A/N: I apologize for making you have to wait so long for this chapter. In my quest to find just the right words, it seems I had difficulty in finding any at all.

I'll do my best to make the gap between this and the next chapter much shorter.

Thanks to my beta, michealfmx, for his suggestions and guidance. Any errors you see are my fault.

Don't own Chuck et al.

Enjoy!

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AT LOOSE ENDS

Chapter Three: Her

"That...that was extraordinary."

I don't know what to make of him.

I'd prepared myself to dismiss him, but his awe-struck expression, his incipient tears, his reverent, empathic words—all of it—comes across as so…genuine.

Genuine genuineness—if that's what I'm actually seeing—confuses me.

I'm unused to it.

On the other hand, I'm well accustomed to counterfeit genuineness.

None of the men—to cast them as role models would be a sick joke—in my life would, in actuality, ever let themselves be so open, so vulnerable, in the way this complete stranger appears to have just done.

Sure, they—Dad, Graham, Bryce—could be very convincing when it suited their purposes. But any display of fellow-feeling on their part was nothing but a hypocrisy of the highest order. A carefully cultivated pretense they'd trotted out when they'd sensed my enthusiasm was flagging.

A pretense that, I'm ashamed to admit, had deceived me over and over. At different times in my life, I'd believed their primary concern was for me, for my welfare. I'm not saying they didn't care at all. However, what they'd wanted, first and foremost, were the skills I could bring to the con, the mission, and, in Bryce's case, the bed.

It had taken me a long time, too long, to learn my lesson and finally understand them for what they really were.

Master manipulators.

Manipulators whose actions had only honed my innate level of wariness, leaving me with this abiding…legacy…of distrust.

What's the saying? Once bitten…

No, that's wrong.

Thrice bitten.

I will not let myself be taken in again. I'm tired of it.

Maybe this man beside me is just another accomplished actor? Maybe my first instincts were right and this is simply his roundabout way of getting what he wants?

Years ago, I learned that one of the best ways to find what people are about is to say nothing, to wait on the person to reveal themselves.

So that's what I do. I look him up and down, closely, without uttering a word.

There's a lot of up.

I'm tall for a woman, but he has at least five or six inches on me. With Bryce, even if I'd worn modest heels, we'd been pretty much on an equal footing. But not here. Even if I wore my pair of Jimmy Choo stilettos, this man would still have the advantage over me.

Why am I even thinking about wearing fancy shoes in his presence?

I bring my thoughts back to the here and now, concentrate on my search for duplicity.

As intended, my wordless examination disconcerts him. He fidgets, glancing down at his High Top Chucks before looking anywhere but right at me.

As hard as I try, as much as part of me wants to find it, I can detect no artifice in his body language.

But I stubbornly refuse to be convinced. Not that easily, anyway.

I'll wait for him to speak again before making a final judgment. Maybe his further words will reveal what his bearing has not.

I wait. He seems to have some trouble getting his mouth moving.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude."

I blink. I hadn't expected an apology. But I say nothing, give away nothing, my expression impassive, my arms crossed.

He pauses. His next words come out nervously, in a rush. "It's just that I came down the stairs and you were there. Right in front of me. Your red blouse glowing, like you were in some sort of spotlight or something. And then Hyak swam over and the two of you had this moment. It was like you were—I don't know—communicating with each other."

He glances at the window again, that expression of wonder flashing across his face again.

"It was…beautiful. Amazing. I didn't want to interrupt, but I couldn't look away, either."

I see his cheeks flush. You can't fake that.

"Then I noticed you were…upset."

He pauses again, obviously waiting for some response on my part.

No. Not yet.

After a moment or two passes, he takes a deep breath, stands straight, and finally looks directly at me. A trick of the shimmering window light highlights his eyes for a second or two.

Warm, honest eyes.

"Look, I know you're upset. I should've walked away then, given you your privacy. I know. But I just couldn't do it. I'm sorry."

He gives me a tentative, awkward, little grin. Hopeful, but not expectant.

"It seems I had both tissues and an appalling lack of control over my feet."

He pulls one hand out of his jean's pocket and gestures. "And I couldn't let you ruin that lovely blouse."

His hopefulness slowly fades as I continue my silent scrutiny.

