At Loose Ends

by WvonB

Two lonely people. A chance meeting. What will happen?

9. Chapter 9

A/N: A new chapter! A long time, I know. But not for lack of trying. The words just weren't coming, but we're finally here.

For those of you still reading, I thank you for your patience.

And thanks to michaelfmx, my beta. For his encouragement and corrections. Any errors are my fault.

Don't own Chuck et al.

—

AT LOOSE ENDS: Chapter Nine

"No, Chuck, it's worse than that. Much worse."

What just happened?

The laughing, joking, engaged woman of just a few moments ago has abruptly vanished. In her place is an unsmiling, disengaged one, much like the one who'd rigidly, frigidly stared me down at our first meeting.

What could Bryce have done that even the mention of his name causes such a seismic shift?

And how the hell did he get close enough in the first place to do whatever crappy thing he did do?

I'm about to ask when it comes to me. Her job. It had to be.

"I assume Bryce was one of those guys you had to get close to. Like a bookkeeper for the mob or something?"

She shakes her head. "No."

Her eyes search my face for a few moments.

"He was my partner." Her voice is flat. Her face an expressionless mask.

I'm confused. "Partner in what? Why would you be partnered with an accountant? That doesn't make sense. Unless he was working with the government to bring down some criminal organization. Was he one of those forensic—"

She cuts off my spiraling, her voice quiet, but firm. "Stop, Chuck."

I do. Somehow.

"Bryce wasn't an accountant. He never was. It was just a cover he used on occasion."

"A cover?"

"Yes."

"Cover for what?"

She hesitates. I see uncertainty cross her face, then decisiveness.

"Bryce was a CIA agent."

I gape at her, disbelieving. "A spy? Bryce Larkin from Connecticut?"

"Yes."

The pieces belatedly fall into place.

"So, that means you're also CIA? A spy?"

"Yes."

I don't know exactly why, but the thought of her being a CIA agent had never crossed my mind. Somehow, I'd pictured her as working for the FBI or some other lesser-known Federal agency. Something stodgier, more button downed. Not the glamorous, jet-setting life of a secret agent that'd been drilled into my mind by countless books and movies.

Which is stupid of me. She's as much as told me that her job isn't anything like my pop-culture fantasy.

But it does make me wonder just what her life as a spy is actually like. Perhaps far grittier than I thought. Much more Daniel Craig's Bond than Roger Moore's.

I don't like the idea of that, but it's not my place to judge. Besides, she's given me every indication that she's ready to leave that life behind.

Maybe she'll tell me more about it. If she can. If she wants to. I'll just have to be patient.

At the back of my mind, there's something else that's still nagging at me, something about the way she speaks about Bryce…

I can't figure it out, so, instead of fixating on it, I ask, "So, you two worked together?"

"Yes."

"A lot?"

She's quiet. "Yes."

"Were you a good team?"

A small pause. Quieter still. "Yes."

Her monosyllabic responses unsettle me. Clearly, she's very uncomfortable with the thread of the conversation, but it's also just as clear that there's something I'm missing. Something she wants to tell me, but isn't quite sure how to do it.

I try to keep the anxiety from my voice. "Sarah, what is it you want me to know about you and Bryce?"

She looks down for a second or two, then stares over my shoulder, worries her lower lip.

Slowly, reluctantly—I think—she disengages her hand from mine. She slides over on the bench and, even though it's just a few inches, it feels like this massive gulf has suddenly opened up between us.

Then it hits me.

The answer's staring me right in the face.

…

What are the odds? Two people, both far from home, meeting by sheer chance, who not only know Bryce, but who were both betrayed by him.

Ironically, that which might draw us closer—this mutual commiseration of woe—has, at the same time, the potential to fatally fracture the bond we've been forming.

I look down, surprised to see the space separating us. My now empty hand. It seems I've already withdrawn. Perhaps preparing myself for the rejection that I fear will follow if I tell him exactly what kind of relationship I had with Bryce.

