near the door, not caring about it anymore now that he was home. He wasn't going to even touch the damn thing until he had to go back to work.
"You wouldn't believe how soul-crushing and terrible my day was. I almost poked this asshole in the nose. Just barely found my calm center, and…" His voice wandered off as he realized she had yet to acknowledge him. She hadn't even moved. "Sarah? You okay?"
The way she clenched her fists then unclenched them again before answering made him uneasy.
And when she finally turned around, he was much more than just uneasy.
She faced him dead on and crossed her arms at her chest, just watching him some more. And then she cast her gaze down at the ground and shook her head, lifting an eyebrow. "No, Chuck. I'm really not okay."
He just stared at her, and then chanced coming into his home a bit further, his brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"
"I went to Jorge's apartment to pay my rent for the agency. Seems it's already been paid, along with the late fee, along with the next two months' rent." A chill went through him as she clenched her jaw, blinking rapidly and looking away from him.
"Oh. That."
Of course that.
"Sarah, I—"
"No, you promised me. You promised me you were going to let me take care of this. You promised. And then you didn't let me take care of it."
Chuck let out a long breath and rubbed the back of his neck. "No, I know. I didn't. I just wanted to make sure you got him the money as soon as possible—didn't matter whose money it was—"
"That's the whole point, Chuck," she snapped. "It did matter whose money. It does matter. It matters to me, and I thought we'd discussed that numerous times. I thought you understood that. You promised."
He huffed and looked at the ceiling.
"We've been over this so many times, and then you just…ignored all of that and did what you wanted. I had the money. I have it. I was ready to pay it."
"How was I supposed to know when you were getting the money from your…mystery source? It could've been today, tomorrow, next week, next month for all I know. I'm not letting you lose that office."
"That isn't your concern, Chuck."
"Of course it's my concern!" he cut her off. "I'm concerned. I'm concerned for you!"
"This is my affair. My business, my agency, my rent, my money."
"I know all of that, Sarah. But I can't let you—"
"That's not your call, Chuck," she interrupted. "You keep saying you can't let me, you can't let me, you can't let me…It's not for you to make that choice. It's not for you to sweep in like that and fix a problem when it isn't yours. This was my rent I was paying and I had the money and you just went behind my back and paid it when I specifically asked you not to."
"No, you told me," he snipped, looking away. "But that office space is an important part of your dream to make this private investigative agency a success. If you lost it because you couldn't pay the rent—"
"Then that would be my fault. It would mean that I'd messed up. And I would have to deal with that, like any other normal person trying to start their own business would. Any other normal person without an insanely rich boyfriend." The way she gestured at him and scanned her eyes up and down his body stung a little.
"Sorry, did you want me to apologize to you because I have a lot of money?" he asked sarcastically, and she glared hard.
"Don't give me that shit, Chuck. You know you went behind my back. And you did it because you knew I'd tell you no. You wanted to do it, so you just did it. You didn't talk to me. You didn't ask if I'd gotten the money yet. You didn't consult with me. You just charged in and gave Jorge the money."
She was right, and that pissed him off. Any other day, it might not have. But he'd just walked into his home with already pinched patience, and this was making it so much worse. That didn't make her any less right. He had avoided the subject with her and instead just went and paid it. It was easier that way. It would get done sooner, Jorge would be off her back, and she could concentrate on other things for the next month or two.
"What in the hell made you think that was at all okay?" she asked, charging a few steps closer with her hand out, palm up.
He could see she was genuinely upset, and deep down inside, he felt a pain in his chest. He'd done this.
But he just didn't understand why she was this upset. A large part of her trouble was gone now. He was her boyfriend. Wasn't him supporting her a part of this relationship? And not always financial support, but if it came to that, why not?
"I'm trying to protect your interests," he said and she scoffed, shaking her head. It annoyed him. "What?" he snapped. "It's my job to make sure you're okay, Sarah."
"No! It isn't! Not unless I say I need that. This is my business I'm trying to start here and I don't know how I could've made it more clear that I wanted this to all be mine. The work, the struggle, the money…mine." She pushed her hands through her hair and huffed.
"I don't like the idea of you struggling."
"I don't like the idea of me struggling, either, Chuck. But that's part of life for people who don't have a rich boyfriend. I shouldn't get a leg up just because of you. It's not right. It's not what I want. I don't want anymore legs up or connections or…or anything like that. I don't want it, anymore."
"I'm just trying to help, Sarah."
"I know," she said quickly. "I know that your heart is in the right place. But again, you went behind my back. That was sneaky, Chuck. After making a promise to me you'd let me handle it. You went behind my back and did the exact opposite."