Genuine. Nothing he's done or said convinces me otherwise.

Nonetheless, the whole situation makes me acutely uncomfortable. I'm ashamed that he saw me crying. That he caught me displaying such weakness. Being so weak.

In my business, weak gets you killed.

Even when I was a miserable, frightened teen at The Farm, I never let anyone, especially not my roommate or the instructors, ever see me in such a state. There were a number of hidden places where a person could go and cry without fear of discovery.

I think I may have found every last one of them.

But here I am, having nakedly exposed myself in front of this perfect stranger. How could I have been so careless?

My knee-jerk response when embarrassed is to flee the situation. Emotionally, if not necessarily physically. But often that as well.

I could just turn and walk away. Or I could channel my embarrassment into anger—as I've done many times before—and let him know in no uncertain terms that his company is not appreciated.

Here's the thing. If I tell him to go, I know he will. It's clear that he's not the type that'll keep pushing.

Then I'll be by myself. Again.

Stop.

What am I doing? Wasn't I just bemoaning the fact that I've never felt so alone? Here I have the chance for some real, honest, human interaction, and I won't even give this kind man the time of day? Engage him in a bit of conversation?

I feel something firm up within me.

Time to make a choice.

No. Not backing away. Not doing that today. Not like I have done so many times before.

I smile. A little one. "Thank you. I didn't want to ruin this blouse, either. I do like it."

He smiles back, a look of relief passing across his face. He must've wondered if I was ever going to respond.

"In that case, it was good I came prepared. Ellie always tells me to have tissues handy."

Then he adds in a motherly-sounding voice, "You never know when you might need to blow your nose or get something outta your eye."

I tense. "Ellie?"

"My sister. She can be a bit of a mother hen."

The tension evaporates. I'm not sure why.

"Well, in this case, her advice was sound."

"It usually is." He sighs. "Although I sometimes think she still sees me as a gangly thirteen-year-old, always tripping over my own feet or bumping into stuff."

Unbidden, the image of him as a clumsy teenager pops suddenly, easily, into my mind.

It seems my expression gives me away.

He stares, mouth comically agape. "Oh, my god! You're picturing me the same way, aren't you?" He looks skyward, palms raised. "Will this humiliation never end?"

He's embarrassed, sure, but underlying it is a robust sense of self-deprecating humor that's easy to detect.

I laugh as I nod. "Guilty as charged."

I haven't laughed in a long time. Not genuinely. I'm not sure how he's done it, but, with only a few sentences, he's turned my morbidly introspective mood on its head.

He shakes his head, rolls his eyes. "Smooth, Chuck, really smooth. Great way to impress a beautiful—"

He cuts himself off abruptly, suddenly red-faced.

I throw him a lifeline. "Hi. Chuck, is it?"

"Yes. Chuck. Definitely Chuck. That's me. Chuck Bartowski. Of the Burbank Bartowskis." He winces.

On those few occasions where I'd had to personally deal with the tech support staff at Langley, they'd nervously spiraled much the same way Chuck is doing right now.

They'd irritated me. But Chuck, for some reason, doesn't. It's actually kinda cute.

"Well, Chuck Bartowski of the Burbank Bartowskis, I'm Sarah. Sarah Walker. Of the Washington Walkers."

I give him my real name, such as it is, without a moment's thought.

I uncross my arms and hold out my hand, the one not holding the crumpled-up tissues. "It's good to meet you, Chuck."

After a moment of hesitation, he takes it. Gingerly at first, but then more firmly, comfortably.

I know it's crazy, like some sort of stupid rom-com thing, but I feel this sudden, unexpected warmth flow between us. And, crazily enough, a simultaneous chill. If that's possible.

I manage to hold in my gasp.

I can see he's affected as well. He looks down at our clasped hands for a few long moments before moving his gaze to my eyes, all traces of his previous skittishness seemingly gone.

His voice is soft, gentle. "It's nice to meet you, too, Sarah."

He holds my hand for a few seconds longer, then gently, slowly lets it go.

There's a sudden, slightly awkward silence between us.

I don't know if he's just being a gentleman, not drawing attention to what just happened, or, maybe like me, he's simply unsure of what did just happen.

I cast about, looking for something to restart our conversation. "By the way, thank you for making that clear."

"Making what clear?"