I look over Chuck's shoulder. Stare unseeingly.

I could lie. Like I've done a thousand times before. Minimize what I had with Bryce. Make it seem almost inconsequential, a passing affair. That his betrayal was purely a professional one.

Or I could defuse the situation, shift the direction of our conversation by informing him that Bryce is gone. That he no longer needs to worry about his former friend stepping back into his life. Or mine.

Stop.

What am I doing?

Am I so cowardly that, that at the first sign of difficulty, I seriously contemplate going back to what I've always done? Deceive? Misdirect?

No.

I will not let that happen. I will not throw away this…rebirth…that's been granted to me this day.

Loose-End Sarah.

If I lie or even simply deflect, I'll be killing her, this newborn woman he likes—that I like—as surely as if I knifed her in the back.

I'll have to take the gamble, hope that he'll still be able to look at me the same way after I tell him what it was that Bryce and I were. And weren't.

Then I'll tell him what happened to the man who turned on us both.

I bring my eyes back to the man sitting patiently beside me.

"Bryce and I weren't just partners. We were…more…than that.

"Much more."

To my surprise, he doesn't appear to be shocked. But he does pull back—unconsciously, I think—the hand that'd been lying empty in the gap between us. Places it in his lap.

I see the pain behind the weak smile, the brave front he tries to put on.

"I'm not surprised, Sarah. Bryce always did get the greatest girls."

He thinks he's lost again. To Bryce.

I can't let him go on believing that.

"But we were also much less. Much less than I suspect you're thinking right now."

His confusion is easy to see. "I don't understand."

"Chuck, when I told you that men said that they cared for me, even loved me, and how little that meant to me, I wasn't just speaking about my marks."

There's a spark of hope in his eyes, his voice.

"Bryce?"

I nod slowly. "And when I told you about the kind of people that populate my life, that wasn't just my marks, either."

"Bryce?"

"Yes, him and most of those I worked with. Including my boss."

I let that sink in before adding, "That's the kind of world I've lived in. Since I was a teenager. It's no excuse, but given the choices available to me, I guess you could say that Bryce was the best of a bad lot. We spent a lot of time together, often in very stressful circumstances. We sort of…fell…into a relationship.

He flinches, just a little, but I see it.

"I wanted to believe that he loved me. And, for a while, I managed to convince myself that he did. And I fooled myself into believing that I was in love with him.

"But I never was. And he was never in love with me. Not really. Just the persona was all."

I can see his relief, even though he tries to conceal it. He's bad at hiding his feelings.

I'm not used to that. Practically my whole life has been spent around people who were experts at concealing their real emotions. It's disconcerting, but, at the same time, exhilarating, to be around someone like him. Maybe I can learn from his example.

Maybe I already have.

"The truth is that we were nothing more than a…convenience…for each other. Better than nothing."

I reach over and place my hand on his. "But only just barely."

He doesn't pull back. A good sign.

But there's still uncertainty, hurt in his eyes.

He deserves more.

"Chuck, even during that period of self-delusion, I never, not even once, ever told Bryce that I loved him. I guess some part of me knew I didn't."

In my rush to explain, I grow careless. "Instead, when he'd say the words, expecting me to say them back, I always found some way to deflect, to direct his attention elsewhere."

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Chuck's smart. It takes only a second or two for him to realize the kind of deflection I'm talking about. I can see it on his face.

He closes his eyes. I feel his hand harden into a fist.

I feel the heat of shame in my cheeks.

…

I close my eyes, fists clenched as I'm hit by the sudden, graphic mind-picture her words have conjured up.

She and Bryce. Tangled. Grasping. Gasping.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

I desperately try to push away the image. Try to focus, instead, on the positive things she's told me.

She's told me that she never loved him. And I believe her. And she had no idea that Chuck Bartowski even existed, so it's not as if she was cheating on me.

