A/N: Back from vacay with another installment between Other Guy and Honeymooners. Still M-y. I'm still telling a story here, so I don't plan on devolving into nothing but M. It'll be there where it's appropriate, or meaningful. A full blow by blow non-stop gets boring IMO. This is chapter one of three on the train before the episode starts, the days behind the room service carts if you will. They talk in chunks, so it's childhoods here. At this point, Chuck's father is still alive and he has no idea that his mother was a spy or any of that history, so his explanation here is tempered. From what we saw-she told him nothing, and he shared brief bits, one about his mother and one about his father. So they start to open up. Enjoy.
You would think after so much sex in such a short period, we would need a little breather. I had never felt the way I did now that we were together. This was no longer a physical exercise, a way to release tension, or a quest for pleasure. One round and then sleep, or one round and moving on with the day or night was the summary of my past with everyone else. That was always enough.
The more I had of Chuck, the more I wanted. There was no "enough."
We woke, wrapped around each other. The moment our eyes met, though I was still groggy, I felt my body respond to the nearness of him. Passion ignited, almost instantaneously. We were as desperate for each other as we had been in Barstow, only this time there was promise, hope, and joy.
I know during this time, Chuck was still a bit insecure, and my silent reaction to my pleasure did nothing to alleviate this. If I had known, I would have told him the truth, about how he made me feel, the intensity of my emotions and my physical reactions. I honestly believed that he knew, but if I never said it out loud, it wasn't fair of me to expect that he did. We would continue to struggle with communication, and it was only through much gradual effort that we eventually improved it.
This time, the second morning, I know some of that insecurity went away. I hadn't changed my outward reaction, but he had physical proof that he was satisfying me during sex. I wondered uncomfortably if his previous partners, particularly Jill, had ever faked orgasms when they were with him. It seemed like something Jill would do, knowing how duplicitous she had been while they were dating. It boggled my mind at the same time. Why fake anything when you so obviously had a partner so eager to please you?
He certainly let go that morning. He took control, flipping me onto my stomach and lifting me up to enter me from behind. I forgot every reservation, every hesitation I had in the past to have sex that way, with my head on the pillow, my body turned away. He knew how much I liked this, and that was the only reason. I missed seeing him, being able to touch him, but I knew he wouldn't finish this way. He was just trying to maximize my pleasure.
He moved swiftly, vigorously, but it was perfect, the way he held my hips. I felt his cock slide all the way out, and then all the way in again, deep enough that I felt him bumping into my womb. My orgasm was intense and sudden, like a seizure of pleasure. I cried out, my animalistic howl vibrating as he shook my body with his thrusting.
It was like he was reading my mind. I wanted to ask him to face me, but he was already moving me, twisting me to my back and swiftly entering me again. I wrapped my legs around him and hugged his body against me. He was wild, consumed by passion, yet so loving at the same time. He kissed me and nuzzled my hair. He caressed me and never stopped looking into my eyes. He was an excellent multi-tasker, and feeling both things, his deep thrusts inside me mixed with the tenderness of his touch, was incredible. I felt special. I felt loved.
He was it for me. It was a frightening revelation at first, to feel so out of control. But, I reminded myself, I had never been in control of my life, ever, no matter what I might have told myself. Choosing him, loving him, was me finally taking control.
"Oh…Sarah…" He closed his eyes as he exploded inside me. I could still feel him finishing as my own orgasm contracted around him. We arched towards each other, moaning in mutual pleasure.
We laid still. I wanted to stay like that, pressed up against him, and not move at all. But we had to get ready to go. We had decided last night we would take the train to Zurich. What happened after that was up to us.
We got ready to go. We packed our things, and then decided to stash our spy gear in a locker at the train station. We hadn't made any definitive decisions yet, but at least for the train trip, we wouldn't need any of that. We bought the tickets for the train. Chuck said he needed to call in a prescription back in California, so that he could fill it before we left.
We did all of that in a few hours, and then we were on the train. Chuck mentioned that we had three more days until Beckman expected us back. I put that out of my head and instead concentrated on the three days we would have, alone in our cozy compartment. Our mini Honeymoon, though we weren't married.
