A/N: Thank you for sticking with this story.
And thanks to my hard-working, patient beta, michaelfmx.
Any errors are my own.
Don't own Chuck et al.
—-
Chapter Six: Them
…
As we leave the Nine O'clock Gun behind, the seawall angles off to our left. We walk on for a bit before Chuck stops and tells me we've reached the easternmost end of the park. Brockton Point.
The harbor—a busy, working harbor—stretches out before us. To our left, across the inlet, there's a massive pile of what looks like sulfur. A freighter lays alongside, the yellow mineral being transferred into its holds by a large conveyer belt.
Off in the distance are numerous other docks with other freighters tied alongside, loading or unloading cargo, the mountains rising up behind them.
Tugs assist in the berthing of one ship. Others are anchored, awaiting their turn.
Small craft zip through the scene every which way, leaving their turbulent, white wakes behind them on the sparkling, blue water.
Far off, on the south shore, is a large container facility, with two massive vessels tied alongside. The large, red cranes are busy loading and offloading the multicolored, steel containers. To the right of that, but closer, is an unusual-looking building with the superstructure of a massive, white cruise ship visible on the far side.
"Canada Place. If you look closely, you'll notice it's built to look like a ship itself. The constructions on top are designed to represent sails."
It's a striking landmark. I nod. "I like it."
He nods his agreement. "They built it for the Expo they had here in 86. Now, as you can see, it's a cruise ship pier, amongst other things."
As we watch, an odd-looking, smallish, white and blue vessel appears from behind the structure, heading toward the north shore.
"What's that?" I point.
"That, Sarah, is the poor man's harbor tour, otherwise known as the SeaBus. For foot passengers. It goes from here to—" he points, "—Lonsdale Quay, over in North Vancouver. About halfway, it'll meet the one coming from the other direction. I've been on it a couple of times. There are a lot of restaurants and such on the Quay. And you get some great views of the city."
Without thinking, I ask, eagerly, "Could we go later? Or maybe tomorrow if we run out of time today? It sounds like fun."
It's only after the words leave my mouth, that the ramifications sink in.
What am I doing?
It wasn't long ago that I'd hesitated over going on a simple walk, a mere few hours spent in his company. And now, here I am committing myself to spend the rest of the day with him, and maybe tomorrow, as well?
The thing is, I want to. Really want to.
But I wonder if he thinks my request smacks of desperation, at least a little? It's as if I'm asking for a second date even before the first one is done. I've never done that before. Even with Bryce, he was always the one doing the asking.
On top of that, perhaps he feels I'm being presumptuous, assuming he doesn't have anything better to do tomorrow than escort me around.
I stumble over my words. "I…I mean, if you're free. And you wouldn't mind taking me."
He appears a little taken aback.
I'm just about to open my mouth and bury myself even deeper when he smiles. That nose-crinkling, full-blown one.
It's…reassuring.
"Of course, I wouldn't mind, Sarah." He points at himself. "At loose ends, remember? Not just today, but tomorrow, and the day after that.
"Besides, even if I'd had other plans, I would've canceled them."
Wondering, hoping, I ask, looking up into his eyes, "Why, Chuck?"
He pauses, looking a little unsure of himself. But then he straightens his shoulders, takes a deep breath and looks straight at me.
"Because there's no one within a thousand miles that I'd rather spend time with than you."
I hadn't expected that level of directness. I'm caught off guard.
"Oh!"
My cheeks flush. I turn away, look out into the harbor. It takes no more than a second's thought to realize that his words are also mine.
Unspoken.
...
There. Now she has at least some idea of how I feel.
I think she's blushing, but she turns away before I can be sure.
I don't believe she expected me to be quite that straightforward. And it wasn't just her. Despite my determination to get up off the sidelines, my words caught me by surprise as well.
Boldness has never really been my forté, but especially since Stanford, my life has seemingly been nothing but a succession of ifs and maybes and somedays.
But, apparently, not today.
Nothing ventured…
Besides, she asked me. That's never happened to me before. I was always the one asking for the second date with the few girls I'd gone out with before Jill. And being universally unsuccessful.