I know all that…and yet there's this unreasonable, jealous, petty part of me that somehow feels like she was.

Jill and Bryce.

Sarah and Bryce.

It's like I'm always second best. And always will be.

Her voice is low, with a faint note of pleading. "Chuck, please understand that ended a year ago. Bryce disappeared, with no warning.

"But we were done before he pulled off his vanishing act. I just didn't realize it at the time. So, when he left, I felt…betrayed. Abandoned."

I open my eyes, my descent into wallowing self-pity arrested by her words. Her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes on mine.

I avoid her gaze, ashamed of my selfishness. How can I be so self-centered as to only think of the impact of Bryce's actions on my life?

She'd been hurt too. I can hear it in her voice. See it in her eyes, the small, barely noticeable slump of her shoulders.

Why? Why is she baring her soul to someone she barely knows?

She's a CIA agent. Trained to conceal, not reveal.

So, why?

Maybe she sees a future for us? But knows that nothing lasting can be built on a foundation of half-truths or outright lies?

If so, she's taking a chance by being honest with me. A big one. And she knows that. Knows, in light of the Stanford debacle, how difficult it would be for me to accept that she was with Bryce.

She could've hidden or minimized her relationship with him. But she didn't. Instead, she candidly told me what they had, and didn't have. And how she felt about that.

I try to dampen down my surge of optimism.

I might be misreading her. There could be any number of reasons why she's telling me all this.

Maybe she simply sees me as a friend, someone outside her normal circle that she can confide in without fear of it getting back to the people she works with. Or maybe she's just trying to make me feel better, the old misery loves company thing.

God, I hope that's not all this is.

But then I realize it really doesn't make any difference why she's opened her heart.

The important thing is that she's done so.

It's time for me to do the same. And hope for the best.

Time for me to finally put away all the woe is me crap. Time to kick Bryce Freaking Larkin to the curb once and for all.

Her hand's resting on top of my clenched fist. Waiting there for me to make some kind of move.

She deserves the full story. Not the CliffNotes version I'd given her. Maybe residual anger held me back. Or the fear of revealing the full extent of my naivety, my gullibility.

Either way, that wasn't fair.

I unclench my fist, take her hand gently in mine.

"Her name was Jill."

…

He's silent, staring out into space, lost in thought as he absorbs my words…my confession.

I know. I wasn't cheating on Chuck. So there's nothing to feel shame or guilt about.

And yet, somehow, I do.

I feel it as I watch the emotions run across his face. I feel it as I wait for some sort of response from him. Maybe just a word. Maybe something as simple as him taking my hand again.

If he'll just look at me, maybe we can start to work past this.

But he doesn't. Just this unseeing…rigidity.

It seems that I've thrown the dice. And lost.

Then he slowly unclenches his fist and gently takes my hand in his. He brings his eyes to mine.

I let out the breath I hadn't been aware I'd been holding in.

His smile is small, tentative, sad. Not the kind of smile I'm used to. But it's still a smile, brief as it is. Reassuring. A step in the right direction.

I hope.

"Her name was Jill."

I knew a Jill once. At The Farm. A relentless tormentor of a young girl desperately trying to keep her head above water after being thrown into the most brutal of deep ends.

I hated that Jill.

Knowing what this Jill did to Chuck, it takes no effort on my part to muster up the same virulent dislike.

I hold his hand a little tighter, wait for him to continue.

"I thought I loved her. I told myself, over and over, that I did."

He pauses. "Like you did with Bryce."

I nod. "Yes."

He slides over, closing the gap between us. "But I didn't."

Pause.

"Like you didn't."

A rush of relief. He believes me.

"The truth is, I was afraid…afraid of being alone. Winding up alone."

Of course. That's all Bryce was. An antidote to poisonous isolation. Or so I thought.

I slowly nod my agreement. "Me too, Chuck."

