A/N: Well, that was a minute. I didn't have COVID, but I was sicker than my partner when he had COVID. Back on my feet, and caught up with work and this story. First Date part 2. The entire premise with the cipher made no sense. If it was a sabotage device, why did they keep stealing it? Once should have been enough if they were tampering or swapping. Also-Chuck thinks Morgan at the door is Sarah...and then suddenly he's picking her up? Tried to fix that here too.
I took a long time to get ready for that date. As I look back on all of it now, in perspective, I think the only time in my life I spent longer getting ready for anything was on my wedding day. Crazy, maybe, in comparison, but accurate. I had been choosing outfits, getting dressed for Chuck since the second day I knew him, but I had never allowed myself the luxury of blatantly acknowledging that was what I was doing. It had always been in the back of my mind before, but now, it dominated my thoughts. I remember thinking…did every girl react like this, take this much time, to get ready for her first date? I wondered, but in truth, how many girls were already in love with a guy they were going out with for the first time? Probably not many.
In my hotel room, I started to choose what I would wear. I already had a dress in mind, a clingy dark purple dress with thin shoulder straps and a plunging neckline. It was a very sexy dress. For a brief moment, I wondered if it was too much, too provocative. But who was I kidding? I was no blushing schoolgirl. This was something I felt comfortable wearing. To almost everyone else in the world, Chuck was my boyfriend, had been for a year. The truth, hidden deep inside me, was that I wanted him to look at me, appreciate me and the way I looked.
I layed the dress on the bed, and chose the heels that went with it, setting them on the floor near the bed. I went to the dresser, lightly shifting through my undergarments, looking for the perfect set. A black lace bra and black lace panties, matching and extremely sheer. I placed them on top of my dress and went into the bathroom to shower.
All of my senses were heightened in my excitement, my anticipation of the night. I felt almost every drop of water as it pelted my skin and drenched my hair. My skin was hypersensitive as I rubbed the soapy lather across it. The water was warm and soothing, but my nipples hardened under my own hands as I washed. I wanted Chuck to touch me. That thought followed my hands everywhere I touched myself, wishing for his hands instead of my own. My body felt on fire by the time I was done.
I dried my hair, then donned my lingerie. I put my makeup on while wearing only my undergarments, something I did frequently, out of habit. With each step in the cosmetic application, I found my eyes drifting down my body in my reflection, wondering if there was even a remote chance that Chuck would actually see this, what I would be wearing under my dress. I knew I wanted him to. The longer I thought about it, the more I knew that was what I wanted.
I was so caught up in the idea of us together, I lost touch with reality for a bit, deluding myself into believing the CIA would just let him go, like Graham had said. My own suspicions were overruled by my fantasies and my desire. I had secretly given myself permission, while I was getting ready for our date, to have sex with him.
Understand my state of mind, just isolated, in that moment. Our first date, meant to be our last. A goodbye, farewell wish before I was reassigned and sent away. I never questioned not going, not then. We were too…amorphous…for me to know I wanted to stay for him, quit the CIA and walk away from everything I had ever known, even if it was a life I never wanted to begin with. But for all the intercourse I'd had over the course of my life, almost none of it anything other than physical pleasure and release, how could I walk away from Chuck…the one man I had actually fallen in love with in all my life…without sharing that with him? It could be once, or one night, everything in my heart and soul translated through my body and what I would do with him. I was sure; I wasn't sure if he was willing–that is, willing to let me take him to my bed and also let me walk away afterward.
The whole truth deserves explanation here. There was more than one instance where Chuck and I came close to giving in to our desires, or situations where I could see where it might have happened. The closest we ever came was in the motel room in Barstow. I sometimes think about how everything would have been different if we had woken up maybe an hour earlier, or Chuck never called Ellie and Casey never found us, if I had just told Chuck his condom wasn't necessary (or if Morgan hadn't stolen it from Chuck to begin with.) Would it have been that profound? The answer, of course, is yes…only I wouldn't have known at that split second. Serendipity kept us from being together until we were ready.