Even with Jill, before we'd fallen into our routine, I'd always been the one to ask if I could see her again.
But not now, not here.
She asked me.
I won't lie. That a woman like Sarah would actually be uncertain that I would want to spend more time in her company is a tremendous boost to my confidence.
I would have to be an absolute idiot to turn her down, given that opportunity. Even I'm not that much of a fool. And not such a fool that I would embarrass her by dwelling upon her request or her reaction to my reply.
"There's an exceptionally nice view just ahead. Are you ready to move on, Sarah?"
She turns back toward me, smiles (shyly?) as she nods, just a slight touch of rosiness remaining in her cheeks.
God, she's beautiful.
"Yes, Chuck, I am."
I think she likes me.
…
I think he likes me.
Those looks of his, his eyes rarely straying from my face, make me feel admired, appreciated, esteemed.
And those words.
I think he likes me.
I know. A normal girl probably wouldn't have the smallest doubt, even a fleeting one.
But I've never been normal. My life has never been normal.
My childhood innocence had been stolen from me. I never had the chance to experience those shy, fleeting glances from a boy in grade school. Holding hands with the young man in the second row of my high school English class. The awkward tentativeness of that first kiss behind the bleachers.
Somehow, seemingly in the blink of an eye, I'd gone from being a little girl to full-fledged CIA agent. Molded, from within and without, to deliberately arouse the lust of my targets.
And, of course, there'd been the inevitable fallout.
Prior to my transformation at The Farm, I'd gone unnoticed by the men in my class. At least, unnoticed in that way. But after…
Suffice it to say, I came to fully understand the phrase, "He undressed me with his eyes."
The propositions, veiled and otherwise, had followed, fast and furious, ones I—being so young and inexperienced—was ill-equipped to handle. And they've continued to this day, although I no longer have any problem summarily dealing with them or the men offering them.
Just one of the reasons I've been dubbed the "Ice Queen."
Yes, I'm well acquainted with lust. I know how to handle it. But decency and kindness and respect, not so much.
And that's what I see in Chuck's eyes.
It's just one more thing about him that unsettles me, but unsettles me in a good way, if that's possible.
I suddenly feel…shy. I can't recall the last time I genuinely felt that way. It's almost like I'm a young girl again, being noticed for the first time by that good-looking boy with curly hair.
Chuck asks me if I'm ready to move on.
I turn to look up at him. I nod. "Yes, Chuck, I am." In more ways than one.
We walk on, the main road now five or six feet above us to our left. We turn the corner, start heading west again. We don't have to go very far before we reach a squat, squarish, red and white lighthouse. Ahead of us, the walkway wends its way beneath it, through supporting arches.
We stop, look up.
He turns and grins at me. "The Brockton Point Lighthouse, just in case that wasn't already glaringly obvious. It was built close to a hundred years ago, which, for Vancouver, is fairly old. Pretty much the whole town was destroyed by a fire in the late 1800s."
He points to a curving flight of stairs. "Let's go up top, to the main road. The view's best from up there."
We climb the stairs, one's that are wide enough for us to go side-by-side. When we reach the top, I immediately understand why he brought me here.
Years ago, I'd been trailing an arms dealer through the winding, narrow streets of Siena. It was believed he was going to meet with a woman, the leader of a terrorist group we were trying to get a handle on.
I'd stayed fifty or so feet behind him, easily keeping him in sight despite his clumsy attempts to determine if anyone was on his tail. That was until he suddenly turned and descended a broad set of stairs that went beneath the buildings to my left.
I didn't know where they led, so I'd sped up to make sure he wouldn't get away. I quickly went down the same stairs only to see him reaching the last step and turning right. The angle of the passageway had prevented me from seeing what lay beyond—until I reached the bottom step.
Then it was as if a curtain had abruptly been pulled open, revealing the city's main square, Il Campo, in all its glory, the brown stones of the buildings glowing in the warm, afternoon light. I'd stopped for a few seconds, almost overwhelmed by the beauty of it all.
