"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves." -- Shakespeare

FIC: Never Forget (Chuck)

mikki13 — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 00:21:19 GMT

Title: Never Forget
Author: mikki13
Rating: R

Summary: Within every kiss is a spark of magic; within every romance, a flash of understanding. No, she could never really forget.

A/N: Because we deserved better . . .
And because I couldn’t resist . . .

The rhythmic crash of waves against the shore; slow, methodical, lapping at the sand, kissing her toes and running over his feet.

The feel of his succulent mouth moving over her lips; sure, loving, nipping at her tongue and smoothing a path to her ear. Goosebumps prickle across her flesh: a whisper of heat licking her skin and reminding her that she’s here, in his arms, safe, with someone she can trust.

The waves continue to lap, he tightens his arms around her quivering frame, holding her, moving her to the sandy shore; his kisses more fervent, his hands exploring a path down her sides, onto her belly; his fingers caressing her in a way she can’t ever remember being caressed.

A spark: a tiny flame, flaring in the darkness; her fingertips follow the eager progression of his hands, moving through his curls, memorizing the smooth line of his jaw, dipping lower, lower, lower . . .

A memory; she’s in a white dress . . . He’s standing at the head of the aisle . . . Is this –

Oh, God; his lips feel so good, tasting the heated flesh of her neck . . .

Morgan’s here, and Ellie – his sister, right?

Yes, Chuck, please, please, help me remember, keep kissing me like that –

He’s in a tux . . . he’s so handsome; she can’t remember ever seeing anyone this handsome . . . a crooked smile lights up his face, spreading across his lips like a beacon in the dark, and she’s there, and he’s holding her hand, and he’s looking at her, and

oh yes oh yes oh yes

A muffled groan escapes her lips, and she’s rolling over him; now she’s on top, now she’s straddling him, now he’s looking at her with that heated glow flaring deep within his luscious brown eyes – she’s never seen lashes that long; they kiss the tops of his cheeks, fluttering against his face as she lowers her mouth, claiming his waiting lips . . .

He’s dipping her; she’s kissing him . . .

yes, oh God yes, there it is . . . A spark, a flame, a flash – a flash? – she’s . . . yes, she’s remembering . . . she remembers him, she remembers this, she’s not sure how she ever forgot . . .

And still the surf continues to lap, and still the waves continue to crash, crash, crash against the sandy shore – he’s close, but he’s not close enough; she removes his shirt, unbuttons his pants – she knows someone could come along at any moment, knows they could get caught, knows this is dangerous, knows they should stop, but somehow she can’t bring herself to care.

It’s just a cover, right?

But it’s not; it’s never been just a cover. From the very first moment, from that day in the Buy More, from that date at the Mexican restaurant when he blessed her with that selfsame crooked smile; it’s never been a cover. And it isn’t a cover now. And she doesn’t care that they could get caught, she doesn’t care that it’s dangerous. The only thing that matters is her, and him, and the way he makes her feel, and oh God, yes Chuck, that feels so good, so so good – And they’ve never cared about danger before, so why start now?

And the waves crash crash crash upon the shore as he enters her, and she impales herself upon him, and a moan pushes from his throat and she utters a quiet sigh, rocking rocking rocking . . . yes yes yes . . .

She gazes down upon him, and he looks up at her, and she leans down to capture his mouth in another kiss. “I remember,” she whispers, and wraps her thighs so tight around him that she knows he will always be hers, she will always be his, and this is the way it was always meant to be. “I don’t think I ever forgot.”

~*~

“Sarah? Honey? Are you here?”

“Shhh.”

Her whisper flutters through the house, caressing Chuck’s ears, causing his crooked smile to light up his face. “Sarah?”

“We’re in here.”

The whisper comes from the smallest bedroom at the end of the hall; he shuts the red door leading to the white picket fence, across the grass rippling in the breeze, and tiptoes down his hallway until he’s standing just outside the room. Moonlight spills onto the hardwood floor as he leans against the doorway, his shoulder pressed against the door. Crickets chirp in the distance, a car alarm sounds outside, but neither permeates his conscious mind. All he sees are her and him, two silhouettes bathed within the glow of the night’s full moon.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” she turns, a whisper grin flitting across her face. “We were wondering when you were gonna get home.”

“Sorry.” His crooked smile turns bashful, and he tucks his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Long night at the office. Those computer viruses just keep coming; I think someone forgot to tell them Bartowski Industries is on the job.”

“Darn. Guess we forgot to send the memo,” she says with a smirk, shuffling across the room with their newborn son cradled within her arms.

Her face is brighter now, her step lighter: signs that they are no longer chasing the job, no longer locked into the mission. The sight causes his pulse to race even as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “What are you still doing up?” he breathes into her hair, gazing at the infant stirring in her arms. His tiny fist is pressed to his puckered lips, his soft brown hair bathed within the evening glow; Chuck runs his fingers down his chubby arm, smiling at the feel of his son’s soft skin. “It’s almost two in the morning. You should be asleep.”

“We were waiting for you.” Her mouth grazes the lobe of his ear. “It was too cold in the bed without you, and Stephen missed his daddy.”

He shivers at her touch, his arm tightening around her shoulders. Stephen gurgles in his sleep, turning toward the sound of his father’s voice. “Well, I’m here now.” He leans down to smooth a kiss against his son’s forehead. “Why don’t you put him to bed so we can have some alone time?”

“Why, Chuck?” Her grin turns impish, a flare of mischief flickering through her eyes. “Is there something you wanted to do?”

“Mmm,” he murmurs. “Come to bed and find out.”

She nudges him with her shoulder. “Is that an order, Chuck?”

A faint blush creeps up his cheeks, causing a soft chuckle to emanate from her throat. “Would you like it to be?”

“Only if you plan on delivering,” she replies with a wink, ducking from beneath his arm and stepping across the room to their son’s tiny crib. Tucking their child beneath his covers, she runs her fingers over his forehead, playing with the wisps of hair curling against his baby soft skin. “Good night, sweetheart,” she whispers, kissing two fingers and brushing them against his cheek.

Chuck’s heart flutters within his chest, his eyes alight within the moon’s golden glow as he watches her lay their son to sleep. When she turns to face him, he holds out a hand, his wedding ring glinting against his finger. “Shall we?”

“I’ve been waiting all night,” she says, and in two long strides, her fingers are curled within his own. Together, they step from their son’s room, closing the door behind them with a muffled click.

No, she realizes as he pulls her toward their room, stopping to caress her lips with a kiss. There’s no way she could ever forget.

FIC: More than Enough (Chuck)

mikki13 — Tue, 06 Apr 2010 06:04:12 GMT

Title: More than Enough
Author: mikki13
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Chuck/Sarah
A/N: So after watching this ep, I just had to write this story. After all, there’s just so much to fill in. And even though I know that I’ve been lax in my review replies lately, I chose to post it before making up for my faux pas. I hope you’ll forgive me my sleight, enjoy the story, and understand how much it means to have your support.
Disclaimer: You know how I sometimes write disclaimers about not reading these M-rated fics in public? And you know how I sometimes warn you that it could lead to indecent exposure, arrest, and possible fines? Well, the same thing goes here. Only this time, I’m going to heighten these warnings to an orange zone. Not quite red, but definitely worth the advice. Have fun. ;-)

Summary: Chuck and Sarah discover what it's like to be together against all odds. An expansion of "Chuck vs. the Other Guy".

“Shut up and kiss me," she says, and there’s a devilish glint behind those bright blue eyes.

He blinks at her tone, at the desire couched within her words, but the look in her eyes is enough to stop any startled response. And before the grin can fully slide across his face, he’s already leaning into capture her sweet mouth in a heated kiss. His arm clutches her arm, her hand cups his face, and their bodies press together as though melded by a centrifugal force. It’s like everything he’s always imagined, and nothing he ever believed possible. All the worry, all the despair, all the heartache of the last twenty-four hours is erased as they fall back against the sheets. Slipping off his shirt, he begins a renewed assault on her mouth.

He’s a better kisser than she remembers. He’s a better person than she ever gave him credit for. Even after everything she’s put him through, even after all those months of her aloof behavior, he saved her life. He figured out what she hadn’t seen; he’d discovered the truth behind Shaw’s lies, the animosity behind his utter denials. And before she realized what was happening, he was suddenly by her side. Before she’d fully comprehended the futility of her situation, he was reeling her back in. Pulling her into his arms and shielding her from the threat. Holding her tight and promising to keep her safe.

She’s never really needed to be protected. Yes, she’s experienced the occasional life and death situation. She’s even come close to death. But she’s never come as close as she came last night. She’s never tasted such fear and understood such desperation. She’s never been so helpless, so debilitated. She’s never been so alone.

Alone until he arrived.

But then, Chuck’s always had a way of knowing exactly what she needs, even before she knows it herself.

Shivering as he traces kisses along her jaw line, she makes up her mind. She’s going to show him that every hero reaps rewards. A sly smile snakes across her face even as her lids remain half closed, and she suddenly flips him so that she’s straddling his hips. It’s a maneuver that she learned in spy school; a maneuver taught to ensure control. And in this situation, it works perfectly.

Chuck’s pulse accelerates at his abrupt shift in vantage point, and at the way Sarah shimmies out of his dress shirt with practiced ease. His eyes widen at the sight; at the soft, smooth skin that greets his welcome gaze. She’s even more beautiful than he imagined. She’s even more incredible than he ever dreamed. And when she unclasps her bra with a coy wink, he inhales sharply and slowly raises a hand to trace the warm flesh directly underneath her breasts.

She studies him for a long moment, watching his face as he explores her silky skin. And even though he’s drawn to her body, even though he’s drawn to her perfect form, he can’t help but notice the expression of awe that flits across her face. He can’t help but notice the way her eyes slide shut, and her lips silently part as he brushes his thumb against her hardened nipple. He can’t help but notice the way she leans into his touch as he cups her breast and begins to memorize the feel of it in his hand.

God, she’s wanted this for so long. She’s wanted him for so long. And now, as he slowly caresses her with an ardent touch, as he gazes at her in loving affection, she wonders how she waited all this time. She wonders how she pretended she didn’t need this. She wonders how she pretended she didn’t need him.

So when his ministrations increase in fervor, and his touch increases in passion, she remembers her unspoken promise. She remembers her decision to show him how much she wants him, how much she needs him. How glad she is to have him in her arms.

Before he can get too carried away, her eyes snap open and her coy expression returns full force. Rolling her hips deliciously against his rapidly hardening groin, she savors the soft groan that escapes his lips and the way his hand quickly stills. “Is everything okay, Chuck?” she asks throatily, leaning down to suckle on his earlobe.

“Yeah . . . yeah,” he stammers, his breath hitching when she grazes her teeth along his sensitive skin. “Amazing.” Unbelievable.

“Oh, really?” she asks, and he’s sure the sexy undertones of her voice are going to send him to an early death. But then he remembers everything that’s happened, and he thinks about her heartfelt confession just the night before, and he quickly grows a little more confident.

“Why, Agent Walker?” he demands, running nimble fingertips down her naked back. “Are you going to make me feel better?”

“That depends, Chuck,” she replies, moving lower as she brushes her lips against his bare chest. “Do you think you deserve it?”

“I don’t know,” he says, unable to resist thrusting his hips against her concealed sex. He relishes the breathless moan that falls from her lips. “I mean,” he tries, searching for something, anything that will cause her to keep doing what she’s doing now, “I did save your life.” The words fall forth without design, without thought, and he realizes how different they sound. How peculiar they feel. He, Chuck Bartowski, saved Sarah Walker’s life. He protected her when she needed him most. He kept her safe when she wasn’t even aware that she needed safekeeping. He prevented her from leaving his life in the worst possible way.

A fact that doesn’t seem to escape her now.

“Yes, you did,” she confirms, placing one last kiss upon his chest before her heated gaze connects with his own. The look roiling underneath the surface of her gleaming blue eyes is enough to cause his breath to hitch in his throat. And suddenly, Sarah’s exploring his body with renewed vigor. Her fingers skirt along the sides of his abdomen, her lips caress his tender skin, even her tongue blazes its own fiery trail. Kicking off his converses, he loses himself in her embrace, unaware that the sounds reverberating off the walls are coming from his own mouth. And when she reaches the hem of his pants, her tongue tracing a pattern along the very top, the only thing he can do is whimper and plea.

“Please, Sarah,” he begs as her hand slides to the bulge in his jeans. Arching toward her caress, he’s barely aware of anything except the way she makes him feel and how desperately he wants to feel her touch.

Sarah’s never seen Chuck so unhinged. She’s never seen him so completely undone. The very experience is almost enough to make her forget everything else. And when she cups him through his pants, and when her fingers squeeze him in time to his thrusts, she realizes this is the most amazing thing she’s ever seen. This is the most amazing thing she’s ever been a part of. This thing – her and Chuck – is the best thing she’s ever done.

She needs him to know how special he is. She needs him to know that even after everything that’s happened between them, he’s all she wants. He’s all she needs.

Unbuttoning his jeans and pulling down his zipper, she nudges him to lift his hips so she can pull his pants and boxers down his long, muscular legs. And then she licks her lips and lowers her head, wrapping her mouth around his rock hard cock. Almost immediately, his hand comes up to caress her head, his fingers threading through her hair as a low moan emerges from his throat. “Sarah,” he breathes when she swirls her tongue around his shaft, suckling softly as her right hand fondles his balls. “Oh, God. Sarah . . .”

His salty taste trickles through her lips and into her throat, and she closes her eyes as she continues her heated ministrations. She’s not sure how long it lasts; she’s not sure how long she runs her tongue along his shaft, or moves her mouth along his length, or revels in the feel of him beneath her lips. It’s only when he shifts reluctantly underneath her mouth that she begins to return to the present moment.

“Sarah,” he breathes her name again, moving away from her ardent attentions. “Sarah, stop.”

Blinking in surprise, she disengages her mouth from his hardened length. “Is everything okay, Chuck?” she asks, arching a brow.

“Oh, yeah,” he rushes to reassure her. “Yes, of course. Everything is . . . everything is perfect, actually,” he amends, a lazy grin lighting up his face as he brushes loving fingers down her arm.

“Then what’s wrong?” she shakes her head even as her lips curl into an amused smirk. She’s not used to interruptions.

Moving his fingers up her arm to the soft skin of her cheek, he brushes his thumb along her cheekbone. “Nothing’s wrong,” he replies honestly, a sincere crease appearing between his eyes. “Believe me, this is amazing. It’s just that . . .” he swallows, his thumb straying to her satiny pink lips. “I want to make you feel as good as you’ve made me feel. I want to make love to you, Sarah.”

Sarah’s smirk gradually becomes a pleased smile, and the impish glint in her eyes gradually becomes a tender gleam. “Oh,” she replies. “Well, since you put it that way . . .”

Laughing quietly, Chuck sits up and wraps his arms around her slender body, placing a kiss on the curve of her neck as he turns her so that she’s laying down. “I was hoping you wouldn’t put up much of a fight,” he confesses, his grin turning slightly mischievous.

“I’m more than willing to change my mind,” she murmurs, but her coy smile has returned. And when Chuck moves his lips downward, along the hollow of her throat, down her smooth chest, finally placing a kiss between her pert, supple breasts, her head falls back onto the pillow and she doesn’t say another word.

A blissful whimper escapes Sarah’s mouth and a trail of heat courses down her spine when Chuck traces his tongue along her nipple and moves his hand down her taut abs. And when his agile fingers find the waistband to her panties, dipping slowly lower until they cup her heated sex, she can’t stop the moan with escapes next. Now it’s her turn to breathe his name as he slides first one finger, and then another, into her sensitive folds.

His mouth continues to suckle on her breast, and his tongue continues to tease, but his fingers begin a path all their own. Plunging them deep into her center, he twists and scissors, then pulls them out only to begin anew. The side of his hand rubs against her clit, the rough texture of his fingers bringing her ever closer to the edge. Locking eyes with her, he watches her pant and groan, the pressure building within her belly. His name becomes a mantra upon her lips, and she begins to arch her hips toward his ever increasing momentum. He moves harder, faster, deeper, until she cries out in pleasure and convulses around his hand.

Chuck watches her in fascination as she comes down from her high, her eyes slipping closed even as her chest moves in an erratic rhythm. It’s only when she regains her normal breathing pattern that she opens her eyes and refocuses her tumultuous gaze upon his own.

“Come here,” she demands, sliding her panties down her legs as she quirks her finger.

He’s only too happy to oblige. Reaching to the floor, he grabs his wallet from his jeans, extracting a condom from its contours. He’s almost relieved that it’s still there. If Morgan had swiped this one, he’s pretty sure he would have committed homicide. But then his gut churns at the thought, his mentor-turned-enemy’s menacing face appears within his mind, and he pushes the thought from his head. Right now, the only thing he wants to focus on is the beautiful blonde lying upon the bed. The only thing he ever really wants to think about again is the fact that this gorgeous woman, this captivating enigma is finally his. The rest can come later. At the moment, it’s all about her.

She wordlessly takes the condom from his hand, tearing it open and gliding it down his length. And when she’s done, and he’s gazing deeply into her eyes, he finds that he feels more connected with her than he’s ever felt before. He’s never felt this close to anyone. He’s never loved anyone so much. Maneuvering himself so that he’s kneeling over her, he slowly lowers himself to her entrance, brushing the head of his cock against her slick, velvety folds. “I love you, Sarah,” is the last thing he says before he pushes deep inside, relishing the feel of her as she closes in around his aching shaft.

God, he’s wanted this for so long.

A barely audible whimper sounds from her throat as Chuck begins to thrust into her sensitive core, pushing deep before pulling back out, only to push back in again. Her legs wrap around his hips, her arms wrap around his back, and she feels herself falling into a sensual rhythm with the man wrapped within her ardent embrace. It’s unlike anything she’s ever felt before. It’s unlike anything she’s ever experienced. It’s almost as if they’re two pieces of the same whole, and together they move in flawless harmony. And as they continue to push, as they continue to thrust, as they continue to meet each other move for move, she feels the blissful rush of heat form within her belly and trickle up her spine.

He’s giving this everything he’s got. He’s giving her everything that’s left within him. He wants her to know; he wants her to believe. He wants her to understand just how much she means to him. So even as the pressure builds within his groin, even as the tension grows behind his shaft, he continues to push. He continues to thrust. He continues to meet her move for move. Pressing his thumb against her clit, he rubs it in concentric circles as he feels himself getting ever closer to the brink. “Sarah,” he breathes against her lips as he dips his head for a kiss. Their tongues tangle tortuously, and she finally succumbs to her increasing pleasure, her exclamation lost in their kiss as she spasms around his swollen shaft. A rush of relief floods his chest, and he thrusts into her satiny center one last time, spilling himself in her depths and collapsing into her arms.

Moments later, when they’re laying in euphoric silence, he shifts onto his side and pulls her into his tender embrace. “I always said I wanted to visit Paris,” he murmurs sleepily, brushing a kiss against the nape of her neck.

“Mmm,” she replies, shivering at the contact as she presses herself closer into his lithe frame. “It’s a good city.”

“The best,” he agrees. The best. Pulling her closer and shutting his eyes, he falls into a deep sleep, knowing that she’s alright. Knowing that she’s his. Knowing that when they wake up, they’ll have the rest of their lives to be together, a perfect paradigm of loving bliss.

Outside, the Parisian skyline gradually brightens and the River Seine flows along its normal course. The Eiffel Tower rises in a monument of majesty, overlooking the lush gardens and buildings both ancient and modern. The tourists and residents continue their daily routines, bustling about the City on errands of individual importance.

But inside, Chuck and Sarah lay wrapped up in one another’s arms. Inside, they relish the feel of being here, of being close, of being together. Inside, they finally begin to understand: No matter how many missions, no matter how many life and death situations they may endure, they’ll always have each other. And after everything they’ve been through, that’s more than enough.

Fin.

Happy Birthday, wepdiggy! And Fic'cage . . .

mikki13 — Fri, 02 Apr 2010 18:56:40 GMT

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, wepdiggy!!

As I stated on FF, it's been a blast getting to know you and I look forward to many more encounters. You've become one of my closest online friends, and one of my favorite writing partners. Here's hoping you have a great day . . . ;-)

Title: The Love of His Life
Rating: Borderline NC-17
Word Count: 5,021
Characters: With strong Charah undertones, this story not only includes Sarah, but also delves into Chuck's relationships with an OC, Jill and a very brief scene with Hannah.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Spoilers: Potential spoilers for 3.13.

Summary: Five women Chuck Bartowski slept with, and one he truly loved.

His first time was in the backseat of his dad’s old Mustang on prom night. His date’s name was Donna, and she had curly brown hair and smelled kinda like vanilla. Yeah, that was probably a little cliché. But then, having sex in the backseat on prom night was just as much so. And really, he wasn’t complaining. After dating Donna for three months, he was more than ready to have sex. Actually, he’d been more than ready to have sex for the past six years. Ever since his dad had caught him with Morgan’s issue of Playboy. The one Morgan had swiped from his mom’s boyfriend because, you know, his little buddy didn’t really have a whole lot of other chances to see naked girls.

Chuck had given him a long lecture on treating women like sex objects (even at eleven, he was sorta sensitive toward that stuff), but he couldn’t resist the lure of the gorgeous brunette depicted on page thirteen. And when Morgan had stuffed the magazine into his backpack and insisted that he take it home, he hadn’t put up much of a fight. And then when the magazine ended up underneath his pillow, and other stuff started to happen . . . fun, exciting stuff . . . stuff that made him feel really good . . . well, his dad found out the hard way that his son had started looking at Playboy. Blushing to the roots of his hair and pushing his hands into his pockets, the elder Bartowski had stammered out his own “objectifying women” speech. Afterwards, Chuck had been so ashamed that he’d never looked at another Playboy. Even though he had really, really wanted to.

But that was all beside the point. The point was that he’d found himself in the backseat of a car with his beautiful date. Half-dressed in a second hand tuxedo, he stared in wide-eyed wonder as she slowly slipped her light purple prom dress from her shoulders. Accentuated by the moonlight pouring in through the windshield, her creamy skin looked almost like porcelain. Chuck’s breath caught in his throat as she pulled her dress lower . . . lower . . . lower until it pooled around her waist. And even though he wanted her to feel like a princess, and even though he’d always kinda prided himself on treating girls the right way, he couldn’t help but follow the trajectory of the silky material. He couldn’t help but swallow hard when his gaze landed on her chest. He’d never actually seen boobs before. Even ones covered by a satiny pink bra. He almost thanked the nearest available deity, but then he realized just how self-conscious his date appeared. Blinking rapidly, he tore his gaze from her chest and refocused on her deep blue eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he choked, clearing his throat as a faint pink blush crept up her cheeks.

“Do you . . . do you want to touch them?” she asked, dropping her own gaze to the seat of his dad’s car.

“Really?” he exclaimed, then cleared his throat again when he realized how eager he sounded. “I mean, if . . . if you want me to.”

She licked her lips, causing a weird fluttering sensation to form within his stomach. God, he wanted to kiss her now. And when she slowly nodded her head, the fluttering increased to a frantic tempo and his eyes grew wider still. “If you want to,” she murmured, the pink glow of her cheeks becoming slightly red.

“Okay,” Chuck croaked. His palms grew sweaty as he raised his shaky hands to the front of her bra, cupping her through her satiny material. Moving his thumbs in clumsy concentric circles, he marveled at the feel of her underneath his touch. Squishy yet firm, smooth yet warm, it was the most amazing thing he’d ever experienced. He, Charles Irving Bartowski, was touching real, live boobs. Not only that, he was touching the real, live boobs of a girl he really cared about. A gentle smile spread across his face as he leaned forward to capture her lips in an affectionate, awkward kiss.

“I want you to be my first,” she whispered when they broke apart, and Chuck had leaned his forehead against her own.

“Your first what?” he asked.

A humorous glint entered her gaze, and her face broke into a lazy, bashful grin. “My first,” she said, the word much more meaningful this time.

“Ohhhh,” Chuck breathed, his eyes wider than they’d ever been in his life. Her first. His first. Could this night get any better? He really liked this girl. He liked her more than he’d ever liked anyone. And the thought of being with her now, of sharing this experience with her . . . the type of experience he knew he could never get back . . . was amazing. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything so much. But even as the fluttering feeling in his stomach increased to an all time high, he knew that he had to make certain. He knew that he had to confirm that she wanted this, too.

“Are you . . . . are you sure?” he stuttered, leaning back to study her carefully as he brushed a tender hand against her cheek.

She paused for a fraction of a second, and his heart skipped a disappointed beat in his chest. So when she finally leaned into his touch and nodded with conviction, he couldn’t stop his wide, pleased grin. “I’m sure,” she confirmed. “I want this, Chuck. I . . . I want you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Threading his fingers through her hair, he pressed his lips heatedly to her own even as she began to undo the buttons on his dress shirt. And as they gradually, awkwardly, desperately undressed, coming together in a tangle of limbs; and as he slipped inside of her, a frantic ache reverberating through his chest when she gasped in surprised pain; and as he kissed her deeply, trying to alleviate the discomfort he’d clearly caused her; and as she gradually relaxed around him and he began thrusting carefully yet feverishly into her slick folds; and even as he came too soon and she muttered words of regret and condolence, he knew this was the best night of his life. He knew this was the best night of his existence. He knew that she was his everything.

But when she developed a crush on the high school quarterback a month later, and when she tearfully dumped him in front of her house on a windy Sunday afternoon, he began to realize that maybe he had made a mistake. Maybe she hadn’t been the right one. Maybe she had just been a girl who had looked pretty in a purple prom dress and played a mean game of play station. Maybe the love of his life was still waiting for him, and he just hadn’t found her yet. But that’s another story for another time.

~*~

He had found her. The girl of his dreams. The love of his life. He was almost certain of it. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever known, and she made his heart race and his stomach flip. Sliding his hand into her own, he gazed down at her with loving eyes and was immediately rewarded with a tender smile.

“What are we doing here, Chuck?” Jill asked, nudging him slyly in the side as they traversed the short hallway of a picturesque Palo Alto hotel.

“What?” Chuck replied, a row of perfect white teeth peeking out from beneath his own wide smile. “I’m not allowed to surprise my girlfriend every once in awhile?”

“Mmm,” she murmured, leaning against his arm. “It depends on what the surprise is.”

“I promise it’s a good surprise,” Chuck vowed, even as his smile turned slightly shaky. “You know, kind of like when Lois Lane discovered Superman was really Clark Kent, and not at all like when Luke Skywalker discovered that Darth Vader was really his father.” He paused, his face scrunching sheepishly as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “So, yeah. That would equate to a good surprise,” he finished lamely, shrugging even as he wished the floor would swallow him whole. God, he was such a geek.

“God, you’re such a geek,” Jill chided, giggling as she shook her head. Even so, she continued to walk down the hallway, she continued to hold his hand, and she continued to regard him with an affectionate gleam in her coffee brown eyes. And when they finally stopped outside the hotel room door, when he finally extracted the key card from his pocket and slipped it inside the lock, he heard her sharp intake of breath as their room came into view.

“Chuck,” she exclaimed, gazing at him in mild wonder. “Did you do all this?”

“Do you like it?” he whispered, biting his lower lip. He knew he was a bit of a geek, and that he wasn’t always great with girls, but he wanted this to be special. He wanted this to be perfect. He wanted her to understand that the glittering candles that bedecked the dresser and the crushed petals that adorned the bed were for her. It was all for her. Everything was for her.

“I love it,” she murmured, pushing against his lanky frame and leaning forward for a long, lingering kiss. “It’s amazing,” she breathed, and he felt a rush of relief as she kissed him again.

“I just thought it would be sorta nice,” he replied, wrapping protective arms around her slender waist. “You know, since it’s our first time and all.”

“Our first time?” Jill queried, raising her perfectly shaped brows.

“Well, yeah,” he hastened to explain, suddenly wondering if maybe he’d had it all wrong. Was he pressuring her when all he’d wanted to do was make her happy? “I mean, I kind of thought that we were ready. But it’s okay,” he rushed to add. “It’s okay if we’re not. I mean, I really don’t need to . . . you know.” God, he was failing miserably. A hot blush crept up his face as he tried to dig himself out of the hole he was currently creating. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t need to have sex. We – We don’t need to have sex. I just . . . I think I love you, Jill,” he said, his gaze warm and pleading. “And I just want it to be perfect.”

“You think you love me?” Jill intoned, standing on her tiptoes so that they were on the same eye level.

Damn it. He knew he should have been stronger with his words. “Well, I meant that –“

“Chuck?” Jill placed her finger to his lips. “You talk way too much.” And as his lips parted in surprise, she replaced her finger with her mouth, slamming the door shut behind her as she began backing him toward the bed. He was only too happy to give her the lead.

He wasn’t sure how long it took. He wasn’t sure how much time he spent pulling off her clothes, or relishing the feel of her underneath his touch, or learning what it took to make her feel good. He only knew that he savored the sound of her moan when he sucked her sensitive nipple into his mouth. He only knew that he loved the feel of her legs as she wrapped them around his thighs and urged him to begin. He only knew that he couldn’t forget the way it felt when he pushed himself inside of her, and her velvety walls closed around his throbbing cock.

Their thrusts were frantic, their tempo rough and uneven. He came way too early, and had to plunge his fingers into her slick center, using his thumb to massage her clit. His movements were clumsy and irregular, and it took him awhile to bring her to completion. But when he finally did, when she finally moaned his name and hugged him close to her curvaceous body, he felt an overwhelming rush of affectionate power. He felt an overwhelming rush of desire to keep her close, to protect her from the world, to make her his own. He felt an overwhelming rush of longing to love her as much as he possibly could.

So when she broke his heart two years later, when she started dating his ex-best friend and refused to return his calls, when she fell out of his life as quickly as she had entered it, he spent the next six years wanting her back. He spent the next six years yearning to find her and remind her how amazing they could be together. He spent the next six years pretending like he had already found the love of his life, and wishing desperately that she would return to his side. He spent the next six years wanting her back.

He never realized that when she did return, things would be different.

~*~

She came back to him six years later. It wasn’t in the way he’d expected, or even in the amount of time he’d hoped. It didn’t occur amidst tearful apologies or heartfelt declarations of love. It didn’t even happen when he felt ready for the encounter. There were awkward moments and uncomfortable stutters. There were relationships that had come in between, and even one that existed during. He tried to tell himself that he wanted this, that he wanted her. He tried to tell himself that he was happy he had her back, and that he’d yearned for her all along. He tried to tell himself that he didn’t care about the woman in the background; the woman who held his thoughts, who held his mind, who held his heart. He tried to tell himself that Jill Roberts was the love of his life.

He was wrong on all accounts.

The sex was different than before. Even though he didn’t know it at the time, the woman was different, too. She was secretive even when appearing open; aloof even when appearing loving; a stranger even when appearing to be a friend. If he had realized this in the beginning, they might not have gotten as far as they did. As it was, he fell into her clutches as easily as she had planned.

They didn’t even make it to the bed the first time around. Instead, she tackled him the moment they entered the hotel room. Slamming the door shut at the same time she jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist, it was all he could do to push her against the wall for support. It was all he could do to remember to breathe as she nipped frantically at his neck, and ran her tongue along the smooth expanse of his collarbone. It was all he could do to keep his hands from shaking as she slipped from his arms and shed her clothing, then started in on his own. But even as she pounced back into his arms, even as he pushed her back against the cool white plaster, even as he drove himself into her satiny center, plunging into her creamy depths, he couldn’t keep himself from moaning or crying out her name.

The problem was, as he continued to pump erratically into her sopping folds, as he continued to kiss her deeply and bring her closer to the point of ecstatic release, a growing sense of unease built within his gut. A growing sense of regret coiled through his veins. Because even as he continued to pretend like everything was perfect, he was beginning to understand that nothing was as it should be. And when he finally learned who she was, when he finally discovered that she had been lying all along, when he finally understood that he loved someone else, the staggering truth became clear.

He hadn’t spent six years waiting for Jill Roberts. He hadn’t kept his heart available even when he’d always believed she’d come back. Instead, he had gotten over her before he’d even realized he’d moved on.

~*~

He’d moved on. He’d gotten over her. He was ready to be a spy, he was ready to protect the world. He was ready to love someone new. Sarah was a thing of the past, and Hannah was his future.

Or so he tried to believe.

They entered his room half-clad in their work clothes, frantically exploring every facet of one another’s heated bodies. She giggled as he scooped her up and carried her to his bed, her mouth detaching from his own for the slightest of seconds. And when he joined her on the mattress and slipped his t-shirt from his shoulders, then wiggled out of his slacks, he couldn’t help the relieved, goofy grin which brightened his face. He tried not to notice that the relief was tainted by an undeniable sense of regret. He tried not to notice that the regret was tinged by a clear shock of longing. He tried not to notice that the regretful longing was joined by the distinct image of a beautiful blonde spy, skirting through his mind and causing him to fumble as he finished unbuttoning his new girlfriend’s blouse.

His new girlfriend.

He had a new girlfriend. After everything that had happened, after all the heartache he’d experienced over the past several months, he was finally moving on. He was finally trying again. He was finally dating someone new.

So why was it that he couldn’t get someone else out of his head?

Gritting his teeth, Chuck pushed Sarah from his mind, from his thoughts. Seemingly from his world. She had made her choice. She only wanted to be friends. She only wanted to be colleagues. She only wanted to date Shaw. And now he had someone special, too. Right?

If only it were that simple.

As he finished undressing the gorgeous girl laying prone upon his bed, he vowed to forget about “what could have beens” and start dwelling on “what may bes”. Brushing his lips against her warm, moist mouth, he allowed his hand to drift down her taut stomach to the velvety heat between her legs. He allowed his fingers to dart into her slick, wet folds, relishing the sounds that reverberated from her throat. He allowed her to push him back against his bed and trail her lips down his groin until she wrapped her mouth around his aching cock, swirling her tongue around its hardened length until he urged her to stop. And he allowed himself to push inside of her, thrusting eagerly, hungrily until she was digging her fingernails into his back and crying out his name.

He tried to pretend that he didn’t almost slip and call her someone else. He tried to pretend that a pair of bright blue eyes didn’t constantly plague his thoughts. And he tried to pretend that he wasn’t still in love with another woman.

It was only later, after she was gone and Sarah had grown closer to Shaw, that he realized his mistake.

~*~

He had realized his mistake. He had discovered his downfall. Even after everything he had been through, even after all the women he had cared about, there was only one who truly held his heart. There was only one who truly held the key to his future. There was only one who he truly wanted to be with.

The problem was, he had already lost her. But then, he supposed he couldn't really lose what had never truly been his.

His face a picture of guarded sorrow, he stared out at the darkening Parisian landscape, drinking in the lights of the Eiffel Tower even as he considered what had happened earlier that day. Even as he reflected on the moment he realized Sarah Walker didn't love him. Even as he remembered the way it had felt when she'd refused to answer his simple, powerful question.

Sarah, do you love me?

He had known in that instant, in the moment when she'd dropped her gaze to the ground and remained silent and unmoving, that his dreams were moot, his fantasies unfounded. As much as he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Sarah, as much as he wanted to dedicate his future to the love of his life, she didn't want the same thing. She probably never had.
Sighing heavily, Chuck pushed away from the railing of his balcony and trudged back into his hotel room, his mind a jumble of heady thoughts. Perhaps it was for this reason that he almost missed the knock on his door. Perhaps it was for this reason that it took him a moment to register the sound, to blink away his haze of feelings and head robotically toward the noise. Perhaps it was for this reason that he stared at his guest in dumbfounded awe until she finally spoke.

"Hi," she said softly. It wasn't much; it really wasn't anything at all. But the sound of her voice suddenly broke him from his stupor, causing his pulse to race and his heart to pound.

"Hi," he replied, his eyes narrowing in confusion. Sarah was here. Sarah was in Paris. Sarah was standing at the threshold to his room. Sarah had flown all the way from Burbank to be with him. Or had she? Could he really believe that? Could he really believe that she had come all this way, that she had traveled all this distance, simply to see him? "What are you doing here, Sarah?" he asked abruptly, a thin crease appearing between his brows.

Sighing audibly, her gaze fell to the ground. "I should have said something before, Chuck," she began, her forehead crinkling as she considered her words. "I'm just not used to answering that kind of question. Vulnerability has never really been very easy for me. I've never been very good with feelings."

As she spoke, the emotions peeked out from beneath the shadows coalescing within her eyes, guarded yet altogether real. He felt his defenses slowly begin to waver, even as he struggled to maintain his guard. He had been through too much; he had experienced too many painful refusals to immediately give in. Even if he wanted to; even if he longed to believe her. There had been too many uncertainties in their relationship, too many ambiguities, and he wasn't ready to let go yet. "It was a pretty simple question, Sarah," he murmured, staring at the wall behind her. "Why couldn't you answer it?"

Inhaling deeply, Sarah ran a hand through her long blonde hair. "I know," she said. She bit her lower lip, and he watched from the corner of his eye as the emotions once again struggled openly upon her face. The fear, the anxiety, the panic. They all wafted across her features, muted but apparent. Diminished but absolute.

He waited for her to mutter an excuse and run away. He waited for her to close down and stop. But even in the midst of it all, her struggle ceased. And suddenly, she stood before him more vulnerable than he'd ever seen her before. "I've never been in love," she admitted, her tone gentle and hushed. It was almost as if she was confessing some unknown secret, some covert detail of her past. It caused him to blink and regard her anew, his gaze locking with her own vulnerable stare. "I've cared about other people. I've even believed that I was in love. But," she elaborated, swallowing gently as the fear intensified within her brilliant blue eyes, "None of that really compares to how I feel about you, Chuck."

It was more than she'd ever divulged, and he found himself drinking it all in. Unable to talk, unable to move, he simply waited silently as she continued her speech. "I'm sorry, Chuck," she stated, wrapping her arms securely around her chest. "I know I haven't been there for you lately. I pushed you away when you needed me the most."

"Why?" he whispered.

"Because I was afraid." Her eyes widened in surprise when the words left her mouth, and it took her a moment to clarify. "I was afraid I was going to lose you," she confessed, almost as if she was hearing the words for the very first time. Almost as if she was understanding feelings she had never before understood.