"Your family line. For a moment, I thought you might've been part of the Boston Bartowskis. I hear they be can quite the snobs."

I think he also sensed the momentary discomfort for he nods firmly, playing along. "Yes, you're right. They tend to be. Our distant branch is much less formal. More hamburger than haute cuisine."

I surprise myself with the honesty of my reply. "That's good, because I am, too."

"I'll keep that in mind." He sounds serious.

We fall into another lull. He swallows heavily. I have no difficulty discerning that he's trying to muster up his courage.

Every passing moment makes it more and more obvious that Chuck Bartowski is one of those heart-on-sleeve kind of guys. Since Graham had recruited me, I've had almost no experience with persons of his sort.

Quite understandably. Very few like him ever find their way into my world. On either side. And if, against the odds, they do somehow manage it, they don't survive unchanged. Either they quickly learn to adapt, hiding themselves within an outer shell, like me, or they wind up getting themselves killed.

"I hope I'm not being too pushy," he takes a deep breath, "but how would you feel about going on a walk…with me? I'd planned to go around the seawall after my visit here."

I can't recall the last time I went on a walk with anyone. Not with a mark, not with Bryce.

For them, going for a walk was something too basic, too plain. Something simple that almost everyone, including poor, powerless people, can do.

Yet, his offer comes across as anything but simple. In some way, agreeing to Chuck's request feels like it would be a…commitment…of sorts.

I'm not sure I'm ready for that.

Perhaps it would be best to end things right now? Thank him for the offer and move on? Before I draw him, even in the smallest way, into a world that has no place for people like him?

That he misinterprets my hesitation as an outright refusal is made clear by his next words.

"That's okay. You're probably meeting someone, aren't you?"

He's given me an out. I'm tempted to take it.

No.

"Yes."

He visibly deflates. "I understand—"

I gently cut him off. "No, Chuck, yes. I'd like to go on a walk. With you."

I should stop right there, but my mouth seems to have a mind of its own. "And no, I'm not waiting to meet anyone. Not now, not later."

He brightens. I can see his surprise at my admission.

"Really?"

I nod, slowly. "Really."

He grins slowly, his nose crinkling.

I like that. It stirs something inside me. Speeds my heart.

"Great, because the seawall is one of my favorite parts of the city. Especially on a day like today."

"You've been here before?"

"Yeah, a couple of times. Your first time?"

"Uh-huh." I give him a bigger smile, tilting my head to one side as I look up at him. "Maybe you could…show me around?"

I hear the flirtatious tone of my voice. Where that came from, I'm not certain. Certainly not from my training. It feels…natural, unforced.

He appears to be a little stunned, but, after blinking a couple of times, he recovers.

"Well, Miss Walker, prepare to be guided. However, I'll warn you in advance that, due to various and sundry budgetary constraints, my experience is limited to the more affordable pleasures of this fair city."

I'd often been treated to sumptuous meals and extravagant entertainment by my marks. They firmly believed—erroneously—that such efforts would make me more amenable to their thinly veiled propositions.

I'd grown tired of it all. Years ago. The put-on formality. The self-aggrandizing showiness.

I slip my coat back on, settle the strap of my purse over my shoulder. "Well, Mr. Bartowski, that sounds fine to me. Guide away."

He gestures to the stairs, letting me go first.

My experience tells me that most men would use the opportunity to check me out, unobserved, from behind. But, brief as our acquaintance is, I know Chuck won't.

I don't even glance behind me as we mount the stairs. I trust him.

I don't know why. I just do.

…

As we near the gift shop, I hear my name being called out.

"Sarah!"

I turn to see Sam with her group standing near the exit. She's waving at me. She looks to her teacher, who nods. Sam walks fast, almost runs, over to us.

Excitedly, she asks, "Did you see the Orca underwater, Sarah?"

"Yes, Sam, I did. Hyak came right up to the glass to look at me. It was amazing."

"Really?"

I nod. "Really."

She notices Chuck standing a couple of feet away.

I gesture. "Sam, this is Chuck."

She tilts her head to look up at him. She's thoughtful. "You're really tall. I don't know any boys named Chuck."

He deadpans. "Yes, I am, and no, it's not the most common name."

Sam absorbs that, then asks, "Did you see what Sarah saw?"