But then I'd caught myself and pushed aside the distraction. Looking around, I reacquired my target at one of the outdoor cafés to my right, just sitting down across the table from a young, redheaded woman.
The mission had gone off well, despite my brief loss of focus. The arms dealer and his terrorist contact were both rounded up later that day. They're still in jail, as far as I know, their respective organizations dismantled.
Personally shamed by my lapse of concentration, I'd denied myself the memory of that amazing, revelatory moment at the bottom of the stairs.
Until now.
Ahead of us, the seawall gently winds its way down the undulating shoreline. Spread out before us, the park is a verdant sea, punctuated by autumnal dabs of yellow, orange, and red. Off in the distance, the terrain gradually increases in elevation to a point where I see a tall, green, graceful suspension bridge. The north end is clearly visible, but the southern end seems to disappear, blending right into the dense forest.
I take it in for few long moments before I turn to him, smiling. "It's beautiful, Chuck."
"It is, isn't it? And one of the places where you get a real idea of just how big the park actually is. And how most of it is undeveloped."
I nod. "The bridge reminds a lot of the Golden Gate."
"Yeah, I agree. It's called the Lion's Gate. Both were built in the thirties. This one's a lot smaller, but otherwise, they're a lot alike.
"There's a great view of the park and city from the bridge itself."
I start to blurt out another request, but manage to bite my tongue. However, he seems to catch it despite my efforts.
He grins. "I'll take you there. I'll warn you, though. It's quite a hike from the seawall up to Prospect Point." He points to the elevation I'd noted.
I see what he means. The seawall passes under the bridge at least a couple of hundred feet below.
He grins again. "I suspect you'd have far less trouble making the climb than I would."
"I don't know. You seem to be in decent shape."
He shakes his head. "Thanks for that, but I'm no Captain Awesome."
"Who's that? Some sort of superhero?"
He smirks. "Sort of. My sister's husband, Devon, but I call him Captain Awesome."
I'm puzzled. "Why would you do that?"
"The guy is a veritable fitness machine. Runs, hikes, bikes, climbs, jumps out of airplanes. He can even turn tooth brushing into some sort of isometric exercise. Nicest guy you could ever meet, he and Ellie are great together, but he makes me feel like a lazy slob."
I keep my voice neutral. "He sounds…interesting."
Chuck laughs. "He is that, Sarah. Wait till you meet him."
His cheeks abruptly redden. He looks down and away.
…
Idiot.
I've known her for such a short time, and here I am inviting her to meet the family.
How presumptuous is that? Like I'm assuming we're an actual couple and she's going to be around long-term.
But I couldn't help myself. It just seemed like such a…natural…thing to say.
I suspect I've made her feel incredibly uncomfortable. Pressured. I won't be surprised if she finds some excuse to disengage.
I turn my head, look at her, prepare myself to face the music. Maybe I can find some way to backpedal.
But she's not avoiding my eyes as I'd expected. Feared. Instead, she's smiling gently at me.
"I'd like that…one day. And I could meet your sister, too."
I can't help myself. I gape at her, momentarily speechless.
A few seconds pass before I stammer, "You…you would?"
She nods slowly, seriously. "Yes, Chuck. I would." Then she grins, cheekily. "After all, I do have to thank her for training you so well. Otherwise, I would've ruined my new red blouse."
She's making fun of me again. Kindly. Gently.
I've got absolutely no problem with that.
…
What the hell am I doing? What's next? Picking out china patterns?
Bryce never asked me to meet his family. I never even knew his parents' names, just that they lived somewhere in Connecticut. In retrospect, I'm not even sure if that was true.
And, of course, I'd never invited him to meet my family, not that it could've happened even if I'd wanted it to. Not with my estranged mother. And my father, god knows where, off conning some pensioner.
No, Bryce and I never had the kind of relationship where that sort of thing came up. And even if he had, in some moment of alcohol-induced weakness, blurted it out, he never would have expected me to take him up on his offer.
After all, Bryce was well aware that I'm not the type of girl one brings home to meet the parents.