You see, I spoke often about intercourse, having sex, fucking…all of that was my experience for my entire life. With Chuck, it was more. We made love. Our couplings were beautiful, spiritual, and emotional. As frantic as we both were, I know, uninterrupted, that morning in Barstow we would have made love for the first time. If that had happened, my choices would have been different. I would never have even entertained the idea of leaving with Bryce for Zurich, or breaking Chuck's heart the morning of his sister's wedding. I would have told him I was staying with him, no matter what.
Of course, Bryce would still have been killed. Only, the Ring would have acquired all of the U.S. government's secrets, and Casey most likely would have been killed as well. Ted Roark would have come back and probably killed us all–Chuck, me, his family. Retrospect is always easier, for I would never have known all of that was even a possibility, that Roark had escaped the air strike. Serendipity, I tell you. We could have settled for normal…but it would have ended badly. We were destined for better.
All of that unknown to me back at this time, I thought it could be possible with him. One wild night of passion before I left for good. This would have been even worse than what I described above. Chuck would have been the same…he was always the same, for how he felt about me never changed. I think about how I felt, waking up in his arms in the hotel room in Paris…and trying to imagine leaving him forever after that night…It would literally have driven me insane. I would have been forever altered, ruined for the life I no longer wanted, probably easily killed on my next mission. Serendipity. I always keep that in mind, when I think back over all the starts and stops.
I finished getting ready. I completed my makeup, slinked on my dress, and stepped into my heels. I made the conscious decision to leave my gun in my hotel room. This was a date. A real date. I wasn't there with him because I was his handler, or I was protecting him, or we were on a mission…I was there with him because he asked me out. He deserved 100 percent of my attention, and that was what I vowed to give him. My intentions were good, but my plans were ultimately thwarted.
I had planned on picking Chuck up at his apartment, but he called me and told me Morgan had dropped by for a quick video game strategy session. I thought he was kidding at first, but I heard Morgan in the background during the conversation. Morgan was joking about how Chuck would be all mine…he only needed a short period of time. It didn't really bother me, now that I knew how Chuck always tried to balance his time with Morgan, for spending time with his friend was important.
All mine.
I couldn't get those words out of my head. That was what I wanted, the only thing I had ever allowed myself to want. Would he ever really be all mine? For now, it was pretending. A stolen kiss and a few affectionate words, and nothing more. Even if we slept together, he still wouldn't be mine. I didn't have that luxury, not when my own life wasn't even my own. I had nothing to give him, without even having it myself. I was still wrestling with that puzzle, dreaming about him and the night, when he finally showed up at my hotel room door.
He had on a dark blue button down with a pair of jeans. His hair was delightfully messy, curling in crazy directions like always. I found him incredibly adorable almost at all times. But the dark blue was such a good color on him, bringing out the rich green in his hazel eyes. He smiled, that same smile that I loved more than anything. He asked if I was ready to go. I was practically breathless at the door, smiling so broadly my cheeks ached.
In the hallway, he held out his arm and I slid my arm through his elbow. After only a few steps, he pulled me closer to him, tucking my arm against his side. He smelled deliciously of cologne…and minty toothpaste. "You look…amazing," he said, sighing on the last word.
I smiled in reply, my legs feeling like rubber. I leaned my weight on his arm so I didn't stumble. That was all I had wanted to hear while I had been getting ready. I let myself get distracted after that, counting the moments until I hoped to hear him say the same thing…once the dress was gone.
Normally, I would have had enough sense to scope the area, check the restaurant for potential issues. The fact that I told myself first and foremost, I wasn't on a mission, but a date, was one excuse. The other, more important reason, was that I was ridiculously distracted by him and my thoughts. How I was almost throbbing for him as we sat in the Chinese restaurant.
Chuck ordered dumplings. They served us almost immediately. The food was excellent, and I told Chuck that when we started eating. He told me Morgan was the one who had recommended the place, and the food.
"Wait, so our first date was a Morgan recommendation?" I asked him.