What it was instead was a release of tension, an opening of our minds and our bodies to each other. Our hearts, well, they were already attached, fused, and they are still, even now. Chuck knew in the deepest part of him that I loved him, despite what I didn't say. I hate that I took that for granted, though, even a little, now that I know waiting to say it worried him, mostly because he was very verbal and my words could have reassured him. I used my actions first and my words second, and seeing it from his side took time. I believed my actions more than made up for my lack of words. The compromise of any relationship is meeting in the middle. We do now, but we didn't then, not yet.
I did, however, make enormous strides in the right direction while Chuck and I were traveling on the train.
Chuck went into the compartment's bathroom to apply his eczema cream. I was sitting up in bed, waiting for him to return. "I never knew you had eczema."
"I thought you knew everything. You read my file, didn't you?" he asked, laughing as he started climbing back into bed.
I scoffed. "The CIA didn't think I needed to know whether or not you have eczema."
He laughed. "Ok, fair, I guess. But you have to admit–you know way more about me than I know about you."
He was right, of course. I had kept it secret for so long, partly by necessity, and partly because I was ashamed of it. He had a right to know. I wanted him to know.
"Let's change that. A long time ago, I gave you a chance to ask me something, and you declined. I know why you declined. But now…now, I want you to know."
He settled under the covers and turned to watch me with rapt attention.
I told him everything, pretty much the beginning of my story as I've told it here. I was cautious about my mother, because of Molly and that secret that I never wanted him to know for his own safety. I left out specific details of my time with the CATS, a time I was particularly not proud of. I did eventually tell him about all of that too, but only after our CATS reunion about a year into the future from this point.
He actually listened in complete silence all the way from my birth up until San Diego.
"Seventeen?" he exclaimed. "You were 17 when Graham recruited you?" Chuck was shocked, but I could hear the outrage, his contempt for Graham because of what he had done.
"He made me an offer I couldn't refuse," I replied quietly. "CIA or jail. There was always the underlying threat there, unspoken, that my father's fate was in my hands as well." I looked at him, his eyes glowing in the dark. "I don't think it was a coincidence that my father finally made parole once Graham was dead."
"I don't think I ever picked up on that dynamic between you and Graham. I just always thought of him as another extension of Beckman. Like they were one mind."
"Beckman was always different. Perfect soldier. Part of that was strict following of her duty, professionalism without any concern for anyone's feelings. That was her job and she always did it, even though it bothered us both at different times. I never knew where I stood with Graham. Bryce was convinced he wasn't on the straight and narrow. Not so much to say he was Fulcrum, or a Fulcrum sympathizer, but…there was something going on behind the scenes, something sinister, something that he was profiting from. He had things to hide and he went through a lot of trouble to make sure they stayed that way. To this day, I don't know if every mission he sent me on was sanctioned by the government…or just him."
"Were you relieved when he died?" It was an honest question, posed neutrally, without judgment.
I had been, I recalled, but I needed him to know why. "I was. But because of you. I didn't trust him and I always got the feeling that he thought you being the Intersect was a mistake, one he wanted to erase. You were safer once he was dead."
I believed Beckman when she told us she had no idea that Orion was Chuck's father. I tend to think that Graham had never known either. Bryce had kept Graham from finding out that Chuck was the anomaly at Stanford. Bryce knew early on who Orion was, so I like to think that he worked to keep that information from Graham. One of the more noble things Bryce had done back then.
"Yeah, I went to Stanford…and you went to the Farm. That's right, isn't it? In 1999?" he asked. He was right. Those events coincided.
I wanted this to be a discussion, not a soliloquy. "So, now your turn. Beginning to graduating high school." I knew more, but I wanted him to tell me. There were nuances I know I was missing having just read his dossier.
"I think I always knew we Bartowskis were different, even before anything went really awry. It was always just the four of us, Ellie and me and my parents. We didn't have grandparents or aunts and uncles or cousins. My parents didn't have any friends that we associated with. It was just our nuclear family on holidays, birthdays…We were happy, so it never really bothered us much that we were so different.