However, Chuck's earnest invitation—by its very spontaneity if nothing else—comes across as completely sincere.
And my reply was equally spontaneous, sincere—surprising both of us—coming as it did from some place, perhaps, some…yearning…I was unaware of.
I really would like to meet them.
Good people usually come from good people. I don't know a lot of good people. Almost none, if truth be told. I'd like to know more. And it seems to me that Ellie, especially, has had a strong influence on who Chuck is. If so, I'd doubly like to meet her.
I have this momentary vision of holding his hand while being introduced to his sister and her husband. Sharing a dinner. Getting to know them. Them getting to know me. Getting a hug from Ellie.
But I know it'll never happen. It can't. We live in different worlds, ones that can never truly intersect.
And I'm not the kind of girl a boy brings home to meet the family.
But a girl can dream a little.
Can't she?
…
She astounds me. Constantly.
Every time—every single time—I've put my foot in it, she finds a way to look beyond it. It's as if she simply refuses to allow my clumsiness of word and thought to put her off.
It doesn't even take the fingers of one hand to count the people who care enough about me to do that. Ellie, Morgan, and, most recently, Devon.
I can only conclude that Sarah does like me. At least a little. No, I'm not going so far as like-like. Just like. Which is already much more than I'd expected.
Nonetheless, I need to watch what I say. There's something happening here, and the last thing I want to do is spoil it by crossing some line and scaring her off.
Like telling her that I like-like her.
Which I do.
Very much.
But I can't tell her that.
Can I?
…
We follow the curve of the sidewalk over to a flight of stairs that takes us back down to the seawall.
He's quiet. I'm quiet, too. But that's much more the norm for me. Chuck, on the other hand, is a talker. Even in this short while, I've gotten used to that. And I like it.
I wonder if, despite my reassurances, he's still embarrassed about the inadvertent invitation?
We walk along in silence for a minute or two. Until I hear what I think is a tiny sigh.
Then he stops and turns to me, smiling. But it seems to me that the smile is a little distracted.
"The totem poles are next, Sarah. Just up there a little ways." He points up a slight incline to the other side of the main road.
His eyes still on me, he steps into the bike lane, unaware of the cyclist speeding towards him.
My heart in my throat, I grab his left hand with my right, yank him back towards me. He stumbles, but doesn't fall as the bike misses him by mere inches.
There's the squeal of brakes as the man brings his bike to a screeching halt.
He asks, concerned, "You okay, man? I didn't expect you to cross over."
Chuck gulps, nods shakily. "Yeah, I'm good."
"You're sure?"
Chuck waves it off and replies, his voice firmer, "Thanks for asking, but I'm fine. I should've been paying more attention."
"Okay, then." With that, the man pedals off.
Chuck turns to face me, his voice betraying his embarrassment. "Sorry. Here I was telling you to be careful and then I go and do something stupid like that. I feel like an idiot."
My heart madly pounding with the thought of him lying on the ground, perhaps badly injured, I reply as calmly as I can, "It's okay. But please be careful. I wouldn't want to see you get hurt."
He looks into my eyes, serious. "Thank you for pulling me out of the way, Sarah."
I put on a smile, trying to lighten the mood. "You're welcome. After all, we wouldn't want to spend the rest of our time off at the hospital, would we?"
He looks at me with surprise in his eyes. "You'd do that?"
I'm not sure what he means. "Do what?"
"Stay by my side if I'd wound up in the hospital."
I remember the night I was clipped by a fast-moving car as I fled from the scene of a botched mission. Bad intel or bad luck, I was never sure.
I'd hobbled away, knowing I couldn't go to a hospital. The locals weren't exactly on friendly terms with Americans, especially with one who'd just tried to take out the leader of their country.
By the time I'd dragged myself to the run-down room I'd rented, I could barely walk. Hissing in pain, I'd somehow managed to take off my clothes and shoes.
My right leg, from hip to knee, was already one livid bruise. And my ankle was badly sprained.