"But why, Sarah?" he demanded again, stepping inadvertently toward her. He was so close now that they were only inches apart, and he could feel the heat radiating off her body. Even so, he held his ground. If there was any chance of this working, if there was any possibility that they could traverse this hurdle, then they had to talk. They had to communicate. They had to understand. He had to understand. "Don't you realize that you could never lose me?" he prodded, a shadow of vulnerability wafting across his own face. "I'm always going to be that guy, Sarah. I'm always going to be that guy who can't take the shot. I'm always going to be that guy who would rather talk about his feelings than scale a wall. I'm always going to be that guy who puts his family first even if it means never getting a break."

He paused, knowing there was more he wanted to say, but suddenly afraid to say it. Knowing there was more he wanted to confess, but suddenly unsure if he could do it. He tried to stop, he tried to resurrect his guard. He tried to hide behind a mask. But even as he fought to hold back the words, even as he tried to stop talking, the sentiment escaped his lips without another thought. "I'm always going to be that guy who fell in love with you the first day he met you."

"I know," she acknowledged, her smile turning shaky as her eyes began to glisten. "And I'm always going to be the girl who fell in love with that guy."

Chuck's heart skipped a beat, and the rest of his guarded façade began to melt away. "Why didn't you say so before?" he queried.

"Because I was afraid," was her simple response.

It was the second time Sarah Walker had confessed to being afraid; the second time she'd allowed her vulnerability to shine through, and it meant more to him than he could say. "Are you still afraid?" he asked, taking another step closer.

"Not anymore," she whispered, gazing determinedly into his eyes.

"Are you still going to push me away?" he queried, raising a hand to cup her cheek. He knew he was asking a lot of questions, but he had to know. He had to erase all doubts that this was real. He had to eradicate all disbelief that she was really his.

"No," she murmured, leaning into his touch. "I need this, Chuck. I . . . need you."

A jolt of electricity coursed through his wrist at her movement, and a loving hue flickered through his gaze. "Really?" he questioned, rubbing her cheekbone with his thumb.

"Really," she replied. And then she stepped into the room and pulled him into her arms, the door swinging shut behind her. Pushing her smooth, lush mouth against his eager lips, she tangled her fingers in his hair and pressed her body flush against his own. "I'm not going anywhere," she breathed into the kiss.

It was all he needed to hear. It was all he needed to know. Smiling into her embrace, he led her to the bed as they slowly divested each other of their clothing. And even though he knew they had more to say, and even though he understood they had more to divulge, he couldn't stop now. He couldn't stop himself from touching her, from loving her, from feeling her tremble underneath his hands. He had waited too long; he had wanted this too much. He had spent too much time pretending like she wasn't his. They had spent too much time pretending like this wasn't real.

And when they were fully naked, and he was brushing feather light kisses along her abdomen, and she was running her fingernails against his scalp and down his back, he began to realize that maybe he hadn't made a mistake after all. And when he moved lower still, spreading her apart so that he could taste her slick, hot flesh, relishing the taste of her even as she moaned and arched toward his touch, he began to realize that maybe it had all been worth it just to get to this moment. And when she flipped him over and reciprocated, wrapping her mouth around his cock and her nimble hand around the base of his shaft, he began to realize that he had never felt this way before. Sure, he'd been with other women. Sure, there had been other times. But none of those women, and none of those experiences, made him feel like he did when he was with Sarah Walker.

So when he finally plunged into her tight, warm recesses, when he finally began to pump into her smooth, wet core, he began to understand that this was what he had been waiting for. And when she met him stroke for stroke, thrust for thrust, whimpering and breathing his name, he began to understand that he'd finally gotten everything he'd always wanted. The life, the love, the girl. And when she convulsed around him and tipped her head back upon the pillow, her blonde hair flowing around her shoulders like nothing he'd ever seen before, he could only stare at her in awe as he spilled himself within her depths.

Holding her tightly within his arms, he placed a kiss upon her cheek and breathed in her scent, knowing that he'd finally come home.

Fin.

Charah Spoiler for 3.13!!

mikki13 — Fri, 02 Apr 2010 01:39:37 GMT

So since htbthomas totally made my week with her postage of promo pics, I thought I'd return the favor. Here are the new incredibly spoilery Charah pics. Has anyone else noticed that Sarah's wearing the same shirt as in the "Sarah, do you love me?" promo? ;-)

FIC: On My Own (Chapter 4) (Glee)

mikki13 — Sun, 28 Mar 2010 21:05:36 GMT

Title: On My Own (Chapter 4)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,626
Characters: Finn/Rachel
A/N: Just to clarify any confusion that might arise, Finn and Rachel separated seven years ago. Though the flashbacks refer to a time nine years in the past, they will eventually progress until we reach the point when they parted ways seven years before.

Summary: After graduation, they went their separate ways. What happens when fate intervenes and Finn and Rachel come face-to-face after seven years apart?

Previous Chapters:
Chapter One (this link has been repaired)
Chapter Two
Chapter Three

Nine Years Ago (Give or Take a Few Months) . . .

Rachel nervously smoothed her red plaid skirt as she and Finn slowly made their way down Main Street, a gentle breeze blowing through her hair as the glittering lampposts lit their way. Assorted crowds of teenagers mingled upon the pavement, small shops and privately owned restaurants bustled with activity, and a steady stream of vehicles made their way down the fairly busy street. It was the usual Friday night in Lima, full of people with nowhere to go but finding entertainment just the same.

Well, it was the usual Friday night for most people. Because most people were simply enjoying the evening, thankful for the approaching weekend. Most people weren’t two apprehensive teenage kids, with sweaty hands and fluttering feelings of anxious optimism. Most people weren’t on their very first dates, after almost a year of fighting their fledgling feelings. Most people weren’t Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson.

She couldn’t quite understand it, really. She had perused all the pertinent websites and even studied a definitive text concerning the matter. First dates could be highly stressful experiences for many individuals, it was true. However, most individuals scarcely knew each other before their first romantic encounter. She and Finn had been friends for months. So why was it that she couldn’t think of a single thing to say to him?

“My two gay dads and I come to Main Street quite often,” she tried, even though her voice seemed to come from very far away. Wiping her sweaty palms upon her skirt, she forced herself to straighten up and clear her throat. “We regularly find ourselves at one of the many fine dining establishments dotting this quintessential thoroughfare.”

Finn’s forehead creased at her words. “Huh,” he replied, smiling blankly.

Rachel had to suppress a sigh. Clearly, that hadn’t been the correct approach. Biting her lower lip, she searched her mind for a suitable alternative; for something, anything to bring Finn out of his troublesome shell. Come on, Rachel, she prodded herself. What was it the book said? ‘Should your date display signs of nerves or anxiety, the best tactic might be a tasteful compliment. After all, who doesn’t love to receive compliments every now and then?’ Well, that was it then. She simply had to develop a pleasing sentiment in order to assuage Finn’s anxious state of mind.

Her thoughts decided, she paused for a moment and turned to the boy traveling by her side. It wasn’t difficult to think of something kind to say. Her breath caught in her throat as she studied his handsome visage. Truth be told, Finn looked amazing tonight. His russet hair was finely groomed, his cinnamon eyes gleaming from the excitement of the evening. And even though he was bedecked in simple attire, his jeans fit him perfectly and his leather jacket accentuated his nicely toned physique.

Placing a hand on his chest, Rachel smiled warmly at her new boyfriend. “You look very nice tonight, Finn,” she said. “I’m proud to be the girl with whom you chose to spend your rather valuable evening.”

Even though he might not have understood the statement in its entirety, she didn’t think he could miss the tender look upon her face, nor the affectionate lilt to her words. Slowly, he raised his hand so that he could rest it upon her own. “I’m just glad to be here with you,” he replied honestly, and the crooked smile he gave her caused Rachel’s nerves to melt away. “I’ve kinda wanted to do this for a long time.”

“Me, too,” she said breathlessly, her heart skipping a beat as she continued to stare into his warm brown gaze. She had wanted to be with Finn from almost the first moment she had laid eyes on him. Unlike most of the other boys at McKinley, there was something special about the sweet, unassuming boy gazing down at her. It was almost as if they shared some unspoken connection, some hidden mystery that no one else had ever discovered. It was more than just the music, more than just the effortless manner in which their two voices combined. It was almost as if he understood her in a way that nobody ever could.

Suddenly, Rachel knew exactly what she wanted to do on their first date. “Come on,” she said, reaching down to grab hold of Finn’s hand.

“Where are we going?” Finn asked as the tiny girl began to drag his massive frame down the street (he wasn’t putting up much of a fight).

“You’ll see,” Rachel replied secretively.

~*~

Her hand intertwined with Finn’s, Rachel walked down the busy Times Square thoroughfare in a state of disbelief. She still couldn’t quite believe that Finn was here, that he was by her side. She still couldn’t quite believe that she hadn’t been plunged into some bewildering, fantastical dream. Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, she noted the differences that the years had wrought upon her long lost friend. He was more confident now, less bumbling. He seemed to walk with the air and grace of someone with a definitive purpose in life. But even as tiny prickles of electricity skirted up her wrist at the touch of his warm, smooth palm, she couldn’t help but wonder what purpose he had discovered. What was it that Finn Hudson was doing with his life?

“So, Finn,” she began awkwardly, searching her chaotic thoughts for something to say. “How long have you been in New York?”

“A couple weeks,” Finn replied, placing his free hand into the pocket of his slacks.

She waited for him to elaborate, to expand upon his statement. When he failed to do so, an uneasy silence fell between them. “That’s great,” she stated lamely, a mild rush of heat rising to her cheeks. Where were her keen words and profound sentiments when she needed them most?

“Yeah,” Finn nodded, kicking at a crumpled piece of paper. “You know, for work.”

“Oh,” she said, folding her lips as she cast about for something else to say. Finally, she settled on gathering more information about his career. “What is it that you do?” she asked.

“I’m a public relations analyst for L.J. Carson and Sons,” he stated, staring straight ahead. “Well, minus the ‘sons’. My boss works on his own.”

At first, Rachel wasn’t certain that she’d heard him properly. Finn – her Finn – was a businessman? The Finn she’d known, the Finn she’d dated, the Finn she’d loved had entered a life of drab meetings and nine-to-five workdays? He hated structure. Even worse than that, he hated hard work.

“Wow,” she murmured, pausing as she turned to face him. “I never would have thought that you would entertain such a profession, Finn.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, dropping her hand. Immediately, her skin grew chilly from the loss of contact. “It just sort of happened.”

She studied him for a long moment, gazing at his downcast eyes, the mild downward curve of his lips and the slight slump of his shoulders. Her chest clenched at the sight, and she found herself wondering if Finn really had found a purpose after all. She found herself wondering if the confident man standing before her was still the confused boy she had known in her youth. She could almost see him hiding behind that cinnamon gaze, almost see him peeking out from beneath the shadows flickering within his eyes. She sensed a terrible sadness behind those shadows, a terrible weight that she hadn’t known him to carry in the years they’d known each other. In the years they’d been close friends. In the years they’d fallen in love. And before the words had even formed within her mind, she heard them flowing through the air between them. “Are you happy?” she asked, staring at him intently. For some reason, her breath grew shallow as she waited for his response.

He blinked at the question, running his fingers through his short brown hair. “Sure,” he said, but she sensed that the answer had been given more on impulse than anything else. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” she stated honestly, and it was her turn to shrug. “I just never figured you for a businessman, Finn.”

“We all have to pay the bills, Rachel,” he replied quietly, averting his gaze to a point just behind her left shoulder. “It’s a good job.”

“I’m sure it is,” she whispered, fiddling with the hem of her sweater. Even so, she couldn’t help but notice that the sadness reflected in his gaze had suddenly begun to penetrate her chest. And before she realized what she was doing, she felt herself following another impulse, and making another statement without thought: “Come on,” she said, reaching once again for his hand.

“Where are we going?” he asked as his forehead crinkled.

“You’ll see,” she said simply, giving him a secretive wink as she laced her fingers together with his own. And in the midst of Times Square, among crowds of theatre goers, tourists and residents alike, the tiny, lithe woman began pulling the tall, muscular man down the street.

“Rachel, where are you taking me?” he demanded, but she noticed that he wasn’t putting up much of a fight.

“Come on, Finn,” she replied jovially, pulling harder still. “Even stuffy businessmen like surprises.”

~*~

Nine Years Ago (Give or Take a Few Months . . .)

“What is this place?” Finn asked curiously, relishing the warmth of Rachel’s hand as she led him into a secluded woodsy area. The scent of oak wafted through the air and teased his nostrils, tiny twigs broke under his feet and the increasingly chilly breeze whipped through his hair.

“I frequently come here when I feel the need to think,” Rachel admitted, stepping over a fallen log. “It’s just so peaceful that it’s easy to wrap my mind around the troubling issues I often face.”

“Huh,” Finn grunted for a second time that night, although he sort of felt like he understood what she meant. Coming here, getting away from everything, made it easier to forget about other stuff. School, the guys, the fear that he wasn’t going to measure up. It was almost like he was stepping into some secret world, some hidden universe to which only he and Rachel had the key. And when she led him to a narrow bridge overlooking a gurgling stream, the feeling only intensified. “This is cool,” he said, gazing at her affectionately as he squeezed her hand.

“I like it,” she said quietly, shrugging as she blushed under the weight of his stare.

The sight caused his heart to race, and he found himself pulling her against his chest and wrapping his arms around her slender waist. Tucking her head under his chin, he breathed in her sweet scent and placed a gentle kiss atop her head. “This is nice,” he confessed. Having Rachel in his arms, knowing that she was finally his . . . it was like everything he’d wanted was finally starting to happen. It was like all the crap he’d endured over the past few months was finally starting to disappear. After everything he’d been through, his life was finally starting to become something good, something amazing. And he had Rachel to thank for all of it.

“Sometimes life becomes a little difficult,” Rachel stated, turning in his arms to look at the stream. Folding her small hands over Finn’s much larger ones, she leaned against his muscular torso and continued. “But when I come here, it’s like everything is okay again.”

“Yeah,” Finn agreed, prickles of electricity coursing through his skin at her touch. “I get that.”

“I knew you would,” she said, a breathy quality entering her tone as she watched the water ripple below. “You’re different, Finn. Special. You’re not like the other boys at McKinley High.”

His lips puckered at her words even as a rush of hope surged through his veins. After everything he’d done, after everything he’d put her through, her statement was almost like a salve for his guilty mind. “Really?” he asked, tightening his grip around her tiny frame.

“Yeah,” Rachel confirmed, nodding. “Really.”

“I’m sorry, Rachel,” his words spilled forth before they had fully formed within his thoughts. “I’m sorry for all the stuff I put you through.” He paused, trying to figure out what it was that he was trying to say. Trying to figure out what it was that he wanted to convey. Even though she had clearly forgiven him, even though she had clearly decided to give him a second chance, he felt like she deserved more. He felt like she deserved an apology, an explanation, an admission. He felt like she deserved the world. “I’m sorry that I was such a douche,” he said instead, and had to refrain from smacking himself in the forehead. He really needed to pay better attention in English class.

If he had been facing her, he might have noticed the tender smile which spread across her face. He might have noticed the warm gleam which flickered within her eyes, and the pink flush which colored her cheeks. He might have noticed that his words had meant much more than he believed. As it was, he only noticed the way she turned in his arms, pulling away from his touch.

“I didn’t mean –“ he hastily began, but Rachel silenced him by standing on tiptoe and placing a finger to his lips.

“You don’t have to apologize anymore, Finn, “she replied, gazing at him warmly. His eyes widened slightly when he felt goose bumps break out onto his arms as he registered the expression on her face. “I’ve already forgiven you.” And before he could say another word, before he could even think of an appropriate response, she was suddenly leaning forward and capturing his lips in a sweet, ardent embrace.

The shallow stream continued to gurgle and the evening breeze continued to blow through his hair, but as Finn fell into her kiss, he forgot about everything else.

~*~

“What is this place?” Finn queried, relishing the warmth of Rachel’s hand as she pulled him into a smoky abode. The scents of alcohol and perfume wafted through the air and teased his nostrils, cigarette butts littered the floor under his feet and the heady air caused his face to flush.

“You’ll see,” Rachel repeated her earlier promise with a sly smile, tugging him further into the depths of the room.

“Wait a second,” Finn stalled, stopping in his tracks as he noticed a narrow stage bedecking the farthest wall. “Rachel, what are you up to?” His heart began to thud as her sly smile quickly transformed into a wicked grin. Even after seven years, she still had the ability to leave him speechless. When had the prim and ambitious Rachel Berry turned into such a vixen?

“I told you, Finn,” she replied, winking. “You’ll see.”

“Rachel,” he warned, but she had already begun pulling him closer to the stage. And when they arrived, when they stopped in front of the platform, she motioned to the stage hand to lean down so she could whisper into his ear. A jolt of irrational jealousy followed by a twinge of nervous apprehension rocketed through his muscular frame when the man nodded and graced her with a special smile. Returning to his position on the stage, he thumbed through a booklet and hit some buttons on his audio equipment.

“Rachel,” he tried again, a stubborn edge entering his words, “What are we doing here?” Somehow, he already knew the answer to his question. Somehow, he already understood why she’d pulled him into the dim, musky club. But even as he waited for her response, even as he stood quietly while her eyes flickered over the shadows playing across his face, his nervous apprehension grew even more pronounced. Because after seven years of pushing himself to succeed, after seven years of forgetting everything he had once been, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to experience this now. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to return to a life that he had once chosen to leave far behind.

Even if it meant returning to a woman who had once been his everything.

Perhaps Rachel sensed his trepidation. Perhaps she knew what he was thinking, knew what he was feeling. Perhaps she understood what it had taken for him to even come this far. After all, she had always been good at understanding him. She had always known how he felt even before he knew it himself. And even though he couldn’t help the prickle of regret which coursed through his chest when her smile faltered and her expression turned serious, he also experienced a surge of relief. Maybe she had changed her mind.

He should have known that Rachel Berry was nothing if not determined.

“This is a karaoke club, Finn,” she explained, gesturing toward the audience. “People come here to listen to others sing.”

“I know what a karaoke club is, Rach,” he sighed, pushing his hands into his pockets. “I just don’t know what we’re doing here.”

For the second time that night, he had the odd sensation that Rachel was staring straight into his soul as she gazed at him with her intense brown eyes. “I thought that was obvious,” she replied quietly, taking a step toward him even as she ran her smooth pink tongue anxiously over the expanse of her soft, warm lips. Despite himself, Finn suddenly found himself transfixed by her mouth. “Come on, Finn,” she cajoled, looking up at him through thick lashes. “When was the last time you sang?”

Clearing his throat as he attempted to clear his mind of all thoughts pertaining to her moist mouth, his features quickly turned guarded. “High school graduation,” he said promptly, shrugging nonchalantly even though he felt anything but. “I stopped being the male lead of New Directions a long time ago.”

“Finn,” Rachel replied softly, knowingly, as she took another step forward and placed her small hand upon his muscular chest. “Don’t you understand?” she plead. “While it’s true that Glee ended a long time ago, you never stopped being you. You never stopped being that special, amazing guy who loved to sing.”

“You’re wrong, Rachel,” he shook his head, even though his words were reluctant. Even though he almost longed to agree; even though he almost longed to get up on that stage, to return to her side, to sing as if the years had suddenly melted away. “I’m not that guy anymore.”

“No, Finn,” she stated firmly, her fingers digging softly into the skin of his chest. “You’re wrong. You’ll always be that guy.”

He opened his mouth to argue. He opened his mouth to decline, to refuse, to deny it all. But before he could say another word, before he could even figure out what he wanted to say, the stage hand was leaning back down to their level. “Are you ready, Rachel?” he prodded.

Glancing from Finn to the stage hand and back again, Rachel raised her brows. “What do you say?” she asked, that same soulful expression radiating from her eyes. “Will you sing with me one more time?” And then, when he still appeared reluctant, when he still appeared as though he would refuse, she batted her lashes and continued in a more sultry tone. “For me?” she asked, leaning so close that her breath was warm against his jaw.

Damn it. Even after all this time, she still knew exactly how to twist him around her little finger. Even after all this time, she still knew exactly how to get underneath his skin and force him to do anything she wanted. Even as the refusal formed on his tongue, he found himself nodding in acquiescence. “One last time,” he agreed. And when her face broke into a radiant grin and she pulled him up the steps of the stage, he could only follow obediently in her wake.

“What are we singing?” he questioned as a microphone was thrust into his hand. But he needn’t have bothered. As Rachel took her place by his side, the opening strains of Don’t Stop Believin’ began to emanate from the speakers. Before he knew what was happening, she was giving him that same soulful look. And suddenly, he had begun to sing. The lyrics rushed forth from bygone years, the rhythm lost but not forgotten. Never forgotten. He hadn’t forgotten a thing, he realized as he belted out a song etched permanently into his mind.

He wanted to remain guarded, he wanted to remain aloof. He didn’t want to allow himself to give into the feelings pumping through his veins. Unfortunately, he had learned long ago that what he wanted almost never turned out exactly as he’d planned.

The music washed over him as if a salve for his troubled past; it flowed forth from their combined voices, echoing against every corner and reverberating along every wall only to return in perfect harmony to its point of origin. Only to return with amazing force to his conscious mind, causing years of buried emotions and repressed thoughts to spring forth with surprising clarity. And when they were finished, and Rachel was pressed tightly against his side, he began to wonder what it was he had been hiding from. Even more, he began to wonder if maybe it was time to let go of the past seven years and return to his own point of origin.

He began to wonder why he’d ever given this up in the first place.

FIC: Fight or Flight (Chuck)

mikki13 — Sun, 28 Mar 2010 20:44:12 GMT

Title: Fight or Flight
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,292
Characters: Chuck/Sarah

Summary: As her world ceases to make sense, Sarah finds comfort in the most likely of sources. In the process, she realizes that some things are worth fighting for.

She’s terrified. And while she’ll never admit it, while she’ll hold the truth deep inside like she’s held her feelings close to her heart for years, she’s never been more frightened in her life. She’s not sure when this all started. She’s not sure when everything began to unravel, when it all began to fall apart. She desperately wants to regain control, but she doesn’t know how. And she’s terrified to even do that much. She, who’s fought assassins and terrorists alike. She, who’s been tortured to the point of unconsciousness. She, who’s risen to the top of the CIA. She’s so frightened that she lays awake at nights, wondering what’s going to happen next.

She knows it’s ridiculous. She knows she needs to let this go. She needs to let him go. She’s a CIA agent, an operative of the United States. A professional. But even more than that, she’s a woman who’s spent her entire life dealing with pain, with loss. And she doesn’t know if she can handle it again.

And that’s the real problem. Because no matter what she might tell herself, no matter how hard she might try to pretend like she’s only worried about the safety of others, a part of her is terrified that she’s going to lose him. She’s terrified that she’s going to lose someone she’s not sure she ever had. She’s terrified she’s going to watch him diminish, watch him slowly fade away until there’s nothing left. Until the man she fell in love with has completely vanished, and she’s left staring at an empty shell. And in that moment, when the Chuck she knows is completely gone, she will know that it’s her fault.

How many times do you have to be a hero to realize that you are that guy?

She replays that night repeatedly in her mind. She imagines herself telling him something entirely different. She imagines realizing her ultimate plans sooner. Realizing that she needs him in her life. Realizing that she can never leave. And she imagines herself telling him when he first confronted her, instead of telling him that she was going off with Bryce. Because maybe then, her Chuck would still be here. Maybe then, her Chuck would have never begun to leave.

Perhaps this is why she tried to get him to run away. Perhaps she knew then what she knows now: she needed to get him away from the Agency. She needed to get him away from the lies, from the danger, from the threat of his virtual nonexistence. She needed to protect him from it all. And when he rejected her, when he left her standing on a train platform in a foreign country, perhaps the reason she felt so much pain wasn’t because he’d broken her heart. Perhaps it was because she feared what would happen next.

In the Academy, they teach recruits about flight or fight. They teach them that fighting is always better than fleeing, unless you’re certain that you’re going to lose. And even then, you should only flee if you know it’ll give you the upper hand. If there’s any chance that the other side will gain any kind of advantage, then you should stay and fight to the death.

To Sarah, this was always clear and distinct, black and white. It was always simple. She never ran; she always encountered the threat head on. There was never any reason to flee. There was never any reason to run from danger when it was danger that she was trying to guard against.

Perhaps it was because of this that she never needed to acknowledge the next lesson she’d learned in the Agency. She had never needed to remember the warning that a third option was always possible. She had never needed to remember that rather than fighting or fleeing, one could always freeze. Because freezing had never been an option. It had never been a possibility. She had never even considered freezing. Until now.

But as she sits with her arms folded tightly across her chest, the rhythmic beat of the fountain pulsing behind her back, she realizes that she finally understands what her instructors meant. She finally knows that freezing has always been an option, a possibility. Because for the past few months, she’s been frozen in place, watching with terror as her world has slowly come apart. As his world has slowly dissolved, leaving in its place a Chuck she’s afraid she won’t be able to recognize.

She almost jumps when his voice sounds from behind. “Sarah?” he asks groggily, rubbing his eyes as he shuffles to the fountain. “Is that you?”

“Hey,” she says softly, willing her lips to curl upward into a gentle smile. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” he repeats, taking a seat by her side. “It’s, um,” he checks his watch, “Two in the morning. Is everything okay?”

“Sure,” she replies, shrugging even as she feels a guarded shield falling into place upon her face. “I was just having trouble sleeping.”

“Right,” Chuck says, his forehead crinkling in concern. “I know that I often find myself visiting someone else’s fountain when I have trouble sleeping. It’s a real insomnia reliever.”

Sarah rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Cute,” she states, elbowing him in the side. And when his face splits into his familiar charming grin, sending his cinnamon eyes alight, her own smile increases in wattage and a sense of relief pervades her slender frame.

“I thought so,” he nodded, then studies her intently. She has to avert her gaze from the weight of his stare. Chuck Bartowski has always been good at jumping to conclusions, but he’s also had a way of reading her when he looks too closely. And right now, she’s not sure that she’s ready to be read. “Why are you really here, Sarah?” he finally asks, the caring quality of his voice causing a surge of warmth to rush through her chest.

“I told you,” she says carefully, staring into the starry night, “I couldn’t sleep.” But even as she says it, even as the words emanate from her lips, she knows they won’t be enough. Things have been too strained, she’s been too aloof, and eventually Chuck is going to start demanding answers.

So when he falls silent, his arm brushing gently against the sleeve of her jacket, she finds herself holding her breath. She finds herself waiting for the bomb to fall. She finds herself relieved that they’ve finally come to this point. “I’d do it differently if I could,” he says after a few minutes, gazing at her through soulful brown eyes. “I’d go back and change –“

“Chuck,” she interrupts, nearly writhing under the intensity of his expression. “It’s okay, you don’t have to –“

“Please, Sarah,” he cuts in, placing his hand on her leg. Her gaze travels to his nimble fingers, a prickle of electricity rushing through her thigh at his touch. “I need to say this.”

“Okay,” she murmurs, taking a deep breath as she returns her line of sight to his own.

Swallowing gently, he scoots forward so that he’s sitting directly beside her. “If I could do it differently,” he begins, unconsciously running his fingertips along her jeans, “I’d take it all back.” Sighing deeply, he sucks his lower lip into his mouth as he considers what he’s going to say next. Inadvertently, Sarah’s eyes flicker to the soft pink skin held captive by his teeth. “I mean, I don’t know if I’d run,” he confesses, and she blinks in surprise. Is this really his way of making me feel better? “But I’d tell you why first. Sarah,” he says, running his hand through his disheveled brown hair, “I still think I’m doing the right thing. I still think I’d become a spy, even if given the chance again.”

“But why?” she blurts, her features hardening. “You’ve seen what they want you to become, Chuck,” she appeals, her voice rising slightly. She knows she should stop. She knows she should leave. They’ve told her that the only way to keep him safe is to forego all emotions, to extinguish all feelings. But she’s tired of this game; she’s tired of this war. She’s tired of pretending not to feel things that she’s ignored for too long. “Would you really willingly go through this again?”

“Yes,” he confirms, nodding sharply. He doesn’t even hesitate, and Sarah’s chest twists painfully as a result.

“But why?” she demands again, her eyes narrowing in disbelief.

“Because,” he says calmly, taking a deep, slow breath, “It’s the right thing to do.”

She knows her voice is way too loud. She knows her emotions are beginning to rage out of control. But for once, she doesn’t stop herself. For once, she forgets to freeze, she forgets to flee, and she begins to fight. “How can you say that?” she demands, her voice cracking as she scoots away from his hand. Almost immediately, she feels a slight chill at the loss of contact, which she promptly ignores. “How can you say it’s the right thing when they want you to become the world’s best assassin, Chuck?”

Chuck’s eyes widen as he watches her, and Sarah takes a few quick breaths to calm herself. She’s never been so out of control; she’s never been so emotional. She’s not used to wearing her heart on her sleeve, and it’s something she’s not completely comfortable with. Actually, it’s not something she’s comfortable with at all. Her mask falls back into place as she returns her arms to their crossed position over her chest, waiting for Chuck to answer her questions.

“Don’t you get it, Sarah?” he pleads, his expression beseeching as he gazes at her through gleaming eyes. “I’ve got this thing in my head that can change the world. I’ve got this amazing ability to protect innocent people. Ellie. Morgan. You. What kind of person would I be if I turned my back on that?”

It wasn’t exactly what she was expecting to hear, even after watching the video tape left by Carina. It wasn’t exactly what she was prepared to hear, even after running all possible scenarios through her mind. So when he finally speaks, she has to take a moment to process his words. “You don’t have to be a hero anymore, Chuck,” she says quietly, staring at her hands. “You’ve done enough.”

“How can you say that?” he replies, his tone still pleading. “How can you say that when you’ve spent the last ten years risking your life for the same people I’m trying to protect?”

Because it was supposed to be different, she thinks. Because we were supposed to be free. Because we were finally going to have that normal life. “Because I’m afraid you’re never going to be the same,” she says instead, pursing her lips when she realizes she’s actually said it aloud. Even after all this time, even after all these sleepless nights, she’s never voiced her fears. She’s never allowed him to see her insecurities. But now, as his features soften and he scoots toward her once more, she’s almost relieved that she finally has.

“I’m always going to be me, Sarah,” he murmurs, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “This isn’t going to change me.”

“You can’t know that, Chuck,” she appeals, glancing back up into his warm gaze. “You don’t know what the CIA is capable of doing to you.”

“Come on, Sarah,” he prods, “This is me we’re talking about here.”

As he says the words, a gentle tenderness washes through his gaze and a crooked smile spreads across his face. Staring at the transformation she sees within him, Sarah’s breath catches in her throat and she simply stares. It’s almost like waking up from a nightmare, or discovering water after wandering the desert for months. Watching him now is almost like returning to normal, or at least as close to normal as she’s ever known it. Because somewhere deep inside, her Chuck is still there. Her Chuck is still viable. Her Chuck is still real.

But even as she continues to stare, even as she continues to drink in his expression, she can’t help the terror from rekindling within her gut. She can’t help the panic from swelling through her chest. And before she knows what she’s going to say, she finds herself speaking her greatest fear. “Don’t leave me, Chuck,” she murmurs, raising her hand to cup his cheek. It’s the most vulnerable she’s made herself to him in months, and for a moment the fear rises again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises. And then he leans ever nearer, until his lips finally brush softly against her parted mouth.

“Neither am I,” she breathes into his kiss. Her fingers travel from his cheek to the back of his head, tangling themselves in his hair as she falls into the electrical warmth of his embrace. And as the kiss heats up, and she runs her tongue along his bottom lip, and he opens his mouth to her passionate advances, the fear ebbs away and she realizes how true her words really are. She’s not going anywhere. She’s not fleeing, she’s not freezing, she’s not giving up now. She’s going to stay and fight for as long as it takes to keep Chuck safe, to keep him here, to keep him real. After everything they’ve been through, she owes him that much. After everything they’ve been through, she owes him everything.

And as the cool night air whips through her hair and the fountain continues to splash behind her back, she succumbs to his touch and lets her terror fade away.

Fin.

FIC: On My Own (Chapter 3) (Glee)

mikki13 — Mon, 22 Mar 2010 03:28:16 GMT

Title: On My Own (Chapter 3)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,553
Characters: Finn/Rachel
A/N: First, let me apologize for lagging on this chapter. Unfortunately, I recently suffered a severe back injury and was placed on bed rest. And more recently (the last couple of days, in fact), I developed a bad case of the flu. As a result, writing became rather difficult. Luckily, though, not writing is sort of like not breathing for me. And as the_minsk can attest, I wanted nothing more than to get this chapter out for all of you. So here it is. I hope you enjoy it. ;-)

Summary: After graduation, they went their separate ways. What happens when fate intervenes and Finn and Rachel come face-to-face after seven years apart?

Previous Chapters:
Chapter One * Chapter Two

Nine Years Ago (Give or Take a Few Months) . . .

Finn Hudson shuffled slowly down the crowded hallway, his hands crammed into his pockets and a forced grin stretched across his face. He was surrounded by his fellow teammates – the football ones, not the ones that sang – and feeling more uncomfortable by the second. He didn’t get it, really. How was it that he could be with so many buddies, yet feel so alone at the same time? And why was it that they hadn’t even mentioned the . . . incident? I mean, it had been an entire day, but no one had said anything. Not even her. It was almost as if it had never even happened. It was almost as if he had never even kissed Rachel Berry.

For some reason, the idea made his stomach feel funny, and his forced grin quickly turned into a mild frown.

“What’s up with you, Hudson?” Murphy tossed the football at Finn’s head, chortling when the quarterback almost missed. “You forget to take your Midol today or something?”

“Cute,” Finn returned, smirking sardonically as he slung the football into the air. “Almost as cute as your homecoming date, Murphy.” When the other guys chuckled and elbowed him in the ribs, Finn’s shoulders relaxed. He seemed to have successfully diverted the conversation.

“Hey,” Murphy retorted, narrowing his eyes, “It’s not my fault Kim Chang came down with the flu.”

“No,” Finn replied, his smirk intensifying. “But did you really have to take your cousin?”

“Second cousin,” Murphy quickly corrected, aiming a well-placed kick at the back of Karofsky’s leg when the other football player let loose a loud guffaw.

“Well played, Hudson,” Karofsky stated, turning around to bump fists with Finn.

“Thanks.” Finn’s awkward smile returned the moment his knuckles hit his teammate’s. Something about this just felt wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it – he didn’t even really understand the problem – but it felt kinda like he was sliding backward, or like he was going backward through time. He had taken this monumental step. He had finally stood up to his fellow football players, and now he was . . . he was back to acting like a jerk again. What was it with him? And why was it that he suddenly cared? He had never cared before.

Suddenly, Rachel’s soulful brown eyes and gorgeous, radiant smile pushed themselves into Finn’s mind. And before Finn knew what he was doing, he was suddenly glancing around the hallway for his fellow captain. For the girl who had stolen his heart. For the girl who had somehow escaped him for the better part of a day. Finn’s brow furrowed when he realized that it was already lunchtime, and he still hadn’t seen her.

“So, tell me something, Hudson,” Karofsky interrupted his thoughts, pushing through a crowd of mulling students. “What was that yesterday?”

“Huh?” Finn responded brilliantly, tossing the football to another teammate.

“I mean, between you and that loud-mouthed midget,” Karofsky elaborated, coming to a stop by the slushie machine. “Please tell me that was some kind of joke.”

“Yeah, bro,” another teammate, Sully, joined in. “Was that some sort of weird dance move or something?”

Almost instinctively, Finn’s fists clenched inside his pockets and his lips curled downward into a fierce scowl. “She’s not a midget,” he said lamely, even when he felt himself wanting to say so much more. Even when he realized that this was it; this was the moment that Mr. Schue had told him about. The crossroads moment, when everything changed. And if he didn’t do or say the right thing, somehow Finn knew that he was going to regret it later.

“Whatever,” Karofsky dismissed his remark, grabbing a large cup and filling it with a raspberry slushie concoction. “Midget or not, that was still weird. I mean, tell me you’re not gonna try and tap that, man.”

“That Berry freak is such a loser,” Sully chimed in as he passed the football to Murphy, who nodded his silent agreement.

It happens in life that everything seems to come together or fall apart just when you least expect it. And in that moment, when Finn was trying to decide what to tell his buddies, he reached a turning point, entering his own personal crossroads. As Karofsky finished filling his cup to the brim, Rachel Berry came to a stop across the hallway. Finn’s chest clenched painfully when he glanced at her and realized she’d just heard their entire conversation. It clenched again when Karofsky noticed her, too, and a malicious smile snaked across his face.

“Here,” he said, pushing the cup toward Finn. “It looks like the freak’s in need of another slushie bath.”

Finn’s breathing turned shallow as he automatically accepted the drink, his own makeshift vehicle to navigating the tricky crossroads he’d suddenly encountered. This was it. Either he splashed Rachel with the slushie, ending all hope he had of pursuing a relationship with the girl who just might be his soul mate. Or he refused to do it, dashing all dreams he’d ever had of maintaining his cool image and popularity.

Turning slowly around, a slightly pale Finn Hudson faced an incredulous, distraught Rachel Berry, the slushie cup cool against his palm.

“Finn?” Rachel queried softly, her eyes wide as she studied her potential boyfriend.

“Hey, Rach,” he replied, his lips quirking upward into a crooked smile. “What’s up?”

~*~

The cool New York evening air whipped through Finn’s hair and assaulted his cheeks, turning them a rosy shade of red. Shuffling slowly through the theatre district, his hands crammed into his pockets and an apprehensive smile stretched across his face, a million thoughts coursed through his mind. A million worries hammered through his chest. Even as various patrons exited the theatre and made their way to their various hotels and homes, jostling him as he walked with aimless purpose toward the back of the establishment, he felt as though he were a million miles away.