He flashes an empathetic little smile, a small nod, before quietly going on, "I saw what Devon and my sister had. I knew they'd always be there for each other. I wanted that too. And at Stanford pretty much everyone I knew seemed to find someone to be with.

"Yeah, I knew most of those relationships were only temporary, but still…"

He sighs. "So, when Jill came along and we hit it off, I thought she was the one. The one who'd always be there for me."

He stops, quietly asks, "Sarah, do you think that…fidelity…is still realistic in today's world?"

I'm caught off guard by the seemingly sudden change of subject. It only takes me a moment to realize it's not really a departure at all. But I need to be certain I understand exactly what he's asking.

"Fidelity?"

"You know. Being true to someone. Or something."

I think for a few moments. "Yes, Chuck, I do."

I pause.

"If the object is worthy of your devotion."

Not Bryce.

Not Graham. Not the CIA. Not anymore. Maybe never were.

He looks at me, nods slowly.

"I thought she was."

He drops his head. "While we were together, I never entertained the thought of cheating on her. I didn't flirt with other girls. And when my frat brothers wanted to go into graphic detail about their sexual conquests or watch movies—you know, the x-rated kind—I'd make myself scarce."

Another sigh escapes him.

"I'm not saying I was some kinda saint or anything. It's just that I felt that if I did any of that stuff, I was being…disloyal…to her."

He brings his head up, looks at me, embarrassed, red-faced. "Does that sound stupid?"

A sudden flush of heightened affection settles warmly in my chest.

Chuck Bartowski. The anti-Bryce.

I squeeze his hand, earnestly reply, "No, it doesn't. Not at all. I believe most women would feel that's the exact opposite of stupid."

I pause, unsure if I should go on.

I will. "I know I would."

There. I've said it.

He smiles, warmly. "Thank you, Sarah."

"And what's more, Chuck, any woman who treats that kind of loyalty with disdain doesn't deserve it in turn."

He nods, more firmly this time. "You're right. I only truly understood that today. With your help."

That surprises me. "Me? How did I help?"

"You helped me see that what happened back then wasn't my fault. That hanging on to something that never really existed is a complete waste of time. As is hanging on to hurt, dredging it up again and again."

He straightens his shoulders, his voice strong, unwavering. "Regardless of what happened, my feelings, my motivations, were honest. Misguided, yes, but honest. I've finally understood that I have nothing to be ashamed of."

He pauses. Looks me straight in the eyes. His voice is firm. "And neither do you, Sarah. I'm confident that you were loyal to him, but knowing Bryce as I do, I doubt that he returned the favor."

I sit back, close my eyes, stunned by his insight. How did he figure that out?

I had been faithful to Bryce the whole time. I hadn't strayed. Mentally or physically. And I'd believed that Bryce had done the same for me.

Yes, I'd heard faint whispers of the gossip that floated around Langley. That Agent Larkin was always on the make when my back was turned. That, on his solo missions, his bed was rarely empty. Being Graham's golden girl, looking the way I do, I was disliked by most of the women I worked with, so I'd dismissed the rumors, attributing them to backbiting and jealously.

Now, hearing Chuck's story, and thinking back to the not-so-hidden knowing looks, the smirks from the women I passed in the hallways, I'm quite certain I was wrong.

After all, if Bryce could sink so low as to do what he did to Chuck—this good, kind man—I have little doubt he would've had any compunction about doing the same to me.

Idiotically, for months after Bryce had disappeared, I'd waited. Had I expected him to come back to relieve, at least a little of my god-awful solitude?

I hadn't known, unable to sort out my thoughts, my emotions. The whys and wherefores of his actions.

So I waited.

And while I'd waited, I'd turned down the numerous offers—propositions, in fact—from Bryce's peers. At first, I hadn't been sure why I'd done so. Loyalty to a man who'd shown none to me?

It'd taken almost no time for the truth to become clear. Even if Bryce—more specifically, his absence—hadn't been on my mind, I would've still turned them down.