"I always believed my dad was an engineer. Now I know he was a spy. I don't know if that was why my mom left him…I don't know if she even knew he was. She did travel a lot for work. One night when I was nine, a regular night that wouldn't have stood out in any way, she left for a business trip and never came back.
"She was only supposed to be gone for…a few days. But it was weird. It wasn't like she was gone longer or that my dad was worried or…anything like that. But he knew, pretty quickly. He pulled Ellie and me aside and told us…that she wasn't coming back. He was always so…I don't know…flighty, spacey, whatever…and he was crushed. But he knew, and I don't know why he was so sure. He never talked about her again after she left. I don't know if it was because it was too painful for him. There was so much we didn't know. So much we still don't know." I knew all of this, the facts involved, but hearing him say it was different.
I remembered that look, so early in our time together, when he explained it to me the first time, when I asked him about Mother's Day. He carried that pain deep, but he was sharing it with me now.
"Have you talked to him at all since Ellie's wedding?" I asked.
"No," he sighed. "I think he stayed in California for a couple days, until Ellie left for her honeymoon. She definitely told me he left a way for her to contact him, but she didn't know where he went. There were a lot of things I wished I could have asked him, but, well…" He stopped talking, no need to talk about him leaving for Prague and all the pain that caused again.
"Maybe it's worth reaching out, Chuck," I suggested.
"No, no, no…I don't think that's a good idea. He worked so hard to get the Intersect out of my head. He never wanted me to live the life I am, you know that. I think he'd be devastated, and angry, that I ended up a spy, Sarah."
"You were ready to leave it all behind," I reminded him. So was I, but we had agreed to let this sit for a while.
He glanced away, deciding to continue his story. "My dad was always the absent-minded professor, but after my mother left…he was worse. Checked out. He would just lock himself in his computer room all day. He would forget that he needed to cook, forget when we had places we needed to be driven to. Ellie just sort of took over. She started cooking for us, doing the laundry. I had to help her clean the house. That's what I noticed when I was nine. Turns out she was paying bills and handling finances too…when she was 12." I could hear both disappointment in his father and pride in his sister at the same time.
It made even more sense to me, how close they were. It made me wonder. Was he really prepared to run away with me…and leave his sister? She was planning on leaving for Africa with Devon to do Doctors Without Borders, so it wasn't as straightforward. I knew I had to be wary of coming between them. I never wanted that.
"It went on like that for almost seven years. Ellie graduated from high school and went to UCLA, so she could stay close, since I was only 15. It was in between Ellie's freshman and sophomore years of college, when I was 16, that my father left. He had been sporadically leaving for a few days at a time, so it took a while before it started to sink in that he wasn't coming back. We were worried, like really worried, that something had happened to him. But Ellie wouldn't go to the police because she was afraid it would put us on the radar, and I was still a minor. Once it became clear he wasn't coming back, she did everything she could to keep up together.
"She worked three jobs on top of going to school. And I made damn sure I got a scholarship so that I could go to school. It was the only way out. And I did. Ellie got into medical school and I left for Stanford. Where I met Bryce. And…you know what happened after that."
I curled close to him, kissing his lips gently. "This is good. This is nice. Talking."
"Enough talking for now," he said with a wink, pulling me closer and reaching underneath my nightie to lift it in order to pull it off.
We made love for hours, slowly and gently. He started with his hands, then his mouth. I lost track of how many times he made me come. By the end I was begging for him to be inside me, sighing with relief when he finally filled me with his hardness. "Oh, you feel so good," I breathed, letting the words flow.
"Amazing," he whispered in return, out of breath as he labored. "You feel…amazing."
We finished together. "Yes, yes…oh…Chuck…"
He collapsed on top of me, and we rested. But we made love another time before we went to sleep. I had been starving for him for far too long, and it would take so much more before we were balanced where we should have been. I can't say the word satisfied, because that hunger for him like that was never purely satisfied. Like I said, the more I got, the more I wanted. And that feeling never went away.
That ended day one, and the discussion about our childhoods. The next day I told him about the Farm. And Sam.