He had seen Les Misérables every night that week. And even though he had abandoned the front row, even though he had taken refuge in the back seats of the orchestra section, he continued to experience a jarring electrical jolt every time she stepped onstage. Standing toward the rear, never in the limelight, her voice nevertheless filled every facet of the building. It flowed across the house, washing over the audience and filling him with an overwhelming sense of awe. It was almost as if he had never left; almost as if he had gone backward in time, and she was singing just for him.

Okay, yeah. That was definitely lame. But he couldn’t help the way her singing made him feel. He couldn’t help the fact that even after all this time, even after all these changes, it still got inside him. It still affected him in a way that nothing else had ever been capable of doing. She still affected him in a way no one else had ever been capable of affecting him before.

Perhaps it was for this reason that he couldn’t get her out of his head. Perhaps it was for this reason that he hadn’t been able to stop seeing her show. Perhaps it was for this reason that he finally found himself outside the stage door. And perhaps it was for this reason that his boss was starting to worry about him.

He had to admit that he hadn’t exactly been at the top of his game this week. He almost shuddered, thinking about the nearly botched meeting he’d had with Apple a few days before. Just before making the deal, he’d accidentally insulted the company’s CEO. Okay, so he hadn’t realized the woman wasn’t pregnant. And maybe he shouldn’t have asked her when her due date was. And it was possible that his mind had been wandering through the entire meeting, his thoughts continually returning to a certain petite brunette who was slowly returning to the center of his world (even if she didn’t actually know it yet).

But was that any reason for the CEO to tell him that she’d rather deal with Satan himself than have to talk to a moony-eyed teenager any longer? He honestly hadn’t been that moony-eyed. He’d just been a little distracted, that’s all. And not too distracted, either. He just hadn’t been able to get Rachel’s voice out of his head, nor had he been able to stop thinking about how awesome it used to be when they sang together. How alive he’d felt. How real everything used to seem. How much he used to care for one small girl.

How much he still cared for one tiny woman.

And besides that, he’d saved the deal. His boss had hired him because he was a quick talker, and had a way of making people feel good about themselves. This had been no exception. Rather than comment on the CEO’s rather large abdomen, he’d simply said that she glowed beautifully with an internal excitement. By the end of the meeting, she was eating out of his hand. So why was it that his boss suddenly had him on speed dial? And why was it that he seemed to be on shaky ice when a week before, he had been Finn Hudson, his firm’s shining star?

As if on cue, Finn’s cell phone began vibrating in his coat pocket. An inadvertent sigh escaped his lips as he reached into his leather jacket and extracted the offending apparatus. But just before he accepted the call, just before he raised the phone to his ear, he realized that it wasn’t his boss calling after all. The number flashing upon his screen had made an appearance a few other times this week, and each time Finn had declined acceptance, a guilty flush rising upon his face. And now that he was so close, now that the stage door was directly in front of him, he felt as though he were caught in a trap. Should he answer the call, preserving the potential relationship he knew was quickly fading? Or should he decline, allowing himself to delve into the potential relationship he desperately hoped to rekindle?

Finn’s chest clenched painfully as his thumb hovered between the green “accept” button and the red “decline” button. Finally, just as it was about to descend on the scarlet choice, the phone stopped vibrating and the call went to voice mail. Finn let out a breath of relief he hadn’t realized he’d been holding; a breath of relief accentuated by the squeaking of the stage door as it began to open.

“I’m telling you, man,” said one of the kids he’d seen the other night, “Missy’s gonna quit. She just can’t hack it here.”

“Oh, come on,” a woman shook her head in denial, “Her voice is incredible. She’s just sick of being upstaged.”

“You’ve got to admit,” the kid replied, smirking slightly, “Rachel has a way of taking over. She’s only in the chorus, but she’s already a total diva.”

“I think Rachel’s great,” said a boy that Finn recognized as Sammy. “She could sing circles around Missy.”

“Dude, you’ve really gotta quit it with the crush already,” the kid berated him, rolling his eyes. “She’s way too old for you.”

A deep blush colored Sammy’s cheeks, and he began to stutter. “Maybe she likes younger guys,” he said, staring uncomfortably at his shoes.

“And maybe you’re gonna win the lottery,” his friend elbowed him in the side.

“It could happen,” Sammy retorted, kicking at a stray stone.

Shaking his head as he leaned against the building, Finn’s lips quirked into a sympathetic smile. He had to hand it to her; it was easy to fall head over heels for Rachel Berry. A reality made apparent by the fact that he was currently standing by the stage door in the chilly New York night, hoping that she might eventually make an appearance. Because even after everything he had decided before, even after walking away on that first night, he knew now that he had to see her. He had to talk to her. He had to find out if it was still real, or if he was imagining all of this. He had to know if she still felt it, too. Because no matter what might have happened in the past, no matter how they might have broken up or how they might have parted, he had never stopped thinking about her. He had never stopped missing her. He had never stopped wanting her to be a part of his life. Even if maybe he still hadn’t admitted it to himself, he had never stopped caring about Rachel Berry.

So when the door opened once more, and the click of heels began to sound upon the pavement, Finn’s heart skipped a beat. And when he slowly turned around, and his cinnamon eyes latched onto her own soulful brown, his breath caught in his throat. Once again, he felt as though he was reeling backward through time, as if the past seven years had never happened. As if he was still Finn Hudson, high school quarterback and dating the most beautiful, talented girl in the school. It was only when a soft gasp escaped Rachel’s delicate mouth that he began to return to the present.

“Finn?” she queried softly, her eyes wide as she studied her ex-lover.

“Hey, Rach,” he replied, his lips curling into his familiar crooked smile. “What’s up?”

~*~

Nine Years Ago (Give or Take a Few Months) . . .

Rachel’s chest twisted at the sight of Finn Hudson – the very same Finn Hudson who had promised to be “that guy” only a day before – holding a cup brimming with a blue slushie concoction and staring directly at her. Glancing from the gawking boys in the background to the frosty cup in Finn’s large hand, her guarded gaze finally locked onto his own bewildered stare. And in that moment, as she looked into his bright cinnamon eyes, a million unspoken words seemed to pass between them. A million unspoken emotions seemed to reverberate through the tension-filled air. Confusion. Longing. Pain. Clearly, Finn was confused. Clearly, he still didn’t know how to stand up to his cruel peers. And clearly, he was considering splashing her with yet another slushie.

Rachel’s expression turned defiant as she continued to gaze into Finn’s eyes. “What’s going on, Finn?” she demanded, lifting her chin confidently when her voice emerged calm and unaffected. Even if she felt as though her heart might break at any moment, there was no way she was going to let Finn Hudson see it. Not this time.

“Um,” Finn stuttered, glancing at the slushie cup and back into Rachel’s flashing brown eyes. “I was just . . .”

“You were just what, Finn?” Rachel demanded, taking an instinctual step toward the boy. You can do this, Rachel, she assured herself, even as her hands curled into nervous fists. You can stand up for yourself. You’re smarter than all of his friends. You’re better than all of this. “You were just going to listen to your misguided adolescent friends and succumb to peer pressure yet again?”

“I was . . . um,” Finn looked at his friends over his shoulder, causing Karofsky to narrow his eyes. (“Get it over with, man,” the other boy urged, crossing his beefy arms over his chest.) A dejected sigh escaped Finn’s lips, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I don’t know what I was doing, Rachel,” he admitted.

As Finn’s features twisted into a look of pure misery, Rachel’s own expression softened as a twinge of sympathy reverberated through her slender frame. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” she confided, placing a hand on his arm. When Finn glanced at her hand in surprise, a gentle smile spread across her face. “You don’t have to listen to them,” she continued, wrapping her fingers around his heated skin. “You don’t have to be who they want you to be.”

She bit her lower lip, knowing there was more she wanted to say; knowing there was more he needed to hear. She could feel the fear coursing through her veins, the anxiety roiling through her gut. She was so afraid she was going to open her heart only to have it stepped on again. But even more powerful than that dread, even more powerful than the anxiety that Finn would find another way to hurt her, was the fear of losing this chance. The fear that if she didn’t tell him exactly how she felt now, she’d never have the chance again.

“We can walk away from this,” she found herself saying, gazing warmly up at him. “This is it, Finn. This is our opportunity to show everyone that we’re better than all of the threats, and the politics.” Taking a deep breath, she stood on her tiptoes so that she was looking steadily into his eyes. “This is our opportunity to be together. Please don’t throw it away,” she begged.

With her last few words, Finn seemed to snap from his stupor, blinking rapidly as he gazed at her parted lips. “I don’t want to throw it away, Rachel,” he confessed, his fingers flexing around the slushie cup.

“Then don’t,” her smile widened. “Just walk away.”

But: “I can’t,” Finn stated, leaning closer to her lips.

Rachel’s stomach dropped even as her pulse increased at the feel of his breath, warm against her cheek. “Why not?” she appealed.

“Because,” Finn said, dipping ever closer to her mouth, “This is my crossroads.” And then he kissed her, brushing his lips softly against her own, and winding his free hand around her small waist.

Rachel’s breath caught in her throat and her fingers found their way into his thick hair as the kiss increased in urgency, and Finn traced his smooth, pink tongue over her bottom lip. “Finn,” she breathed into his kiss, opening her mouth to allow him entrance. It was as if everything fell away – the teasing, the insults, the threats – and all that remained was him. All that remained was them, and the result was intoxicating.

It was only when Karosfky’s derisive laughter cut into the moment that the two finally broke apart, and Finn dropped his arm to his side as he turned around in surprise.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, dude,” Karofsky shook his head in disbelief. “You really want to be with this thing?”

Finn’s wide eyes turned angry at the insult, and he set his jaw as he suddenly seemed to remember the slushie. Glancing from the cup and back at Karofsky, he made the slightest movement with his wrist. And as his fellow football player stared in disbelief, the frosty blue substance flew through the air and landed on his thick head. “Cut it out, Karofsky,” Finn ordered, reaching down to thread his fingers protectively through Rachel’s own. “She’s not a thing.” Looking at her, his lips curled into an affectionate smile. “She’s my girlfriend.”

At the words, a rush of warmth flooded Rachel’s chest as she squeezed his fingers, a wide grin forming upon her face. After everything they had been through, after everything they had accomplished to get to this moment, she realized she had never been so proud of the boy standing by her side. “Let’s go,” she suggested, rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb even as the slushie continued to drip down Karosfky’s muscular back.

“Sounds good,” he agreed.

And as they walked down the hallway with hands intertwined, an aghast Karofsky shouting after them, Finn tossed the slushie cup into the trash.

~*~

Staring at herself in her circular mirror, Rachel slowly ran a brush through her long brown hair while attempting to ignore the flowers resting on her dressing table. She also attempted to ignore the box of candy, and the fluffy pink teddy bear, and the stack of cards that was quickly increasing in size. All from the same person. All with the same sentiment in mind. Every night, they came. And every night, Rachel tried to ignore them.

Harder to ignore, however, was the growing ache which reverberated through her chest every time she stepped on stage. She couldn’t quite describe it, really. She only knew that something was wrong. Something wasn’t as it should be. It was the same feeling she’d gotten on opening night. The same emotion she’d felt when she’d first performed. Rachel Berry had always been knowledgeable and in control; she had always known her own mind. So why couldn’t she figure out what was bothering her now?

Sighing deeply, she laid her brush down on her makeup stand and forced a bright smile into place. This was no time to be contemplating unknown feelings or unwanted gifts. She was a Broadway star (well, more like an understudy, but that was really just a technicality), and she had to deal with her adoring fans. (Okay, so she didn’t have too many fans yet, but her fan base would grow in time. And as any good Broadway star knew, the fan base cemented one’s rise to fame.) Nodding decisively, she pushed herself out of her chair and headed for the door.

“Night, Rachel,” a fellow chorus member waved at her. “Good job tonight.”

“Thank you, Nicole,” Rachel replied brightly, keeping her smile firmly in place. “You performed quite well yourself.”

Opening the door to the outside street, Rachel narrowed her eyes against the New York breeze and glanced at the congregating fans, preparing herself to sign playbills and programs alike. But before she could uncap her sharpie, before she could even approach the first person, she noticed a tall man standing near the front. And suddenly, everything stopped and the marker fell from her hand.

Rachel felt as though she were floating backward through time; as though the last seven years had been nothing but a dream, and she was suddenly waking up. Her hand flew to her mouth, her heart skipped a beat, her eyes continued to widen as she stared across a few feet of empty space and directly into Finn Hudson’s nervous, affectionate cinnamon eyes. It was as if she were in a different world, another dimension, and everything was exactly as she never thought it could be.

Stepping slowly toward the tall, muscular man, she barely noticed the overly excited fans congregating behind the stage door. She barely noticed anything at all. The only thing that permeated her thoughts, the only thing that registered within her mind, was Finn. Finn Hudson, just as she’d always remembered him and completely different all at the same time. He was wearing a suit, complete with pressed necktie and polished black shoes. His hair was trimmed and neat, and he was poised and confident. Gone was the letterman’s jacket, gone was the tousled hairstyle, gone was the awkward gait. Yet it was unmistakably him.

“Finn?” she questioned softly, gazing at him in wonderment.

“Hey, Rach,” he replied, his lips quirking upward into his familiar charming smile. “What’s up?”

“Is that really you?” she asked, nearly mesmerized by the sight of him. Is this really happening? Is Finn really here? Or is the rampant stress of stage life finally getting to me?

His laughter still took her breath away. “In the flesh,” he replied. His crooked smile broadened even as he studied her intently. “How have you been?” he asked, gazing deeply into her eyes.

Rachel had to suppress a sudden shiver at the weight of his stare. “I’ve been good,” she replied, blinking in an attempt to clear her head. “I . . . I’m acting in Les Misérables,” she said, blushing slightly at the simplicity of her statement. Clearly, Finn knew she was a part of the program. Why else would he have come to the stage door?

“I know,” Finn confessed, his own cheeks suddenly reddening. “I’ve seen it every night this week.”

Rachel stared at him in slight disbelief before her lips finally curled into a pleased smile. “What did you think?” she asked, taking an instinctual step closer even as her eyes remained locked on his own. She felt as though she could drown in those eyes; she felt as though she wanted to drown in those eyes. She’d never seen so much reflected in one person’s gaze.

“It’s okay,” Finn replied, shrugging as Rachel’s smile faltered slightly. “Of course,” he continued conspiratorially, his expression turning secretive, “There is one bright spot in the show.”

“Oh?” Rachel breathed, goose bumps breaking onto her arms at the look on Finn’s face. “What was that?”

“It’s more like a ‘who’,” Finn elaborated. She couldn’t help but notice that his hand fluttered by his side, almost as though he wanted to place it on her arm. She couldn’t help but notice how much she wanted him to place it on her arm. It really was as though nothing had ever changed. In that moment, with the adrenaline rush from the stage still fresh in her mind and an older Finn Hudson still clear in her sight, she seemed to forget why they had ever broken up in the first place. She seemed to forget that they had ever broken up at all.

“A ‘who’?” she prodded, her heart hammering in her chest as she took another step closer. “What do you mean, Finn?”

“Come on, Rachel,” he replied, running slightly flustered fingers through his hair. “You’ve always been the star of any show. Even when they stick you behind the scenery,” he added with a smirk.

“Finn Hudson,” she giggled, swatting his shoulder. “They do not stick me behind the scenery.”

“Oh, really?” he drawled, giving her a knowing look.

“Well, okay,” she amended, shaking her head. “But it’s just one scene.”

“Mmhmm,” he murmured, a glint of affection entering his light brown eyes.

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?” she stated, glaring at him playfully. “Positively recidivous.”

“I’m not quite sure I understand what you just said,” Finn said, looking suddenly bewildered.

“Have you ever?” she retorted, although a tender quality washed through her words. And before she could stop herself, she was suddenly reaching out to place her own hand on his arm.

Finn blinked at the movement, staring at her hand in mild amazement before returning his gaze to her own. “I’ve missed you, Rachel,” he stated, his voice slightly husky.

“I’ve missed you, too, Finn,” she admitted, tightening her grip on his arm. Every day, the thought came, and she found herself averting her gaze to his broad chest. When did Finn Hudson become so muscular?

“You want to get out of here?” he queried, swallowing nervously.

But he needn’t have worried. Forcing herself to look back up into his overpowering eyes, she slowly nodded. “Yeah,” she said, smiling gently as she moved her hand down his arm, linking her fingers with his own. “That sounds good.”

And as they walked down the vibrant New York City street with hands intertwined, exuberant fans chattering in the background, she began to wonder if the past seven years really had all been a distant dream.

CHAPTER FOUR

FIC: Dollars in the Sand (Chuck)

mikki13 — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 15:27:34 GMT

Title: Dollars in the Sand
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,238
Characters: Chuck/Sarah
A/N: This one was written for the story_lottery challenge, utilizing the prompt "bay".

Summary: Chuck and Sarah take a family vacation with their two-year old daughter. Part of the “Full Circle” series.

The balmy golden sun cast its gentle rays upon the world below, highlighting flocks of lazy seagulls and languid pigeons as the serene Monterey Bay washed upon the sandy shore. Digging her painted toenails into the sand, Sarah lay with her head on her arms and a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips. In all her days as a spy, she never would have believed she could feel so peaceful. In all her days as a con artist, she never would have believed she could experience something so real.

When had her life become something worth living?

As if on cue, a goofy grin and a pair of affectionate brown eyes flashed within her mind. Chuck Bartowski. If someone had told her ten years before that she’d fall for her asset, she would have called them crazy. But even as she shook her head ruefully, she couldn’t deny the effect his simple image had upon her. She couldn’t deny the rush she felt just from thinking about her loving husband. Pushing herself into a sitting position as she pulled her blue one-piece back into place, she allowed her eyes to rake the beach until they fell upon the man in question.

His forehead creased in thought, his own lanky body clad in nothing more than a pair of swim trunks (which would definitely be making an exit later that night), he was shuffling down the coast and staring at the sandy ground. And directly behind him, stumbling upon tiny toddler legs, a halo of curly brown hair framing her own intense cinnamon eyes, was their little girl. As Sarah watched, she noticed that the child was mimicking her father’s every action. Whenever Chuck would pause, Norah would pause. Whenever Chuck would frown, Norah would frown. Whenever Chuck would scoop something off the ground, Norah would fall onto her pudgy bottom and do the same.

A peal of laughter rippled from Sarah’s throat, an amused grin flaring across her face. “What are you two doing?” she called, shielding her eyes from the sun.

Whirling in surprise, Chuck arched a brow at his gorgeous wife. She had been sleeping no more than a few minutes before, and the computer nerd had finally decided to occupy himself by doing . . . well, whatever it was that he was doing. (Sarah still hadn’t quite figured it out.) “Looking for seashells,” he replied easily, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I promised Norah a sand dollar.”

“Oh, did you now?” Sarah stated, a gentle twinkle entering her bright blue eyes.

“Sandoll,” Norah replied, nodding solemnly.

Grinning hugely, Chuck plucked her up off the ground. “That’s right, Peanut,” he replied, tickling her belly even as Sarah began to glare. “A sand dollar.”

“Chuck Bartowski,” Sarah drawled, her glare becoming more pronounced as she came to her feet. “How many times do I have to tell you not to use that nickname?”

“What nickname?” Chuck replied, feigning innocence.

Sarah noticed with concealed pleasure that he couldn’t suppress a slight shudder as she began to stalk ever nearer. Even though she hadn’t been a spy for almost five years, it appeared that she still had a certain talent. “You know what nickname, Chuck,” she replied, drawing even with her husband.

“No idea,” Chuck replied, gulping slightly even as he puckered his lips into a quizzical frown.

“Hmm,” Sarah murmured, winking at her little girl before turning her pointed gaze upon her husband. “I guess I’ll just have to remind you,” she stated mischievously.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Chuck’s eyes widened, and he placed Norah back onto the soft earth.

“Wouldn’t I?” Sarah smiled coyly. And then, before Chuck even had a chance to register her actions, she snatched Norah’s purple bucket from the ground and dashed toward the Bay. She couldn’t help but grin in amusement when she heard Chuck’s girlish squeal.

“Sarah, wait!” he cried, holding up his hands in surrender as she began to advance toward him with a bucketful of chilly water. “Think about this,” he said, backing away when her grin became almost feral. “Is this really what we want to teach our daughter?”

Pausing abruptly, Sarah glanced toward her child. Norah’s ruby mouth hung open, her chubby hands were clasped together, and her wide golden eyes followed her mother’s every move. “What do you say?” Sarah asked her little girl, gesturing toward the bucket. “Do I want to do this, honey?”

Norah glanced from Sarah to Chuck to the bucket, her gaze finally resting on her mother’s own. And in that moment, Sarah saw something she’d only seen a few times before. Her daughter’s eyes lit up, her own grin became almost feral, and the ex-spy suddenly felt as if she was looking into a mirror. “Yes!” the child squealed, clapping her hands together. “Do it, Momma!”

Chuckling heartily, Sarah returned a coy gaze to her husband’s look of wide-eyed horror. “Sorry, Chuck,” she shrugged, “I think this is exactly what I want to teach my daughter.” Dashing across the beach, she closed the distance between them, and upended the bucketful of water over Chuck’s curly head.

Spluttering as the chilly liquid dripped into his eyes and mouth, Chuck flung his head from side to side in order to shake away the deluge. “Oh, that’s it,” he muttered, casting mock furious eyes upon his wife even as his daughter continued to clap. “You’re going to get it.”

“Am I now?” Sarah replied, smirking slightly.

“Oh, yeah,” Chuck stated, advancing menacingly toward her.

Sarah had to bite back a grin when she realized that Chuck’s menacing walk was more akin to a clumsy, bumbling stroll. Even so, she crossed her arms over her chest and held her ground. “Think about this, Chuck,” she repeated his words from earlier, her smirk growing when her daughter’s delighted laughter filled her ears. “Is this really something you want to do?”

“Oh, I think this is exactly something I want to do, Sarah,” he replied. Scooping her into his arms, he grinned devilishly when she glowered and swatted his shoulder.

“Put me down, Chuck,” she ordered, even as he began running toward the shore. “I swear to God, I will make you regret th – Oof.” Sarah’s words were cut short when Chuck rushed into the icy Bay, the frosty water biting into her skin and causing her breath to hitch in her throat. “Chuck!” she cried, gazing severely at him from the vantage point of his arms.

“Yes, Sarah?” he queried, glancing happily at their little girl, who was giggling on the beach.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” she said, reaching down to fling some of the icy surf at her husband’s face.

“Hmm,” Chuck replied, his gaze flickering to her lips. “I can.” Tightening his grip around her shivering body, he bent his head and captured her mouth in a warm caress. The water continued to lap at their reddening skin, and the gentle sun did nothing to quell the rising chill, but neither really noticed. Wrapped up in one another’s embrace with their daughter crawling along the shore, they fell into each other’s kiss as a surge of warmth rushed through their quivering frames. And when they finally broke apart and made it back to shore a minute later, Sarah had to admit that this was one vacation that had definitely been worth taking.

FIC: Innocence Returned (Glee)

mikki13 — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 02:24:18 GMT

Title: Innocence Returned
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,826
Characters: Finn/Rachel
A/N: This one was written for the story_lottery challenge, utilizing the prompt "Igloo". Rather than having our two favorite characters head off to Siberia, I chose to write this instead. ;-)

Summary: One snowy Friday afternoon, Rachel helps Finn remember what's most important.

A multitude of clouds wafted across the slate grey sky, highlighting the pure white snow which fluttered from the heavens onto the charming suburban landscape winding through the small town of Lima, Ohio. Tightening her arms around her slender frame, Rachel Berry hung her head against the chill wind as she trudged through the quiet, snowy streets of her familiar town. She had lived here all her life; she had made similar journeys many times. But none of those walks had been quite like this one. None of those walks had led her to where she was going now: directly to Finn Hudson’s front door.

She knew that she shouldn’t be quite so nervous. After all, she had been friends with Finn for almost five months now. And it wasn’t like she didn’t know exactly what she was going to say. She had practiced her speech in her mirror many times before leaving her house. If she were acting the role in a play, she was certain she would have received riotous, befitting applause.

The problem was, she wasn’t acting the role in a play. She wasn’t even acting at all. Everything she planned to say was going to come from her heart. A heart that had belonged to Finn Hudson almost since the first day she’d met him. Even if maybe he had never offered his own in return.

Sighing heavily, Rachel stopped in front of Finn’s front door, her pink-mittened fist pausing in midair. This was it. She was going to knock on this seemingly innocent slab of wood, and Finn was going to come to his door. She knew he was at home. He hadn’t been to school for over a week, and he’d missed Glee practice for just as long. Even though today had been declared a snow day, there was no reason for him to leave the house. Not when he’d pretty much made himself a prisoner inside his own room.

Come on, Rachel, she encouraged herself, even as she anxiously folded her lips. You can do this. Finn needs you right now. Be the amazing friend you know you are, and knock on his door.

Taking a deep, thorough breath, she stood up straight and finally brought her fist crashing down upon his door. Once. Twice. Three times, her mittened hand knocked a muffled rhythm against the wooden obstacle blocking her from Finn’s path.

And then she waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Her forehead began to crease in concern. She knew that Finn was at home, and she couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t answer the door. Okay, she could understand it. He had completely cut himself off from normal, everyday life. As unique as she was, she supposed that meant that he had completely cut himself off from her, too.

But that was no way to live. Finn was a wonderful guy, and he deserved better than this. He deserved better than never leaving the house, and effectively closing himself off from everyone who cared. He deserved better than everything life had given him. Well, that was it. Finn had forgotten what it was like to live, and Rachel Berry certainly couldn’t condone that. She was going to get him out of his house, and she was going to get him out of his house right now.

“Finn!” Rachel called, knocking twice more. “Finn, come outside. You can’t stay shut up in there forever, you know. This is no way to live.” She knocked three more times, each knock progressively louder than the last. “Finn, please! It’s me, Rachel.” Her mouth began to pucker downward into a frustrated frown when the door still remained closed, and she raised her fist to knock once more. It went sailing through the chilly air, much faster and much harder than before. But just before it made contact, just before it collided with the heavy wood, the door swung open and she found herself pounding her fist against Finn’s chest instead.

“Okay, okay!” Finn cried, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’ll open the door. Just please stop hitting me, alright?” Rachel glanced up in surprise, her widened brown eyes taking in his rather disheveled appearance. His chin had grown slightly scruffy with reddish brown whiskers, his hair was mussed and unkempt, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Finn,” she said blankly, taking an inadvertent step toward the quarterback. “You came out.”

“Well, yeah,” Finn replied, arching a quizzical brow. “I thought you were going to beat down my front door. Those things can be really expensive, you know.”

A rosy blush crept up Rachel’s cheeks, and she dropped her gaze to her pink snowshoe clad feet. “Sorry,” she mumbled, before forcing herself to glance back up into his annoyed cinnamon eyes. “I was just worried about you. You haven’t been to school in a really long time.”

Finn shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, well,” he said, suddenly unable to meet Rachel’s gaze, “I haven’t been feeling very well.”

“Are you sure that’s the only reason?” Rachel prodded gently, her smile turning sympathetic.

Exhaling slowly, Finn’s breath emerged white and puffy in the cool morning air. “Of course,” he said, leaning heavily against his doorframe. “Why else would I have missed so much school?”

“I don’t know,” Rachel replied softly, taking another step in his direction. “I mean, a lot has happened recently, Finn. Nobody would blame you for being upset. It’s perfectly natural to feel a sense of loss and betrayal after hearing such troubling news.”

Unfortunately, it appeared that this was exactly the wrong thing to say. Finn tensed perceptibly, his fingers curling into tight fists by his sides. “I’m not upset,” he snapped, and then seemed to think better of it. “I mean,” he said, a guilty flush coloring his face, “I’m not upset. I just needed a break, that’s all.”

“I understand,” Rachel nodded, the sympathy in her smile increasing. “It was quite an ordeal. It’s just,” she continued, placing a tentative hand onto his arm, “I . . . We missed you. The Club. It’s . . . not the same without you there.”

An expression of mild wonderment entered Finn’s eyes as he glanced at Rachel’s hand as it rested upon his arm. But then he shook his head, his features hardening once more. “They sure have a funny way of showing it,” he muttered, pursing his lips. “Look, Rachel,” he said, “I just needed a break, okay? I’m not ready to come back yet.” He paused for a moment, kicking at a tuft of snow which had formed upon his front stoop. When he next spoke, his words were barely discernible above the rushing wind. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to be ready to come back.”

Rachel’s chest twisted painfully, and she wrapped her fingers around his concealed bicep. “They know what they did was wrong, you know,” she said, gazing gently up at him. “I think they might be a little afraid to apologize.”

“To be honest,” Finn replied bitterly, even as the corners of his lips flitted upward as he studied her hand, “I really don’t care. They lied to me, Rachel. They kept this really huge, life changing thing from me. I can’t just forgive that.”

Rachel swallowed apprehensively as an anxious gleam entered her chocolate brown gaze. “Can you forgive me?” she asked softly, dropping her hand back to her side.

Finn frowned at the loss of contact. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he muttered, then sighed as he allowed himself to look back into her eyes. Rachel’s breath caught in her throat at the tenderness she saw reflected there. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Rachel. You just told me the truth.”

“Okay,” Rachel smiled, visibly relaxing. “That’s good.”

“Good,” Finn said, nodding. He straightened up, grabbing hold of the edge of the door. “So I’m gonna go back inside –“

“Finn, wait!” Rachel cried desperately as he began to shut the door.

Finn blinked in surprise, pausing just before the door clicked shut. “What?” he questioned, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“Please don’t go back inside,” she replied, gazing at him through pleading eyes. “You have to come outside sometime, you know.”

“I know,” Finn said seriously, running his fingers through his thick russet hair. “I’m just not ready yet. Not now, Rachel. I’m sorry.” And then he began to close the door again.

“Finn Hudson,” Rachel stated, sticking her foot into the crevice between door and frame, “If you shut that door, I will . . .” She wracked her mind for a suitable threat, her gaze flickering around his front porch. “I’ll hit you with a snowball,” she finally said, her eyes flashing defiantly.

“What?” Finn questioned blankly, staring at Rachel as though she’d grown a third head.

“I mean it, Finn,” she said heatedly, crossing her arms over her chest. “A really big snowball.” A snowball? Had she really fallen this low? She was actually threatening to bombard Finn Hudson with snowballs? She almost took it back. She almost allowed him to close his door after all. But then she glanced back up into his tired, bloodshot eyes, and she studied his disheveled, exhausted appearance, and she knew that she would do whatever it took to get him outside. She would do anything to help him.

“Please, Finn?” she plead, her expression imploring. “It’s a snow day. We could play for a little while, if you want.” The idea was almost foreign to Rachel, but she made it anyway. She hadn’t played in the snow since she was about five years old, but somehow the idea seemed exactly right. “We could be kids again,” she finished, smiling encouragingly.

The suggestion appeared to transform Finn. Where before he had been hesitant and standoffish, he suddenly became interested and open. If Rachel didn’t know better, she could have sworn he even seemed a little excited. “I used to build igloos when I was a kid,” he confessed almost shyly, digging his hands into his pockets. “On snow days, Puck and I would stay outside all day making them.”

An igloo? Rachel thought with slight dismay. He wants to build an igloo? She almost decided to suggest something different. She almost opened her mouth to tell him that she’d just been kidding. But then his excitement grew, a reluctant grin spread across his face, and Rachel’s pulse began to race. “Sure,” she replied, her tone emerging a little too perky. Clearing her throat, her expression became slightly more genuine. “That sounds perfect.”

“Just let me get changed,” Finn replied, leaving the door open as he stepped into the house. And when he emerged a moment later, flecks of snow having fluttered into the entryway, he was completely bedecked in snow gear. His feet were clad in black snowshoes, his muscular frame was adorned with a heavy blue jacket, and his hair was concealed by a blue knit cap. “Let’s go,” he said, stepping outside and closing the door behind him.

The work was a little tedious at first. Rachel had never so much as thought about building an igloo before, and she was pretty certain that she hindered more than helped the process. At one point, she even caused a wall of snow to come tumbling down upon a laughing Finn. (It was so good to hear that laugh!) But as the igloo began to come together, and Finn continued to play in the snow, her heart started to melt. She had never seen him so free; she had never seen him so open. Somehow, in the space of a snowy Friday afternoon, Finn Hudson began to remember what it was like to be happy. And when they had finally huddled together under a blanket of snow, completely shut off from the world and yet a part of it all at once, Finn’s grin became permanent.

“This is good,” he said, uncapping a thermos of hot chocolate and pouring Rachel a cup. “I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun.”

“I’m glad,” Rachel replied, her fingers brushing against his own as she accepted the drink. Taking a slow sip, she studied the boy sitting by her side. She had never seen him looking quite so handsome. “I’ve never built an igloo before,” she admitted, blushing slightly.

“I kinda figured,” Finn smirked, sipping from his own glass. And then he turned to face her, his features turning more serious. “Listen, Rachel,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I just wanted to thank you. It was really cool what you did, you know.”

“What do you mean?” she questioned, licking her lips nervously. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized just how close they were sitting.

“I mean that not many people would have done this,” he clarified, gazing deeply into her eyes as he placed his cup onto the snowy ground. “I know playing in the snow can’t exactly be your idea of fun, but you did it anyway. So . . . thank you, I guess.”

“You’re welcome, Finn,” she replied quietly. “I would do anything for you.”

Rachel hadn’t realized she’d actually spoken her previous statement until Finn sucked in a sharp breath. And when he started moving ever nearer, her eyes widened in alarm. “Finn,” she protested feebly. “We –“ But she was cut off in mid-sentence by the sensation of Finn pressing his warm mouth to her parted lips. Freezing in apprehension, Rachel could only watch him.

When he realized that she wasn’t returning the kiss, Finn quickly backed away. “I’m – I’m sorry,” he said, his cheeks burning from embarrassment.

“Don’t be,” Rachel replied quickly, reaching out for his hand. “I just don’t understand why you did that. I didn’t think you were interested in me.” She knew this last was a little untrue, but she couldn’t help but say it. For months, she had thrown herself at this handsome, popular boy, only to be rebuked time and again. Could she really bring herself to believe that he cared about her now? The idea was a little scary in a self-preservation type way.

“That’s my fault,” Finn said quietly, closing his gloved fingers around Rachel’s hand. “I was just confused before, you know? I didn’t know what I wanted. And,” he said, grimacing slightly, “I know I hurt you, Rachel. I was a really big jerk to you.”

“It’s okay,” Rachel interrupted, relishing the feel of his hand in her own. Even though the memories still hurt, she couldn’t stand the sound of his dejected voice.

“No, it’s not,” Finn returned, shaking his head. “I should have treated you better. You’re special, Rach,” he stated, smiling affectionately at the small girl. “You’re . . . I’ve never met anyone like you, ya know? And I’m sorry that I was a grade A slushie head.”

Rachel snorted, sending her hair fluttering about her shoulders. “I won’t deny that it hurt my feelings, Finn,” she said, attempting to squeeze his hand even through the thick fabric of her mittens. “But I know that you were completely confounded and a little beguiled. I can forgive you for that.”

“I’m . . . not quite sure what you just said,” Finn admitted, frowning as he reflected upon Rachel’s rather large vocabulary.

Rachel’s expression softened. Placing her own cup onto the ground, she lifted Finn’s chin with her index finger, tilting his head toward her. “I mean that you hurt my feelings,” she elaborated, swallowing gently. “But that I forgive you. Just don’t do it again, okay?” she rushed to add, her stomach knotting as she considered the ramifications of her words.

“I promise,” Finn replied, raising his hand to stroke her cheek with his thumb. “You deserve so much better than that, Rach. You deserve so much more.”

“Thank you,” Rachel whispered. She couldn’t believe the way he was looking at her. She couldn’t believe the look that had entered his eyes. In all her life, she had never seen any boy look at her this way. Somehow, it was exactly what she needed.

Moving her hand to the back of his head, she gazed into his eyes as she gradually brought his lips down to meet her own. Almost immediately, an odd sense of electricity seemed to course through her veins, and she moaned softly into his mouth. Threading her fingers through his hair, she began to gently kiss him, savoring the way he held her in his arms, the way his body felt against hers, and the way he kissed her back.

The snow continued to swirl around them, and the wind continued to blow, but Rachel Berry realized that she had never felt so safe. She had never felt so protected. Huddled inside the igloo with the boy who held her heart, she slowly put everything behind her just as he slowly put his own past behind him. Even though neither knew what the future held, the fact remained that they would face it together. And for now, that was enough.

Fin.

FIC: On My Own (Chapter 2) (Glee)

mikki13 — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 19:41:47 GMT

Title: On My Own (Chapter 2)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 5,054
Characters: Finn/Rachel
A/N: So here it is; the long awaited chapter. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read (and especially to review) the first. I love to hear each and every one of your thoughts, and I hope you enjoy this next (slightly longer) chapter. They won’t always be this long, but it appears that the story took on a life of its own. ;-)
Disclaimer: I don’t own “Glee”; rather, “Glee” seems to own me. ;-) And the song contained herein belongs to "When in Rome".

Summary: After graduation, they went their separate ways. What happens when fate intervenes and Finn and Rachel come face-to-face after seven years apart?

Previous Chapters:
Chapter One

Nine Years Ago (Give or Take a Few Months) . . .

“Come on, Rachel,” Finn wheedled, the corners of his eyes creased in agitated appeal as he leaned against the heavy red velvet of the theatre curtain. All around them, members of their glee club were warming up for the Spring assembly. All around them, people were chatting and laughing and getting ready to perform for their fellow students. For once, it appeared that no one was looking in their direction. It was the perfect opportunity to get Rachel to open up. “I just want to talk,” he tried, giving her his famous puppy dog eyes. Unfortunately, they didn’t seem to do the trick.

“We’re beyond talking, Finn Hudson,” Rachel replied, with a defiant flash of her eyes and a slight jut of her chin. “In fact, I don’t think we have anything left to say to each other.”

“But that’s not true,” Finn cried, wringing his hands in frustration. “Look, I know that I made a mistake, but –“

“Call it whatever you will,” Rachel interrupted, glaring determinedly at the curtain, “It doesn’t change the way that I feel.” She had put herself on the line for the boy standing imploringly by her side, and she wasn’t going to let herself be humiliated again. Because every time she let him in, every time she mistakenly opened her heart for the handsome male lead, he squashed it into a million little pieces. And Rachel Berry’s feelings were more important than that. They were more important than any boy, no matter how much she cared about him.