"Wow, no faith in the little bearded man," Chuck teased me. I laughed. "I think you should know, he's always been supportive of our fake relationship. And, he's never found it remotely unbelievable that a guy like me could be dating, um…" He stopped talking, gesturing towards me with his chopsticks.
He was trying to put himself down again. I wasn't having any of it. I was on a date with him. He asked, I said yes. Nothing fake required. I knew all of Chuck's backstory, for the most part, but it was still hard for me to understand where it was that had sent him so far off track, where he had lost sight of his own worth. He was the most incredible person I'd ever met. It hurt me that he had literally no idea.
He cleared his throat and just stared at me, watching me delicately slide the noodles into my mouth with my chopsticks. "You know," he added with a light smirk, and then dropped his eyes.
"What?" I asked coyly.
He was chewing, but he continued where he'd left off. "Um…you know, you."
Now I was flirting, teasing him. I couldn't resist. "What about me?" I asked, eating more noodles, but not taking my eyes off his face.
He laughed nervously. "You're really gonna make me say it, aren't you?"
I gazed at him, waiting patiently.
"You–wow, ok. Fine. Alright, we'll play it your way. A girl like you." He said, the humor fading from his tone. I looked away, but back up at him when I heard his voice soften. "Or more appropriately, a woman like you. Considering the fact that you could probably kick the ass of everyone in this joint." He complimented me on my brute strength, something no one else had ever done in my life outside of the CIA. I tended to consider it almost a weakness, a barrier to normal…but he admired it. My Chuck.
"And a…a smart one at that. Not to mention cool and…" His voice had been getting slowly deeper, and he looked into my eyes. He took a deep breath, gently shaking his head in almost disbelief, sighing when he finished, "extremely beautiful."
When Chuck told me I was beautiful, for the first time ever, I actually believed it. When he said it, he wasn't looking just at the surface of me, the creation the CIA had sculpted from my teenage awkwardness. He was looking inside me, all the way through, even at the parts of myself I thought were too hideous for him to ever see. It was a quality of his, to search inside people for the best of themselves, not just people he loved, but everyone. He saw beauty where no one else could have, because he always loved me. That love was a gift, one I didn't deserve, but a gift he gave to me. I learned that slowly, starting here.
The intensity of the moment broke, and he smiled. "And, and you can stop me anytime with the compliments if they're becoming, you know…" He made me laugh. I never wanted him to stop.
"No. No, that was very sweet," I told him. Sweet was the perfect word for him, why I think I resorted to calling him "Sweetie" as part of the cover. Pleasing, addicting, almost intoxicating…sweet. That was rare, the rarest thing, in my world.
He bit his lower lip and narrowed his eyes. "Sweet? Golly gee, thanks for making me feel like I'm eight." I giggled, but he didn't understand the significance of that word to me. He took it like a pat on the head. I felt the need to clarify.
"Well, you're not so bad yourself," I said gently.
"Please," he said, with false bravado, like he was imitating someone from a movie. 'I'm fantastic," he snarked sarcastically.
My face was serious, and I looked him straight in the eye. "Yeah. You are." My candor surprised him.
He blushed a bit, like he wasn't quite sure what it was that I'd just told him. We held each other's gaze for several beats. I felt warm, flushed, but not from embarrassment. He broke the spell again with humor, asking out loud what he thought Casey would do if he knew we were on a real date. I joked that it would probably kill him.
Little did I know, Casey had been attacked in his apartment by an enemy agent who had stolen the cipher we had just recovered.
We finished eating and chatting, comfortable with each other. It was relaxed. Nice. We were eating our fortune cookies when Chuck brought up the future–what was next for me, now that the Intersect mission was over. I told him they would probably send me far away, with a new cover. The thought made me sad, even sadder to say it to him out loud. He wondered what would happen if I didn't leave. I told him, as a CIA agent, I had no choice. Here, I still believed that, that my own life was not my own, and my choices were still the property of someone else.
Our arms were crossed on the table, and we were leaning in towards each other. He was talking slowly, about the Intersect…implying that he wanted me to stay. I don't even remember the exact words–he was so close I could feel his breath on my face, see his eyes burning like embers as he looked at me. He was every bit as beautiful to me as he had told me I was to him. Inches from my lips, he leaned closer. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the kiss I wanted more than anything. It never happened.