"I wanted to make sure you kept the office! If you lost it because the rent wasn't paid, then what? Where would you go? What would you do then?"
"I'd have to figure it out, Chuck!" She thrusted her hands out, palms up. "That's what I keep telling you! But I'd have to figure it out without your help. Because I don't want or need your money to be a part of this, okay? That's not what this is about," she said, gesturing between them.
"Of course it isn't!" he argued. "But if I have the means to keep you from losing that place, I'm sure as hell not going to just stand by and watch as it slips through your fingers. This is your dream, Sarah! It's important to me, too."
"And I appreciate that, Chuck. That you care so much. I truly do. But it is my dream. Mine. And you don't get to decide when it happens or how it happens. You don't get to dream for me. And you don't get to throw your money at my problems—my problems," she emphasized, "like you can do with your own."
He felt something inside of him go dark, like the snuffing of a candle. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're rich. You have more money than any one person could need, Chuck, and any time you have a problem, you just throw money at it, and it goes away. And that's fine for your corporation, that's fine for your condo, that's fine for any other part of your life, but I'll not have you throwing money at my problems. I'm an adult. I'm my own person. And I don't need. your. money."
He felt the sting of her words, and it made him angrier.
"Don't you see how embarrassing this is for me?" she continued. "I'm mortified. I didn't have the money to pay my rent on time and my filthy rich sugar daddy swept in to save the day." She grit her teeth. "I can just hear what people would say. What your mother would say."
"Keep my mom out of this. What she says doesn't matter…"
"Oh my God, Chuck, it does! It matters so much!" She let out a frustrated laugh, a bit manic, and he could see a line of tears in her eyes. He knew her well enough, though, to know she wouldn't let a single one fall. Not when she was this angry. "Can't you see that? I've been working my ass off to show her I don't need your help, I don't need your money, and you go behind my back to settle my rent when I can't pay it on time…What's she going to think of me? God, I can just hear her saying 'I told you so' to your dad." She covered her forehead with one hand and put the other on her waist.
"What makes you think I'd even tell her?"
"That's not the point, Chuck! God, men are so…"
"So, what?" He grit his teeth. "Men are so, what, Sarah?"
She ignored that. "It doesn't matter whether she knows. I know and you know."
"Why is this such a big deal?" he practically exploded. "I don't understand! I'm here. I have the money. I have the ability to help you with all of this, and then some. I love you more than anything in the world. Why won't you let me help you?" He felt like he was going crazy. He was so confused and upset and angry.
"This isn't help, Chuck. What you did makes me feel like I'm some kind of destructive, stupid kid who bit off more than she could chew, and then in comes the rich dad to clean up after her."
"Oh, come on. That's not what this is at all."
"Then what is it?"
"Your pride's been injured because you wanted to do all of this yourself. And I get that you didn't want anybody's help so that you could look back and say you did everything on your own, but I'm your guy and it's my job to—"
"It isn't your job. And what, am I not allowed to have pride? Why? Why can't I have pride? Why can't I strive for something that makes me proud of myself?"
He didn't have anything to say to forced himself to swallow the anger for a moment and pay attention.
"I need to do things for myself, because at every single turn, I've received a lot of things I never asked for and I've been talked about behind my back for it. And then when I trust people, when I depend on them, I'm fucked over. I end up alone again."
He tried not to take that personally, but it still hurt. "You know I'd never leave you alone, Sarah. I'd never—"
"I know. You'd never do that to me. I believe that, Chuck. This isn't about whether or not I trust you not to leave me. I know I can depend on you. That's not what this is."
"Then why are you so upset whenever I help you?" he asked, closing the distance between them. He wondered, if he took her in his arms would this argument be over? Disagreements, intense moments…all of those were usually solved when they touched, held one another…
He kept his arms at his sides.
"You're not listening." She pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers and turned away. When she turned back, she just looked tired. "You went behind my back. It doesn't matter what you were doing, you snuck around me to do it. That hurts. Especially after all of the conversations we've had about being open with one another."
His heart ached, and any other day, he might apologize. But he was confused and angry. He had a lot of questions she wasn't answering. "Okay, fine. I admit that. And I'm sorry I went behind your back. I didn't mean to. But I have to ask…What was your plan if you'd gone to Jorge to pay the rent and he'd evicted you? What, then?"
Sarah blinked at him and frowned, not saying anything.
"I don't know what you would've done, either. But I do know that what I did helped you so that you don't have to worry about finding out, at least not for another two months. Isn't that a good thing?"