Because not a single one of them was worth my time and effort. Nothing they did or said generated even the tiniest spark of genuine interest in my heart.

It'd taken me much longer to understand that Bryce had never done so either.

Mr. Better-Than-Nothing. That's all Bryce was. He and all his ilk.

I settled for that once.

Never again.

I want more.

I deserve more.

I open my eyes, look into Chuck's.

Wondering.

…

"Chuck, you barely know me. How can you be so sure that I was faithful to him?"

"Sarah, how could you be so certain that I hadn't cheated at Stanford?"

She blinks. I don't think she expected me to answer her question with a question. It takes a moment for her to reply.

"Because you're not that kind of person. You're genuine, honest."

"How do you know?"

She's taken aback, has to think for a few seconds. "I just do. I sensed it at the moment we met, and everything you've said and done since then has told me that I was right."

"And I feel the same about you, Sarah."

She sounds mildly exasperated. "Chuck, I lie for a living."

"Have you been?"

"What?

"Lying to me?"

She shakes her head, quickly, firmly. "No, I haven't, but that's exactly what I'd say if I was conning you."

"Believe me, I've thought about that possibility."

Her face falls.

I smile. "For about two heartbeats. Then common sense kicked me in the ass and told me I was being an idiot."

Her face brightens.

"What point would there be to con me? I'm not rich or powerful. I'm not important and I don't know anyone or anything important.

"Besides, I found you, otherwise we would've never met. Clearly, you weren't after me.

"So, if you've been lying, leading me on, that would appear to leave only one option. You've been playing some cruel joke on me. Building me up and so you could crush me later, simply for your amusement."

She jumps in. Impassioned. "I wouldn't do—"

I jump in, hasten to reassure her. "I know, Sarah, I know. I never actually believed, not even for a moment, that the woman I…shared tissues with…would ever do that."

I grin. "I will admit, however, that the stare-down you gave me did make me a little nervous."

Her cheeks flush. "Sorry. I didn't know what to make of you. I needed some time to figure you out. You confused me."

I chuckle. "Don't worry. I tend to do that to women. Thus, the whole being alone thing."

She grins. Just a little.

I grasp her hand a little tighter. "Sarah, I know there's stuff you can't tell me, and I understand why. But you've been as open as you can, even though I suspect that goes against everything you were taught."

She nods slowly. "It does."

"Which makes me appreciate your honesty all the more."

She ducks her head, shyly. "Thank you, Chuck."

"You're welcome, Sarah."

"I'm still curious, though."

"About what?"

"The loyalty to Bryce thing."

I shrug. "You just don't come across as a person who plays around."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Well, the fact that you were alone, that you weren't waiting for anyone, was a big clue."

"Why?"

"Sarah, you do realize that, if you wanted male companionship, you'd never have any trouble finding it? And I expect that, even though you came here for work, ample opportunities have presented themselves."

…

He's right. I remember the bellboy's near-leer, the unspoken offer. And the blatant, calculating stares—ones I'd staunchly ignored—of the men I'd passed in the lobby and on the way to the park. The only man who'd looked at me as a person, not an object, was George, the concierge.

Until I met Chuck, that is.

"But, instead, you chose to be alone. Right there, that told me a lot about you. That casual relationships are not your thing. That you're not easily enticed."

He shrugs. "So, when you told me about Bryce, I figured that meant you were loyal to him."

He snarls, just bit. "Even though the SOB didn't deserve it."

Amazing.

"You're right, Chuck. He didn't. But it took me a while, much longer than it should've, to finally understand that."

"I get it. The man's charming, personable. He makes you believe that you're the most important person in his life. That he'd rather spend time with you than anyone else."

"And that he'd stick by you, through thick and thin."

He nods. "Yeah, Sarah. He's really good at that. Even while he's screwing around behind your back."

I see a memory cross his face. An unpleasant one.

"Sarah, I've got a confession to make."