My eyes were closed, but I heard the strange change in Chuck's breathing. He flashed, and never actually kissed me. He continued to flash, multiple times. He looked panic stricken by the time I got his attention again.
"Chuck, what is it?" I demanded.
"We're surrounded," he admitted in defeat. Everyone seemed to freeze around us.
Chuck mumbled through clenched teeth, asking me if I had my gun. I told him no, I wouldn't have brought my gun on a real date.
Colt was approaching, the man who had been dangling Chuck off the building the day before. Before I noted that however, I saw how surprised Chuck was…that I didn't have my gun. More importantly–that I thought I was on a real date. Despite what he'd said, what he'd done…he never really believed it, not 100 percent. His words at dinner had sort of fortified that, I knew. He thought I was humoring him? It hurt a bit, but I understood. It wasn't like I had done nothing but give him clear signals.
Colt confronted us as we sat at the table. Chuck was rambling nervously, but it was a good distraction, and it gave me some time. I motioned with my eyes to Chuck, that I was going to use the chopsticks as a weapon, the only weapon available to me. I lunged, aiming for Colt's neck with the sharp ends of the chopstick. He was tall, crazy tall, even taller than Chuck, easily more than double my own body weight. He overpowered me easily, and pressed his hand around my throat, holding me still. He warned Chuck to stay still or he would snap my neck.
At that moment, Chuck's homing beacon on his watch started chiming. Colt asked abstractly what that noise was. Turns out, it was Casey, in his Crown Vic, headed straight through the front of the restaurant at full speed. I was blinded by the oncoming headlights. I screamed at the top of my lungs, "Move!" and pulled myself away from Colt's grasp.
Glass shattered, wood splintered. Tires screeched on the ground. Chaos erupted all around us. I lost track of Chuck in the mayhem, frightened that he had been injured. Until I hit the floor, the feeling of Chuck's body shielding me, his arms on the floor beside my head. He had thrown himself on top of me.
Then Chuck was on his feet, pulling my arm to get me back up on my feet. He was helping me, but I was still yelling at him to move. Casey was there, the door to his car slung open. Chuck and I scrambled into the car, me first and then Chuck, squeezed into the front seat. Someone punched Casey and he fell, woozy, into the driver's seat. We screeched out of there while guns were being fired, bullets ricocheting off the car. I told Chuck to stay down. Small favors, but Casey's car was bullet proof, which may have saved us, for how long it took to get away from there.
It was as we were driving, me pressed in between Chuck and Casey, that he told us the cipher had been stolen again. He was upset, crushed, thinking he had been almost free and then the chance was stolen. My plans for the rest of the evening had also been ruined, in every way. What I wanted to do, and the reason that I would have been able to do it, were gone.
Casey dropped me off at my hotel first. Chuck had to step out of the car so I could get out. He was so demoralized it almost brought tears to my eyes. "Don't worry, Chuck. We'll figure it out," I assured him. I patted him on his chest, nothing more possible, or appropriate, with Casey watching us. He hadn't said anything about the fact that Chuck and I were on an unsanctioned date. I wondered if he was waiting until I was out of the car to grill Chuck, or if he was just keeping it to himself and his edited reports. The real reason he never said anything, of course, was because he was about to kill Chuck; he didn't want to know about Chuck's life as a person, a human being. That wasn't how assassins did their jobs.
I did fall asleep, exhausted from the stress of the evening. All night, I had dream after dream about Chuck and sleeping with him, even waking mid-orgasm multiple times, though each time I felt empty inside. I wanted the real thing, and it seemed, no matter what, I was destined to never have that.
I was working a yogurt shift the next day when Casey called to tell me Chuck had flashed on Casey's scar. He had a location for the group's headquarters. We called in a tactical team for support and Casey and I headed out. Chuck was actually protesting us leaving him behind, not something he usually did. Casey was snarky. We told him to stay put. Of course, we left him completely unprotected. Stupid when I think about it now, but we were certain, because Chuck had flashed. Casey, also, was thinking about killing Chuck, not protecting him.