“Rachel, please,” Finn plead, taking a step toward her. And when she still refused to look at him, and the tilt of her chin became just a little more defiant, he reached out and gently grabbed her arm.

Her eyes widened at his touch, and she whirled to face him. “Let go of me, Finn,” she demanded, even while a hint of vulnerability flickered through her chocolate brown gaze. “I told you, I don’t want to talk and –“

“Rachel, I know I made a mistake,” he implored, his fingers loosening slightly around her slender arm. She gritted her teeth in determination as the sensation caused goose bumps to break out onto her sensitive skin. “Believe me, I’ve been kicking myself in the as – um, in the butt ever since.” At his choice in language, Rachel’s mouth quirked slightly, but she quickly bit back the grin and continued to glare. “I know what I did was wrong, and I’m just asking you to forgive me. Please?” he added a moment later, when she still refused to speak.

Sighing heavily, the young woman studied her long-time crush, a plethora of emotions fluttering across her face. Anger. Hurt. Regret. Longing. But every time she tried to let go, every time she even considered forgiving him, she remembered the incident from two days before. She and Finn had been getting closer; so close that he often waited for her after school. So close that he often walked her to her next class. So close that he often stared at her for long periods of time, a wistful look upon his face. So close that after rehearsal one day, when they were discussing their chances for Regionals, he had leaned ever so intimately toward her until his lips were almost touching hers. She remembered how much she had wanted him to kiss her. She remembered how desperately she had wanted to feel his lips caressing hers. How badly she had wanted to feel herself wrapped up in his arms.

And then they had heard the laughter. Two boys from the football team had been walking by the room, and happened to peek inside. “Well, what do we have here?” one of the co-dependent jocks had demanded, crossing his arms over his beefy chest as a sick grin spread across his face.

“First Homo Explosion and now the lead Gleek herself,” another (Karofsky?) had chided, shaking his head in disgust. “You’re a disgrace, Hudson.”

Finn looked like a deer caught in the headlights. His eyes had widened, his mouth had parted, and he had looked from the boys to Rachel and back again. But even though Rachel smiled encouragingly, even though she reached down to take his hand, the football player had shut down completely.

“No,” he replied, dropping Rachel’s hand and scooting his chair a little to the side, “No, you guys don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re just going over our song.” And when Rachel’s features twisted in hurt, he simply bit his lower lip and pretended as though he didn’t notice. It was almost as though she weren’t even in the room at all; almost as though Finn Hudson had suddenly deemed her invisible.

“Yeah,” Karofsky scoffed, leering at the pair. “What was it again? Push It?”

“Come on, guys,” Finn reiterated feebly, even while a guilty flush crept up his cheeks. “We’re just teammates.”

“Whatever,” Karofsky replied, rolling his eyes. “Come on, dude,” he said to his friend, motioning to the hallway, “We have better things to do than hang out with these losers.”

“Losers,” his friend repeated, smirking at them as he headed into the hallway . . .

. . . “Rach?” Finn interrupted her reverie, jolting her back to the present as he gazed at her in concern. “Is everything okay?”

Blinking away the last vestiges of the memory, Rachel suddenly shook Finn’s hand from her arm. “Everything is just fine, Finn,” she stated adamantly, fixing her jaw. She had given him so many chances; she had given him so many opportunities to be in her life. And she was tired of trying. She was tired of getting hurt, of feeling ashamed, simply because Finn Hudson couldn’t see what was right in front of him. “And I have nothing to forgive you for,” she continued loftily, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s certainly not your fault that you’re embarrassed to be seen with me.”

Finn’s face dropped at the statement, and he tried to reach out for her again. “Rach, that’s not –“

“I’m busy, Finn,” she interrupted, whirling back around to face the front of the stage. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a musical number to perform.” And with that, the curtains parted and Rachel flounced onto the stage, leaving a crestfallen Finn in her wake. The trouble was, she couldn’t help but feel as though something was off.

~*~

Rachel stood behind the red velvet curtain, her stomach tied in knots even as she adopted her practiced professional demeanor. She had wanted this for so long; she had worked for this so hard. She could almost taste the admiration that she had always longed for. The acclaim. The exaltation. But even as she waited for her cue, even as she stretched her muscles for the energetic dance number, she couldn’t help but feel as though something was missing. Something wasn’t as it should be. And before she really knew what was happening, a pair of gentle cinnamon eyes flashed through her mind.

Finn Hudson.

He promised he would be here, she realized as her heart twisted uncomfortably. And even though she didn’t know why she was remembering that now, even though she didn’t know why she was thinking about him after all these years, she couldn’t deny the effect the memories had on her. She couldn’t deny the sense of emptiness that flooded her chest, or the feeling of loss that pervaded her mind. She also couldn’t help but feel that something was off. But what? Finn Hudson? She hadn’t seen him for years. She hadn’t even though about him for months. So why now?

She was standing feet from the stage, leaning against the heavy curtain that separated her from the masses, and remembering the love of her life. The love of my life? she thought, her forehead wrinkling in consternation. Could that be right?

Had he really been the love of her life? They had met in high school, and dated for two years. But they had broken up a long time ago, and she had dated other men since then. So why was it that she couldn’t shake the memory of his smile now? Why was it that she longed to see him out in the audience, staring raptly at her as she chimed in with her newest musical number? Why was it that she suddenly felt like she couldn’t let him go?

So caught up in thought was she that she almost didn’t notice the young stage hand sidle up to her side. When he finally interrupted her thoughts, she had to stop herself from jumping in bewilderment and whirling around to face him.

“Hey, Ms. Berry,” the young man approached her from behind, his greasy blonde hair falling into his bright green eyes. “Someone sent these for you.” A bouquet of roses was cradled in his wiry arms, their fragrance almost discernible even in the musky air.

Rachel’s eyes widened in slight surprise as she reached out for the card. But when she read the greeting, when she saw the name signed below, her muscles tensed. “Thank you, Sammy,” she said evenly, plunking the card back into the bouquet. “I appreciate you bringing them to my attention. Would you please place them on my makeup stand?”

“Of course, Ms. Berry,” the young assistant stammered as Rachel smiled at him. Even if the smile failed to reach the depths of her beautiful brown eyes, it still lit up her face. “Right aw –“

“Cravens,” the stage manager (Gary) barked, looking stern. “What have I told you about bothering the actors in between scenes?”

Rachel’s smile turned slightly sympathetic as the young man stuttered incoherently and began backing away, Gary glowering at him the entire time. Just before he left, however, he stammered one last, “Good luck, Ms. Berry.”

“Thank you, Sammy,” she replied, secretly enjoying the attention. Even though the young man was at least five years her junior, she couldn’t deny feeling special when he lavished her with his stuttered affections. It was the kind of feeling she had longed for her whole life; the kind of adoration. Even when she was receiving daily slushie facials, she always knew she would make it here. She always knew she was destined for greatness. Rachel Berry had been born a star, ready and waiting for her big Broadway debut.

That was exactly what she needed to remember now. That was exactly what she needed to focus on. She needed to put the ghost of her ex-boyfriend from her mind, and behave like the star she was destined to be. Pulling herself to her full height, she exhaled slowly and nodded when the stage manager signaled her to come onstage. Regardless of how she might be feeling, she was going to behave like the professional she was. She owed herself that much at least.

“Hey, chorus girl,” came a snide voice from her right.

Rachel’s stomach dropped as she turned to face the snooty lead, Lisa Mae Reynolds. “Yes?” she replied coolly, forcing herself to remain calm and detached even despite the other woman’s arrogant glare. Ever since she had offered to help her reach some notes that she had been unable to reach (not everyone had Rachel Berry’s training), the two hadn’t gotten along. It appeared that tonight would be no exception.

“Don’t screw it up,” Lisa ordered, an ugly sneer forming at the corner of her mouth. “I want tonight to go perfectly, and I don’t need a haughty peon stealing my thunder.”

“Of course, Lisa,” Rachel replied smoothly, even as she narrowed her eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” And with that, she whirled around and sauntered away.

Unfortunately, things didn’t go exactly as planned. Because as she glided onstage and joined in with the chorus, falling effortlessly into her dance routine, one memory continued to haunt her thoughts. One person continued to invade her mind. And one forgotten dream began to flutter to the surface of her consciousness.

Maybe this was why she blew her high note, causing Lisa to smile superiorly. Maybe this was why the lead shot her a look of disgust when she bumped into her from behind, causing her to stumble forward. And maybe this was why she thought she saw a wide-eyed Finn Hudson staring at her as she danced around the stage. Sitting in the front row with his brown hair slicked back and his muscular frame bedecked in a business suit, she could almost believe that she saw him gazing at her with the rapt attention she so longed for.

But then she quickly pushed that thought from her mind. Finn Hudson had fled her life long ago, and he wasn’t coming back. He had made that much certain. So even as the man continued to stare, even as he continued to watch, and even as the cast took their final bows, she refused to look in his direction. There were some things Rachel Berry needed to leave in the past, and this was one of those things.

The problem was, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that something vital was missing.

~*~

Nine Years Ago (Give or Take a Few Months) . . .

If you need a friend,
don't look to a stranger,
You know in the end,
I'll always be there.

Finn Hudson was an idiot. No, he was more than an idiot. He was a double idiot. A double idiot with a slushie on top, who might have screwed up the best thing that had ever happened to him. He still couldn’t quite understand how it had happened. He still couldn’t quite remember what had posses . . . posass . . . made him say what he’d said. The only thing he knew, the only thing he remembered, was a feeling of faint panic when the guys from the football team had caught him with Rachel. I mean, this was it. The Moment of Truth, like on that TV show he’d watched once. That big moment when everything changes.

And when you're in doubt,
and when you're in danger,
Take a look all around,
and I'll be there.

And Finn had wanted it to change, he realized as he sang the lead alongside Rachel. God, she was beautiful. He’d never seen anyone so honest, so open. So vulnerable. When she sang the way she was singing now, when her face glowed from within and her smokin’ hot body completely relaxed, it was almost as if she was free. Like she didn’t have a care in the world. Man, how he longed to feel that way. How he longed to feel like nothing – like no one – was holding him back.

The only time he felt that way – the only time – was when he was with Rachel. She made him feel like he could be himself; like she would never judge him, no matter what idiotic things he did. No matter what idiotic things he said. How could he have screwed up so badly? How could he have hurt her again? Idiot.

I'm sorry but I'm just thinking of the right words to say, (I promise)
I know they don't sound the way I planned them to be. (I promise)
But if you wait around a while, I'll make you fall for me,
I promise, I promise you I will.

Suddenly, the song seemed to take on a new life for Finn. The lyrics seemed to swirl through his mind, making sense where before they had not. Wrapping his arm around Rachel’s waist as he swung her around the stage, he began to realize what “When in Rome” might have been feeling when they wrote this song. He had goofed up, yeah. He hadn’t come up with the right words, and things definitely weren’t the way he’d planned them to be. But he could change that, right? He could make it alright again. The only thing he had to do was show Rachel that he cared about her as much as she (he hoped) cared about him.

Almost without thinking, Finn held onto Rachel’s arm even while the rest of New Directions continued to sing the song. Almost without thinking, his eyes flickered to her lips, even while her brow furrowed in confusion and annoyance. Almost without thinking, his eyes fluttered back up to her own intense gaze, locking onto her own eyes in a way he’d never looked at her before. In a way he’d never even allowed himself to look at her, as a variety of emotions suddenly pooled within his cinnamon gaze. And before she could pull away, before she could even contemplate what he was going to do next, he was pulling her toward him. He was closing the distance between them. And he was bringing his lips crashing down upon her own.

The song ended abruptly when Finn Hudson, high school quarterback, popular dude and all around American guy began making out with Rachel Berry the Lead Gleek right in front of the entire school. The audience gaped at them as Rachel tensed, her free arm dangling by her side. But Finn continued to kiss her, he continued to hold her, and he continued to show her everything he had denied for so long. Slowly, Rachel’s eyes began to close and her fingers traveled to his russet hair, entangling themselves within his spiky locks. Pushing herself against his muscular frame, her lips caressed his almost as heatedly as his brushed hers.

Neither noticed when the curtain closed amidst a crowd of varying reactions, from the stunned Mr. Schuester to the jeering jocks to the bewildered amusement of their fellow glee clubbers.

“I hope they don’t get stuck like that,” Kurt mused, smirking slightly. “And here I thought he could do so much better.”

“Maybe, but that boy sure can kiss,” Mercedes ogled the pair.

“Do you think they’re going to come up for oxygen?” Artie queried, his forehead creasing in concern. “I heard that lack of breathing could cause severe brain damage.”

“Believe me, honey,” Kurt cut in, his smirk growing more pronounced as he placed a hand on his hip. “Those two aren’t even thinking about breathing right now.”

Only a certain blonde appeared rather unimpressed. “Get a room,” Quinn snapped before sweeping backstage, a bemused Puck following in her wake.

But Finn and Rachel simply ignored her, the way they were ignoring everyone else. And when Tina suggested that they give the star-crossed lovers some space, they were still enveloped in one another’s arms. They were still lost in one another’s kiss.

It was only several moments later, when everyone had vacated the auditorium, that Rachel finally broke the embrace. Taking several deep breaths, she stared in wide eyed astonishment at the boy standing before her. “Why did you do that?” she demanded, shaking her head. “Kissing me in front of the entire school isn’t exactly going to help your precariously fragile reputation, Finn.”

Willing his pulse to return to a normal rhythm, Finn could only shrug. “I realized something today,” he admitted, swallowing a lump of tension.

“What was that?” Rachel asked, a guarded layer settling over her already vulnerable expression.

“I don’t care what they think, Rachel,” Finn replied, placing a gentle hand onto her arm. He paused for a moment, his heart beating like a Mack truck as he tried to think of the right words to say. As he tried to fix the awkwardness he could feel creeping up between them. “I . . . You’re more important than that. You’re kinda more important than anything.”

“Finn,” Rachel murmured, her hand rising almost inadvertently to rest atop his own. But then she seemed to think better, and the protected quality returned to her features. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep giving you chances and allowing you to stomp on my heart.” Her gaze flickered to her feet, and she continued in a softer tone: “It hurts too much.”

It was like a sucker punch to the gut. Seeing the dejected gleam in her eyes, and hearing the saddened inflection in her voice, almost caused him physical pain. He couldn’t believe that he had hurt her so badly; he couldn’t believe he had toyed with her heart so much. The only thing he knew was that he was going to spend the rest of his life making it up to her. “Please, Rachel,” he plead, rubbing the back of her arm with his calloused thumb. “Just give me one more chance? I promise to . . . I promise to treat you the way you deserve to be treated.” God, how he wanted to do that.

When she looked at him next, when her gaze locked again with his own, the vulnerability he saw reflected there caused his heart to skip a beat. “How can I trust you?” she demanded, biting her lower lip. “You don’t exactly have a stellar track record, you know.”

“Because, Rach,” he said, smiling gently even as his chest twisted at her statement. “I’m in love with you.” The words came from out of nowhere, surprising him almost as much as they startled her. But once he’d spoken them, once they hung thick and heady in the air between them, he knew they were the truth. Somewhere along the line, this enigma of a misunderstood young ingénue had gotten him to fall in love with her. And along the way, she had changed his entire life.

“I love you,” he repeated, relishing the words as they formed upon his tongue. Wrapping her in his arms, he continued to gaze into her glistening brown eyes. “And I want to be with you. I want to . . . I want to be the guy you can count on. You know? The guy who doesn’t care what others think. The one who carries your books and . . . I don’t know, takes care of you when you’re sick.” Yeah, it sounded lame, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that she was hugging him tightly nor that the vulnerability in her eyes had increased. Feeling a renewed sense of confidence, he continued. “I want to be the guy who comes to all your plays. The guy who sits in the front row on the night of your big Broadway debut. I mean it, Rachel,” he rushed ahead when she opened her mouth to interrupt. Somehow, he knew he had to keep going. He had to keep talking, he had to let it all out, before she took it all away. He had to let her know how he felt if he was ever going to have a chance of keeping her in his life. “I want to be that one, Rach. That guy who goes through it all with you. And I know this is really lame,” he confessed, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “But I had to say something.”

“Are you done yet, Finn?” she asked, a husky essence entering her voice. God, that was sexy. It caused him to shiver slightly.

“I think so,” he replied uncertainly, folding his lips as he waited for his sentence to be handed down.

“Good,” she replied, her smile almost as sexy as her voice. And then she was standing on her tiptoes and capturing his lips in a searing kiss, all the hesitation from earlier having evaporated. The last thing he remembered was her small body flush against his own as her fingers returned to his hair. Soon after that, the world fell away as he surrendered to her touch.

~*~

He had forgotten what a rush he got from even sitting in a crowded theatre. The adrenaline that pumped through his veins, the thrill that coursed through his chest. It was like some far distant memory, forgotten yet still present, lost but still capable of return. Resting his arms on the armrests in a front row seat (yeah, he’d decided to splurge), he waited almost breathlessly for the play to begin. Okay, this was a little lame. He knew that he had work to do. He knew that he had a meeting to prepare for. Even so, he couldn’t stop himself from thumping his foot in time to the music flowing from a nearby speaker. Being back in a theatre was just cool.

Too bad Rachel isn’t here to see this. She would have lov . . . And then he cut himself off. Where had that thought come from? He hadn’t thought about Rachel since . . . well, since that afternoon. Standing in the middle of Times Square with the theatre marquee blinking at him from across the street, he hadn’t been able to suppress the image of her perky smile or the memory of her gorgeous eyes. She had wanted this. She had wanted all of this. And he was supposed to share it with her. He had promised to be that guy.

But that was in high school, he reminded himself as his chest twisted almost painfully. That was a long time ago. She probably wouldn’t even recognize me now.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Finn was almost grateful when the house lights began to dim. Perched on the edge of his chair, a slow smile spread across his face as the actors began to come onstage. And when the rich vocals began to wash over him, he kinda felt like he had come home. Yeah, he admonished himself, feeling the sudden urge to roll his eyes, Definitely lame.

Still, he continued to absorb every word, to study every movement, and to feel the rekindling of something he hadn’t felt for a long, long time. A sensation which was almost overpowering. A sensation which was almost magical. A sensation which suddenly increased exponentially in force when he noticed the tiny young woman seated at a wooden table at stage left.

He didn’t think it was medically possible, but he could have sworn that his heart stopped beating inside his chest. She was exactly as he remembered her, and nothing at all like he had imagined. Decked in a French peasant’s costume, her magnificent vocals blended perfectly with the other actors and yet set her apart from everyone else. Rachel Berry had always been an enigma, and tonight was no exception. But had she always been this beautiful? Somehow, he couldn’t remember.

The only thing he could do, the only action he was capable of performing was staring at her in slack jawed wonder. His hands tightened imperceptibly around the armrests as he scooted forward in his seat, staring at the gorgeous woman in front of him. The gorgeous woman. She was a woman now. Rachel Berry had grown up.

He didn’t know how long the play lasted. He couldn’t recall exactly how he made it out of the theatre. He didn’t even understand how he’d been able to sit still as long as he had. He only started to return to reality when the cold night air began to assault his cheeks and whip through his short brown hair. Without even realizing what he was doing, he was making the trek to the stage door. Would she remember him? Did he even want to find out? What if she hated him? What if she told him that she never wanted to see him again? It had been so long . . .

“That was one hell of an opening night,” the excited cry of a young man cut through his thoughts, causing his head to snap in the reveler’s direction. “We were smokin’.”

“Did you hear Missy’s rendition of ‘On My Own’?” A woman queried, a wide grin stretched across her face. “It was her best yet.”

“I was too busy calming Lisa down,” said another member of the party. “I thought she was going to hit the roof after Rachel bumped into her during her big number. She almost quit right then,” he chortled. “She was going on and on. Something about incompetent peons.”

At the sound of her name, Finn’s interest was piqued. And when the next person spoke, he found himself freezing in his tracks and straining to hear everything that was said.

“Rachel was awesome, wasn’t she?” said a pimply faced boy with greasy blonde hair. “She has such a great voice.”

“The chick who almost caused Lisa to quit?” the previous woman asked. “But she’s just a chorus member.”

“Sammy’s got a crush,” drawled the first young man as he elbowed the blonde. “Ever since she told him she liked his shirt.”

“Cut it out,” Sammy muttered, dropping his head and blushing. “I just think she has a good voice, that’s all.”

“She’s got a great voice,” Finn said, blinking in surprise when he registered his own words. He hadn’t even intended to speak. “I mean, from what I’ve heard, anyway,” he mumbled quickly, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Do you know her?” Sammy asked curiously , arching a bushy blonde brow.

Finn stared at the young man for a long moment, weighing his words within his mind. Do I know her? He remembered a time when he couldn’t fathom not knowing her. She had been the center of his life, the pinnacle of his existence. She had been his everything. But now, as he faced this innocent, starry-eyed kid, he realized that he’d stopped knowing Rachel long ago. A dull ache resounded through his chest as he slowly shook his head. “I used to,” he said softly as an uncomfortable prickling sensation formed at the back of his eyes. “A long time ago.”

“Wow,” Sammy seemed oblivious to Finn’s uncomfortable realization. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Finn replied, nodding wistfully. “She’s the most amazing person I’ve ever known.” A lump began to coalesce within his throat, and he quickly turned away. “Excuse me,” he stated, swallowing harshly, “I have to get back to my hotel.” And with that, he beat a hasty retreat, leaving the group gawking after him.

It was only later, when he’d made it back to the Sheraton, that he realized he’d forgotten to say hello. But then, he had already said goodbye.

CHAPTER THREE

FIC: Above All Else (Chuck)

mikki13 — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 05:49:42 GMT

Title: Above All Else
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1.759
Characters: Chuck, Sarah
A/N: This one is dedicated to DLK, whose review reminded me why I love writing for this fandom. Also for tw200, KittyGoddess415 and FoofyChuck, who have awesomely braved the world of “Glee” and read my newest fics, even when they didn’t necessarily reflect their own tastes and/or viewpoints. Thanks, guys! Your support means the world.

Summary: Chuck and Sarah discover that some things are more important than everything else.

The first time he visits her hotel room, he almost makes it to her door. He can feel his hand curl itself into a fist, preparing itself to knock. He can feel his throat turn dry, his stomach churn into knots, his palms begin to perspire. Standing halfway down the hallway, he stares at the green slab of wood, everything he wants to say echoing through his mind.

I need you, Sarah.

Don’t leave me.

I love you.

And then he remembers the last few months. He remembers watching her in the arms of Shaw, almost as if everything between them never happened. He remembers her telling him that she needed to give the other agent a chance. That she wanted a real life. A real life that she doesn’t think he can give to her anymore.

And who’s to say that she isn’t right? He’s an absolute mess. Even with everything that’s happened, even with the bravado he’s presented over the last few months, he realizes that he’s started to forget who he is. He’s started to forget who he used to be. The only thing he knows – the only thing that makes sense – is that he wants to be a hero. The hero she said he was. A man that would make her proud.

And even if he might have lost sight of that goal for a little while, the fact is that it still exists. It exists stronger than ever. The problem is, he’s not sure that he’ll ever be the hero who deserves a woman like Sarah Walker.

Sighing heavily, Chuck blinks the pain from his eyes and heads back down the hallway. And even though he returns twice more before she leaves Burbank, he never works up the courage to knock on the door. Some hero he is.

~*~

The first time she visits his condo, she gets as far as the gateway. She can feel her heels click against the pavement, her feet heading ever closer to his front door. She can feel her heart skip a beat, her breath turn slightly shallow, her nails press nervously into the sensitive skin of her palms. Standing underneath the intricate trails of ivy, she stares at his front door, everything she wants to say echoing through her mind.

I need you, Chuck.

Don’t let me go.

I love you.

And then she remembers the last few months. She remembers watching him throw himself into this new life, into this new world, almost as if everything between them had never happened. She remembers him telling her that he wanted to dedicate himself to becoming a spy. That he wanted to be a hero. A hero that he somehow believes he’s never been.

And who is she to deny him that goal? She’s an absolute mess. Even with everything that’s happened, even with the semi-aloof façade she’s presented over the last few months, she realizes that she’s started to forget what’s important. She’s started to forget what it is that she wants. The only thing she knows – the only thing that makes sense – is that she wants him to be happy. Happier than she’s ever seen him. Happier than she’s ever been herself.

And even if she might have lost sight of that goal for a little while, the fact is that it still exists. It exists stronger than ever. The problem is, she’s not sure that she’ll ever be able to make him happy. She’s not sure if she’ll ever be able to give him the life he deserves.

Sighing heavily, Sarah blinks the pain from her eyes and heads back down the walkway. And even though she returns twice more before she leaves Burbank, she never works up the courage to knock on the door. Guess she won’t be giving him that life after all.

~*~

The stars are bright tonight. He’s not quite sure what brought him out here, to this incandescent lake. He’s not quite sure what made him come, not in the middle of the night. Not when he’s had such a long day. Pulling his jacket more tightly around his lanky frame, he stares out over the water, studying the stars as they twinkle off its shimmery surface. He’s never felt so old in his life. He’s never felt so tired.

She left two weeks ago.

She walked out of his life, taking everything he’d ever known along with her. His past. His goals. His heart.

He knows this is ridiculous. He knows that he should be focused on his job, on his mission. He knows the world depends on his work. So why is it that he can’t forget about Sarah Walker? Why is it that his flashes have all but stopped, and his work has declined with each passing day? Why is it that he still feels like he can’t remember who he is?

Folding his lips in dismayed agitation, he continues to stare at the black lake.

~*~

The stars are bright tonight. She’s not quite sure what brought her back here, in the middle of the night. She’s not quite sure what made her come, when her bosses expect her to be at Langley tomorrow morning. Not when her entire job depends on her putting this place in her past. Pulling her jacket more tightly around her sinewy frame, she steps quietly through the deserted park. It’s amazing how many memories this place holds, how many secrets. She still remembers the first time she and Chuck came out here, when they needed a break from the relentless missions and training. Despite what she might have said, it was one of the only times she’d ever felt real. Being with Chuck was the only time she had ever felt real.

Even if she left two weeks ago.

She walked out of his life, leaving everything she’d ever known behind her. Her ambitions. Her dreams. Her heart.

She knows this is ridiculous. She knows that she should be focused on her job, on her mission. She knows the world depends on her work. So why is it that she can’t forget about Chuck Bartowski? Why is it that she hasn’t been able to focus, and her work ethic has slipped with each passing day? Why is it that she’s forgotten what it is to be happy?

Biting her lower lip in anxious consternation, she steps ever closer to the black lake.

~*~

He senses her before he sees her. The skin on the back of his neck prickles, and his pulse increases slightly. But even with the physical symptoms, his eyes still widen when she breathes his name.

“Chuck?” Sarah queries, her lips parting in surprise. After wanting him for so long, after two weeks without him, she can’t believe that he’s this close. She can’t believe that he’s with her now.

Turning around slowly, he stares at her for a long moment as if he’s caught in some sort of trance. “Sarah,” he whispers, stepping inadvertently closer to her side. “What are – what are you doing here?”

She can feel the emotions flickering across her face, her usually careful façade falling away faster than she knows how to stop it. For so long, she’s wanted to tell him how she feels. For so long, she’s kept him at arm’s length as obstacle after obstacle came within their path. Even now, when she’s longed to see him for two weeks, when she’s longed to hold him for months, she doesn’t really know how to respond. She doesn’t really know how to make things alright. The only thing she knows is that she really does need him.

“I missed you,” she says simply, smiling softly.

The grin he gives her next makes her pulse race. It’s slow yet radiant, and when it spreads across his face, his features seem to light up from within. “I missed you, too,” he admits. His eyes flicker from her face to her hand and back again, before he finally reaches out hesitantly and threads his fingers through her own. “What are we going to do, Sarah?” he asks, furrowing his brow. “I have a feeling that Beckman didn’t send you here.”

Chuckling softly, Sarah shakes her head. “Not exactly,” she confesses, smiling sheepishly. And then she turns more serious. “Look, Chuck,” she begins, weighing her words carefully. She’s never been good at this part. She’s never been good at opening up, at making herself vulnerable. Even so, she’s never wanted anything more. She’s never wanted anyone more. And for once in her life, she finds herself letting go. “I can’t leave,” she says simply, shrugging as she tightens her grip in his hand.

“Why not?” Chuck asks, his breath hitching as he waits for her response.

“Because,” she replies, swallowing the tension at the back of her throat, “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for a long time, Chuck.”

“Sarah,” he breathes, his eyes welling with unspoken emotion. And then: “I love you, too, you know.”

“Beckman’s going to kill us,” Sarah replies, her own face lighting up in a grin. Somehow, she can’t bring herself to care. Even if the CIA brings its full force down upon their shoulders, at least she’ll have Chuck by her side. At least she’ll have him in her life. At least she’ll know that she’s making him happy. And in the process, she’ll be making herself happy, too. A fact that’s made even more apparent when Chuck wraps her in his arms and lowers his head to bring his lips crashing against her own.

Sweet and gentle, passionate and intense, the kiss is everything she’s wanted for so long and nothing she’s ever experienced. Lacing her fingers through his silky curls, she pushes her body closer to his slightly muscular frame, relishing the feel of his fingers as they traverse her skin. And when they finally break apart, when she finally leans her forehead against his own, she has to take a moment to catch her breath.

“So where do we go from here?” Chuck asks, looking deeply into her radiant blue eyes.

“One mission at a time, Chuck,” she whispers, her gaze flickering to his bruised lips. “One mission at a time.”

And when she kisses him again, he forgets to ask any further questions. He forgets to worry, he forgets to care about anything but her. Losing himself in her touch, he realizes that he doesn’t need to be a hero so long as he has her in his life.

FIC: On My Own (Glee)

mikki13 — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 08:56:21 GMT

Title: On My Own (Chapter 1)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,226
Characters: Finn/Rachel
A/N: A big thank you to everyone who read and/or reviewed "Footprints in the Snow," my very first Glee fic. Now that I've written one, I just can't stop. This will be a multi-chapter. However, be forewarned: Unlike many of the amazing writers on this site, my updates come approximately once a week. I'll try to get them up sooner, but that's really all I can promise. I hope you'll bear with me. ;-)
Disclaimer: I dreamt they were mine once, and then I woke up.
Disclaimer 2: The songs contained herein belong to Garth Brooks and Jordin Sparks. The poem was penned by an anonymous author.

Summary: After graduation, they went their separate ways. What happens when fate intervenes and Finn and Rachel come face-to-face after seven years apart?

Seven Years Ago . . .

“Finn, good!” Rachel cried, rushing across the auditorium as her features split into a wide grin. “I was wondering when you were going to get here. We have so much to do before graduation.”

A half-smile wavered upon Finn’s lips, quickly dying away as he scuffed the linoleum floor with the toe of his sneaker. “Sorry,” he mumbled, unable to meet Rachel’s excited brown gaze when she slipped her arms around his waist. And when he failed to return her kiss, quick yet passionate as she pushed her warm lips against his mouth, she blinked in surprise and studied him carefully.

“Is something wrong, Finn?” she queried, her forehead creasing in concern. “You said you’d be here an hour ago, and you’re not usually so late. Well,” she amended thoughtfully, her voice raising half an octave, “Unless you oversleep or get caught up in those video games you like to play. But you haven’t done that in a long time. Not since –“

“Everything’s fine,” he assured her, unwinding her arms and taking a step back. “I just . . . had some things I had to take care of first, that’s all.” Even as he said the words, even as they hung uncertain and awkward in the air between them, he couldn’t help the jolt of self-reproach which pierced his chest. He hated lying to Rachel. He hated keeping secrets from her. Ever since that day in the auditorium over a year before – that weird yet wonderful day when he’d finally realized just how much she meant to him – he had told her everything. But somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her what was happening now.

Even so, she seemed to know. Rachel always seemed to know. It was sometimes eerie how much she understood, how much she knew him. Almost like she really was psychic, or like she could read his mind. “Is something wrong, Finn?” she asked in a small voice, and his self-reproach increased when he noticed the shadow of hurt flicker across her face.

He opened his mouth to respond, possibly even to come clean. He could feel the words forming at the back of his throat, the truth coalescing upon his tongue. But before he could say anything, before he could even consider what he wanted to say, he felt his mouth snapping shut. He felt his feet taking another step back. And he felt himself shutting down. “I told you,” he replied, an angry flutter of remorse prickling through his veins, “I’m fine.”

She stared at him for a long moment, clearly unconvinced. He willed her to let it go, just this once. To leave him be, to stop trying to get him to talk. She had never been one to back down, especially when it concerned him. And while he usually loved that about her – while he usually loved everything about her, from her perky smile to her amazing voice to her enormous heart – he couldn’t deal with it now. Not today. Not when he’d just discovered that . . .

“I don’t believe you,” she admitted, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Her eyes continued to bore holes into his face, her mouth setting itself into a firm line. “Something’s wrong. Finn, why won’t you talk to me?” Her tone was demanding yet concerned, stern yet gentle all at once. It caused his heart to skip even while his throat tightened and his stomach knotted from suppressed tension.

“Would you just let it be?” he exploded, punching the air in frustration.

“Fine,” Rachel cried, staring at him in shocked disbelief.

“Good,”Finn replied, gritting his teeth against the wave of regret he felt when he registered the look on her face.

“Do you still want to practice our song?” she asked quietly.

Taking a deep breath, pushing away the emotions roiling through his gut, Finn almost shook his head no. He almost allowed himself to make up some excuse, to walk out of the auditorium, to disappear. But when he gazed at his girlfriend, when he saw her standing there in her plaid purple skirt and her kneehigh stockings and her lavender t-shirt, he realized that he couldn’t do that. In that moment, she looked so much like a little girl that he wanted to wrap her in his arms. In that moment, she looked so much like the young woman he’d fallen in love with that he wanted to kiss away all the pain he’d caused.

“Okay,” he grunted, shrugging noncommitally. “Let’s practice.”

“Okay,” Rachel repeated, the uncertainty of her voice a stark contrast from her usual confident demeanor. But when she reached out to take his hand, when her arm brushed against his bare skin and her lips quirked into a tentative smile, he found himself following her to the stage. And when the melodious notes of the CD echoed through the auditorium a moment later, her confidence seemed to return.

It was only later, when they found themselves alone again, that everything came crashing to a horrible halt and the world stopped making sense. But then, he wondered if it had ever made much sense to begin with.

~*~

Present Day . . .

“Of course, Sir,” Finn said quickly, holding his cell phone tightly against his ear as he sidestepped a neverending crowd of talkative pedestrians. “No, it’s no problem.”

Walking rapidly along the sidewalk, he barely noticed where he was going. He barely had the time to care. His boss was rattling off commands faster than Nolan Ryan could pitch. Taxi cabs whirled by, their cacaphony of horns mingling with the distinct chatter of passersby, yet Finn failed to pay them any attention. The sky gradually darkened to a steely gray, the humid air turning slightly cold, yet Finn didn’t even register the change. Stepping out into the busy Time Square traffic, his thoughts were so focused that he didn’t notice the tour bus careening in his direction. He didn’t hear the blare of the horn, or register the screech of the brakes. It was only when he heard a stranger’s scream that he shook himself from his stupor and jumped back onto the curb.

“Finn?” Mr. Carson demanded, his tone brusque yet concerned. “You there, Son?”

“Sorry, Mr. Carson,” Finn replied, willing his heartrate to return to a normal rhythm. “I’d forgotten how impatient New York drivers can be.”

The low hum of chuckling sounded across the phone lines, and Finn slowly felt himself relax. Glancing in either direction, he stepped into the busy street and finally made his way to the other side of the intersection. “So what were you saying about Apple, Sir?” he prodded, redirecting the conversation back to the matter at hand.

However, it appeared that his boss had other ideas in mind. “Finn, when was the last time you took the night off?” he queried, and Finn could almost see him stroking his chin in thought.

“Uh, I don’t know, Sir,” he answered truthfully, furrowing his brow. “I guess a couple of weeks ago.” The reality of his statement wasn’t lost on either man. In actuality, Finn hadn’t taken a vacation in over three years, he hadn’t taken a day off in over two, and he rarely if ever enjoyed a quiet night to himself. If he’d seen himself now while he was still in high school, the younger version of Finn Hudson would have probably kicked his ass. But then, he mused thoughtfully as he paused outside an overhang, the younger version of Finn Hudson had never dealt with the things he’d had to deal with.

“Take the night off, Finn,” his boss interrupted, jolting him from his reverie.

Finn’s eyes flew wide at the statement, uttered by the man who had always encouraged him to be a go-getter. “But what about Apple, Sir?” he insisted. They had been trying to make this deal for weeks, and his boss was telling him to take the night off? “We have that meeting –“

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Mr. Carson interrupted, before sighing into the receiver. “Listen, kid. You’re the best damn employee I’ve got, but I’ll be darned if I’m going to let you kill yourself because you’re working too hard.”

Shaking his head in denial, Finn leaned hard against the cool window of a small bakery. “Sir, I’m fine –“

“You’re not fine, Finn,” Mr. Carson interrupted again, causing Finn’s shoulders to slump. And when silence met the man’s accusation, his stomach clenched as he waited for his boss to continue. “Listen,” the man finally said, his tone tinged with seriousness, “I know I’ve always encouraged you to fight for everything you want, and to work until you’ve reached the top. But you haven’t taken a vacation for years, Finn. When I look at you, I see dark circles underneath your eyes and a young man who hasn’t slept well for weeks. When I watch you work, I see someone who’s lost all joy in life. If you don’t start taking better care of yourself, Mr. Hudson, then it won’t just be your work that will suffer. Believe me,” he said after another lengthy pause. “I know.”

The ominous sound of his words caused Finn’s chest to twist, even as he found himself agreeing with what was said. It was true, after all. He hadn’t slept well in weeks. He hadn’t taken time off in years. He hadn’t stopped working in as long as he could remember. But had he really lost all joy in life? Had he really become the sort of drone that Mr. Carson was describing?