He sounds embarrassed.

"What, Chuck?"

"I'm not a violent man, but for a long time after Stanford, I had visions of beating the crap out of Bryce if I ever saw him again."

He shakes his head. "I believe I'm past that now, but part of me still wonders how I would react if I saw him again. And especially now that I know what he did to you."

It's time.

I lean in closer, lower my voice. "Chuck, there's something you need to know about Bryce."

He picks up on my seriousness.

"What, Sarah?"

I take a deep breath.

"About a year ago, just after Bryce disappeared, I got wind of an attempted sabotage of a government facility. A secret one. Rumors were that a CIA agent was involved."

He quickly puts two and two together. "You thought it was him?"

"Yes, I did, but it was never confirmed."

"You think he went…what's the term? Rogue?"

I nod. "Yes."

He nods in turn. "So, he went on the run, off the grid."

"That was one possibility I considered."

"One possibility? What else could it be?"

Here it comes.

"Chuck, the rumors also had it that the agent didn't survive."

…

It finally clicks. What was bothering me. She'd never referred to Bryce as is. Only was.

I feel the blood drain from my face. My voice goes up an octave. "Bryce is dead?"

She squeezes my hand, quietly replies, "Yes."

I grasp at straws. "But you just said you couldn't be certain that he was the agent involved."

"Chuck, I'll probably never know for sure that it was him, but I am certain he's dead."

"How? How could you know?"

"The Director of the CIA informed me last month."

"But…but you said it happened last year. If it was Bryce, why would he wait so long to tell you?"

She hesitates before replying, "I wasn't given any details, but my gut told me he was covering up something. I figured it had to be that incident. If it got out that one of our own was definitely involved, he'd be professionally embarrassed. So, he almost certainly held off acknowledging Bryce's death until enough time had passed to make it seem there was no connection between the two events."

I gape at her, at a loss for words. Rarely a problem for me.

Her voice is quiet, empathetic. "I'm sorry, Chuck. You're not the kind of person who'd wish that, even upon your worst enemy."

She's right. Even at that absolute nadir of my life, hot with anger, bitter with disappointment, I'd never imagined a dead-and-gone Bryce Larkin.

"And I'm sorry I waited this long to tell you."

I'm suddenly angry.

At Bryce.

For dying before I had the chance to tell him exactly what I thought of him.

And angry at myself for never asking him why.

And peeved with Sarah for withholding that rather important bit of information.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner? Why the hell did you let me go on as if he was still around?"

My words, my tone, sting. She flinches.

…

He's annoyed with me. Justifiably.

"Chuck, will you let me explain, please?"

He nods. Once. Choppily.

"I'm very…accomplished…at manipulating people."

"I get that."

I firmly contradict him. "No, Chuck, you really don't. Hearing about it is one thing. Experiencing it is another thing altogether.

"Please understand that I'm not bragging, but if you'd been my mark, you would've never known what hit you. I would've researched you, inside and out, found out what made you tick,

"What turned you on and what didn't. How to establish common ground."

I gesture down to his feet. "For example. Your chucks. I would've worn them too, but probably orange, low-top ones.

"And then, once I had your attention, I would've used everything I'd learned to beguile you. To seduce you. To control you."

He swallows heavily. "Where are you going with this, Sarah?"

"Please be patient. I'm trying to show you my mindset. How I was taught and trained."

A grudging, "Okay."

"When you asked about Bryce and me, my first instinct was to lie to you. Make you believe that what we had was nothing serious. Just an impersonal partnership."

His eyes widen, but he doesn't interrupt.

"Then I thought about telling you that Bryce was dead, but I realized that really would be no different than lying to you. Because I knew how easy it would be to use that..revelation…to direct the course of our conversation down a different path."

"Either way, you would've never known. I'm that good."

I pause to make sure I have his attention.

"Chuck, I don't want to be that person any longer."

Hopeful, I ask, "Can you understand that?"