In all fairness to Casey and that awkward truth, I can explain something here. He would have had to get himself into a certain frame of mind to do that kind of work, more importantly because he sort of liked Chuck and was maybe his almost-friend. The constant up and down, on and off, nature of that order while the situation kept evolving…that can't have been easy for him. Casey was as straight and stoic as they came, but he wasn't impervious to emotion. These couple of days must have been hell for him. I don't know how he got any sleep at all.
We arrived at the proper location with the tactical team. We infiltrated the building effortlessly, almost too effortlessly. The building was empty. Casey said Chuck was wrong. I suggested Chuck was right, and we just didn't move fast enough. Turns out, they relocated specifically for the purpose of luring Chuck to an untraceable location. I called Chuck, and the Buy More, looking for him. I finally got in touch with Morgan, although he sounded like he was in the primate cage at the zoo when I talked to him. He said Chuck had been called out on a job.
We had left him unprotected, and Colt had moved. I was frantic. Casey triangulated the signal from Chuck's watch and located him, in another warehouse across the city. I had no idea how long he had been there or what could have happened in the time that we'd been distracted. We raced there, tactical team in tow, hoping we weren't too late.
We breached the second warehouse with ease. Casey was scouting the perimeter with the tactical team on the first floor. I spotted Colt on the roof of the building, and, a little impulsively, I took off by myself to stop him. I emerged, seeing Colt once again dangling Chuck off the roof by his ankles. I screamed at Colt to freeze, training my gun on him.
He dropped Chuck.
My memory of the next few minutes is very fuzzy. I know I screamed absolute bloody murder, because I was hoarse for two days after this. It was that scream, in fact, that alerted Casey. Fortunately, Casey was scaling the fire escape right below where Chuck was falling. Casey grabbed him, almost dislocating Chuck's shoulder in the process, and saved his life.
On the rooftop, I didn't know that. All I knew…I had seen Chuck dropped to his death from a ten story building. It was like an atomic bomb had detonated inside me, destroying everything and leaving a white hot rage akin to insanity. I charged at Colt. Twice my size, no match for even me at my peak, I was able to fight him for several minutes, fueled by a fury the likes of which I had never known. Truth was, I had never cared about anything enough to become so emotional about. I could have torn Colt limb from limb with my bare hands, and I almost did. It didn't matter to me if I was killed in the process, in fact, I'm pretty sure I almost wished for it.
There was nothing left to live for, no hope for me for anything, if Chuck was dead. The thought of him, lying broken and bloody on the ground in the alley, was all I could see.
I kicked, pummeled. He crushed me until I couldn't breathe. I feigned unconscious, then tripped him, and came back for more. I had momentarily incapacitated Colt by the time Casey was on the roof with his weapon.
Colt's men surrounded us again, and Casey had to put his gun down. I was on my knees, catching my breath, when the doors opened.
Chuck–with the tactical team.
I couldn't believe what I was seeing, what I was hearing. I gaped at him with an open mouth, still struggling to breathe. I had no idea how it was possible, but I didn't care. He was safe. He was alive. My heart started beating again.
Once Colt was in custody, I rushed up to Chuck.
"Chuck…" I panted.
"I'm ok," he assured me. He was looking down at me through his eyelashes; I was looking up at him as he towered over me. I never realized how much I loved that, how much taller than me he was, until that moment. I asked him if he had the cipher.
He did, and Casey took it. Casey led Colt away. I couldn't help it, for the moment they had passed, I hugged Chuck, grabbing him around his waist. I needed to feel that he was real, touch him, in order to purge those horrifying images of him dead from my mind. He was awkward, probably because we were in public, but I didn't care. He squeezed me quickly, whispering, "I'm ok," again.
He heard me scream. He knew what I thought I'd lost, and how I'd reacted to it.