Unbidden, an image popped into Finn’s mind, as clear and distinct as the busy New York street sprawled before his eyes. A long stage with flashing lights and the sounds of a piano. An audience full of people, each with their eyes fixed upon the stage, each with their hands clasped expectantly in their laps. And a group of kids with shining faces and broad smiles, their voices harmonious as they sang as one.

And along with that image, along with the memory that sent his pulse racing and caused an unfamiliar gleam to enter his coffee brown eyes, was the silhouette of a gorgeous young diva. A tiny girl, a beautiful young woman who had stolen his heart. Who had opened his eyes and made him see things he had never thought possible. Who had taken his hand and made him feel things he had never thought he’d feel.

It was something he hadn’t thought about for a long time.

And suddenly, he realized why he’d stopped when he had. He realized why he was staring across the street, fixed in place as a pattern of bright lights burned themselves into his retinas. A hesitant smile spread across his face as he took in the sign, reading the words which glittered across the way: “LES MISERABLES. TICKETS ON SALE NOW.”

For some reason, the very idea of seeing a broadway musical had never occurred to him. As dedicated as he was to his high school Glee Club, as much as he’d always loved music, he’d never considered taking a break and seeing a musical. But as he stared at the sign, as he studied the words, he knew exactly what he wanted to do with his night off.

“You know what, Mr. Carson?” he finally said, unable to suppress the grin which lit up his face. “I think I might take you up on that offer after all.”

~*~

Seven Years Ago . . .

Rachel Berry was concerned. As she stood at the front of the stage in her flowing red gown and mortarboard hat, holding the microphone that was rightfully hers while she waited for the harmonious chords of music to begin, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Finn Hudson had never kept something from her during their entire relationship, but he was keeping something from her now. Of that, she was certain. But even with her fluid delivery of speech and her mastery of persuasion, she hadn’t been able to get him to talk. It was a problem she’d never had before, and she didn’t like it.

Even so, she forced a gleaming grin into place and stood up straight as the opening chords of music echoed across the auditorium. Finn was in the appropriate place by her side, and she reached out to take his hand before belting out the opening notes. The difficulty was, she felt him stiffen as his fingers closed over her own. He had never stiffened at her touch before. He had never pulled away when she kissed him before, either. What on earth was happening?

You know a dream is like a river
Ever changin' as it flows
And a dreamer's just a vessel
That must follow where it goes
Trying to learn from what's behind you
And never knowing what's in store
Makes each day a constant battle
Just to stay between the shores . . .

Her clear, dulcet tones melded together with the other members of New Directions’, their combined voices causing the audience to smile appreciatively. But even as Rachel hit each note, even as she lost herself in the music, she couldn’t stop her concern from growing into fullblown worry. Finn was not behaving like his usual carefree self. In fact, he was as far from carefree as possible. He had missed two notes, and she realized that he was feverishly scanning the auditorium. But for what?

Too many times we stand aside
And let the waters slip away
'Til what we put off 'til tomorrow
Has now become today
So don't you sit upon the shoreline
And say you're satisfied
Choose to chance the rapids
And dare to dance the tide . . .

He had been distant since yesterday morning, when he showed up late for rehearsal. Had she done something wrong? Was it something that she’d said? She wracked her mind, trying to remember the last conversation they’d had. It had focused on their impending trip to New York; on their plans to move to the City for college soon after graduation. As far as she could remember, everything had gone smoothly. Actually, it had gone more than smoothly, she remembered with a small flutter of her stomach and a twitch of her lips.

That was it. She was just going to have to talk to him. She was going to sit him down and explain that he was acting oddly, and then demand that he tell her what was going on. Sometimes Rachel Berry had to take the lead, and this appeared to be one of those times. She would not back down.

There's bound to be rough waters
And I know I'll take some falls
But with the good Lord as my captain
I can make it through them all . . .

Her mind made up, Rachel finished the song with gusto, holding her chin out with pride when the audience gave them the standing ovation they deserved. She could hardly wait until graduation was over so she could talk to Finn. She could hardly wait to get everything out into the open so that they could start their new life together as high school graduates.

The problem was, when the festivities came to an end and the diplomas had been handed out, Finn Hudson was nowhere in sight. He had deserted her at their very own graduation, without so much as a good-bye.

~*~

Present Day . . .

Rachel Berry stared at herself in her lit-up circular mirror, a determined glint in her eyes and a bright smile on her face as she brushed a healthy amount of blusher onto her cheekbones. After years of collegiate study and auditions, and months of rehearsals and sound checks, she was finally getting ready for her first big night with the Company. It seemed almost like a dream, being backstage as her fellow actors bustled about, preparing for that night’s show. Even though she’d always known she would make it – she was Rachel Berry, after all – she couldn’t believe that it was finally happening. She couldn’t believe that she was finally here, that she was finally getting ready to shine.

Sure, she’d be shining in the chorus with many other hopeful young divas. And there was a chance that she’d be hidden behind scenery for much of the night. But that didn’t change the fact that she was finally getting her big break. That didn’t change the fact that she was the understudy to the understudy for Eponine.

So why is it, she wondered, her lips puckering in confusion, That I don’t feel like a star?

It was the weirdest feeling. She had always dreamed of this night. She had always dreamed of the moment when she’d emerge upon a broadway stage, thousands of people watching her every move. And she had always known exactly how she would feel when it happened. She would feel as though she was the happiest person alive, as if all of her dreams were coming true. She would feel as though she was lighter than air.

For some reason, the realization caused goose bumps to break out onto her skin. Lighter than air. And suddenly, a strain of song wafted through her mind, an echo of music sounding from the distant past.

If I should die before I wake
It's 'cause you took my breath away
Losing you is like living in a world with no air . . .

Shivering slightly as the memory weighed heavily upon her thoughts, she wrapped her arms around her slender frame and attempted to push the recollection aside. Unfortunately, it only seemed to return all the stronger. And along with the memory, along with the silent song was an image. An image of a tall, muscular boy with russet hair and the sweetest smile she had ever known. An image of the boy who had stolen her heart. An image of the young man she had tried to forget, even when forgetting proved to be impossible.

Biting her lower lip, Rachel leaned forward and stared at herself in the mirror. Get a grip, Rachel, she ordered herself. You can’t do this. Not here. Not now. Finn is gone, and you have to move on. What is that poem about letting go? If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it is yours. If it doesn’t, it was never meant to be. Nodding resolutely, she forced herself to focus entirely on that poem, to focus entirely on the night ahead. This was too important; her dreams were too important. She wasn’t going to let anything – or anyone – ruin them for her.

“Hey, Berry!” The stage manager called, interrupting her reverie.

Blinking away her thoughts, Rachel turned to face the wiry man. “Hmm?” she questioned blankly.

“Is everything okay?” The man grunted, arching a brow.

“Yes, of course,” Rachel nodded, taking a deep breath and sitting up straighter in her chair. “Why?”

“Good,” the stage manager replied gruffly. “Because you’re on in five.”

Rachel’s stomach knotted as the curtain rose and the opening notes of Les Miserables began to sound to a packed house. This was it.

CHAPTER TWO

Sarah Walker Smut Challenge

mikki13 — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 03:52:27 GMT

CALLING ALL FANFIC WRITERS

yogurt_and_fun, the Sarah Walker smut comm that I currently run with two other amazing writers is hosting its very first challenge.

The challenge is simple: Find a picture of Sarah Walker in your favorite spy related outfit (Examples: Nerd Herd outfit, Wiernerlicious uniform, nerdy outfit from Dream Job, etc.) and post a link in your entry so everyone can see what you've chosen. Then write a smut fic inspired by that outfit. Minimum word count is 1000 words. There is no maximum.

There will be one week for sign-ups, starting today Feb. 25th and ending March 4th. Then we will have one month for writing and stories will be due April 5th. Multiple entries are allowed.

A good source for pictures is Strahotski.com or ChuckTV.net.

Rules:

1) All participants must be 18 or over.

2) All entries must include one of Sarah Walker's many varied spy outfits. That is your prompt. Please include a link or example of the picture.

3) ALL entries MUST include Sarah Walker.

4) All pairings are welcome but must be clearly indicated in your entry.

5) As this is a smut comm, all entries must be rated at least R though obviously NC-17 or Adult is preferred.

6) Minimum word count is 1000.

7) All entries are due April 5th.

If you'd like to sign up to enter the challenge, just click on this link.

FIC: Footprints in the Snow (Glee)

mikki13 — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 07:34:55 GMT

Title: Footprints in the Snow
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,256
Characters: Finn/Rachel
A/N: I tried to stifle the craving, I attempted to ignore the desire. But in the end, it proved too strong to ignore. So after denying the urge for so long, I am finally coming out of the Gleek closet. I hope you enjoy my very first Glee tale, and that the characters aren’t too OOC. To my Chuck fans, I promise that I haven’t deserted you. But with the state of the show, my inspiration has dwindled and I needed to try a different creative outlet. I do, however, promise to finish my stories when my inspiration has been rekindled. In the meantime, I can only hope that you understand.

Summary: But even with this knowledge, even with the certainty that he’s embarking on the path of no return, he can’t pull himself away. He can’t stop himself from taking this journey. He can’t force himself to turn around and go home.

His feet make prints in the snow. Distinct and distorted, imperfect and irregular, but his all the same. He can hear the snow crunch underneath his sneakers, feel the brittle texture underneath his feet. It brings him a sense of peace, even when the snow rushes about his shoulders and dampens his thick brown hair. Even when the world seems to be crashing in on him from all sides, and his life seems to be falling into pieces. Even when he isn’t sure where to turn next.

His feet make prints in the snow. When the sun disappears behind the Ohio horizon and the stars dot the pitch black sky, his feet make prints in the snow. Every time he makes the trek, every time he takes the by now familiar journey, he leaves a path behind him. He blazes a trail, erects a beaten track. Forming his own individual course. Evidence of the course that he’s constructing within his own life. Evidence of the path he’s blazing within his own heart.

He knows the analogy is lame. He knows that if the guys had any idea he was standing outside her window, his arms breaking into goose bumps both from the cold and from the knowledge that she’s so close by, they would kick his butt. He knows that if she were to come to the window, if she were to see him standing underneath her windowsill, his entire life would change.

He doesn’t know how he knows that. He doesn’t understand where all this knowledge has come from. Really, he’s always been a simple guy. He’s always been laid back, easy going. He’s always let life come as it came. Even so, he knows that he’s right. He knows that if she saw him now, there would be no hiding how he feels. And if she knew exactly how he felt, things would never again be the same.

But even with this knowledge, even with the certainty that he’s embarking on the path of no return, he can’t pull himself away. He can’t stop himself from taking this journey. He can’t force himself to turn around and go home.

He needs her. God, how he needs her. Even with everything falling apart, even with his entire world crumbling around his feet, he’s found one bright spot. One shining star, one point of illumination. One small girl who makes everything alright, whose brilliant smile erases all his pain, whose amazing voice eradicates all his misery. One person whose intoxicating presence makes him feel like he has something worth living for.

Perhaps it’s because of her that he pulls the pennies from his pocket. Perhaps it’s because he needs her by his side that he tosses them against her window. Perhaps it’s because he cares so much that his breath hitches in his throat when her bedroom is suddenly illuminated by a bright light, and she appears at the window to push it upward from the windowsill.

“Finn?” she calls, wrapping her arms around her slender frame as the chill draft rushes into her room.

“Hey,” he replies, waving feebly as a nervous smile spreads across his face. “What’s up?”

“I was – I was sleeping,” she states, her brow furrowing in confusion. And then she cocks her head to the side as she studies him further. “How long have you been standing out there?” she asks, staring at the blue tinge that has formed upon his lips.

“Oh, you know,” he says, shrugging sheepishly, “A few minutes.” Forty-five to be exact. Pushing his hands deep into his pockets to ward of the chill, he rushes ahead to cover for himself. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d go for a walk.” Every night. For the past two weeks. An unexpected blush creeps up his cheeks, and he drops his head, scuffing his toe against the pure white snow. When he looks up again, Rachel’s disappeared from her window and her bedroom light has been turned off.

His stomach drops even as his cinnamon eyes feverishly scan the nearby vicinity, desperately hoping that she’s still somewhere in sight. Desperately hoping that she hasn’t truly disappeared. But as he glances at the many empty windows and scans the various entryways to the Berry household, his shoulders droop from disappointment and a heavy sigh escapes his lips. Turning slowly around, he begins to travel down the path he’s made to get to where he is tonight.

It’s only when he steps into the first footprint, it’s only when he starts to retrace his steps that he hears the tentative opening of her front door. Freezing in his tracks, his eyes widen hopefully as a pair of smaller feet begin to form their own footprints in the snow.

“You know we should be sleeping,” she says, the perky quality of her voice causing his heart to skip a beat. “We’ll be in no shape to beat Vocal Adrenaline in the Regional Competition if we don’t enjoy at least eight hours of sleep each night, followed by a strenuous workout and a heartily balanced breakfast.”

Finn can’t help it. His lips quirk upward into a smirk and he turns to face the beautiful brunette enigma standing behind him. “Right,” he says, nodding even though he’s not quite sure what it is that he’s agreeing with. “I just figured that I’d take a quick walk. You know, to clear my head.”

Again, she studies him, giving him the uncomfortable feeling that she can see right through every one of his defenses. That her radiant brown eyes are staring straight into his thoughts, straight into his mind, straight into his soul. Even so, he finds that he cannot look away. In fact, he doesn’t even want to try.

“Things have been tough lately,” she states matter-of-factly. “Quinn. Puck. The baby.” So simple, so direct. So few words to describe every insecurity it is that he’s feeling.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his hand forming an inadvertent fist within his jacket pocket. For a moment, thoughts of his ex-girlfriend and his former best friend flood his mind, eclipsing his senses and sending his pulse racing angrily through his veins. And then he hears her voice.

“It’s going to be okay, you know,” she says, her tone almost melodic as she places her hand on his concealed arm. “Things will get better.”

“I know,” he says. And when the words emerge, he realizes that he believes them. He knows that things will get better, just as he knows that he needs to be here tonight. Just as he knows that he needs to be with her. Extracting his arm from her tender grip, he reaches for her hand, threading his fingers through the negative spaces of her own. “I’m sorry,” he says simply.

“For what?” she replies, an uncertain smile lighting up her face even as a hint of certainty forms upon her face.

“For everything,” he admits. “For lying to you. For not treating you right.” Pausing, he weighs his next words carefully, knowing that they could change everything. Knowing that what happens tonight could change the entire course of his life. Knowing that he doesn’t really care. “For pretending like I didn’t feel it, too,” he finishes softly, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.

She’s quiet for a long time, her lower lip suddenly held captive beneath her teeth as she contemplates his statement. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she finally says hesitantly, gazing into his eyes. What he sees there, what he finds reflected in the depths of her coffee brown gaze, sends his pulse racing for an entirely different reason. And in that moment, he understands that she knows exactly what he means. But he also understands that she’s just as afraid of getting hurt as he is of letting go of everything he’s ever known. Even so, he knows that she’s worth it. She’s worth the derision, she’s worth the ridicule. She’s worth the loss of everything he thought he cared about. She’s worth everything.

“I like you, Rachel,” he admits, swallowing away the tension forming at the back of his throat. “Like, a lot.” More than I probably should.

Her hand falters in his grasp, almost as if she considers pulling away. But when his fingers tighten subconsciously around her own, she simply shakes her head. “You’ve been through a lot, Finn,” she says, gazing steadily into his eyes. “This really isn’t the time to –“

“But I think it’s exactly the time,” he interrupts, unable to hold back any longer. “I’m tired of waiting, Rachel. I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of being afraid to go after what I really want.”

“And what is it that you want, Finn?” she queries, even while the certainty grows upon her face.

“I want you,” he confesses.

Her lips part at his words, her tongue darting out to wet her supple mouth. His eyes inadvertently travel to the delicate pink flesh, flickering over her soft pink tongue and her perfect rows of teeth. Before he can stop himself, before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s suddenly leaning forward and pressing his lips to her own. Her eyes widen at the contact, at the way that his mouth pushes against her mouth, at the way his fingers rise to curl through her hair. And for a moment, she allows herself to succumb. For a moment, she closes her eyes and falls into his kiss. For a moment, she wraps her arms around his waist and kisses him back.

And then she pushes him away.

“Wait,” she says, taking a moment to catch her breath. “We can’t do this. I can’t do this.” Folding her arms over her chest, her gaze turns beseeching as it locks onto his own. “Finn, this isn’t the right time. You’re going through too much and you don’t know what you want. I understand that.”

“You’re wrong,” Finn says, his face flushed from their momentary contact. “I know exactly what I want.” And for the first time in months – years, maybe – he feels like he does. Because being here with Rachel, feeling her wrapped in his arms, is the most natural thing he’s ever known.

“You think you know what you want,” she replies, a sympathetic gleam entering her deep brown eyes. “It’s perfectly natural to have these feelings after experiencing severe betrayal. It’s your typical rebound situation –“

“I’m not rebounding,” he interrupts her again, taking a step forward. Once again, he feels the snow crunch underneath his footfall. “Rachel,” he begins, running a frustrated hand through his damp russet hair, “I’ve felt this way for almost as long as I’ve known you. You – you make me feel things.” God, he sounded like such a pansy.

“I make you feel things?” she repeats, arching a brow. Even despite her apparent resolve, he can tell that he’s gotten her attention. “Like what kinds of things?”

“Like,” he hesitates, searching his mind for the right words. He never has been very good with language. “Like when you sing,” he tries, his eyes lighting up when he suddenly realizes what he wants to say next. “I can be having the worst kind of day. The guys can be ragging on me, and Qu – certain people can be giving me a really hard time, and I can feel like life isn’t really worth living. And then I hear your voice. It’s like a part of me suddenly feels . . . I don’t know,” he finishes lamely, the selfsame blush reforming upon his cheeks, “Alive or something.”

“Finn,” she says softly, her resolve faltering as she takes a step toward him. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I need you, Rachel,” he replies seriously, a tentative smile spreading across his face when she allows him to take her hand. “Like, all the time. You’re kinda the one person who makes all the bad stuff disappear, you know?”

“Yeah,” she nods, just as seriously. “I do.” And then she’s kissing him, her fingers threading through his hair and her body pressing heatedly against his muscular frame. The snow continues to billow about their shoulders, falling upon their bodies and causing goose bumps to break out onto their skin. But neither of them really notices. Neither of them really cares. Because in that space of time, when they come together in an affectionate embrace and he feels her heart beating heavily against his own, everything else falls away.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she says softly, leaning her forehead against his chest when they break the kiss.

“I know,” he replies, kissing the top of her head. After everything they’ve been through, after everything it took to get to this point, he can’t believe that he’s finally here. He can’t believe that he’s finally figured out what it is that he wants. He can’t believe that Rachel Berry is finally snuggled in his arms.

“You know this isn’t going to be easy,” she says, leaning back to look up at him. “We can’t just expect everything to fall into place. You’re the high school quarterback and I’m the lead Gleek, and no one is going to –“

“Rachel?” he interrupts one last time, smiling affectionately.

“Yes?” she replies, furrowing her brow.

“Let’s wait until tomorrow to talk.” And then he bends down to kiss her again, his tongue darting out to taste her lips as he wraps her in his tight embrace. Yeah. This was definitely one journey he wanted to take.

Chuckfest 2010

mikki13 — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 16:48:37 GMT

Well, now that I'm done driving all night to get back home, I thought I'd post my own little review of Chuckfest (seeing as how I can't sleep, lol). It was amazing. Really, it was one of the best times of my life.

It began on Saturday morning, when I went to the Wii Gold Tournament. I entered the room, and my eyes immediately landed on an episode of Chuck v. the Pilot. "Wow," I thought. "So this is really it. I'm in a world full of Chuck fanatics." At first, I blushed. I mean, here I was, finally letting the world know just how much of a Chuck fanatic I really was. But bit by bit, I began to realize just how awesome the other fans were. We're a unique group, to be sure. Everyone was so welcoming and everyone had interesting stories of their own. Some were recent college graduates who had discovered their love for Chuck during the first season. Others were older, who had realized just how amazing this show really was. At least a few came from faroff places, like Chicago, England and Australia. The Chicago chick, especially, was fun to talk with. And I met Farringtongirl, who was awesome and incredibly kind and skilled for putting this altogether. And then there was yokaputo . . . Yok, it was awesome to meet you in person and to share the experience with you. Thanks so much for being my backup camera girl, and for braving the throngs to get me pictures.

Anyway, my Wii golf score wasn't bad, especially considering the fact that I'd never played gold or Wii before in my life. But when I started to fade (I had driven up Friday night, directly after work), I left and went back to the hotel. I ordered cheesecake and merlot wine, hoping to relax. Not that it ever happened. Because the very next day, I'd be meeting the cast.

I think I got about 9 hours of sleep Saturday night, which is saying something, considering how truly exhausted I was. And then I woke up, and it hit me. It was The. Day. I would be meeting the cast of my favorite, of our favorite TV show. When I got to the House of Blues, I felt like I was walking in a dream. I stepped in through the entrance for the restaurant, where I was immediately greeted by about 75 other fans. They were all sitting at tables, about 6 to a booth, waiting for the cast to arrive. After speaking with some people I'd met the day before, I found a spot at Yok's booth with some really awesome individuals. And then we waited. And tried to breathe. And waited. And tried not to hyperventilate. And waited some more.

Finally, about 10 minutes past 4, Zachary Levi stepped into the room. The cheering was immense, especially when he was followed by Yvonne Strahovski, Sarah Lancaster, Adam Baldwin, Joshua Gomez, Scott Krinsky, Vic Sahay, and Mark Christopher Lawrence. We probably cheered for at least two or three minutes, as the cast took in the lot of adoring fans. Finally, they divided up one or two to a table, and came to talk to us. Imagine my surprise when Adam Baldwin plunked himself down at our table and began to shake our hands, introducing himself. And then he started to talk about music, and how his son was in a band. And then he signed autographs and took pictures. I don't know, guys. I don't think Casey's grunts will ever be the same. Adam Baldwin is just such a genuinely sweet, kind man that Casey no longer looks nearly as foreboding. ;-)

So I was a little tongue tied with our first cast member, and when the next cast member sat at our table, I had a feeling that I would need the smelling salts they'd promised to keep on hand. But Zachary Levi (yes, Zachary Levi) was the most vivacious, easy-to-get-along-with individual I've ever met. He immediately shook our hands and introduced himself, just like Adam, and I felt immediately at ease. I have to say that I can't even remember what we talked about, other than how grateful he was that we saved his show. I was too busy staring into those brown eyes. But he signed autographs and he took pictures, and it was amazing.

After Zach departed, we didn't get any more visits for three turns. It became tedious, with us checking our watches because we knew the cast had to leave for a party at 5:00. But soon, Yvonne Strahovski and Sarah Lancaster came to join us. Wow, guys. These two are the nicest women you'd ever meet. They talked to us about the Wii golf tournament, and about the Season 2 brochure I'd brought to have signed. Oh, and Yvonne was nice enough to autograph and personalize two photos I'd wanted for a couple guys who really wanted to be there, but couldn't be. And they even took the time to get photos with us.

After Yvonne and Sarah left, we were joined by Jeffster! It was actually kinda cool. They introduced themselves twice, because they didn't realize the rotation and were dragged to another table the first time. But the second time they plopped down, they said, "So this is the cool table, huh?" *lol* And God, what did we talk about? Let's see here . . . I asked whether Jeffster would perform again, and they said they were under lock and key. I also talked to them about how Adam is such a teddy bear in person. And then we talked about where everyone was from. And they were the most awesome guys. Scott is much cuter in person, and Vik was just a sweetheart. And of course, they posed for photos, too.

Finally, last but not least, we ended the day with Josh and Mark. Again, two awesome guys. I spoke with Mark about where I was from, and he decided he'd nickname me after the city. And I spoke with Josh about problems with my iPhone's camera capabilities. I know this is kinda fangirlish, but he laughed and bumped elbows with me, and I couldn't help but grin. *lol* Anyway, we took photos with them, too, and then the cast all congregated underneath a banner.

They were awesome. Even though they had somewhere to be, they all stayed longer to take more photos and to sign more autographs. I got a second photo with Yvonne, just the two of us. And then I got a second photo with Zach, because my first hadn't turned out very well (and also because I couldn't resist, lol). And then Zach gave a speech about how much he appreciates his fans, and how he wouldn't be able to pay his mortgage without us. There was much cheering, and chanting for a season 3, 4, 5, 10 and 20. And then they left, leaving us all feeling as if we were suspended in a dream.

After the meet and greet, I went with four very awesome fans to a train car on the side of the road, where we had tacos and hot dogs and hamburgers. (Okay, they had tacos and hot dogs and hamburgers. I had a coke.) And then we came back to watch the premiere. And at the premiere, while "Colonel" and "the Ring" were still playing, Yokaputo came to tell me that some very special people had arrived. Up near the bar were Chris Fedak, Josh Schwartz, Ali Adler, two new writers, and Jesse Heiman. And so I braved the crowds once more.

I have to say here that Chris and Josh were awesome. I had about a five minute conversation with Chris about Charah and how he looks for reviews. We talked about how many people are completely into Charah, and he knows how upset they can get when it doesn't always work out. I told him that I had faith in the show, and that I knew it would work out in the end. We also agreed that Zach and Yvonne are great with the subtext, so that even when Charah isn't going strong, we still see it bubbling underneath the surface. He also stated that he looks out for reviews (even bad ones), because he wants to know what people think. And we talked a little bit about how he's from Florida, where the oranges grow.

Now, the reason that I say Chris and Josh are awesome (aside from the obvious) is that they allowed me to interrupt them not just once, not just twice, but three times. The first time, I simply talked to them. Josh and I discussed how awesome the show is, and I wished him the best of luck in the endeavor (he was being accosted by fans, so we didn't have as much time to talk as I did with Chris). And then I was able to get Yok's miracle camera, and she took photos with the both of us (my iPhone just wasn't doing the job in that lighting). And then I went back to my car for my Season 2 brochure, and I got autographs. Oh, and then I introduced them to a couple of other people who wanted to meet them, and took a couple more pictures . . . Wow, they really were awesome. *lol* Because all the while, they kept smiling and greeting their fans.

Ali Adler was also quite fun to meet. We talked about how sometimes people get upset with what she writes, but she hopes the fans have faith in her to keep it going. And she introduced me to two new writers, who gave me autographs. And I took a photo with her, too.

And finally, I happened to spot Jesse. Those red cheeks and that hair just gave him away. So I said to him, "I recognize you." And he said, "Oh, really?" And we started to talk about the show and how funny his scenes are. We also talked about how awesome the premiere party was, and how we were glad the show was still going strong.

And then, after all of that, I sat down and watched the season premiere of Chuck. Honestly? I thought it was fantastic, even though I'm still smarting from the Charah. Let's hope those two crazy kids really can clean up the mess they've made. But I won't get into that here. Suffice it to say that I really enjoyed the show. And afterward, I went to say good-bye to the new people I had met. Of course, Chuck fans don't just say good-bye. They hug. So after exchanging hugs with several people I'd met, including yokaputo, and Farringtongirl and Lauri, both of whom put it together, I hit the road because I have to work today.

It was truly fantastic, you guys. The cast and the crew were all amazing, and meeting the Chuck fans was the best time of my life. I'm so glad I was lucky enough to get the chance to go.

FIC: Seven Days

mikki13 — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 06:23:06 GMT

Title: Seven Days, Chapter 1
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,120
Characters: Chuck, Sarah, Casey
A/N: When I wrote the first draft of this chapter back in October, htbthomas and sm93starbuck were awesome with their beta'ing prowess. But now that I'm finally getting ready to post the story, I find that I've lost the beta'd version. And so I post this largely unbeta'd, with the hopes that my own keen eyes will do the trick. I hope you enjoy the finished result.

Summary: Chuck and Sarah go on the run, attempting to set right all that has gone wrong in seven days.

The pitch black night shrouded the world, casting shadows even into the lightest, airiest places and lending an aura of chilling mystery to the usually open courtyard. Wind whistled through the trees, so shrill and so high pitched that it drowned out the leaves skittering across the pavement and the thin stream of water trickling into the fountain. The air itself was unlike any the native southern California computer nerd had grown accustomed to, abnormally frigid to the point of piercing through his thin jacket and into the surface of his skin itself.

Shivering involuntarily, Chuck pulled his arms more firmly about his lanky frame, securing his jacket more tightly around himself. Despite the frosty autumn air and the shrill wind which blew his curls in every direction, he was thankful for the shadows which hid the night. Keeping close to the buiding, he allowed his amateur spy senses to guide him through the courtyard, somehow instinctively knowing that he had to keep quiet. He had to move stealthily, he had to go undetected. Because even though he hadn’t seen it yet, even though he had not yet identified the source of the problem causing the prickling of the hair on the back of his neck, he knew it was out there. He knew it as sure as he knew his own name.

Taking two steps forward, he forced himself to remember everything Casey and Sarah had taught him over the course of the last three months. Everything they had instructed him beginning the day after he had downloaded the Intersect 2.0. Everything they had coached him when helping him to learn what it really meant to be a spy. Move slowly, move slyly, but never move as if you’re actually trying not to be seen. Never move as if you’re trying to escape.

One step forward.

Two steps forward.

Three, four, five steps . . .

Fuck! The sharp snapping sound of a twig, breaking under Chuck’s untrained footfall, reverberated through the courtyard, so loudly that Chuck was certain it could be heard even over the howling of the wind. Jumping in spite of his earlier resolve to remain undetected, he bit his lip and frantically checked his surroundings. His eyes scanned the doors to the apartments, the shadows leading into the street, the water as it fell into the pool of the fountain. It was only when it was clear that no one had emerged and everything had gone unchanged that the rapid pounding of his heart slowed to an almost normal rhythm. Taking a deep breath, he leaned against the wall of the complex and regained his composure.

Come on, he thought reproachfully. Don’t screw this up.

Truth be told, he had no idea how he had even come this far. He had no idea where his handlers were, or why he hadn’t been stopped yet. He fully expected Casey to come barging out of his apartment at any minute, or Sarah . . . Sarah . . .

Folding his lips, he closed his eyes and forced the thoughts from his mind. He had to do this. He had to keep going. He couldn’t allow himself to remain when so much was at stake. Nodding his head as if he were silently agreeing with his plan, he took another tentative step toward the opening which would take him out into the street. Another tentative step toward the pathway toward his own longed for freedom.

His shoulders moved up and down in time with his breath, ragged and shallow from nerves. Not for the first time, he wished that he would have a flash. That he would see something, anything, that would allow him to get away undetected. From the moment he had stepped into the bathroom and slid open the window, certain that there would be no cameras in this spot at least, he had hoped for some knowledge that would help him in this escape. From the second he had climbed through the window, the laces of his converses becoming entangled upon the metal frame before he could heave himself through the opening, he had yearned for a flash of material which would show him how to get away from trained hunters who were skilled in targeting their marks.

The problem was, he had never been skilled at getting the Intersect to work simply because he willed it to do so. And as he finally reached the opening, as his converses softly tread the pavement leading out onto the street, he realized that it probably wasn’t going to work now. Even so, when he finally left the open courtyard and found himself feet from the Nerd Herder which would help with his escape, he thought for a wild moment that he wouldn’t need it. He was so close that he could taste his freedom, and if he made it just a few more feet, he would actually be there.

Breathing a deep sigh of relief, he froze in mid-step when the hand clamped down hard upon his mouth.

~*~

Seven Days Before the Escape . . .

“Nadia Tyler,” General Beckman said crisply, leaning forward on her elbows. A picture of a woman flickered onto the screen. She had dark brown hair and hazel eyes, which were narrowed and appeared to be mocking anyone who dared view her picture. “We have reason to believe that she’s affiliated with the Ring. In fact, we think she might even be top leadership. I don’t think I have to tell you that this could be the break we’ve been waiting for.”

Standing in front of the monitor with her arms crossed over her chest, Sarah shifted her weight from one leg to the other, trying desperately to ignore the curly-haired man standing directly by her side. “How would you like us to proceed, General?” she asked, her tone a little more brusque than intended. Stifling a sigh, she forced her eyes to remain glued to the screen.

“We need more Intel on this woman, Agent Walker,” General Beckman returned. “You and the asset will attend the Royal Bash being held Friday night at 0800 hours at the Reeves’ mansion in Beverly Hills.”

Beside her, Chuck grumbled about the General’s inability to remember his name, but Sarah simply gritted her teeth and asked the question now at the forefront of her mind. “What will our cover be?”

“You and the asset will be dating,” the General replied, causing Sarah to narrow her eyes slightly and Casey to grunt and smirk. Next to Sarah, Chuck arched a brow and looked at his blonde handler. “Is that a problem?” Beckman inquired sharply, noticing their reactions.

“No problem, General,” was Sarah’s automatic response, but she shifted her weight once more. This time, she inadvertently leaned away from her lanky asset.

“Very good,” Beckman stated briskly. “Then I’ll expect a report immediately after the party.” And with that, the screen went blank.

The moment the General disappeared from view, Chuck swallowed hard and straightened his shoulders, a hint of resolve sparking within his deep brown eyes. “Sarah,” he ventured, turning to face the blonde, “Can we talk?”

The moment the words were spoken, a shadow of vulnerability wafted across Sarah’s face, followed almost immediately by a hardening of her features. Nearby, Casey grunted a second time and muttered something about ‘lover’s spats,’ before disappearing into the far corner to polish his guns. But Sarah hardly noticed; she was too busy forcing herself into her professional façade. “It’s been a long day, Chuck,” she said, her words firm. “We should get some rest if we’re going to be ready for the mission.”

Biting his lip, Chuck considered Sarah for a long moment. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head; almost see that he wasn’t going to give up without a fight. And for a moment, her line of sight drifted to his lower lip, currently imprisoned by his smooth white teeth. This was a mistake. Abruptly, her thoughts returned to the source of the problem, to the incident which broke through her own resolve and reinitiated old emotions.

“Sarah, please,” Chuck pleaded, stepping closer to his handler. “I just want to talk.”

“Chuck, I already told you,” Sarah said, then glanced at Casey and pulled the computer nerd into a far corner. “We can’t do this. We can’t be together. It’s too risky.”

“But I don’t understand,” Chuck replied, his brow furrowing. “I’m training to be a spy now. Everything’s different.”

Bristling at the mention of his training, Sarah’s features hardened still further as she considered his words. As she contemplated the fact that this man, this innocent, gentle individual had suddenly plunged himself headfirst into a world full of lies and espionage. A world which she had constantly wished to escape, a world which she had almost fled before he had downloaded the newest version of the Intersect. Before he had turned their lives upside down. Before he had risked becoming everything she had never wanted him to be.

“I’m sorry, Chuck,” she said, her tone ringed with utter finality. “It just isn’t going to work.” And with that, she left him standing against the wall, staring in consternation at her back.

~*~

“Shh,” Sarah whispered urgently into his ear, steering him back toward the shadowy wall of the complex. Pushing him almost roughly against the plaster, she kept her hand on his mouth as she turned him to face her. “Chuck, where the hell do you think you’re going?” she demanded, her tone harsh even as her blue eyes shined with unspoken emotion. Perhaps realizing her vulnerability, she swallowed and dropped her hand to her side, shutting her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them again, a thin layer had formed over her unguarded emotion, which was now only slightly perceptible. “You know you’re not supposed to leave your apartment tonight,” she finished, and even her voice had leveled out.

“And why is that, Sarah?” Chuck replied, his forehead creasing as he stared at her with a gaze so scrutinizing that it almost made her feel as if he could see through her. The sight caused her to shiver inadvertently. “Why the sudden mandate for me to stay in my apartment? The CIA has never gone that far before.”

“We’ve never screwed up this badly before,” Sarah returned, thin lines forming around her eyes.

“So I’m suddenly a prisoner in my own apartment?” he countered, shaking his head. “I don’t buy it. There’s something you’re not telling me. There’s something else going on here.” And even though his words caused her mask to solidify still further, he refused to back down. Because even though they didn’t trust him with the truth, he had been working with them for too long to be fooled now. He was pretty sure he knew what was going on, he was pretty sure he knew what Beckman had planned. The very thought caused a pang to pierce his chest, and he kept his firm gaze locked on Sarah’s eyes. “What’s happening, Sarah?”

Sarah took a deep breath, averting her eyes from his knowing gaze. She had known for some time that Chuck Bartowski had a way of catching her off guard and getting her to reveal things that she should never reveal, which was dangerous in and of itself. But added to that danger was the potential pitfall created when he put his mind to something. Because when Chuck Bartowski put his mind to something – when he devoted all his energy to one goal, one purpose, to the point of refusing to back down – he had a way of getting what he wanted. And that wasn’t something she could allow to happen now. “I can’t tell you, Chuck,” she said, forcing herself to remain detached and neutral. Forcing herself to stay in agent mode, and not let her feelings get the better of her. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not good enough, Sarah,” he said, and the desperation in his voice caused her heart to freeze. “Please, just tell me what’s going on.”

Gritting her teeth, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Chuck,” she repeated. “I can’t.” She opened her mouth to tell him to go back inside, to order him to – well, to follow orders – but he interjected before she could do so.

“Then let me tell you,” he said evenly, leaning toward her. “You’ve been reassigned. You’re leaving. And Beckman’s seriously considering forcing me into a bunker. In fact,” he said, glancing nervously at their surroundings, “she might even have people out here tonight, making sure that we don’t do exactly what she’s expecting and escape. Am I right?”

Sarah stared at him long and hard, unused to the decisive directness he was employing now. Unused to seeing the conviction in his approach, to hearing the persistence in his voice. Perhaps even longing for the early days in their relationship when he would listen to her, no questions asked. At least then, she could keep him safe. But then, she supposed that he had been faced with this situation once too often. And added to that was the training he had received over the last three months, increasingly aimed at toughening him so that he could fight his own battles. Biting her lip, she finally nodded. “Yes, Chuck,” she said. “I’m afraid so.”

Chuck’s eyes narrowed, and she could almost see the thoughts forming within his mind. But the words he spoke next were so firm yet so quiet that she had to take a moment to absorb them. “Take me with you,” he said, his eyes darkening with a determined intensity so powerful that it gave her pause.