"Of course it's a good thing. I don't like the idea of losing my office because I can't pay the rent. But I wasn't going to let that happen, Chuck!"
"You were well on your way to letting that happen, Sarah!" he said, raising his voice to match hers. "Who knows when you could've gotten that money from the person who apparently 'owes you'?" he said, throwing up air quotes sarcastically. She clenched her jaw and looked away in annoyance. "I'm your boyfriend. I love you. It's up to me to cover your bases when you can't."
"No, Chuck! It isn't! It isn't up to you to cover my bases! You're not my handler! You're not my dad, and I'm not your entitled son flunking college!"
"Obviously, I know that! But I'm just trying to help you! God, why is this so hard for you to accept? Why can't you just let people help you when you need it?"
"Because I didn't need your help this time! I didn't need your help. I didn't ask for your help. In fact, I outright told you I didn't need your help, and you forced your money into my business anyway!"
"If you think I'm gonna just stand around and watch your dream get knocked down a few rungs when I know I can do something to stop it, you're crazy."
"This isn't your dream! It's my dream! And I understand you don't want me to be hurt, but sometimes I need you to not protect me and have faith that I can protect myself. I've done this on my own for about twenty years now. It's not like I start dating a rich guy and suddenly I can't do anything for myself anymore." She threw her hands up. He didn't appreciate the sarcasm. And he didn't appreciate how often she kept pointing out that he was rich.
He knew he was rich. He knew he had more money than anyone could ever need. And he resented that she was sticking that needle in his side right now when he was already very conscious of how different he was from most people.
"I'm so sorry for trying to make sure you're happy," he snarked back at her.
"Oh my God, Chuck, drop the martyr act."
"This isn't a martyr act."
"That's exactly what it is. I know you love me. I know you're trying to help, you want to protect me, you want me to be happy. You think I don't know all of that? But I also need you to listen to me when I tell you I've got it. When I tell you I don't need your help. You don't know better than I do. Not where I'm concerned." She took a step back and her voice was calm when she spoke again. "You know what the first thing I thought was when I left Jorge's apartment, Chuck?" He didn't answer the rhetorical question, just watching her as her shoulders slumped and the tears rimmed her eyes again. "I wondered if you still had faith in me, in my ability to do all of this."
He felt his eyes widen. "Of course I have faith in you."
"It feels like this has gone on so long without me getting a break, with me floundering a bit financially, not being able to pick up a steady flow of clients after a few months of being open for business, and maybe you're starting to wonder if I can really pull it off." She quickly swiped her finger under her eye and then crossed her arms at her chest, as if self-conscious about it. "Or if I need you to do everything for me, hand me a bunch of clients on a platter, pay my bills, my rent, until I'm on my feet. That's what this feels like."
"Just because I help you with the one thing?" he asked, gobsmacked. "I helped you pay for one thing, and suddenly I don't have faith in you?"
"You make it sound so much simpler than it is."
"What's so complicated about it? I was worried you wouldn't pay the rent in time and the late fee would go up so much that you wouldn't be able to pay it and he'd evict you, or he'd just evict you outright when you went past a certain deadline. So I paid the rent and the fee." He shrugged.
"That's what I mean, Chuck! Right there! You were worried I wouldn't pay the rent in time. No faith. Let me ask you something. Do you think if I wasn't dating you that I'd be able to get my P.I. agency off the ground?"
"Of course you would."
She shook her head. "I think neither of us is altogether sure. And I hate that. I hate not being sure that I'd be able to do anything if I wasn't with you. If people haven't been helping me, letting me skip in line, so to speak. I hate it. What you did makes me wonder how much of this is just me lying to myself. I didn't feel that way yesterday, Chuck. Do you see the damage you did by giving my landlord that money now?"
He understood what she was saying. He just couldn't fathom why she had such an aversion to being helped.
"We're going nowhere with this argument, Sarah. I was just trying to help you, you're upset that I was helping you, and there's no meeting in the middle."
Sarah huffed and shut her eyes for a moment. "I should've known this conversation would go this way."
"Conversation? No, this is an argument now," he sassed, and he blamed her for it.
"You keep up that tone, and we'll have a full-on fight. You told me you grew up with very little while your dad was trying to start his company, and it's almost alarming how much separation you've managed to put between you then and you now."
"The hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked, crossing his arms.
"It means you've forgotten what it is to solve a problem without throwing your money at it all the time! To work through it without a billion dollars at your fingertips."
"Are you implying I've got a privilege problem, Sarah?"