I asked him, much later than this, what he thought when Colt dropped him…you know, if his life flashed before his eyes. He never screamed when he was falling, which was strange. He got very emotional about this, even again when I was regaining my memory. His only thought? That he wished he had told me he loved me. He wanted me to know how he really felt before he died. When he didn't actually die, it wasn't enough to make him say it then. He might have told me that night, over dinner, if that date had been allowed to happen.
Another date was ruined. Serendipity once again.
Before we cleared out the scene at the warehouse, Chuck offered me a rain check for the previous date that had been cut short. He told me he would make me dinner at his apartment. I told him yes, anxious to pick up where we left off. Time had reset. I spent less time getting ready, realizing I was in such a hurry to see him again, it almost made no difference what I was wearing. I wasn't sure if I would even let us eat first. I wanted him to take me to his room, his bed. I still had no idea about anything, other than for three minutes, I thought he was dead, and they were the longest three minutes of my life. I would not wait one more second to show him how I felt.
I was almost ready to leave. And then the phone rang. Burner number and Bryce's voice. "Intersect is destroyed. Cipher was a Trojan Horse. Graham is dead." Then he hung up.
I dropped down on my knees, shaking and pale. A thousand things were said in barely any words. The Intersect had been destroyed. Which meant Chuck wasn't free; I was still his handler. Graham was dead. All the advice to not trust him, worrying about his intentions, his scheming and his potentially compromised status…gone, just like that. No longer an issue.
The Trojan Horse cipher was a bit of a conundrum, though. What we thought: the NSA built the cipher, Colt and his men stole it, we recovered it. Colt's men stole it back. We re-acquired it. It was installed in the Intersect computer, and the computer self-destructed, taking Graham along with it.
Why did that not make sense? Fulcrum was after the Intersect. Bryce, because he was one, and they wanted the data from his brain. They wanted to build one of their own. Why then, would they have destroyed it? Worse…why steal a device, presumably to sabotage it, only to steal it back before it could be deployed again?
What I suspect actually happened: the NSA built the cipher. Colt stole it, with the purpose of delivering it to Fulcrum. We stole it back. Colt stole it from us once more…and it was swapped while in Colt's possession, either by Bryce or someone else loyal to Orion. Orion was probably one of only a handful of people with enough background information and know-how to alter the cipher to do what it did. The re-programmed device in Colt's possession was then stolen back from us. How Orion and Bryce knew we would get it back, I don't know. They must have had a contingency plan if we failed. But, we didn't fail. The CIA installed the defective device, and it destroyed the Intersect. Chuck was safe, the government still had no Intersect other than Chuck, who had been given the Intersect to safeguard it. Orion never wanted Chuck to be the Intersect, but he knew Chuck could be the Intersect, and that he would do the right thing, always, and in the predicament he was in, that had to be enough. Whatever it was Graham had been doing, plotting–we were all safe.
I collected myself and drove to Chuck's apartment. A comptroller at the CIA called my phone while I was en route, probably someone onsite who had my name as an emergency contact. Beckman never called me. She never called Casey either, because he was lurking in Chuck's apartment, ready to kill him, when I arrived. As I stated before, Casey only told me that years later. I still get chills thinking about it. One extra red light…and I would have walked into…well, another version of the same nightmare I would have for months after this incident.
I gave Chuck just the very basics when he answered the door. I had to call off the date because the Intersect had been destroyed. He was devastated, his dreams crushed once again. Serendipity, although it's very hard to appreciate as it's happening. Casey heard me, and stood down.
I've always wondered how that interaction went, Casey and Beckman. Him, telling her he didn't shoot Chuck because he knew the Intersect had been destroyed. Her, knowing it had been destroyed, but not able to let Casey know in time. Did she wonder how he knew? Someone in the CIA called me before she did. I have no proof, but I wonder just how much Beckman did know about all of that. Lots of secrets, some of which were never revealed to us.
I ended up apologizing, hugging Chuck, and saying goodnight. I felt so many different things, but first, I was relieved. Everything was staying exactly as it had been before. It wasn't what he wanted, but selfishly, it was the best I could hope for. It gave me time. Time to dream, time to hope. Time to be with him, which I had finally accepted, was what now made my life worthwhile.