"Yes, I did."

"I wish I could've." I hear the disappointment in her voice, see it in her face.

Chuck does as well, for he crouches down to her level, smiles, and speaks reassuringly, "The next time you're here, maybe he'll come and look at you."

She sounds unsure. "Maybe."

"I'll give you a tip. Wear something red. Hyak seems to like red."

That perks her up. "Like Sarah's blouse?"

"Yes. And there's something else you can do. Bring a picture of an Orca with you to show Hyak. I read somewhere that he's curious about pictures of other Orcas."

She's excited. "Do you think that'll help?"

"I can't say for sure, but it's worth a try. Hopefully, if Hyak's in a good mood next time you're here, he'll come and see you."

She nods, sagely. "I'll talk to my mom." Then, out of the blue, "Are you Sarah's boyfriend?"

I feel the sudden heat in my cheeks. Fortunately, his attention is focused on Sam so he doesn't appear to notice.

The one ear I can see reddens. I assume the other one does as well.

I'm not sure how he's going to answer Sam's blunt question. It's odd, but there's a part of me that's not sure how I want him to answer.

"No, Sam. We just met a few minutes ago."

It's foolish, I know, but I feel slightly…disappointed.

She leans closer, whispers, a child's whisper, loud enough for me to clearly hear every word.

"Maybe you could try to be? She was all by herself before. And she's really pretty."

Out of the mouth of babes.

He pauses for a breath or two before whispering back, "If Sarah wants to be alone, there's nothing wrong with that, Sam."

She nods. "I know, but I think she's lonely."

"You'd have to ask her about that. But here's what I can do. Sarah and I are going for a walk, so she won't be by herself for the next little while. Is that okay with you?"

She replies, a little grudgingly, "I guess so."

The teacher calls out, "Samantha, come here, please. The class is leaving."

Chuck stands straight, offers his hand. "It was really good meeting you, Sam."

She takes it, shakes it firmly. "You, too. Bye, Chuck."

Before I can react, Sam drops his hand, turns to me and gives me a hug, her arms tightly around my waist. She looks up at me and murmurs, very quietly this time, "He's a nice man, Sarah."

I murmur back, equally quiet, "Yes, he is. Bye, Sam."

"Bye, Sarah."

She releases me and runs back to her group. She takes her place in line and files out the exit with one last wave in our direction. We both wave back.

Despite the departure of the class, the room suddenly seems to be a little crowded, what with the elephant and all.

I'm worried that he might be flustered by Sam's blunt comments. To the point that he might feel he should address them at some length, thereby putting us both on the spot. And then he'll feel pressured and change his mind about our walk.

I don't want that. I really want to go on a walk. With him.

Having watched Sam leave, he turns back to me. His blush seems to have dissipated. I can only hope mine has as well.

I change the subject. "That was a nice thing you did for Sam."

"What do you mean?"

"Encouraging her. Giving her tips about how she might get to see Hyak up close."

He shrugs as if it wasn't anything special. "She wasn't happy. I just wanted her to feel better."

It's on the tip of my tongue to ask him if that's why he came to my aid, but I stop myself, knowing that would make him feel self-conscious.

Besides, I'm pretty sure I already know the answer.

"I'm sure she did." I pause. "The stuff about the photos of other whales was fascinating. Where did you read that?"

"I can't remember where. Maybe in the newspaper the last time I was here."

He grins, sheepishly. "Useless information like that seems to get stuck in my brain."

I shake my head "No, Chuck, not useless. It gave a little girl hope. That's far from being useless in my book."

His eyes are contemplative as he looks into mine, he quietly replies, "All of us can use a little hope, don't you think, Sarah?"

Clearly, like myself, he's no stranger to disappointment.

"Yes, Chuck, we certainly can."

We stand silently, looking at each other.

I see in his the eyes the same things I thought I saw in Hyak's.

Curiosity, intelligence, but above all else, empathy.

I'm not sure what he sees in mine. Maybe the same things.

At least I can hope he does.

This time he's the first to speak.

"You ready for our walk, Miss Walker?" He grins.

I grin back. "I am, Mister Bartowski."

The exit doors close behind us as we step out into the sunshine.

TBC

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A/N: Back to Chuck's POV next time.

Thank you for reading and your kind reviews.