Take him with her? Take Chuck on the run again, risk everything that he had worked so hard for, even to the point of taking away his chance for a normal life? So that he could what? End up on trial for treason? After all, he was part of the CIA now. Intentionally downloading the Intersect 2.0 had ensured that much. And disobeying orders would ensure him such a trial. “I can’t, Chuck,” she said, attempting to force every ounce of her strength into the statement. But even as the words emanated from her lips, she could hear the weakness underlying each syllable. And when the resolve grew within his dark gaze, she was pretty certain he could hear it, too.

“I’m not going to obey,” he said, taking a firm step in her direction. “Even if they decide not to throw me into a bunker now, I’m still going to end up there. Because if they give me a new handler or, God forbid, a new cover girlfriend, I’m never going to follow orders because the only person I’m ever going to listen to is you. Well,” he said, hesitating, “and Casey. Because he’s just scary.” His lips twitched for a second, but then he came back to himself and the same quiet intensity returned to his eyes. “Please, Sarah,” he finished, “Take me with you.”

She considered him for what seemed like a long time, but what was probably only a few seconds. His words made sense, his argument was logical. And, she had to admit, the very idea of leaving him behind hurt so badly that it felt as if a knife was twisting within her chest. “But what about Ellie?” she finally said, grasping at straws. “And Morgan? What are they going to do without you?”

“This will just be temporary,” he said hastily, a wave of pain flickering within his eyes at the mention of his loved ones. “Until we figure this thing out. Until we fix the mess we created. Maybe then, they’ll let us come back home.”

Even as he voiced the thought, she heard the distinct uncertainty in his tone. And she knew that he knew: whatever happened next, there was probably no way Beckman would ever let them return. If they left now, this would never be their home again. But just as she was sure of that fact, she was also sure that if she left him now, he would probably end up in a bunker with the exact same result. “Okay,” she finally said, feeling a slight thrill accompanied by a twinge of guilt when she saw the flare of hope upon his face. “But we have to leave now.”

“I can do that,” he said quickly, eager to fall into her plan before she changed her mind.

Pinching her lips together, she nodded sharply and held out her hand so that he could grab hold. Together, they moved quietly away from the building (Chuck’s converses echoing a little too loudly as he retreated) and toward her Porsche. But just as her fingers closed around the handle, just as she began to open the passenger side of her car, the last sound she wanted to hear pierced through the raging wind and caused a chill to traverse her spine.

“Freeze!” the CIA agent snapped, emerging from the shadows with raised gun.

FIC: Seduction School (Chuck)

mikki13 — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 06:33:28 GMT

Title: Seduction School
Authors: Collab Effort by wepdiggy and mikki13
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5,958
Characters: Chuck/Sarah
Disclaimer: Because it doesn't air on HBO, there's no way this series can belong to us. We just borrow it for a little while to do unspeakable things with its characters.

Summary: Forced apart for spy training, Chuck and Sarah learn a few new things through an intense online chat.

Chuck: Hey.

Sarah: Hey. How's it going?

Chuck: Meh, it's work. Things going alright back in LA? Or...can you talk about it?

Sarah: They're going. It's been a little slow, actually. Casey's getting a little cranky.

Chuck: Aww...poor Sugar Bear.

Sarah: ~laughs~ I'll be sure to pass on your condolences.

Chuck: But what about you? How have you been? Any new people in your life?

Sarah: I just had a customer a few minutes ago.

Chuck: Wow. Did they actually order something?

Sarah: I think they thought about it. I even saw them reading the menu. But then they turned a little green when I couldn’t explain the main ingredient in the new recipe. Orange Fuzz.

Chuck: Tell me again how the CIA manages to keep that place open without suspicion?

Sarah: I'm still trying to figure that out myself . . . How about you, Chuck? How are things?

Chuck: Ah, you know, a little of this, a little of that. Hey! I now at least I think I can chase off the teenage boys who come into the OO to perv out on you away, lol.

Sarah: Good to know. I was beginning to worry. God knows I'm no match for ogling boys. So . . . anyone new in your life, Chuck?

Chuck: Well, there's my instructors... And a couple of guys I've met (Cole Barker clones though they may be)...

Sarah: Because the world doesn't have enough of him.

Chuck: To be sure ::rolls eyes::

Sarah: Cole wasn’t that bad, Chuck.

Chuck: Oh, and I have a partner for one of my classes

Sarah: Oh? Which class?

Chuck: Umm...well...

Sarah: Chuck?

Chuck: OK, but it doesn't mean anything, alright?

Sarah: Okay . . .

Chuck: but they paired me with this girl for IIoEP

Sarah: IIoEP

Chuck: Infiltration and Inducement of Enemy Personnel

Sarah: Seduction School

Chuck: yes

Sarah: What's she like?

Chuck: Well, I mean, I don't think the CIA hires ugly girls. Which is discrimination, I think.

Sarah: So this girl is attractive then?

Chuck: She's not unattractive.

Chuck: She's kind of...well...think of Carina, but with blonde hair

Sarah: I see.

Chuck: And I don't just mean in the looks department.

Sarah: Wow, Chuck. Are you attracted to her?

Chuck: No! I mean, I have to work with her, and she's nice enough, but...

Sarah: It's okay if you are. It's not like it really matters to me or anything. You're allowed to be attracted to pretty women.

Chuck: Oh, of course. I mean, I know it wouldn't matter, but I don't want you to get the wrong idea.

Sarah: Wrong idea? About you and this girl?

Chuck: Right!

Sarah: Is something going on?

Chuck: No...well...no, but that's the problem...

Sarah: There's a problem with that? Do you want something to go on between you and this girl?

Chuck: I don't ::want:: anything to go on. But...

Sarah: But?

Sarah: Chuck? Are you still there?

Chuck: So, they've told me I'm going to fail the class

Sarah: What?! Why?

Chuck: Because I couldn't even kiss my partner.

Sarah: Did she have bad breath?

Chuck: No...minty fresh, in fact

Sarah: You smelled her breath?

Chuck: She's a very touchy person, Sarah.

Sarah: Is she now? So what's the problem then, Chuck? She's attractive, her breath smells like a toothpaste commercial, and she can't seem to keep her hands to herself.

Chuck: She's not you.

Sarah: Chuck . . .

Chuck: I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Look...

Sarah: No, it's okay. I just . . . What are you saying?

Chuck: I miss you.

Sarah: I miss you, too, Chuck.

Sarah: Every day, actually.

Chuck: Really?

Sarah: Of course. Things have been boring around here without you.

Chuck: Oh, yeah. I'll bet. That's me...Chuck: Life of the party

Sarah: ~laughs~ Well, I'm not sure I'd put it that way. You just happen to spice things up. In more ways than one.

Chuck: I'm sure it's easier for you not having to babysit me all the time, though.

Sarah: You know that's not how I see things, Chuck. Our time together has never been work for me, remember?

Chuck: I know. ::sigh:: I'm just worried about failing this class...about not becoming a real spy

Sarah: You've always been a real spy, Chuck. Training or no. And I still don't see what the problem is with the class. Why don't you just kiss your partner if that's what it takes to pass?

Chuck: Because I would feel like I was cheating on you!

Sarah: Oh, Chuck . . .

Chuck: Look...I know that what happened between us...I know it was just that one time, and you probably think it was a mistake...

Sarah: I never said it was a mistake. It probably wasn't appropriate, especially considering what happened afterward.

Sarah: But it wasn't a mistake, Chuck.

Chuck: You really don't think so?

Sarah: I really don't. I could never think that.

Chuck: Okay, but back to my problem...

Sarah: Okay

Chuck: Like, what would you do? I mean, the kissing is bad enough, but what if they want us to do more...

Sarah: They want you to do more??

Sarah: I mean, I guess if you have to do it to pass . . .

Chuck: "If you can't do it here, how will you do it on a mission?" That's what they told me.

Sarah: They're planning on sending you on missions where you'll have to do more? What exactly have they told you, Chuck?

Chuck: ::sigh:: Sarah...I'm the Intersect.

Sarah: Don't say that over IM. And as far as I know, your role isn't to seduce enemy personnel.

Chuck: Per Beckman my job is to do whatever is asked of me. "If you want to be a real spy, you have to act like a real spy."

Sarah: Things sure have changed.

Sarah: Why did you do it, Chuck?

Chuck: I want to be the hero...

Sarah: You already are the hero. You're more heroic than most of the spies I know.

Chuck: But, I wasn't enough, Sarah. I was just Chuck.

Sarah: What's wrong with being just Chuck? It's always been enough for me.

Chuck: But it wasn't! You were going to leave with Bryce, the real hero. I wanted to be the kind of man that you could love.

Sarah: Oh, Chuck. Is that what you really think?

Sarah: Listen . . .I wasn't going to leave with Bryce.

Chuck: What?

Sarah: I wasn't going to leave, Chuck. I was planning on staying in Burbank.

Chuck: Why? You love your job.

Chuck: Sarah?

Chuck: Still there?

Sarah: I'm here.

Chuck: So...why would you stay in Burbank? Surely you didn't dig serving yogurt that much.

Sarah: Are you saying you're not going to try the new Orange Fuzz?

Chuck: Sarah?

Sarah: I like my job, Chuck. I've always been good at it. But you mean more than that. In the end, I decided that I couldn't leave you.

Chuck: You...seriously?

Sarah: Yes. Seriously.

Sarah: It wasn't a mistake, Chuck. Not to me.

Chuck: So, if I fail out here, would I still mean that much to you?

Sarah: If you failed everything else for the rest of your life, I'd still stay. But you won't. You can do anything, remember?

Chuck: I remember. You've always believed in me. Thank you.

Sarah: You're welcome. You deserve to have someone believe in you.

Chuck: So...

Sarah: So . . .

Chuck: I wish I was there so I could take you out on a real date. We never got to do that.

Sarah: Where would you take me?

Chuck: So, I was thinking, with Intersect 2.0, I'd bet I could kick ass at some paintball. You and me against the world.

Sarah: Chuck? Stop saying that you're the Intersect.

Chuck: Don't worry! I've secured this line.

Sarah: Are you sure?

Chuck: Are you kidding? It's me.

Sarah: ~shakes head~ I almost forgot

Sarah: So paintball, huh? What would we do after that? I mean, besides take a shower.

Chuck: Take a shower?

Sarah: I hear that paint ball can be kind of . . . messy.

Chuck: Well, that wasn't on the itinerary, but if you insist...

Sarah: You've always been so giving.

Chuck: That's me...So, would you want me to wash your back for you? I'm sure that paint would be in some hard to reach spots.

Sarah: Hmm, that might be a good idea . . .

Chuck: I'm an idea man, what can I say?

Sarah: So, what else would we do on our date?

Chuck: Well, I was thinking, it might be best to avoid restaurants, or any place where we might run into trouble...

Sarah: You mean you don't want the date to end with Casey crashing his car through a window?

Chuck: Umm...I'll pass. So while you were getting fresh and changing, I would prepare you a nice big meal

Sarah: Hmm. I've always found a man who can cook a little sexy.

Chuck: Really? Well prepare to be turned on by the best homemade manicotti you've ever had in Echo Park

Sarah: Homemade manicotti, huh? That sounds pretty good. And would you wear an apron for me? Because you'd be pretty cute in an apron.

Chuck: Well, I would, but it has instructions on it...

Sarah: Instructions?

Chuck: it says to kiss the chef, and you should always listen to aprons

Sarah: I certainly wouldn't want to be known for disobeying an apron. What would the world think?

Chuck: And after you kissed the chef, I figure we enjoy our dinner...I'd let you pick the wine.

Sarah: I've always been partial to merlot. Of course, there is a slight problem.

Chuck: And that is?

Sarah: Well, wine's always made me feel a little funny. And if we're not careful, I might find myself following that apron's instructions again.

Chuck: Well, as long as you were obeying protocol...

Sarah: Well, of course. Protocol was meant to be obeyed.

Chuck: But it's funny, I have a rule about second kisses on the first date...

Sarah: Really? And what rule is that?

Chuck: I can't stop at two. I must initiate a third kiss

Sarah: Mmm. Well, if you initiate a third kiss, I might have to initiate a fourth. And maybe even a fifth. And then where would we be?

Chuck: Well, five kisses make me feel a little funny...

Sarah: Funny?

Chuck: Like maybe I would start to slide my hands under your shirt...

Sarah: Oh, really? And what would you do then?

Chuck: Well, first, I would just test the waters...see if you were comfortable with what was happening...

Sarah: And if I was?

Chuck: Well, if you were, I would start to rub my hands softly against the small of your back, going higher...higher...

Sarah: Yes?

Chuck: But wait!

Sarah: Wait? For what?

Chuck: Wow, Sarah. During my time away, you've really accrued a lot of stress. I can feel it in the muscles of your back. Know what you need?

Sarah: What's that, Chuck?

Chuck: A world famous, Chuck Bartowski massage.

Sarah: Wow. That sounds pretty amazing. What exactly would it entail?

Chuck: So, first, you need to lose the shirt. I'll turn around if you like...

Sarah: Lose my shirt, huh? You're moving pretty quickly there, Mr. Bartowski.

Chuck: I won't look, I promise. But these hands need room to work, of course.

Sarah: Of course. So you wouldn't even take a peek?

Chuck: Maybe just a little...

Sarah: Well, so long as it was just a little peek . . . And what would those skilled hands be doing during this time?

Chuck: Well, they would be turning on some mood music. Something special to, you know, relax you

Sarah: Would that “something special” happen to be 45 minutes long?

Chuck: Well...around that…maybe closer to 42 minutes, 15 seconds.

Sarah: How did I know?

Chuck: And while you're getting comfortable on the couch, maybe I'd go retrieve the massage oil I have in my room.

Sarah: Just to make sure that I was nice and slick, right?

Chuck: Well, I wouldn't want the rubbing to chafe.

Sarah: Wouldn't want that. And when the music was playing, and the oil was out, what would happen next?

Chuck: So I would rub the oils in my hands, getting them nice and warm for you. Are you ready? Relaxed?

Sarah: Oh, I think I'm more than ready. I'm not quite sure I can say I'm all too relaxed, though.

Chuck: Oh, don't worry. Just let ol' Chuck take care of that.

Sarah: That's what I'm hoping for.

Chuck: So I'd start up around your neck...Wow, Sarah, you have amazing shoulders

Sarah: ~smirks~ I work out.

Chuck: Oh, and it shows.

Sarah: And then where would those hands go?

Chuck: Now I'm sitting with my knees straddling you, my hands continue to work down your back

Sarah: Yes?

Chuck: You have a big knot of stress in line with the bottom of your shoulder blades. I work that out for you, firmly, but carefully.

Sarah: You're always taking care of me.

Chuck: I do my best ::smiles:: So now I'm at the small of your back and I'm working my magic…Are my hands stronger than you thought?

Sarah: Oh, they are. More nimble, too. They feel pretty amazing rubbing against my body. Of course, by the time your nimble fingers have done their work, I might have to do something else.

Chuck: Oh yeah?

Sarah: Yeah. I might have to turn over and make sure that everything was okay. After all, it will have been awhile since I paid any attention to your mouth.

Chuck: This is true. Wouldn't want my mouth to feel neglected.

Sarah: We really wouldn't. So when I turned over onto my back, I'd have to thread my fingers through your curls and bring your lips down for another long kiss.

Chuck: Your kisses are always the best.

Sarah: And this one is more intense than the rest. Because this time, we'd have to heat things up a little bit. I mean, it will be our sixth kiss.

Chuck: Oh, that calls for heat indeed.

Sarah: So when I bring your lips crashing against my lips, I'd have to run my tongue along the length of your soft, warm mouth.

Chuck: Mmmm...and I'd have to open my mouth to your probing tongue

Sarah: Well, then things would really heat up. Because soon I'd be running my tongue along the moist depths of your mouth, before sliding it sensuously along your own tongue. And in the process, my hands would have to do some exploring of their own.

Chuck: Oh would they? Where are your hands, Agent Walker?

Sarah: Well, they've been kind of bored up until now. But when we start to kiss, I'll have to extract them from those gorgeous curls and move them underneath your shirt.

Chuck: Well, that's only fair after where my hands have been...

Sarah: And I'd have to run my fingers along those muscles that I know are getting toned during your training. In fact, I'd really have to explore your muscular back, making sure that I touch every inch of skin that I can reach.

Chuck: Touch me, Sarah. I want you to feel how much stronger I am.

Sarah: Your muscles ripple underneath my touch, but they’re so tense. I think it's time for a massage of your own, Chuck. Of course, that would mean that you’d have to remove your shirt first.

Chuck: Well, of course. Wouldn't want that getting in the way.

Sarah: And once your shirt is off, we'll have to exchange positions. I'll lay you on your toned stomach, and straddle your hips while applying a liberal amount of oil to my hands.

Chuck: Mmhmm...and during this exchange, I might have to sneak one more kiss

Sarah: I'll caress your swollen lips with my warm mouth, before starting a trail along your jaw line. I'll run my lips along your jaw, and then down your muscular neck, until I finally get to the back of your shoulders. And as my hands explore your body, making sure that my fingers knead every robust surface, I'll kiss a trail down your back.

Chuck: Oh my God...your lips feel so good against my skin...

Sarah: Oh, really? Then we can't stop there.

Chuck: We can't?

Sarah: Of course not.

Chuck: Then what shall we do?

Sarah: If my lips feel that good, then I'll have to coax you to move onto your back. And then, I can begin moving my mouth along your strong abs. Unfortunately, at this point my tongue's getting a little bored.

Chuck: Well, that's been known to happen. How will we fix that?

Sarah: Oh, don't worry. As I kiss your abs, I'll run my tongue along your torso, blazing a path up your chest. I’ll run it along those strong pecs, before I finally travel to your throat. And once I'm there, I might have to suck the hollow just above your collarbone.

Chuck: Damn, you know that's my spot...

Sarah: Is it now? Remind me to take notes. Of course, there is just one problem.

Chuck: Oh no! What is it?

Sarah: Well, I've got quite a bit to keep me busy. But what are you doing during all this time?

Chuck: Well, you know I can't keep still anyway...

Sarah: Really? Never would have guessed. Is that why you never stay in the car?

Chuck: LOL, we'll talk about that later...

Sarah: Maybe we will. But what are we doing now?

Chuck: My hands have begun to wander again, and now they’re on the small of your back, my fingers teasing the waistband of your jeans...

Sarah: They feel pretty good there . . .

Chuck: dipping ever so slightly into your panties and then pulling back

Sarah: Mmm, keep going . . .

Chuck: Well, now I have to move down some...I want to feel more of you...

Sarah: That's definitely important.

Chuck: So my hands slide down your hips, and I begin to caress your sculpted thighs

Sarah: Your hands are so firm and warm. Would they do anything else?

Chuck: Of course. They are magic, after all

Sarah: After all

Chuck: I would use them to pull you away from my neck...just for a moment so I could see your beautiful blue eyes

Sarah: Oh, Chuck. Sometimes you're such a sap. But in a good way. And as I'm looking into your deep brown eyes, what would you be doing?

Chuck: Well, you know how you make me smile...

Sarah: You know how I love that smile.

Chuck: And I live to please you.

Sarah: You're doing a pretty good job right now.

Chuck: Speaking of...I would kiss you again, lightly on your lips before I started to move down your neck, my hands leading the way...

Sarah: Your lips feel so good.

Chuck: And after a brief stop around that little place just below your ear, my lips keep moving down...down...

Sarah: Yes?

Chuck: And now my hands and my lips are on your breast...

Sarah: God, Chuck. What are they doing there?

Chuck: I'm teasing your hard nipple with my tongue...Licking lightly around it...

Sarah: Your tongue is warm and moist and smooth as it rubs against my body. Keep going . . .

Chuck: My thumb rubs over it roughly, before I suck it into my mouth

Sarah: Mmm . . . Chuck?

Chuck: Yes, Sarah?

Sarah: Hold on. I need to close shop.

Chuck: K

Sarah: You were saying?

Chuck: Umm...well, I think my mouth was on your breast, yeah?

Sarah: Definitely

Chuck: I'm biting very gently into your soft flesh

Sarah: God, Chuck. That feels amazing.

Chuck: Rolling the nipple between my tongue and teeth

Sarah: Sucking it into your warm, moist mouth.

Chuck: But wait, where did my other hand go?

Sarah: I don't know, but I have a feeling that you'll tell me. Quickly.

Chuck: Oh, there it is, rubbing your mound through your pants.

Sarah: How did we lose track of that?

Chuck: God, I can feel the heat you have between your legs.

Sarah: So can I.

Sarah: But it really isn't fair for you to be paying so much attention to me, when I haven't done anything to you for awhile.

Chuck: Well, I'm all about being fair. How would you make it even?

Sarah: As you're paying attention to my breasts and my jeans, I'd have to slip my fingers ever so casually underneath the waistband of your pants, running my fingertips along the smooth, heated skin of your lower back.

Chuck: Mmm...your hands are so soft.

Sarah: Of course, because you're laying on your back, it would be much easier for me to move my hands around to the front of your jeans. And when I'm there, it would really make sense for me to unbutton them and begin to slowly lower the zipper.

Chuck: Well, it's the only thing that makes sense.

Sarah: It is. And I always try to play by the rules. But once your zipper is lowered, my hands would have to explore just a little bit lower.

Chuck: Go lower, baby.

Sarah: In fact, I'd have to make sure that I paid as much attention to this area as I did to your back and your abs. So my fingers would gradually descend, past your happy trail, down your groin and into the opening of your boxers. And when I've reached that point . . .

Last Message Sent at 1:02.

Chuck: Sarah?

Sarah: Yes?

Chuck: Touch me?

Sarah: Are you sure that's what you want, Chuck?

Chuck: God, I've never wanted anything more.

Sarah: Well, if you insist. I'd push my hand into the opening of your boxers until I found your hard length. And once I've done that, once my fingers have brushed against your delicious cock, I'd have to curl them around your shaft and begin pumping it in my firm fist.

Chuck: Oh, yes Sarah. Pump me.

Sarah: And while my tongue darts out to caress your ear, and I suck your earlobe into my mouth, I'd have to use my other hand to push your boxers out of the way. And even though I'd have to remove my hand from your cock for a moment, I'd make sure to fondle it again. Only this time, my other hand will descend so that I can cup your balls. I wouldn't want it to get bored, after all.

Chuck: Wouldn't want that. I'm anti-boredom.

Sarah: Good to know. Because as I continue to suck on your ear, I'll make sure that you're as entertained as possible. In fact, I'll continue to pump you in my fist, and fondle your balls, and run my tongue along your earlobe, sucking it hard into my mouth until you're moaning so loudly that it causes the walls to shake.

Chuck: God, Sarah, that feels SO good...

Sarah: Does it now?

Chuck: It really does. I've so missed your touch.

Sarah: It's not much longer now, Chuck. Only a few more weeks, and we can practice in person. If that's what you want?

Chuck: Sarah, you know I do. I want this so much...

Sarah: Good. Because I want it, too. I'm just not sure how we're going to make it work.

Chuck: How about like this: I'll pull your hand away gently...after all, I don't want this to end just yet.

Sarah: Wouldn't want that.

Chuck: Now I have to roll you over on your back for this next part, so I hug your body close to mine as I switch our positions.

Sarah: Your arms feel so good, wrapped around my naked back.

Chuck: Those pants look awfully constricting, Sarah. Maybe I should unbutton them for you.

Sarah: Maybe you should . . .

Chuck: So I do, and I unzip your tight jeans...

Sarah: Go on, Chuck . . .

Chuck: Wow, the black panties Sarah? Did you plan on this happening?

Sarah: ~laughs~ Wouldn't you like to know?

Chuck: Mmm...that's my devious little kickass ninja girl...

Sarah: ~Your~ devious little kickass ninja girl, huh? I like the sound of that . . .

Chuck: I hope that you do. You'll always be mine, Sarah, as long as you'll have me. But now, I need you to lift your hips so I can slide these jeans off.

Sarah: And I always obey orders.

Sarah: Most of the time.

Chuck: I'm blazing a trail of kisses down your torso as I remove the offending garment.

Sarah: Your lips travel down my stomach, moving steadily lower as my head slips back against the couch.

Chuck: I slide them over your thighs, down your calves, and over your feet, casting the denim aside

Sarah: Thank God that’s out of the way. What happens now?

Chuck: Huh, I can't believe I didn't notice how pretty your feet are before

Sarah: Chuck! My feet can wait.

Chuck: But I have to kiss you there, very lightly on the top of your foot...then on your ankle...slowly moving back up your calve...

Sarah: I like where this is going . . .

Chuck: Right behind your knee. Huh, I see a scar there. I never knew about any knee surgery, but I take special care to kiss where the incision once was

Sarah: Maybe I'll tell you about it one day. Keep going.

Chuck: Up your thigh, running my tongue along your skin...

Sarah: Your tongue is so warm and slick.

Chuck: Now I kiss your hip, right on your panty line

Sarah: Mmm. And then?

Chuck: I start to pull the fabric away with my teeth

Sarah: God, Chuck. I can feel your warm mouth. What happens next?

Chuck: I pause, just briefly to blow across your sex

Sarah: Your breath is amazing, hot and gentle against my aching thighs.

Chuck: Then I continue removing your underwear which are once again firmly between my teeth. Lift up for me?

Sarah: Anything. Just kiss me, Chuck. I need to feel you.

Chuck: I pull them the rest of the way down, and off. Now you're below me, naked and I'm a bit stunned by how beautiful you are...But I don't want to make you wait any longer...
Sarah: You’d better not . . .

Chuck: What do you want me to do for you, Sarah?

Sarah: I want you to kiss me, Chuck. I want you to move your tongue along my clit. I want to feel your fingers moving inside me.

Chuck: Well, I can never say no to you...

Sarah: Wouldn't want things to get unpleasant

Chuck: My mouth descends to your mound...I kiss just outside of you, before my tongue starts to move towards your waiting sex...

Sarah: I arch toward your touch.

Chuck: I lick along your outer lips, then move my tongue to move around your clit...but not touching it...not yet

Sarah: Please . . .

Chuck: I tease you a little further, as my hand has traversed a path up your leg and now is next to my mouth....

Sarah: Touch me, Chuck. Please touch me.

Chuck: I put two fingers barely inside of you as my tongue finally caresses your clit

Sarah: Oh God . . .

Chuck: I thrust forward with both fingers, crooking them once they're inside...

Sarah: Move them inside of me, Chuck. I need to feel you inside me.

Chuck: My tongue swirling around your hardened nub, over it, around it, over it, and my fingers continue to move around inside of you.

Sarah: I start to moan your name, softer at first but then louder and louder as my walls start to clench around your fingers. It feels so good. You feel so good.

Chuck: I open my eyes and look up at your face. I want to see you come, but even as I look up, my tongue and fingers begin to work faster...

Sarah: Faster, Chuck. Harder.

Chuck: I'm now thrusting my digits into you at a furious pace. My tongue is in hyper drive

Sarah: Deeper, Chuck. I want you to bury your fingers all the way to the knuckle.

Chuck: I wrap my lips around your clit and suck it into my mouth, now I can massage it completely with my tongue....and my fingers are all the way inside of you...as far as they'll go...and a third finger has joined the party as well. Hard. Fast. Deep.

Sarah: My hips are arching toward your hand. God, Chuck. Don't stop. Please don't stop.

Chuck: I couldn't stop now...not when you're so close. I continue fingering your depths with reckless abandon, thrusting in, and twisting, pulling back, and thrusting again

Sarah: And as your fingers move feverishly inside of me, as your tongue continues to ravish my clit, as I feel myself losing control, I cry out your name and spasm around your hand, the pleasure coursing over me in waves.

Chuck: I get a warm feeling inside as I watch your climax. As I feel you stiffen and then relax under my touch. And I continue soft ministrations as I help you ride out your orgasm. You're so beautiful.

Sarah: You're amazing. I've...never wanted anyone so much.

Chuck: Me neither. You're the only one, Sarah.

Sarah: What did I do to deserve someone like you, Chuck?

Chuck: Sarah, you're the most amazing woman I've ever met. You deserve anything you want. You deserve the world.

Sarah: Do me a favor?

Chuck: Of course.

Sarah: Tell your instructor that your handler has given you permission to flunk your class.

Chuck: Gladly.

Sarah: You know, we still have one more problem.

Chuck: That is?

Sarah: You've brought me to climax, but I haven't done anything for you.

Chuck: Oh no! Whatever shall we do?

Sarah: Well, we're both laying here naked. I think we can think of something. Maybe if I just gently took you back into the palm of my hand . . .

Chuck: Mmmm...I love your hands...

Sarah: I hope that's not all you love.

Chuck: Oh, don't worry, there's not a part of you that I don't love...

Sarah: Let's test that theory, shall we? I mean, since I'm already so wet, I think we should do something about our little problem.

Chuck: I agree. Wouldn't want to waste the wetness.

Sarah: All that hard work for nothing? Never. So as I take you into the palm of my hand, I wrap my legs around your hips and slowly guide you to my slick opening.

Chuck: Oh god, you're so slick and warm, and tight

Sarah: And you're so hard and ready. So I spread myself apart, and I arch toward your rigid shaft.

Chuck: I can't wait to be inside of you

Sarah: The moment you're positioned, you push down inside of me. Gently, you bury yourself as deep as you can go. And as I feel you inside of me for the very first time, my eyes roll back and I moan loudly, relishing the feel of you inside my warm folds.

Chuck: And I gasp, as I feel you encircling me in your womanhood....it feels so good...so right

Sarah: It feels perfect. And as you seat yourself inside my depths, I begin to clench my muscles around your cock, using my sleek muscles to caress your aching shaft. Your own eyes roll back, and you tip your head back in ecstasy.

Chuck: It feels so good...you feel so good

Sarah: Rhythmically, I pulse around you, enjoying the sounds emanating from your mouth. Enjoying the look on your face. Enjoying the way you hold me as you begin to pump inside my sleek body.

Chuck: Sarah, keep doing that, baby.

Sarah: And just like with your fingers, I need to feel more of you. I need to feel all of you. I need you moving as deep and as fast and as hard as you can go. So I anchor my ankles around your lower back, and I begin to push you deeper, faster, harder with the heels of the feet you liked so much.

Chuck: Oh God! I'm all the way to the hilt inside of you, and the speed and ferocity is just so...oh my God!

Sarah: You feel so amazing buried deep inside of me. It's unlike anything I've ever felt before. You're unlike anything I've ever felt before. And as I urge you to pump as hard and as fast and as deep as you can go, I feel myself nearing the edge. I feel myself losing control. I feel myself succumbing to the blissful heat coursing through my body.

Chuck: I feel you pulsing around me, and I know you're close...and it still amazes me that I can get you here. But I know I don't have much longer either.

Sarah: Even if it shouldn't. Because out of every man I've ever known, you're the only one who can make me feel like this. And as I feel you start to lose control, I clench my walls around your swollen cock, urging you to let go. Urging you to give in.

Chuck: Oh Sarah, I'm going to let go...I'm going to...Oh God! I bury as deep in you as I can go, and I empty myself into your depths

Sarah: And as I feel you come, as I hear you scream my name, I cry out in ecstasy and feel myself spasming around your cock. Falling breathlessly back onto the couch, I lean my head against your shoulder and kiss your damp cheek, reveling in the way you've made me feel.

Chuck: I'm out of breath now, but I've never felt better. Never felt closer to anyone than I feel to you right now

Sarah: The feeling is mutual.

Chuck: I hold you tight against me, and I never want to let go

Sarah: I wrap my arms around your back and brush light kisses against your jaw, amazed that you have this kind of power over me. That you can make me feel as good as you do.

Sarah: Because when I'm with you, I want that normal life.

Chuck: And when I'm with you, I don't care what kind of life we have, as long as we're together.

Sarah: Chuck?

Chuck: Yes?

Chuck: ?? Sarah ??

Sarah: I love you.

Chuck: You…You love me?

Sarah: I do.

Chuck: I love you too, you know?

Sarah: Really?

Chuck: More than anything.

Sarah: I don't really know where to go from here. I really wish you weren't still the Intersect.

Chuck: Sarah?

Sarah: Yeah?

Chuck: We'll figure something out. I promise. I love you, and you love me, and that's all that matters, alright?

Sarah: I hope so. But this has been amazing. And I have just one more favor to ask.

Chuck: Shoot.

Sarah: Tell that bimbo that you're taken.

Chuck: Hahaha, done.

Sarah: Talk to you later?

Chuck: Of course. I'm actually late for a class anyway. I need to go tell them I won't be attending that particular instruction anymore, I guess.

Sarah: Or you could always ask for a male partner. I wouldn't mind.

Chuck: I don't know, Sarah. Some of them are kinda pretty...

Sarah: On second thought, tell them that a high level CIA agent has waived this particular requirement because you've already passed with flying colors.

Chuck: Flying colors?

Sarah: Oh, yeah.

Chuck: Done. Well, let me go risk ruining my career as a spy (not that I care). And Sarah?

Sarah: Yes, Chuck?

Chuck: I love you.

Sarah: Me, too.

FIC: All He Ever Needs (Chuck) (PART TWO)

mikki13 — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 01:26:13 GMT

Title: All He Ever Needs (PART TWO)
Authors: Collab Effort by wepdiggy and mikki13
Rating: NC-17 (Really NC-75, but who's counting age?)
Word Count: 11,995 (more than half of which is mind blowing sex)
Characters: Chuck/Sarah (over and over again)
A/N: Be forewarned. The fic you have before you may cause brain melting, spontaneous combustion, and embarrassing displays of fondling and inappropriate sounds. Please do not read this fic in public. Please do not read this fic around family. If you ignore these instructions, there's a possibility of unexpected jail time and perhaps even sudden death. You have been warned.
Disclaimer: Chuck and Sarah belong to NBC. The chaste, wholesome minds belong to Wepdiggy and Mikki13.

Summary: Despite the obstacles and regardless of the hurdles, Chuck discovers that there's just one thing he's ever really needed. One person who eclipses all else, and makes everything worthwhile.

Chuck's a little surprised with how quick she's moved things along, but he knows he shouldn't be. When Sarah wants something, she'll usually take it. He runs his hand softly over her face, through her hair, finally down her back, lifting her onto the table with both hands, holding her tightly against his body as he continues to kiss her back.

His kisses have an intoxicating impact on Sarah, causing her breath to emerge in ragged gasps and her heart to beat a discordant rhythm within her chest. The way Chuck's touching her, the trails of heat his fingers are leaving upon her skin, cause a rush of pleasure to course through her slender frame. "Chuck," she murmurs into his mouth, her own hands traveling along his soft, slightly muscular arms.

The sound of his name upon her lips causes Chuck’s heart to skip a beat as another smile spreads across his face. This is all he's ever wanted. Not just the physical stuff, but Sarah letting him in . . . allowing herself to belong to him, even as he's belonged to her since the first time he laid eyes on her. And when he feels her hands traversing his arms, and threading through his hair, his senses nearly catch fire. Every nerve in his body is exploding with the impulses only Sarah can make him have. It's an incredible mixture of arousal and emotion that threatens to overwhelm him. He doesn't know if he wants to call her name, or cry. So he cries her name.

When her name emanates from his lips, when it sounds within the open recesses of the largely unfurnished apartment, Sarah's breath catches in her throat, and she's suddenly unable to stop the unguarded emotion from flooding her eyes. Her pulse racing through her veins, she swallows gently as she leans in to capture his mouth once more. And as her tongue darts into his warm, moist depths, as it traces his cheeks and the rooftop of his mouth before finally tangling tortuously with his own, as she pushes her fingers underneath his shirt and begins to knead his smooth back, she realizes just how far gone she really is. Hooking her legs around his hips, she gives into his touch just as she's always wanted to give into the emotions coursing through her chest.

When Sarah wraps her legs around him, Chuck realizes that he’s never felt more at "home" than he does in this moment. Everything about Sarah . . . her touch, her smell, her taste is now, and will forever be the center of his universe. Her nimble fingers lightly massaging and pressing into the muscles of his back feel so damn good, and his eyes flutter open briefly. When they do, when he takes in the look upon her face, he's rewarded with a glimpse of all of the emotion radiating from her eyes . . . all of the longing, and need, and maybe another "L" word that he'll avoid for now, but that causes another rush of hope to race through his frame.

But before he can really reflect on his thoughts, before he can really fall into his hopes, she shuts her eyes again and he feels her plunge her tongue back into his mouth. Almost immediately, things heat up once more. The duel of their tongues is furious, and he can't help but think that there's no loser in this battle. And now that her legs are securing her to his body, he allows one of his hands to move down them, caressing her thigh.

A thrill of pleasure races up Sarah's thigh and directly into her groin as Chuck's fingers knead her soft, heated skin. Tightening her legs around his waist, she pushes herself closer to his solid frame, her heated sex suddenly coming into contact with his concealed, yet rapidly hardening cock. A breathless whimper escapes her lips as the pleasure within her groin grows more pronounced at the delicious sensation. Slipping Chuck's shirt from his slick torso, she breaks contact with his mouth for only a minute, her eyes quickly locking onto his own. What she sees there, what she finds reflected within his depths causes the emotion within her own eyes to intensify. For a moment, she finds herself unmasked, unguarded, and completely vulnerable. And while the feeling causes her stomach to knot as cold fingers of fear wind their way down her spine, she remains firmly fixed within his arms. Because no matter how difficult it might be, and no matter how hard they might have to work, there's no way she can stop this now. There’s no way she can hide from the emotions which are finally surfacing, which have finally been unleashed. So when he leans forward and brushes his mouth against her succulent lips, and when his hands begin to explore her body once more, she allows herself to let go. She allows herself to give in. And she allows herself to stop worrying, to stop fearing, and to simply show him how much she cares.

Chuck can't help but notice the irony the moment poses. His shirt is off, and although he can feel the heat emanating from between Sarah's legs, rubbing deliciously against his groin, she’s still fully clothed. And yet, when she looks into his eyes, and she allows him to see what she truly feels, he can't help but think she appears to feel much more naked, much more exposed than he is. He tries to soothe her fears, allowing his own emotions to shine brightly from his eyes, allowing her to see that he feels exactly the same way. And eventually, the fear she'd radiated before seems to dissipate, the panic which had wafted across her face seems to disappear, and she melts back into his embrace.