"Yeah! Maybe you do! Maybe there's a lot you don't have to worry about that the rest of us do have to worry about. Because when you saw my problem, without listening to me, without waiting to see how I felt about it, you just shoved your money at it and solved it. And you thought, 'great, well that's done' but now I'm here, pissed off and legitimately hurt because what you did showed you're capable of being just as thoughtless as any other rich jerk."
"Oh, okay! Wow. I'm a thoughtless rich jerk now because I helped you."
"No, Chuck! You're a thoughtless rich jerk because you overreached, made me feel helpless, made me feel disrespected, broke a promise, and treated me like I'm just another little woman in your life you need to take care of! You didn't confide in me, you ignored me, and you did whatever the fuck you wanted, just because…I don't know, you thought you were helping, but it didn't help. It just made me feel like shit!"
He could tell she was spiraling a bit, and a voice in his head was insisting he tell her to calm down. But he stifled that voice. He knew better than that. She didn't need to calm down. She needed to understand that a simple gesture of kindness shouldn't have her thinking and feeling all of these terrible things about herself, and less importantly, about him.
"I didn't want you to feel like shit, Sarah. You gotta believe me. I was just trying to make things better. I should've talked to you first, but why the hell am I getting dragged over the coals for helping? Why is this affecting you so much? Why do you feel this bad? I'm trying to understand!"
"No. That's just it. Your mind is closed. Just like mine is right now. We're getting nowhere. Maybe we should just revisit this when we're both better able to listen."
"Oh, all right. So the argument ends when you decide. Jesus Christ, Sarah, I had the shittiest fuckin' day. I really did. And it came off of yesterday, which I thought was a pretty good day because I went and took care of a problem that the woman I love was dealing with. Here I thought I made her life a little easier. But no…Apparently, all I did was make her 'feel like shit'."
"Sorry I'm not more grateful for your patronage, Charles Irving Bartowski, future CEO of Bartowski Electronics Corporation," she said with a sarcastic air of grandeur. "But I need you to know, from now on…This is my affair. My business. My agency. And it's going to be funded by my money or no money. This isn't yours. So keep your nose and your money out of it. It's mine."
Chuck was immediately brought back to a few months earlier, when he made the decision to put his goal of perhaps starting his own company one day on the back burner so that he could help Sarah with her own goal of starting Walker Investigative Enterprises. Hadn't this been the whole point of that conversation? He'd told her then that her dream was part of his dream, because she was part of his dream. She'd seemed all right with the concept then.
He was hurt, and he forced himself to do whatever he could to disguise it from her. And because he was never good at using a mask the way she was, instead, he lashed out. "Heard you. Loud and clear," he said, his voice quiet, his words slow and calculated. "From now on, my nose and my money will stay far, far away from your agency."
"Please!"
"So far, in fact, that not only will I keep my wallet away from all aspects of your existence, Sarah, I'll keep myself out of it. I won't say a damn thing. I won't bother you with my opinions. I won't bother you at all. I won't do anything until you come to me. How's that?" She didn't say anything, just rolling her eyes with a quiet huff. "God, you talk so much about why you've always been alone, why you never had any friends...You ever stop to think that maybe this is why?"
He felt the breath leave his body immediately, and a cold shiver went down his spine. There was one stabbing ache in his chest, then, as he watched the frustration on Sarah's face fall to a completely blank look. And that was worse than seeing hurt there, wasn't it? Because it meant he'd just hurt her bad enough that she felt the need to wear that age-old mask of hers, the one she'd gotten rid of as their relationship progressed.
"Sarah—"
He stopped as she held one hand up, staring hard at the ground by his feet.
"You know I don't mean that," he said, genuinely disappointed in himself. He could hear his own anguish in his voice.
"I'm leaving," she said in an unsettlingly quiet voice, "before either one of us says something else we don't mean."
There was a deafening silence in the room. And he tried to beg her to stay with his eyes, because his throat was constricted. He hated himself. He wanted to make it better now. He wanted to sit her down and ask her to explain again, and this time he'd really try to understand. He'd listen harder.
But instead, she turned on her heel, grabbed her purse from the entry table, and left.
The door slammed so hard it shook in its frame, and Chuck sat down on the ground right where he'd been standing, pushing his hands through his hair and fighting the urge to tear it out.
Distraught, he eventually climbed back up to his feet and shut himself in his bedroom, plopping onto his bed alone with his tumultuous thoughts, burying his face in the pillow she'd used just the other night and not coming back up for air for hours.
XOXOXOXOXOXO
Author's Note: Now you know what the prayer is for. Tech Guy, you done all sorts of wrong. Feel free to tear me apart in your reviews. I can handle it.
-SC