Fortunately, my room had its own washroom. I'd one-foot-hopped into the shower, full cold, to try and bring down the swelling. I stood there, teeth chattering, knowing there was no way I'd be able to get myself to the extraction point for a few days at least.
I managed to bribe the irascible old lady next door into getting me provisions and painkillers.
Those next few days had been some of the most miserable I'd ever spent. Staring at the ceiling. Trying to sleep through the pain. Too much time to think. Alone. Realizing that, even if I'd been laid out back in D.C., I likely wouldn't have had any visitors.
I wouldn't wish that on anyone, let alone someone like this man looking at me the way he is right now.
"Yes, I would Chuck. I wouldn't leave you all by yourself, so far from home."
He looks into my eyes, nods slowly. "Thank you. Again. I promise to be more careful."
He pauses, smiling.
"After all, we wouldn't want to ruin our time off, would we?"
He's ever so gently, kindly, tossing my words back at me.
I replay the sentence in my mind.
Yes. I did say we. Twice. And our. A possessive pronoun.
Possessive.
Did I mean it? Or was I just trying to be kind?
I search my heart.
Yes, I did. I do.
I'm ashamed that in my moment of panic, my heart pounding, I'd never thought, even for a moment, of what could've happened to the rider if they'd collided.
Only Chuck. Only him.
I suddenly realize my heart is still beating rapidly. I know how my body reacts to stress. My pulse should have slowed by now. Also, my breathing's a little quicker than it should be. And I feel…warm. Tingly.
Why?
I look down. Let out a little gasp.
That's why.
I haven't let go of his hand. It's still tightly clutched in mine.
I'd wondered about what would happen upon our second touch.
No longer.
This is what you wanted, isn't it, Sarah?
Yes.
I look up at him. Smile. Shyly. Again.
"I like you, Chuck."
…
I can't believe I was so foolish as to step into the bike line without looking both ways.
I wouldn't say I saw my life flash before my eyes when the bike barely missed me, but it sure did get the old pulse rate up.
I wonder if she's an athlete of some sort. It's just that her reaction was so quick. And the amazing strength she used to pull me out of the way. I wouldn't have thought her slender frame could contain that much power.
The cyclist kindly inquires if I'm okay, even though it was my fault. I feel a little shaky but manage to tell him I'm okay. Twice.
He rides off.
I turn to Sarah, apologize for my stupidity.
Though she makes light of it, I can see the anxiety in her expression, hear in it her voice. She's genuinely distressed even by the thought of me getting hurt.
My heart does a little flip.
After I thank her, she smiles, trying to lighten the mood.
"You're welcome. After all, we wouldn't want to spend the rest of our time off at the hospital, would we?"
I can't have heard her right.
I hear the incredulity in my voice. "You'd do that?"
She looks puzzled. "Do what?"
"Stay by my side if I'd wound up in the hospital."
I watch as a memory passes over her face. A few moments pass before she earnestly replies, "Yes, I would Chuck. I wouldn't leave you all by yourself, so far from home."
I feel this…warmth…flood my chest. All over.
I suddenly realize it's not just her words. She's still holding my hand. Tightly. Protectively.
I wonder no more. Touching her has banished my uncertainty.
I believe she's unaware that she's grasping my hand so tightly.
But I won't draw attention to that. Just in case she thinks she shouldn't.
However, I can't stop the smile on my lips. "Thank you. Again. I promise to be more careful."
Feeling a little cheeky, I pause before paraphrasing her words. "After all, we wouldn't want to ruin our time off, would we?"
She's wide-eyed for a second or two, perhaps fully realizing, for the first time, just what she'd said.
She looks down, seemingly shy once more. I follow her gaze to our joined hands.
I feel more than hear her gasp.
Her cheeks rosy once more, she looks up at me, smiling.
"I like you, Chuck."
I make sure I've captured her eyes with mine.
"And I like you, Sarah.
It seems my courage has not yet abandoned me.
"Very much."
TBC
—
A/N: The inadvertent discovery of Il Campo happened to me many years ago. Like the Hyak incident, it has stuck in my mind.
Thank you all for your patience and your kind words.