He takes a few seconds before quietly replying, "Yes, I think I do. But I need to ask you something."

I'm pretty sure I know what he's going to say.

I can hear the hint of disappointment in his voice. "Was that the only reason you were honest with me? Just because you're trying to change who you are?"

I was right.

…

A few moments pass before she replies. Stomach-churning moments.

Shaking her head, she quietly replies, "No. That's part of it, yes. But only a part. A small part."

She takes in a deep breath. "I especially didn't want to be that person with you."

"Why, Sarah?"

"Chuck, I believe we have the start of something good here. Really good. I want to give it a chance. See where it goes."

I feel the happiness bubbling up inside me. I want to tell her I feel the same way, but part of me knows she has more to say, so I just nod as she goes on.

"But if I was to lie to you or manipulate you, I might as well turn and walk away right now. Nothing real, nothing lasting, could come from that sort of beginning.

"So I held off telling you about Bryce. Until I could tell you about him and me.

"But just the thought of doing that scared me."

"Why?"

She hurries out the words, looking down into her lap. "I was afraid that once you knew the whole story, I would become just another Jill in your eyes. Given all that happened, maybe that would be more than you could handle. That you wouldn't be able to look at me anymore the way you do."

She pauses, brings her eyes to mine. "I didn't—don't—want to lose that look. The affection behind it."

"But you took the chance."

She nods. "Yes. When it came down to it, I realized there was only one choice.

"Tell you the truth and hope you wouldn't turn your back on me."

Her eyes search my face. "Was I right, Chuck, to hope?"

Throwing caution to the winds, I raise her hand, briefly kiss it. Smile into her eyes.

"Yes, Sarah, you were. The only way you see the back of me is if I drive you crazy and you tell me to go."

She smiles back, relieved. "I don't see that happening, Chuck."

"Give it time."

She chuckles.

"Sarah, I don't give a damn about Bryce Larkin anymore. Yeah, I care that he's dead, but I won't let the thought of him, the memories of what he's done, influence any part of my life moving forward."

I pause. "Or my hopes."

"You forgive me?"

I shake my head, vehemently. "No, because there's nothing to forgive."

"But—"

"Do you forgive me for being with Jill?"

There's fire in her voice. "That's nonsense. You didn't know me then, so how could I expect you to be…"

I can almost see the lightbulb come on.

"Oh!"

I nod. "Exactly. What's past is past."

…

He's right. What's past is past. Done and dead. Immutable.

If Chuck doesn't hold it against me, why should I condemn myself?

In the light of my epiphany, my irrational guilt over Bryce sloughs away.

Impetuously, I lean in, quickly kiss him on the lips.

"Thank you, Chuck." He doesn't blush quite so much this time.

And he doesn't ask what I'm thanking him for. He just nods. "You're welcome, Sarah."

"Chuck, I have a proposition."

His eyebrows shoot up, comically. "I'm shocked! You haven't even bought me dinner yet!"

I can't hold in my laugh. Not that I make any effort to do so. "Not that kind of proposition, you goof."

He just grins, waits for me to continue.

"I propose that we leave Bryce Larkin here on this bench and walk away. Put him behind us, once and for all."

"That's a great idea."

We stand, solemn.

"Goodbye, Bryce."

"Bye, Bryce."

Our hands still joined, we turn our backs to the bench.

Chuck gestures to the path stretching out in front of us.

"Shall we?"

I look up into his eyes. "Yes. Definitely."

It's a new dawn.

A new day.

Maybe a new life.

With him?

I don't know, but I'm willing—and eager—to try and find out.

At some point, he'll need to know more about me, the things I've done.

But not right now.

One mission at a time.

TBC

—

A/N: I was thinking of ending our story here, letting you, the reader, imagine the future, but I've decided to continue.

Perhaps now that we're past the whole Bryce thing, matters will become easier for our favorite couple.

And me.

I hope.