Smiling in relief, in affection, he pulls up at the corner of her shirt, and Sarah takes the hint and pulls it over her head. Immediately, a new rush of electricity courses up his spine. The feel of her slick skin rubbing against his slick skin is beyond anything he's ever felt before. And when she snakes her arm behind her back to pop the clasp on her bra, Chuck's breath is completely taken. "You're so beautiful," he whispers.

A pink tinge colors Sarah’s cheeks as Chuck’s enthusiastic, affectionate eyes caress her tender breasts. And in that moment, as she sits exposed before him and she feels his body warm against her own, she realizes that she’s never felt more safe. She’s never felt more protected. She’s never felt more desired. "Touch me, Chuck," she whispers, angling her body so that her breasts are closer to his hand. "It's okay."

Chuck swallows harshly. This is where he always dreamed this was going. Where he always feared it was going. This is Sarah, and he can't afford to not be perfect for her. Hesitantly, he moves his hand up her torso, nearly shaking with anticipation. He kisses her again, once on the lips, then her jaw, down her neck, and he's relieved that she can't see the worry in his eyes. This is everything he wants . . . she's everything he wants, and he only hopes he's good enough. Finally, his fingers reach home, and he touches her bare breast. He hears, and feels Sarah inhale sharply when his fingers begin to trace a path around her hard nipple. His mouth has continued its descent, and soon joins his hand on her breast. He feels and hears her moan when he sucks her nipple ever so gently into his mouth.

Sarah's hands come to rest on the table behind her, and she leans backward onto her palms, thrusting her breasts toward Chuck's gentle, passionate touch. The feel of his nimble fingers, the sensation of his heated tongue, the way he holds her as he earnestly explores her body – all of it is intoxicating, exhilarating. Soft blissful whimpers sound from the back of her throat as her shoulders rise and fall in a discordant rhythm, the feel of Chuck's touch the only thing that really registers within her mind. And as Chuck relishes the sounds emanating from her mouth, his insecurity leaves him little by little. With every ragged breath, with every whimper he hears from Sarah, he’s more sure that what he’s doing is right. That he’s making her feel at least a little like he feels. So he continues to eagerly but gently tease, and caress, and worship her perfect breasts with his tongue and his fingers, reveling in the feel of her underneath his mouth.

Sarah’s mind goes blissfully blank as Chuck continues to caress her tender nipples, as he continues to tease her sensitive breasts. And as prickles of pleasure trickle down her spine, she instinctively raises her right hand and brings it to the front of his jeans, cupping his hardened shaft through the rough material. Fondling his firm length, her fingers squeeze him in time to the soft, warm flicks of his tongue. And when a low moan escapes his lips, Chuck stops for just a moment, pulling back so that he can look her in the eyes. Pulling back so that he can show her what he wants.

He knows she can see what he’s feeling. The longing, the need for more. And he knows she can see his silent plea. Please? He isn’t sure if he actually voiced it or not. He’s so full of emotion that he’s not even sure he’s capable of speaking. Even so, and despite the daze into which Sarah has fallen, she somehow seems to know exactly what he means without him even having to say a word.

Gazing into Chuck’s gleaming eyes, Sarah's heart skips a beat as she breathes in the emotion so apparent within his brown depths. Slowly lifting her other hand off the table, she gradually brings her fingertip in contact with his smooth, pink mouth. Tracing the lines of his flawless lips, she allows herself to fall into his gaze, to register the unspoken words so prevalent within his eyes. And in that moment, she realizes that this is no longer a game. This is no longer a night of harmless unpacking, or pleasant talking, or even teasing banter. In the space of a quiet evening, she and Chuck have crossed the line so quickly that the boundaries have become obscure, the parameters blurred. And as Chuck places gentle kisses along her finger, sending an electrical current racing from the tip of her hand straight up her arm, she realizes that she doesn't want it any other way. Because even though she's refused to admit it until now, and despite the fact that she's not sure where they'll go from here, she's never wanted anyone this badly. She's never needed anyone this much. So when he asks the silent question with his eyes, when it passes between them as if he's speaking it aloud, she knows there's really only one answer.

Leaning forward, she replaces her hand with her lips, brushing them against his heated mouth. "Okay," she whispers. "Yes, Chuck." And as she continues to caress his mouth with her swollen lips, she unbuttons his jeans and reaches for his zipper, slowly pulling down on the piece of metal until she can push his pants down his hips. Kissing a trail down his jaw line to his soft, supple neck, she reaches into his boxers and gently takes him into the palm of her hand.

Chuck's eyes widen with surprise as he feels the new sensation, as Sarah wraps her fingers around his aching cock. The implications of just what is happening are both startling and very much a relief. And as she starts to pump him lightly in her fist, his head tips back, and he basks in the feel of her ardent touch. Reaching his arms around her slender frame, he leans forward to kiss her yet again even as soft groans sound from his throat. Groans which increase in volume and fervor when he feels another new sensation. Glancing down, he notices that Sarah’s skirt has ridden up her hips and his cock is brushing against the satin of her panties, even while still enclosed within her firm fist. And as he feels the pressure build within his balls, he realizes that her silky underwear are now wet with her arousal. God, he can smell her excitement, and knowing that she's looking forward to what's happening, and what's going to happen as much as he is thrills him to no end. Still, he needs to know.

"Sarah," he says hoarsely. "We don't have to do this. . .if you don't want to."

Sarah's hand stills for a moment, her fingers still wrapped gently around his swollen shaft as she absorbs Chuck's words. She can hear what he's saying, what he's not saying, and the significance sends a rush of compassion racing through her chest. Her lips curl upward into a soft, knowing smile as she extracts her hand, and allows her forehead to fall against his own. "I know," she whispers, gazing into his eyes as she tries to make him understand. As she tries to show him that even though he may not think he's good enough for her, the truth is that he's all she's ever wanted. He’s all she’s ever needed. Even if she's just now admitting it to herself.

"But I want this, Chuck," she continues. "I want you." I've wanted you for the past two years. For a moment, her mind drifts back to earlier that evening, to his continual insistence that his things were also, somehow, hers. And now, as the many ramifications of their tryst become clear within her mind, she understands what that really means. And she knows that she wants it, too.

Pushing her lips against his mouth once more, she moves forward on the table until she can lock her ankles around his back. And then she tries to show him with actions what her words may or may not have truly expressed. Rubbing against his groin, a red hot jolt reverberates through her core as his cock brushes against her damp panties, causing her to moan in anticipation and pleasure. Threading her fingers through his hair, she pulls him toward her and sucks on his lower lip, deepening the kiss.

I want you. Her words are like water to a man that's been traveling the desert for months. It's exactly what Chuck wants to hear. What he needs to hear. And when she kisses him, so deeply. When her legs wrap around him, and his groin presses against the fabric that's separating him from her heated sex, Chuck knows. This is as important to her as it is to him. He doesn't know why someone like Sarah feels like this about a nerd like him, but he's not in the mood to ask any more questions. He’s not in the mood to second guess her any further.

Grabbing her leg gently at the knee, he moves his hand gradually upward, over her smooth, toned thigh, under her skirt, and to the source of her heat. His thumb brushes over her hardened nub, and he begins to make slow circles around it, teasing her, basking in the glow of the pleasure that she's not hiding from him, at all. He looks Sarah in the eyes, and she gives him what he's sure is silent consent as he very delicately pulls aside her panties, and inserts a finger into her velvety folds, even as his thumb continues to massage her clit. And when she closes her eyes and moans, he adds a second finger, thrusting them both in and out of her slowly, provocatively. The reaction he receives is almost enough to make him lose it right there.

Her breath emerging in gasps, Sarah's forehead falls onto Chuck's shoulder, her hands buried in his hair as his fingers slide gently yet sensuously into her slick, hot sex. "God, Chuck," she groans, turning her head so that her lips brush against his ear. "That feels so good." Her tongue darts out to flick against his earlobe even as she begins to thrust her hips toward his hand, willing his fingers to work faster, push deeper, to bring her to the point of ecstasy. Sucking his ear into her mouth, she rides his hand with abandon, moaning softly against his neck.

He plunges his fingers repeatedly into her silky folds, burying them up to the knuckle as he continues to flick his thumb insistently against her clit. And when she finally feels the spark, when her walls clench around his skilled fingers and the feeling of pure pleasure floods her frame, she feels her defensive fortifications start to crumble, her careful defenses begin to falter. And in that moment, in the instant that she feels herself start to let go, she wonders what took her so long to let Chuck in. What took her so long to succumb to the feelings coursing through her veins.

Coming back down from her high, a fleeting sense of emptiness engulfs her when Chuck pulls his fingers from her slick, hot center. Even so, she releases his earlobe and places a gentle kiss on his cheek, knowing there will be more to come. "Wow, Chuck," she drawls, leaning back to grin at the computer nerd. "You really have picked up some moves."

Chuck smiles playfully. "There's more where that came from, Professor Walker," he teases. And then he makes a decision. He wants this night, this union, to be all about her. She's made him feel special since he's known her, and he needs her to know that she's special, too. With that in mind, he kisses her again and lays her flat on the table, causing her answering quip to die in her throat as she blinks in surprise at his sudden shift in demeanor. And as his fingers loop around the sides of her panties, and he begins to slowly, tortuously kiss down her neck, sucking briefly at the joint of her collarbone and throat, she hastily succumbs to his touch. And when he continues his steady path down her body, placing a heated kiss between her breasts, and then along her firm, taut belly, and finally upon the hem of her skirt, her breathing turns ragged once more.

Pulling Sarah’s panties down little by little, Chuck’s lips stop on her lower belly, her panties around her knees. Coaxing her to lift her legs, he slips them off completely before resuming his attack on her body with his sensuous mouth. A mouth that gradually moves lower, that slowly travels down her abdomen until he finally brushes his lips against her outer folds. Sarah gasps in shocked delight, moaning Chuck’s name as his tongue flicks across her lips. As his warm breath moves tantalizingly against her inner thighs. As his smooth lips graze her sensitive center. As she slowly loses control when Chuck begins to explore her body anew, his only thought that Sarah Walker is the sweetest taste he's ever known.

Spreading her apart, Chuck runs his tongue along the length of her, tasting every inch as she arches toward his touch and a jolt of pleasurable pain shoots straight through her core. "Chuck," she moans, her shaking fingers finding their way into his hair. "Oh . . . Chuck." Chuck smiles softly as his tongue strokes her clit, as he moves it hard against her folds, as he brushes it against her velvety center. And soon, Sarah’s body begins to writhe, and rock, and tremble as his tongue slides along every fold, slipping into every crevice, savoring every inch of her sensitive sex. The pressure builds within her belly, tiny prickles of electric bliss racing quickly through her groin. Chuck’s name becomes a mantra upon her lips, the single syllable joining the rhythmic cadence of their movements. And when her pleasure reaches a crescendo, and she spasms underneath his touch, it finally escapes her lips in one delightful scream.

It takes her several moments to catch her breath. When she finally does, she makes up her own mind. For two years, she's fought her growing feelings for Chuck. For two years, she's held him at arm's length. But after everything they've been through, after everything they've shared, and after the way he's made her feel tonight, she wants nothing more than to show him how she really feels. Even if the very idea causes her stomach to clench as the selfsame icy tendrils thread through her muscles, she's going to let Chuck Bartowski know just how much she cares about him. She’s going to let him know just how much she wants him in her life. Even if this is the only chance they'll ever have, she’s going to let go.

Pinching her lips together as the decision forms within her mind, she slowly lifts her hips and pulls down her skirt. And then she comes to a sitting position, her bright blue eyes locking onto his own cinnamon brown. "C'mere," she says, her voice thick with emotion.

Chuck acquiesces to Sarah’s command, and finds his way into her embrace. He holds her tight against him, her face buried in his chest. And although at this point they’re both completely undressed; and although Chuck can feel Sarah’s smooth skin against his own; and although her thighs, slick with her arousal, are wrapped around his hips, this moment isn’t one of lust for Chuck. This moment, when Sarah seems to finally be opening to him, when the emotion and caring are bright within her eyes, when the acceptance is clear upon her face, is more meaningful than anything he’s ever experienced. Being with Sarah, being a part of her is almost spiritual in nature.

“Sarah,” he breathes reverently, almost like a prayer. And when she lifts her head to look at him again, he sees that she feels it, too. They might not have this very much, or maybe ever again, but what they’re sharing with one another is more than most people get to share in a lifetime. And Chuck is grateful for this chance.

He feels her inch her hips ever so subtly closer to him, and he knows what she wants, what she needs. He needs it, too. So very gently, he tips her back slightly, still holding her firm in his strong arms. Shaking with anticipation, he lines the head of his cock up with Sarah’s entrance. Then he breathes in deeply before pushing himself delicately inside of her. And once he’s seated inside her warm, slick, tight walls, he stills for a moment, determined to enjoy this for as long as he can. In fact, he’d stay like this forever if he could. But before he can give into the thought, before he can lose himself in the moment, he pushes forward, then slides almost out of her before thrusting back in.

His name is lost in the whimpers sounding from Sarah’s lips, her legs again wrapping around his back and her ankles again anchoring her to his sleek, solid body. Every nerve ending springs to life, every synapse firing simultaneously as his rock hard cock plunges deep inside her tender folds, the sensation causing her to groan and buck her hips. She's been with other men; she's been in other arms. But as she builds a natural, instinctual rhythm with the man held tightly within her arms, as his slick skin slides tantalizingly against her body and his lips move heatedly together with her own, she realizes that she's never been with a man like this. She's never completely molded into another man's embrace, she's never completely lost herself in another man's touch. She's never cared about anybody like she cares about Chuck. Falling into the cadence of their forbidden dance, her hips move urgently, ardently against his own as the fire starts to course through her groin and her velvet walls begin to tighten around Chuck’s rigid shaft.

Relishing the feel of Sarah’s inner muscles rippling around his cock, Chuck knows that many men in his position would feel some great rush of egotism at the feeling of bringing the beautiful, strong, smart woman before him to this point yet again. And yet he doesn't feel that at all. What he's done, he's done for Sarah, not to her. Even so, and despite all of his great intentions and the emotional connection that their bond represents, Chuck is still a man. And what they’re doing is bringing him great physical pleasure as well.

The pressure starts to mount in his balls, and he instinctively knows that he won’t last much longer. It's all he can do to hold out now. And God, how he wants to hold out. To make this last forever. But he's not built that way. And with every thrust of his cock, and every time that Sarah's hips move in accordance with his own, and every plunge he takes into her warm depths, and every moan or groan or gasp he hears from her, he moves infinitely closer to allowing himself to let go. A fact even more apparent when Sarah’s silky walls start to tighten around his shaft. Strengthening his arms around her body as her muscles clench around his cock, Chuck grits his teeth, willing himself to hold on just a little longer. Willing himself to go just a little bit more. Pulling almost completely out of her sleek folds, he slams back into her heated center, burying himself as far as he can go. He gives her everything he has, and he can see that she appreciates it from the ragged breaths and gurgled moans she's producing.

The burning ache deep within her center intensifies to an euphoric peak, and Sarah feels herself constricting around Chuck's hardened shaft, the sensation sending a blazing thrill down her arms, into her stomach, up her spine. Instinctively, she moves her lips to his neck, sinking her teeth gently into his damp skin as he brings her ever closer to the brink, causing him to shudder with pleasure. Her body starts to tremble as she pulls Chuck even nearer, pushing him deeper, harder, quicker into her slick, hot core. And when he obliges, quickening his pace, her heart begins to pound, her breathing turns erratic, and she realizes that she's never felt more alive. She's never felt as good as she feels right now, held tightly in Chuck's arms and completely vulnerable to Chuck's touch. He's the most amazing man she's ever known, the only man who she's ever let completely inside. And as her walls begin to convulse, she realizes that it was all worth it. These past two years, the decision to lower her defenses and let him in, the decision to get past her fear, get past her panic, get past her training, it's all been worth it just to get to this moment. Just to feel him moving inside of her, just to feel his pulse beating beneath her mouth, just to hear him cry her name as he nears the edge. And when the feeling of sheer contentment floods her frame like warm liquid flowing through her veins, she collapses into his embrace, her body sated in his arms.

Chuck holds her close as he watches her come, knowing that this is the most amazing thing he's ever seen. Even though he brought her to climax two times previous, those paled in comparison to the sheer look of contentment she has now, as she comes down from her orgasm, and relaxes back into his arms. In that moment, he realizes that he’s never been more in love with her. In that moment, he realizes that she’s truly become his. And suddenly, all of the heartache of the past two years, all of the rejections, all of the hurdles they've had to cross seem worth it.

Holding her tightly, Chuck continues to pump in and out of her sated body, eliciting small whimpers with every thrust. Then, finally, he lets go, spilling himself deep into Sarah's satiny depths.

When they’ve each had a moment to catch their breath, Sarah wraps her arms more tightly around Chuck's back, his skin slick and warm underneath her touch. She can feel his heart beat against her chest, strong and rapid and real. The sensation coupled with the feel of him buried deep inside is amazing, intoxicating. She brushes her lips against his reddened shoulder, then lays her head against his chest, the weight of their actions finally settling upon her mind. He's her asset, and she's his handler. And even though he's begun to train, and despite the fact that he's becoming more her equal every day, that doesn't change the dynamics of their complicated relationship. That doesn't make this any less forbidden. It doesn't make it any more acceptable. The problem is, she's beginning to understand that she no longer cares. That she's tired of the CIA, of its orders, of its restraints. She's tired of being forced to hold back her feelings, no matter how complex or taboo they may be. And for the first time in her ten year career, she realizes that she's ready to fight.

So when Chuck finally pulls away, when he finally looks into her gleaming blue eyes, she licks her lips and keeps the emotion present in their tumultuous depths. "Wow," she says, and then realizes that she doesn't really know what else to say. Her feelings run too deep, her emotion is too strong. It's not something she's used to experiencing, and it causes her throat to turn slightly dry. Finally, she breaks eye contact with Chuck, and a wry smile spreads across her face as she takes in their surroundings. "I think you might have to buy a new dining table."

"I wouldn't get rid of this table now if it stole money from me," he says with a devilish grin, gazing at her lovingly. She’s never looked more beautiful. Her skin is flushed with the exertions of their love, her hair is mussed, and a radiant grin is stretched across her face as her breath tickles his damp skin. He's seen her dressed for formal balls, and government soirees, and many other functions of high society, but she's never looked as perfect as she does in his arms.

And he knows. This wasn't supposed to happen. They shouldn't have gotten themselves into this situation. They shouldn't have done what they did. But Chuck has a hard time regretting their actions. He's done far too much regretting in his life to do it now, after the single greatest act he's ever been a part of. Making love to Sarah was the culmination of everything they’ve gone through together. Everything they’ve experienced over the past two years has led them up to this point. And despite what some bureaucrat in a distant office on the other side of the country might say, he'll be damned if he'll let them take this away from him. This is something worth fighting for. This, he and Sarah, is worth anything they can dish out. Even if they lock him away in a bunker, never to see the light of day again, it would be worth it so long as long as he has her.

Smiling gently, he kisses the top of her head and basks in the feel of her heart beat, relishing the sound of her labored breaths. The breaths which let him know that she’s here. That she’s real. That she’s his.

“Let’s move this to my bedroom,” he suggests, grinning the crooked smile that sends her pulse racing. And before she can respond, before she can even say anything else, he scoops her from the table, causing her to gasp in surprise as he winds his strong arms tighter around her body.

“Why, Mr. Bartowski,” Sarah purrs, leaning her head against his shoulder, “Are you planning on getting lucky?”

“I’ve already gotten lucky, Sarah,” Chuck replies, brushing a kiss against her temple. “I’ve already gotten lucky.” And as he walks her back to his room, and places her on his mattress, her gleaming blue eyes gazing affectionately at him the entire time, he realizes the truth of that statement. He realizes the weight of his words. Laying down by her side, he gently wraps her in his embrace and relishes the feel of her in his arms, barely registering the remnants of packing boxes that litter his room. Yeah, he thinks just before he drifts off to sleep. This is all I ever need.

FIC: All He Ever Needs (Chuck) (PART ONE)

mikki13 — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 01:24:27 GMT

Title: All He Ever Needs (PART ONE)
Authors: Collab Effort by wepdiggy and mikki13
Rating: NC-17 (Really NC-75, but who's counting age?)
Word Count: 11,995 (more than half of which is mind blowing sex)
Characters: Chuck/Sarah (over and over again)
A/N: Be forewarned. The fic you have before you may cause brain melting, spontaneous combustion, and embarrassing displays of fondling and inappropriate sounds. Please do not read this fic in public. Please do not read this fic around family. If you ignore these instructions, there's a possibility of unexpected jail time and perhaps even sudden death. You have been warned.
Disclaimer: Chuck and Sarah belong to NBC. The chaste, wholesome minds belong to Wepdiggy and Mikki13.

Summary: Despite the obstacles and regardless of the hurdles, Chuck discovers that there's just one thing he's ever really needed. One person who eclipses all else, and makes everything worthwhile.

“Chuck?” Sarah calls, smoothing her skirt as she glances at the scattered debris littering his new apartment. Packing boxes take up half the space, accompanied by a pile of dirty clothes, a tangle of blankets and sheets thrown over a nearby couch, and a half-eaten pepperoni pizza cluttering the counter. In all the time she’s known Chuck, she’s never seen him make quite such a mess. In all the time she’s known Chuck, she’s never seen quite so many of his belongings. A soft smirk spreads across her face when her eyes alight upon a Luke Skywalker figurine, and she quickly plucks it from its resting place on Chuck’s dining room table. “Chuck?!” she calls again, fingering the statue’s carefully crafted features even as her breath hitches when she thinks about the computer nerd’s proximity. “Where are you hiding?”

Unpacking his bedroom, Chuck barely hears Sarah’s calls. He’s too busy looking around the room that will soon be his, the room inside the apartment that belongs solely to him. Not to Morgan. Not to Awesome. Not even to Ellie. For the first time in as long as he can remember, this apartment is his own. The only problem is, as he rummages through his belongings, scanning the stun gun carefully placed upon his dresser and glancing at the mattress positioned in the center of the room, he realizes that he doesn’t want this apartment to belong only to him. He doesn’t want to come home to an empty space, to fall asleep every night in an empty bed. What he wants more than anything is to share this place with the person who he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about. The person who has, for all intents and purposes, become the pinnacle of his world. The person who he’s meeting in less than . . .

Damn it! Glancing at his watch, Chuck’s eyes go wide when he realizes that the time has slipped by, and that he’s already thirty minutes late for his meeting with Sarah. A meeting that she’d made him promise he wouldn’t miss. A meeting she’d reminded him about three times before he left Castle yesterday. A meeting planned so that she could continue training him in the art of seduction.

And as soon as the revelation registers within his mind, he hears her voice emanating from down the hall. In an instant, his heart skips a beat and his muscles tense. Because as much as he wants to see her, as much as he’s been looking forward to their training session, he has to admit that he’s been dreading it, too. After all, the only thing worse than being in love with a beautiful partner with whom you can’t have a relationship with, is being in love with a beautiful partner with whom you can have a relationship with, and who spends her days training you in the "art" of seduction and rubbing in the fact that you'll never get what you want.

Even so, he straightens up and takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the encounter. Preparing himself to walk down the hall and meet his blonde handler. To meet the woman who rests at the center of his thoughts. Striding across the room, he runs a slightly anxious hand through his brown curls, attempting to swallow away the tension that has creeped into his throat. To swallow away the feelings coursing through his gut.

Unfortunately, when he enters the front room, which is comprised of his kitchen/living room/breakfast nook, and sees Sarah holding up a prized Star Wars collectible, he can’t help but notice just how stunning she really is, standing there waiting for him. And as he notices her beautiful features and her gorgeous blue eyes, the dread creeping through his chest increases even as the longing pulsing through his veins becomes more prevalent. But more than that, more than noticing her beauty and the deep impact she has on him, he notices her eyes raking his body, evaluating him head to toe. It's almost how she's taught him to size-up a mark, but this seems a little different somehow. There's a look of hunger in her eyes as she watches him. A look of desire. But then he shakes his head and dismisses the notion, attributing it to the way she makes him feel. After all, she's probably just pissed that he was late.

Slightly embarrassed about the faulty notion that she might have been thinking of something other than work, he stumbles over his greeting. “Sorry,” he says in a rush, taking a few steps toward the spy. "I, um, I was just getting some things setup. You know, new place and all, and -- listen, I'm sorry I was late. Just let me finish a few things, and we can go." He turns on his heel and begins to walk back to his room, but pauses. "Unless you'd like to help?"

A slight thrill courses through Sarah's chest at the sight of Chuck’s flushed face, at the way his lips quirk and his eyes light up when he sees her. And for a moment, she wants nothing more than to cross the room, to close the distance between them. To capitalize on the last two months of seduction training, to let him know that it's been more than just professionally conducted, meaningless lessons. To erase the last few months, to eradicate the last two years, to forget that she’s still a spy and he’s still an asset, and they can’t have anything more than what they already do. They can’t be anything more than what they already are. Not when the Ring is still out there. Not when his safety hangs in the balance. Not when his life is in her hands.

So when she takes him in now, when she notices the way his curls frame his tanned, angular face, and the slight bulge of biceps peeking out from underneath the sleeves of his white t-shirt, she forces herself to remain detached. To remain resolute. To ignore the way her pulse increases at the mere sight of him. Instead, she purposely glances around his apartment, the wryness of her smile becoming more pronounced as she returns her gaze to his cinnamon brown eyes. "Wow, Chuck," she replies lightly, hiding behind their natural banter, "If I didn't know better, I'd think you had this planned. What, did Morgan cut out before you finished moving in?"

A mild hue of disappointment wafts across Chuck’s face when Sarah pretends like the tension between them doesn't exist, even though he’s almost convinced that he imagined it himself. After everything that’s happened in the last two months – Sarah’s announcement that she was leaving Burbank, his decision to download the Intersect 2.0, Bryce’s death and the subsequent distancing between himself and his gorgeous handler – he’s beginning to realize that this thing between himself and Sarah was all in his imagination. It was all a mistake, a deception, a con that they had played all too well. So instead of falling into his false hopes, he decides to play along with Sarah's war of words. Because even if there’s nothing left between them romantically, and even if there never will be again, he can’t help but hope that they can at least be friends. After all, being friends with Sarah is much better than being nothing at all.

"Oh, you know. I'm just being considerate of my friend's disability," he says, the disappointment in his eyes pushed aside by a look of resolve. And when he notices the lack of understanding reflected within Sarah's expression, he continues. "Morgan is allergic to work of any kind." This has the desired effect: Sarah laughs. He always thinks she's most beautiful when she laughs. It's when she's most carefree, and the only time that she doesn't appear to have the weight of the world on her shoulders. And Chuck knows about bearing the brunt of the world's burdens. He's well versed in that field. "Besides, I wouldn't want to rope you into anything you didn't want to do. I know how busy you are. So I can finish up by myself, if you have something more important. I'm kind of used to saving the world, or in this case my apartment all alone."

He doesn't mean to let bitterness creep into his voice. He doesn't mean to add the extra emphasis to the word "alone". He really was trying to keep the light, snarky dialogue going, but it's so hard when he has to be around her. When he’s reminded of everything he thought they had. When he’s reminded of how wrong he was about how she felt about him. And it's not her fault. He knows that, intellectually, but it's just so damned hard to act like he doesn't still love her when he knows in his heart that he always will, regardless of how she really feels about him. Especially when she looks at him the way she’s looking at him now.

Because when Chuck’s expression turns downcast, her own expression falters. And when she hears the dejected tone of his voice, her heart twists. And in that moment, she feels herself whirling backward through time, to a bright morning in Barstow, to a time when things had been clear and potent and real. And even though she knows they can't have that now, and even though the many reasons are clear within her mind, she can't stop a hint of affectionate remorse from entering her gaze, nor can she stop the wistful regret which prickles within her chest. And suddenly, before she really knows what she's doing, she's crossing the room and placing a gentle hand on Chuck's bare arm. "The world can wait for a day," she states softly. "I guess I can help you move." And then, when the intensity of his gaze becomes a little too much, she drops her arm and forces a careful smirk into place. "Unlike Morgan, I'm not afraid of a little hard work," she says.

The world can wait for a day. If only. Chuck shakes his head, trying to clear the negative thoughts away. He reminds himself that Sarah is trying, really trying to make this less awkward, and he's not making it easy for her. It's not her fault that he had these gradiose ideals of the two of them one day moving into a place of their own, laughing as they unpacked, sharing a first meal in their new place, cuddling in front of a roaring fire while they watched some cheesy movie. And not for cover, but for real. It's not her fault that she doesn't want those things. It's not her fault that the love of her life was killed protecting Intersect 2.0 -- the very program that is now embedded in the head of a common Nerd Herder. And it's not her fault that now she has to train him to use it, making him a constant reminder of her loss. You're not the only one that has lost something, Chuck.

Still, he allows himself to daydream as he watches Sarah move into the kitchen and begin unpacking a box of kitchen supplies. Perhaps this, more than anything, is the reason that he slips when he asks, "Where do you think we should put our new plates?" Immediately, he sees the stunned look on Sarah's face, and even if he didn't notice, it would be evident that she was startled when she drops the coffee mug she was holding. She manages to catch it before it shatters onto the floor, because she's Sarah and her reflexes are stellar regardless of the situation, but he's still sorry that he said what he did. He really didn't want to make this awkward.

Glancing sharply toward the computer nerd, Sarah turns slightly breathless as she registers his words, their subtle, errant meaning so clear within her mind that it causes her eyes to widen as her muscles tighten in surprise. And when the coffee cup falls from her hand, she only just manages to catch it before it shatters upon the floor, her muscles still tense as she gazes at the man standing across the room. "Our plates, Chuck?" she finally queries, arching a brow. "I didn't realize that I was moving in, too."

Chuck blinks in relief when Sarah's quick thinking cuts through the awkward, heady moment. She's always protecting him, even from his own traitorous mouth. But he knows that he’s not out of the woods just yet. He needs to think of something to say, something that will keep the conversation light and playful. Something a friend would say to another friend after accidentally admitting to being in love with that friend and wanting to move in with her. But what does one say in that situation? Somehow, he doesn’t think it’s a situation most people find themselves in very often. In fact, most people probably never find themselves in that situation in their lives. "Guh," he manages, swallowing the giant lump in his throat. But that wasn't even a word. Say something, Chuck. "Thank you, Sarah." For not making me feel like an idiot. "For helping me get things in order, I mean. And you know, for everything, I guess."

But even as he says it, even as he attempts to hide behind his words, Sarah’s chest clenches at the look that crosses his face, at the way he’s gazing at her in embarrassment and regret. Suddenly, she can't stop a slight, sympathetic grin from sliding across her own face, from lighting up her own eyes. And in that instant, she feels a rush of compassion, of solace for the man standing before her. For the man who has changed her life, changed her world, his gentle, unassuming nature piercing her defensive fortifications in a way that no one else ever has. In a way that no one else has ever even been capable of doing. And along with that compassion, along with that solace, comes a jolt of anger when she realizes that she can never let him know how she really feels. That she can never let him know how amazing his idea sounds, how much she wants exactly what he’s just admitted to wanting himself. Because the truth is that she can never open up. She can never let go, she can never give in. Instead, she'll be forced to play this game indefinitely, until this mission finally ends and the CIA finally lets them go.

And she knows: the CIA will never let them go. Together, they're pawns in a witless, never ending war. A war which the Agency will never let them leave.

And with that thought, with the emotions currently roiling through her chest and playing havoc with her mind, something inside Sarah shifts. And suddenly, she's placing the newest unpacked plate onto the counter. Suddenly, she's moving away from the dishes, away from the packing, away from the kitchen, and crossing the room to Chuck, who's currently staring blankly at the dining table while a faint flush colors his face. And suddenly, she's reaching for his hand and staring into his deep brown eyes. "You don't have to thank me, Chuck," she says softly, lacing her fingers into the negative spaces of his hand. "I want to be here. I want to help." Really, I just want you.

At her touch, Chuck shivers as goose bumps break out onto his skin, the hair on his arms standing up when she begins to brush her thumb against his hand. His palms even start to sweat. And even though he knows that Sarah can feel the sensation, she doesn’t seem to think anything of it. Or at least she isn't saying anything about it. In fact, the look in her eyes tells a story beyond her words. She had said that she wanted to be here. But her statement seems to mean so much more, the hidden meaning anything beyond what Chuck ever expected. He wracks his mind for how to respond, how to let her know his thoughts. How can he answer that? Should he make some joke? Try to lighten to mood again? It's always been their move when one of them starts down this path. Dancing around anything real has become a staple in the very confusing and complicated world of them. And even though he was convinced only minutes before that "them" was a thing of the past, or more accurately of the never-was, this feels more familiar than he could have ever hoped.

But as he searches for the right words, as he tries to come up with something to say, he suddenly decides that he doesn't want to avoid this any longer. If Sarah is going to say the things she's saying, both verbally and non-verbally, then he’s going to say what he actually wants to say. "You know," he begins, forcing back his nervousness. "If you, uh, if you wanted this, well, my stuff." He pauses, trying to collect himself. Then with more confidence than he'd shown before, he continues. "This really is your stuff, too, if you want. You just have to say the word."

Sarah's stomach flutters at the statement, at the underlying implications contained within Chuck's simple, honest suggestion. At the way she thrills with unexpected longing as the ramifications thread through her mind. Biting her lower lip, she forces herself to continue looking into those clear brown eyes, to continue holding his smooth, warm hand. "What are you saying, Chuck?" she asks lightly, all too aware at the way her pulse races at the question. And even though she knows it’s not fair, and despite the fact that she can’t help but feel a slight rush of guilt, she can’t bring herself to fill in the gap. She can’t bring herself to supply the meaning herself. Not when it means releasing all the defenses she’s hidden behind for so long; not when it means being more honest with herself than she can ever remember being before. So when Chuck’s eyes narrow and his forehead creases at her words, she can only tighten her grip in his hand and wait for what he says next.

Seriously? Chuck thinks. Sarah wants me to spell it out? She’s going to put all this on me? He almost feels wronged by the question, by the situation, but then he sees the vulnerable look in her eyes and he registers the way she’s gripping his hand. And suddenly, he knows that she isn't asking him to hurt him. She's asking because she needs him to let her know it’s okay. To let her know that he really means what he says. Maybe even to let her know that he isn’t going to let her fall. "Sarah, I know we still can't be together,” he concedes, swallowing visibly. “And I know you loved Bryce. But I still," his throat becomes dry, and he can barely continue speaking. "I still want a life with the girl that I love," he finishes quietly, his gaze brightening as he takes in the look of hopeful fear that wafts across her face.

The girl that he loves? The words reverberate through her mind. Bryce? As if in a trance, Sarah feels herself shaking her head from side to side. Running her fingertips over the soft skin of his hand. Taking another step forward, even as a small lump forms within her throat. "Chuck, I didn't love Bryce. Well," she amends, her brow furrowing slightly, "At least, not in the way you mean." Not as a lover. Maybe not even as a friend. Not in the way I love. . . But she pushes this last thought from her mind, instead focusing on the man standing in her midst. The man looking at her with the clearest, most honest pair of cinnamon brown eyes she's ever seen. The man who has painstakingly, undefinably become the center of her world. "Bryce was my partner, Chuck," she continues, her voice a little stronger. "And it hurt when he died. It still does. But not the way. . ." She pauses here, unsure how much more she wants to say. Unsure how much more she's willing to reveal. She's already so vulnerable, her emotions already so exposed. For a moment, she feels herself pulling back, shutting down. She feels the mask beginning to slide back over her features. The familiar facade behind which she always inevitably takes shelter. But then she remembers the look in his eyes. And she thinks about how tired she is of holding back, of obeying orders, of blindly following the CIA. Of hurting him. And before she realizes what she’s doing, she finds herself letting go. "But not the way it would hurt if it had been you," she says quietly, her gaze dropping to his left earlobe. "Not the way it would hurt if I lost you, Chuck."

As the statement sounds thick and heady in the air between them, Chuck’s breath hitches and he grabs Sarah's other hand, pulling her closer to him and staring deep into her sparkling blue eyes. He needs her to know that what he's about to say, he absolutely means. Gathering his courage, he looks down just for a moment, before meeting her eyes again. "Sarah," he says, running his thumb over the top of her hand, "I would never leave you. You could never lose me. I wouldn't let it happen."

And he absolutely means what he says. As long as there is a breath in his body, he'll always find a way to come back to Sarah. She's absolutely made herself the center of his universe, and even though he still doubts whether she feels the same way, he can’t deny the flare of hope racing through his chest. Because she had almost said it. She had almost admitted that he was more to her than just an asset. And sometimes, almost is enough. He leans in closer to her, his lips almost touching hers, and he whispers, "I'll always be here for you."

Sarah's eyes drift from Chuck's gaze to his lips and back again, the last vestiges of her careful, guarded mask wavering upon her face. She leans forward instinctively, minutely, her lips so close to Chuck's warm mouth that she can feel his breath hot against her skin. Swallowing gently, she flexes her hands in his grasp, a million conflicting thoughts fighting for dominance within her mind. It's okay. We can do this. Just this once. No one has to know. And: I want this. I'm so tired of hurting him, of holding back, of fighting this. Of living the con. And then, at the same time: I'm his handler. He's my asset. His safety, his protection, his life depends on me. And finally, buried still further, so deep inside that she barely acknowledges its existence: If we do this, if we finally let go, if we finally give in, then what happens next? What's to stop me from losing him? What's to stop him from leaving? What's to stop him from getting hurt? From dying? He could be next. I could lose him at any time.

And even though she knows these thoughts are pointless, and that she would do anything, promise anything, give anything to protect him, to keep him safe, she finds herself succumbing to the ease of denial, falling under the burden of panic, and giving into her fears. So when Chuck's thumb begins to brush against her soft, smooth hand, and his lips descend ever closer to her warm, eager mouth, the mask stops wavering and becomes firm and resolute. The longing, the affection, the need quickly flees her eyes, leaving a calm, detached shield in their place. And she drops his hand and clears her throat, taking a step back as she averts her gaze to the table. "We should finish moving," she says quietly, plucking a black string tie from the mahogany surface. "We're going to be at this all night." But even as she says it, even as the words leave her lips and create an invisible wall between them, she feels a jolt of yearning regret pierce her chest and reverberate through her core.

A feeling shared only too keenly by the man standing by her side.

Because when she pulls away at the last second, when she puts up her walls just as she has always done, a look of undiluted pain flickers across Chuck’s face and penetrates his eyes. And even though he knows he shouldn’t be surprised, even though he knows that he should probably be used to it, it still cuts him deep. Why can’t she just trust him? He would never hurt her. Never. If she just gave him a chance, no matter how complicated things may seem, they could make this work. They could make them work. All that he needs is her, and more than anything else, he wants to prove that he’s all she needs, too.

So when she begins to move away, a flurry of emotions floods through him. He feels angry that she can just brush this thing between them aside like it doesn't exist. That she can so easily reject him out of hand. He feels sad that she feels like she has to do that. He feels a deep longing, and a sense of need for the closeness she's yet again denied him. And as these feelings course through his frame, as they cause his head to spin with overwhelming need, he feels the sudden and intense desire to convey all of these things to her. To let her know exactly how he feels, exactly what she means to him. The problem is, words fail him for the very first time. He doesn't know how to tell Sarah what it is he wants to say. He doesn’t know how to tell her how he really feels.

So when she starts to walk away from him, when she starts to hide behind her fortified walls, he grabs her arm and spins her back around to face him. Her gaze widens as it locks onto his own, her lips part as they stop inches from his mouth, her skin grows warm as his fingers curl around her arm. And even though he knows that she could break the hold he has on her quite easily if she wanted to, for whatever reason she doesn’t do so. Staring deeply into her startled blue gaze, he feels an intense hope that his own eyes can convey to her all of the things he wants to say, but doesn't know how to voice.

In that moment, Sarah’s entire body tenses, her narrowed eyes flickering quickly over Chuck's hurt, anxious face to the gentle lock he has on her arm, finally settling upon his fervent, tumultuous gaze. A prickle of heat courses through her arm at his touch, at the feel of his rough fingers against her bare skin. And even though every sense, every conviction, every instinct is telling her to retract, to pull back, to twist her arm out of his impassioned grip, she finds that she cannot. She cannot retreat, she cannot even move. Instead, she finds herself falling into his touch, falling into his gaze, falling into the piercing look reflected within the turbulent depths of his eyes. Her throat constricts under the intensity of his stare, under the weight of emotion that’s being unleashed upon her. And before she can stop herself, before she even realizes what she’s going to do, her free hand is rising and cupping his stubbled cheek. “Chuck,” she murmurs, stroking his face with her thumb. Instinctively, she steps closer to him, so close that she can once again feel his breath hot against her face. “We shouldn’t do this,” she says weakly. But even having said it, her fingers continue to caress his face and she takes another step closer to his slightly trembling frame.

Chuck has to admit that Sarah’s right. They really shouldn't be venturing down this path. Nothing good can come of them acting on their feelings. And even though he knows that she's speaking from the professional sense, it's the personal ramifications that concern him. If he does what he wants to do, if he takes this further, there's little doubt that someone will get hurt. Either he'll get hurt when Sarah decides to pull away again, or she'll get hurt when she realizes that he's not enough for her, or they'll both get hurt when this thing ends. But he's been fighting these fears, these feelings for so long now, and he's just tired of it. He’s tired of fighting, he’s tired of giving up. He’s tired of never getting a chance to show her how he really feels.

So when he registers how close she is, and he feels her soft, warm hand upon his face, he doesn't give into the impulse to pull away before she can. He doesn't give into his apprehension, he doesn’t give into his fear. He only gives into the moment, into the feelings pulsing through his chest. Pulling her even closer, he slides his fingers into her smooth golden tresses, and he kisses her. Hard.

He’s not sure how long it lasts. He’s not sure how long he brushes his lips against her mouth. It’s only when he finally registers what's happening, what he's doing, that the fear overcomes him and he pulls away. "I'm sorry," he says, an embarrassed blush creeping onto his face. "I shouldn't have done that."

But even as he says the words, even as he murmurs the apology, every hidden feeling, every restrained need, every confined desire rushes to the surface and straight into Sarah's chest, her shimmery blue eyes pooling with a multitude of unrestrained emotions and uninhibited desires. She barely hears Chuck's apology, she barely notices the blush coloring his cheeks or the uncertainty which clouds his heated gaze. She's too wrapped up in the moment, she's too lost in his touch. She's too overwhelmed by the sensations racing through her body. Her breath emerging in short gasps, her mouth aching deliciously from the momentary contact, she licks her lips and clasps the back of his head, threading her fingers through his curls even as the black string tie dangles precariously from her grasp. And when she pulls him to her for another urgent, ardent kiss, their mouths colliding in an exquisite rush of affection, longing and need, a single phrase echoes through her mind: Finally.

As Sarah deepens the kiss by running her tongue along his lower lip, Chuck's embarrassment is quickly forgotten. Instead, he acquiesces to her demands, opening his mouth underneath her advances. And as his lips duel with hers, and his tongue dances deliciously with her own, he wraps her in a firm embrace, almost as if he can pull her into him. Tasting every inch of her supple mouth, he revels in the feeling of her fingers as they comb through his hair, sending impulses of pleasure rocketing through the nerve endings of his scalp. Luscious whimpers sound from the back of her throat, causing him to forget everything else and simply surrender to her kisses.

When they finally pull back, when they finally break the kiss, Chuck rests his forehead against Sarah's own and shuts his eyes as if in a daze, a smile spreading across his face. And while his eyes are still closed, he knows Sarah is smiling too; he can almost feel the warmth radiating from her grin. Disentangling his fingers from her blonde locks, Chuck reaches up to grab her hands. He needs something to ground him in this blissful moment, and Sarah's touch has always done the trick. And when he takes her small, soft hands in his much larger ones, he notices that she’s still holding the tie. A soft chuckle escapes his lips as he pulls back slightly and looks at her with a lopsided grin. "What were you planning on doing with that tie, Agent Walker?" he asks.

Blinking in surprise, Sarah’s eyes flicker to the tie forgotten in her hand, a soft laugh bubbling up from deep within her throat when she notices the scrap of material. "I don't know, Chuck," she says, smirking coyly as she fingers his soft curls, "What did you have in mind?"

"I um, I want," Chuck swallows nervously. Seriously Chuck, you're going to freeze up now? He bites back his nerves and puts on his best "Carmichael" face. Well, he puts on an air of as much confidence as he can muster at the moment. He's pretty sure it fools no one, but it's the best he can do. "I might have a place for it. Let me hold it real quick," he says, a shaky smirk lighting up his face.

"Why, Chuck?" she teases, a rush of electricity coursing up her spine as she studies the man pressed tightly against her heated body. As she studies the man who's gazing at her with hesitant confidence, a faint pink blush coloring his cheeks. The man whose heart is beating heavily against her chest, whose warm, strong hands are kneading her soft skin, whose lips are still inches from her own. The man who still doesn't seem to understand just how much she wants him, just how much she needs him, even despite the way she's touching him now. And even though she can still taste the fear at the back of her throat, and even though she knows there are a million reasons they should put a stop to this, she's determined to do everything she can to show him just how much she cares. Moving her lips to his ear, she whispers, "What are you going to do with it?"

"Well, you know," Chuck says. The fact is, he doesn't know. What is there to know? Is Sarah really taking things there? Does she even realize what she's doing to him? Maybe this is all a part of his training, he reasons. But even that doesn't make sense, when he thinks about it. Unless it was a final exam. But no, Sarah wouldn't do that to him, would she? Dammit, he's so confused, but even through his confusion, there is one thing that is statically clear: he wants this. And even if it isn't real, and even if Sarah is just testing him, maybe it's worth the risk to try to find out. Chuck meets her gaze, and now, he's dropped his nervous behavior. He feels a rush of confidence, and he's not sure if it's him or the new Intersect that causes it, but he now knows his next move. "I just thought I'd put it away." He pauses, running a hand softly down her arm. "I wouldn't want things to get. Too. Messy," he breathes, as seductively as he can.

"Wouldn't want that," she murmurs, shivering at the way he's running his fingers along her skin. At the way faint trails of fiery heat are forming in every spot that he happens to touch. In every surface that he happens to feel. Her pulse is increasing, her lips are tingling, her head is spinning. God, even her knees are starting to feel weak. And while her muscles still knot when she realizes where this is going, when she considers the collision course that they're almost certainly headed for, she can't bring herself to pull away. She can't bring herself to stop. Really, she can't even bring herself to care. Brushing a soft kiss underneath Chuck's earlobe, she places the tie in his hand. "Is this what you wanted?" she asks, her breath caressing his ear. Even as she voices the question, she knows there's so much more she's asking. She knows there's so much more she's saying. But somehow, she can't articulate any further than she already has.

Chuck swallows nervously. She keeps putting it back on him. And while he wants to make a move, while he wants to advance this more than anything in the world, he doesn't know if he can take another of her rejections. Still, like Charlie Brown trying to kick that damn football, he takes the string tie from her, if a bit hesitantly. And as the material hangs from his grasp, he moves his other hand to the back of her head and pulls her to him for another gentle kiss. With her attention drawn to his lips, to his kiss, he begins to secure one of her hands with the tie, and only then does she seem to notice what he's doing.

An amused smile spreads across Sarah's face as the smooth cotton of the string tie comes into contact with her wrist. "Wow, Chuck," she whispers, leaning back to gaze deeply into his eyes. "You've picked up some moves from our training sessions." And if I'm not careful, I'm going to find myself losing complete control.

"You're a great teacher,” he says, his smile turning mischievous as he moves his lips to her ear. “And I'm a quick learner...when the material is this interesting." He whispers this last into her hair, drawing yet another small shudder from his CIA handler. From the woman that he loves. It never fails to amaze him that he can have this impact, or any impact for that matter, on a woman like Sarah Walker. But despite his disbelief, he's not about to let this opportunity pass him by. Not again. He's going to kiss her, and hold her and touch her at every chance she gives him.

"Mmm," Sarah murmurs, caressing the back of his neck with her fingertips. "I'm more than willing to teach you some more moves, Chuck." Her grin slips into a small smirk and she winks at him, allowing a faint trace of emotion to radiate from deep within her eyes. God, she's wanted this for so long. She's wanted him for so long. Licking her lips, she slowly closes the distance, brushing lightly, sensuously against his soft mouth. And in the process, the string tie falls from Chuck's grasp and lands on the floor.

Smiling against her lips, Chuck pulls back so that Sarah can see the coming joke in his eyes (she's always so good at reading him). "Should I take notes? Or will this be an oral exam?" he whispers, as he brushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear, just like she taught him. God, he hopes this goes further.

Laughing softly at his joke as a thrill of longing courses through her chest, Sarah turns her head to move her lips against his own ear. "That all depends, Chuck," she breathes, "On how quick a learner you really are."

Chuck's face is an expression of mock seriousness. He turns to look Sarah directly in the eye, their noses touching. "I may require continued instruction. I keep getting," he pauses, kissing her again, "Distracted."

"Hmm," she purrs, leaning in to suck hungrily upon his lower lip. "Sometimes distractions can be a good thing." And before he can say another word, she captures his lips in a searing kiss, her tongue darting out to taste his succulent mouth.

PART TWO

FIC: And Morgan Makes Three (Chuck)

mikki13 — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 14:14:59 GMT

Title: And Morgan Makes Three
Rating: R
Word Count: 5,386
Characters: Chuck, Sarah, Morgan
Disclaimer: Even though they keep me up nights, they don't belong to me.

Summary: Newly married, Chuck and Sarah are saddled with an unexpected houseguest. Part of the "Full Circle" series.

The sun slowly sets behind the Burbank horizon, a multitude of reds and oranges melting into the darkening sky and lending an aura of beauty to a slowing world. At the same time, a warm breeze gently ruffles the leaves of trees dotting the quiet streets as crickets chirp in the distance and the early evening humidity seeps into the air. Standing proudly among its suburban neighbors, a little yellow house appears to settle for the night, even while its inhabitants show no sign of quieting down. In fact, as the surrounding population sinks into couches and beds, winding down and relaxing after a long, hard day, two individuals are too wrapped up in each other to really notice. Two individuals are too focused on an entertaining game of cat and mouse to really care.

“I’m beginning to think you only married me for my body,” Chuck gripes playfully, backing against the wall as Sarah saunters slowly toward him.

“Only for the first few years,” she returns waspishly, completing the distance and running her hands down his bare chest.

“The first few years?” Chuck queries, leaning against the cool plaster wall. “What are you going to do with me after that?”

“I still haven’t decided yet.” Placing her index finger into the belt loop of his jeans, she pulls him toward her for a kiss. The half-hearted fight leaves him immediately, their mouths melding together as her tongue sweeps across his lower lip, causing him to suck in a breath and open his mouth to her advances. Running his hands underneath the hem of her shirt, he fingers the soft skin of her back and explores the smooth, moist contours of her luscious mouth. His pulse rate increasing rapidly, he pushes himself against her muscular frame, enjoying the sounds she makes with each new touch of his hand.

But just before he really lets go, just before he really gives into her touch, their locked front doorknob rattles and the doorbell rings.

Groaning into her mouth, he ends the kiss but keeps his eyes closed tight. “Maybe they’ll go away if we pretend we’re not here,” he suggests, his arms still wrapped around her sinewy body.

“It’s worth a try,” she agrees, trying to catch her breath.

And when no further sound emanates from their front door, the two smile lazily and move back together to continue the kiss. Chuck’s lips brush against Sarah’s warm mouth, eager for further contact. She tastes like cinnamon and caffeine, remnants of her early morning cup of latte. And as he falls into her embrace, his mind slips into a haze, all thoughts rapidly seeping away. Pushing his tongue into her eager mouth, his fingers return to their explorations of her lower back as she threads her fingers through his hair.

And then the doorbell rings again.

This time, Chuck’s shoulders slump in defeat. “We’d better answer it,” he says, attempting to calm the rapid beating of his heart.

Groaning softly, Sarah silently nods her agreement yet keeps her arm around her husband’s back as the two head toward the front door. And when they find Morgan standing on the front stoop, a large traveling bag draped over his right shoulder, identical expressions of confusion waft over their features. Expressions which turn into disbelief when Morgan finally speaks.

“Hey, guys,” he greets them, smiling widely as he deposits his bag on their porch. “Got room for one more?”

~*~

“He’s not moving in here,” Sarah states, glaring heatedly at her husband with her arms folded across her chest.

“Of course not,” Chuck replies soothingly, shivering slightly and diverting his gaze to her forehead. “It’s just for a few days. I’m sure those two crazy kids will work things out in no time.”

“This is Morgan we’re talking about here, Chuck,” she returns, tightening her arms. “The same guy who thought spying on his ex-girlfriend was the best way to win her back.”

“Well, but it worked, didn’t it?” he replies, his expression turning sheepish when she cocks her head and raises her eyebrows. “Granted, it took him almost being murdered by angry mobsters first, but still . . .”

Sarah stares at him hard for a moment, and he can practically sense the internal battle being waged within her mind. Finally, after several intense seconds during which Chuck has to force himself not to back toward the door, she loosens her arms and takes a deep breath. “Okay,” she relents, and his eyes widen in surprise. “But only for a few days.”

“Thank you, sweetie,” Chuck replies, then clears his throat when his voice emerges slightly high-pitched from pent-up tension.

“It’s no problem,” she says grudgingly, smiling slightly at his tone. “He is your best friend, after all. Though I’m still not quite sure why . . .” This last is said with a touch of sarcasm, the corner of her lips quirking upward slightly.

“He’s Morgan,” Chuck says simply, shrugging. “It’s like . . . a fundamental law of nature. Like E = mc². Or whatever goes up must come down. Only it’s wherever Chuck goes, so goes Morgan.”

“Don’t I know it,” Sarah replies drily, rolling her eyes. But something about the way Chuck is willing to stand up for his best friend, even despite her wrath, sends a warmth surging into her chest. Studying the man who stands before her, expression pleading and curls in disarray, she remembers all the reasons she fell in love with him. All the reasons why she abandoned her exciting life as a spy for one simple, loving future with Charles Bartowski.

Her eyes flicker toward their closed door, and she smiles when she remembers that Morgan is tucked safely away in their guest bedroom. Suddenly, the annoyance fades from her features and an entirely different look takes its place. As she begins advancing toward her husband, her smile turns predatory. “I just have one request,” she says throatily. “More like a demand, really.”

“What’s that?” Chuck queries, swallowing hard when he notices the look on her face. Unbidden, his gaze drifts to her exposed thighs, her jeans discarded when she began to get ready for bed.

Her smile widening, she closes the distance between them. “Make sure we get some time together without Morgan,” she responds. “Otherwise, I might become . . . touchy.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Chuck intones, a twinkle entering his cinnamon eyes as he returns his gaze to her own devilish blue.

“No,” Sarah replies simply. “We really wouldn’t.” And she places her hand behind his neck, pulling him toward her and capturing his lips in a scorching kiss.

Her fingers caress the smooth skin of his neck and thread through his hair, prickles of heat flaring across his skin with each new touch. She pushes against his lithe frame, her tongue dancing circles in his mouth as she maneuvers him toward their bed. And when he falls back onto the mattress, she pushes him against the headboard and sits on his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. His hand travels up her shirt and a guttural groan escapes his lips as her thinly concealed sex brushes against his groin.

And then there’s a knock at the door.

“Um, guys?” comes Morgan’s tentative voice, stepping into the room. Still on Chuck’s lap, Sarah leans against his forehead, groaning and attempting to catch her breath. “Can I sleep with you tonight? I just had a nightmare . . .”

Chuck stares at Morgan with a mixture of disbelief and incredulity, his eyes traveling from the fuzzy slippers on his friend’s feet to the cockeyed nightcap on his head. “Uh, we’re a little busy here, buddy,” he points out, his hand still up Sarah’s t-shirt. Blushing, he quickly removes it, trying to ignore the streak of annoyance which flashes within her deep blue eyes.

“Oh, okay,” Morgan replies in a small voice, backing toward the door. “I just thought, you know, since we’ve been best buddies since we were five . . . and since I just lost my fiancé and all . . .”

Morgan may have a lot of flaws, but he has always been excellent with the guilt trips. A twinge of guilt reverberates through Chuck’s chest, and he muffles a deep-seated sigh. “Morgan, wait!” he calls out, shooting Sarah an apologetic look. Her sigh is audible as she climbs off his lap.

Morgan’s eyebrows arch hopefully. “Yeah?”

“Why don’t we play Call of Duty for a little while, buddy?” Chuck suggests. When Sarah squeezes her eyes shut and falls back onto their rumpled mattress, he hastily adds: “Just for a few minutes, though.”

Unfortunately, this does nothing to improve the situation. Sarah slips under the covers and rolls onto her side, leaving him to stare in consternation at her back. When he returns to their room an hour later, she’s fallen into a deep sleep.

~*~

Chuck comes home early from his job as a video game technician two days later, intent on cleaning the rapidly growing mess Morgan has been leaving around the house. He’s already convinced his best friend to spend the evening with Jeff and Lester, giving him time with the wife who’s quickly becoming more than disgruntled. They haven’t had a decent conversation since Morgan had his nightmare, and he’s eager to get things back on track.

Plucking Morgan’s dirty socks off the lampshade and his boxers off the living room floor, he turns toward the front door expectantly when he hears the knob turn. “Hi, sweetie,” he says brightly when she enters their home, decked out in her plain clothes detective uniform. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a pony tail, her black slacks and jacket only slightly rumpled from the day’s activities.

“Hey,” she responds, her tone slightly cool. “Where’s Morgan?”

She’s hanging up her keys, not looking in his direction, so Chuck takes the opportunity to stash Morgan’s clothing underneath the couch cushion. “He’s hanging with Jeff and Lester,” he says, smiling guiltily and stepping in front of the couch when she turns to him with raised brow.

“Really?” she asks, and he notices that a hint of warmth has entered her voice. “So it’s just the two of us?”

“Yup,” he nods. “And I’ve already taken the opportunity to pop some popcorn and put our favorite movie into the DVD player.”

“Casablanca?” Sarah asks, a glint in her eye.

“Like I’d choose anything else,” Chuck responds playfully. “I wouldn’t want to risk your wrath.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” she replies, winking coyly. Then: “Just let me change.”

When she comes out five minutes later, dressed in a light blue tank top and blue jeans, her hair pooling around her shoulders, Chuck marvels at the fact that she can still take his breath away. Smiling crookedly at his beautiful wife, he comes to sit beside her on the couch, the popcorn bowl on his knee. And as they lean into each other’s touch, they enjoy the first Morgan-free moment they’ve had in two days.

“It’s nice to be alone,” Sarah remarks, glancing at Chuck out of the corner of her eye as she cuddles underneath his arm.

“Morgan never has understood the idea of space,” Chuck agrees, running his fingers along Sarah’s bare shoulder.

Sparks of electricity flow from his touch into her skin, and she closes her eyes, relishing the sensation. Two days without this has seemed like an eternity. “Have you talked to him yet?” she questions, moving closer into his side.

A guilty look flickers across Chuck’s features, and he pauses in his ministrations. “Um, not exactly,” he says, shifting restlessly.

A short exhalation of breath escapes her lips. “Chuck, we agreed a few days.”

“I know,” he nods quickly. “Just . . . it’s not quite easy to explain the concept of ‘alone’ to Morgan.” When a flash of annoyance streaks through her eyes, he rushes ahead with: “But I’ll talk to him tonight, okay?”

Sarah considers his words, weighing them over in her mind. But when his forehead crinkles and a beseeching look enters his eyes, the annoyance quickly seeps away. Her heart skips a beat as her lips quirk into a reluctant smile. “Okay,” she agrees, the word broken into two distinct syllables as she drags the last one out. For someone who was a spy for over ten years, it’s amazing how quickly Chuck Bartowski can get under her skin. A point which is further emphasized when he gives her that selfsame crooked grin, and she finds herself melting into his embrace. “Tonight,” she reminds him, her tone not quite as forceful as she might have liked.

“I promise,” Chuck agrees, crossing his heart and throwing away the key. Snorting softly, she laughs and swats him lightly on the shoulder. She must be slowing down, because he catches her hand and raises it to his mouth, giving her a kiss on the palm that sends a shiver down her spine. And when she looks intently into his face to find him gazing intently into her eyes, her expression softens. “Hey,” he says, smiling gently.

“Hey,” she responds, a breathy quality having entered her tone.

Their eyes lock, a thousand pent up emotions suddenly flickering within their depths. Chuck’s stomach tightens with anticipation, his entire body eager for her touch. He can feel her breath on his cheek, her lips a breath from his own. “Sarah,” he breathes, cupping her face. He moves in for the kiss . . .

And then the front door opens, and Morgan steps inside. “Hey, guys,” he says nonchalantly, flinging his bicycle helmet onto the floor before he flops onto the couch. Unfortunately, he’s chosen a seat directly in between Chuck and Sarah. Just before he finishes his downward descent, the two jump apart to avoid being sat on.

“Hey, buddy,” Chuck replies, his voice slightly high-pitched as he shrugs helplessly at his incredulous wife. “What are you doing here? I thought you were hanging with Jeff and Lester tonight.”

“I figured you guys needed me more,” Morgan responds, reaching into their bowl and bringing a large fistful of popcorn to his mouth. “You know,” he says around his gigantic mouthful, “Since you’re letting me stay with you and all.”

On Morgan’s other side, Sarah is trying desperately not to revert to assassin tactics. Forcing herself to unclench her jaw, she turns to him with a pseudo-friendly demeanor. “That’s really okay, Morgan.” Hints of tension are still present in her tone, and Chuck knows she’s only keeping up the façade because Morgan’s his best friend. “You don’t have to hang out with us every night.”

“Yeah, buddy,” Chuck chimes in, nodding perhaps a little too fervently. “I bet Anna really misses you.”

“Anna Shmanna,” Morgan waves the comment off with a flick off his hand. “I’m a man of the world, Charles,” he states, nodding wisely and playing with his beard. “It’s time that I start sharing myself with her women.”

“From our guestroom?” Chuck queries, his voice squeaking on the last word as if it’s hit his vocal chords in a strange way.

“Maybe, maybe,” Morgan says absently, staring at the TV screen, completely oblivious to the looks the other two are shooting him. A moment later, he laughs loudly and points at the screen. “I love this part,” he says, slipping his arms around Chuck and Sarah’s shoulders and placing his feet on their coffee table. At the same time, Sarah wrinkles her nose and finally pulls Morgan’s sock from between the couch cushions. (Chuck prays she doesn’t find his boxer shorts next.)

And for the remainder of the movie, Chuck and Sarah sit in exasperated silence, the only noise emanating from the TV screen, punctuated by Morgan’s frequent laughter. When the movie finally ends, Sarah gives Chuck a pointed look and excuses herself with a headache. “Talk to him,” are the last words she mouths before heading down the hallway and closing their door with a bang.

Sighing heavily, Chuck does his best not to wring Morgan’s neck.

~*~

Four days later, Chuck’s determined to set things right. He hasn’t had a waking moment alone with Sarah for the past six days, and he’s desperate to change things tonight. Earlier that day, he’d had a talk with Morgan in which the latter had promised to apartment hunt all day and be gone (really gone) all night. Now, as he places steaming plates of Chicken Cacciatore onto a table decorated with ivory candles and covered with an off-white tablecloth, he whistles off key as he thinks about the night he has planned. As he thinks about the romantic evening to which he intends to treat his wife. And when Sarah finally enters the kitchen, newly home from work, a goofy grin spreads across his face when he notices just how gorgeous she really is.

“Wow, Chuck,” she drawls, taking in the fully laden table as she steps to his side. “What’s all this about?”

“Nothing,” Chuck replies, wrapping his arms around her slender frame and looking deeply into her bright blue eyes. “I just missed you.”

A gentle smile plays along the corner of Sarah’s lips, and she relaxes into his embrace. “I missed you, too,” she admits. “It’s been a little . . . difficult getting any time alone lately.”

“Yeah,” Chuck nods, his pulse accelerating at her proximity. “Morgan tends to have that affect on people. He’s sort of like a high maintenance puppy. Only potty trained.”

“We can only hope,” she smirks.

Chuck snorts, his grin flaring before slowly fading away as he turns a little more serious. Gazing at her intently, he murmurs softly: “Have I mentioned lately that I’m in love with you?”

She pretends to consider for a moment. “Not lately, no,” she says, a playful glint dancing within her eyes.

“Well then, Sarah Bartowski,” Chuck says, leaning down to whisper huskily into her ear, “I’ve never loved anyone more.”

“Mmm,” Sarah replies, closing her eyes as she savors the feel of his breath against her skin. “I’m kind of in love with you, too, Chuck Bartowski.” And then she turns her head and brushes her lips against his mouth.

After six days without her kisses, he quickly melts into her touch as light ripples of heat wash down his arms. His fingers are just inching up her shirt when she breaks the kiss, and he begins to groan at the loss of contact. But when he sees the look she’s giving him, the sound dies on his lips.

“Morgan isn’t coming back tonight?” she asks, leaning against his forehead.

“He swore he’d be gone all night,” Chuck replies, going cross-eyed as he gazes at her lips.

“Because, you know,” she says, cocking her head as her features turn coy, “We really haven’t had a chance to christen the dining room yet.” Giving him a meaningful look, she pounces onto the table with catlike reflexes, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him toward her. His eyes widen and his pulse races wildly as his converses squeak across the linoleum floor.

The position is reminiscent to one she adopted years ago while still working at the Wienerlicious. Only this time, her partner is entirely more willing. “Why, Mrs. Bartowski,” Chuck drawls, recovering quickly and maneuvering himself in between her thighs. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Kiss me and find out, Mr. Bartowski,” she commands, locking her ankles together as a sly grin spreads across her face.

“That’s an order I just might have to carry out,” he murmurs, leaning toward her mouth.

“I knew I’d find one eventually,” Sarah whispers, completing the distance and capturing his lips.

The kiss heats up quickly, a week of bottled up passion flaring to the surface. His tongue explores the recesses of her mouth, gliding over each individual tooth, slipping along her ridged rooftop, tasting the soft sweetness of her cheeks. Tightening her legs around his waist, she pulls him flush against her muscular frame as breathless whimpers escape her lips. And when he grinds his hardening groin against her eager center, he thrills at the sound which emanates from her throat as his jeans grow uncomfortably tight.

They’re so caught up in each other that they don’t notice the small man enter the kitchen and sidle up to their refrigerator. But when the sharp noise of the blender cuts through the otherwise silent room, they suddenly spring apart and whirl toward the sound. Unfortunately, they’re a moment too late. Just as their eyes land on the blender, an orange concoction flies from its bowels and splatters them from head to foot. Still seated on the table, Sarah takes the brunt of the blow.

“Oops,” Morgan says, glancing at the mess. “I guess I should have used a lid with that.”

Orange goop dripping from her long blonde hair, Sarah stares at him with livid intensity, her jaw working furiously. Chuck’s eyes dart quickly from his best friend to his wife and back again, and his heart stops as he considers the possible ramifications of the situation. In a desperate moment, he has a wild hope that Sarah doesn’t still take to strapping knives to her ankles.

“Um, honey?” Chuck stammers, placing a hand on her shoulder. Without really thinking, he steps between the two.

Blinking rapidly, she diverts her gaze from Morgan and looks at Chuck instead. Luckily, his voice and his touch seem to have a calming effect. She’s no longer working her jaw quite so violently, and the livid look in her eyes has diminished slightly. Unfortunately, it hasn’t disappeared altogether. She stares at him hard for a minute, and his eyes widen as he intercepts her silent communication. But before he can say anything else, she slips silently off the counter and heads determinedly toward their bedroom.

“What’s wrong with Sarah?” Morgan questions in confusion.

Chuck’s jaw drops slightly at the question, at the confusion in his friend’s gaze, and he regards the other man in bewilderment for a long moment. But then he remembers the wife who just stomped out of the kitchen, and decides that he has other things to take care of first. “I’ll be right back. Clean up this mess while I’m gone,” he says, turning on his heel and striding toward his room. When he gets there, he finds an open suitcase on their bed and Sarah emerging from the bathroom, toweling off her hair.

“I’m going to Awesome and Ellie’s,” she tells him, throwing a large quantity of clothes into her suitcase. “You clearly need more guy bonding time.”

“Uh, sweetie,” Chuck replies, staring in dismay at the rapidly growing pile of clothes, “How long are you planning to stay there?”

“Look, Chuck,” Sarah says, sighing heavily. “I don’t fully understand the dynamics of you and Morgan, and I probably never will. I know that he’s your best friend, so I’m willing to give him a break. But you need to talk to him.” She pauses, then adds ominously, “Before I decide to take alternate measures.”

“Alternate measures?” Chuck repeats, gulping. “What does that mean?”

Heading toward their bedroom door, she glances quickly over her shoulder. “Talk to him so you don’t have to find out,” she says sweetly, then turns and leaves the room.

Left alone, Chuck gapes openly at their vacant door frame.

~*~

When Chuck emerges from the bedroom several minutes later, Sarah is gone and Morgan is sitting on their living room couch, finishing his orangey drink. Chuck stares at him for a moment, then takes a deep breath and comes to sit by his side. “I thought you were going apartment hunting,” he states rigidly.

“Aw, that got boring,” Morgan replies. “Besides, the bed in your guestroom is much more comfortable.” Chuck regards him in disbelief, but Morgan continues unabated. “Really, Chuck, you might want to think about opening a Bed and Breakfast. This place is great.”

Chuck stares at his friend, waiting for the accompanying laughter that will tell him Morgan’s kidding. When it doesn’t come, his shoulders slump and he buries his head in his hands.

“Hey, buddy,” Morgan says, slurping the rest of the drink. “You seem tense. Is something wrong?” When Chuck spreads his hand and gazes at Morgan through the gap in his fingers, the incredulity still prevalent in his eyes, Morgan continues. “What’s up?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Chuck states slowly, dropping his hand to his lap. “It could be that I haven’t had sex in a week.”

“Whoa, that really sucks. You know, there are things you can take for that, Chuck.” He nods wisely and places a sympathetic hand on Chuck’s shoulder.

Chuck’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “Um, not exactly what I was getting at,” he replies hastily. “But thanks.”

“Any time,” Morgan replies. “Any time.”

Chuck pauses, trying to figure out the best way to approach this situation. Morgan never really has been very good at direct conversation. “Morgan . . .” he trails off, considering. Then: “Sarah just walked out on me.”

Morgan clicks his tongue sympathetically. “Women are fickle creatures, Chuck,” he states, shaking his head. “Look at Anna.”

“That’s the point,” Chuck replies, throwing his hands out in frustration. “What about Anna? Are you ever going to work things out with her?”

“Nah,” Morgan replies, placing his glass on the coffee table. A rim of condensation immediately begins to spread outward onto the polished wooden surface. “That ship has sailed.”

“But why?” Chuck asks desperately. “I mean, there must have been a reason you asked her to marry you, right?”

“Sure,” Morgan states, shrugging. “I asked her to marry me because you asked Sarah to marry you. Best friends should do these things together, Chuck.”

“Okay,” Chuck says slowly, considering the statement with an odd look on his face. “But you must have had another reason, right? After all, you two have been together for three years.”

“Well, yeah,” Morgan says, fingering his beard. “I mean, she likes me.”

“That’s always a plus,” Chuck agrees, nodding. “I find relationships tend to work better when the girl doesn’t want to use you for target practice. What else?”

“Well, she’s pretty,” Morgan begins, staring at the wall in contemplation. “And smart. I mean,” he says, pointing at Chuck, “She can handle a computer like nobody’s business.”

“All very good,” he replies, brightening. “Anything else?”

“Well,” Morgan considers, “There’s this thing that she does in bed with her great big f –“

“Whoa, whoa,” Chuck cuts in, holding up his hands. “TMI there, buddy.” He shakes his head violently, then, when it looks like Morgan might continue unabated: “Really. I don’t need to know.”

“Well, okay,” Morgan agrees, shrugging again. “But it’s really cool.”

“I’ll bet it is,” Chuck states, shuddering slightly. “Look, Morgan. The point is, you have to go back to Anna.”

“But why?” Morgan queries, a crease forming in between his eyes. “We were having so much fun here.”

“Uh, yeah,” Chuck replies, his eyes widening at the absurdity of the statement. “Morgan . . . Morgan, if you don’t go home soon, then I think Sarah might kill you. And that would put me in kind of an awkward position.”

Morgan’s gaze drops to the couch, and he picks absently at an invisible piece of lint. “So what you’re saying,” he says slowly, “is that I’m not welcome here anymore. The Chuck and Morgan show has officially come to an end.”

“No,” Chuck rushes forward, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “No, what I’m saying is that I’m married now, buddy. It just can’t be the Chuck and Morgan show all the time.”

“I guess we have to grow up sometime,” Morgan states, staring glumly at the couch cushion. “I just miss the way it used to be, ya know?”

A twinge of sympathy reverberates through Chuck’s chest. “We’ll always have the Chuck and Morgan show, pal,” he says, clapping him on the arm. “Only now it’s new and improved with co-stars and anchorwomen.”

Morgan doesn’t respond for a moment, and Chuck’s brow furrows in the silence. He’s about to say something more when Morgan finally meets his concerned gaze. The smaller man holds out his hand, and Chuck’s relieved to see that some of the pity has left his expression. “Friends?” he asks tentatively.

Staring at Morgan’s proffered hand, Chuck finally smiles and nods. “Friends,” he replies, slapping him lightly on the back as he pulls him in for a quick hug. “Forever, buddy.” He claps him on the back twice more before his muscles suddenly stiffen. “Uh, Morgan?” he queries, drawing back to look at the other man. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry, Chuck,” Morgan replies, leaning forward and taking several short sniffs. “You just smell like oranges. Nice citrusy scent . . .”

The moment ends when Chuck switches to the armchair and hastily suggests the newest video game.

~*~

Chuck enters the guestroom three days later, intent on finding his wife. She returned from Awesome and Ellie’s two days before, and he hasn’t had enough time with her since. Of course, he’s pretty sure that even if he spent the rest of his life with Sarah Bartowski, it still wouldn’t be enough. Even so, things have been a little tense lately because he’s not quite sure how to broach the Morgan Topic. And despite everything that he’s put them through over the last week, he really misses his friend. So when he steps inside the room, he stops in his tracks and his eyes widen at the sight that greets him.

Sarah is standing at the window in bare feet, slacks and a light blue blouse, a roll of tape in her left hand. Directly above her, newly taped to the wall above the window, is a sign that depicts two short words: MORGAN DOOR.

“Sweetie?” Chuck questions, his pulse increasing hopefully as his eyes dart between the sign and his gorgeous wife. “What’s that?”

Dropping the tape onto the window seat, Sarah turns to him with a gleam in her eye. “I thought we should have a Morgan Door,” she says simply, shrugging.

A thrill of warmth courses through Chuck’s chest as he soaks in the words. “Really?” he stammers. “But I figured –“

“Chuck,” Sarah says, stepping to his side and wrapping her arms around his waist, “He’s your best friend. I can live with a Morgan Door.”

He gazes at her in wonder, a soft smile spreading across his face. “Thank you,” he replies, running a single finger along her cheekbone.

“You’re welcome,” she says, leaning into his touch. “Of course,” she continues a moment later, the corner of her lip quirking upward, “Unlike the one at your old place, this one’s got a lock.”

Chuck snorts softly, his smile widening into a grin. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replies, then leans down and brushes her lips. When she promptly pushes him away, his brow creases and he regards her with a slightly worried expression. “Is something wrong?” he queries, watching her step over to the closet and look inside.

“Not at all,” she replies easily, before she moves to the bed and looks underneath that, too. “I’m just making sure Morgan isn’t here.”

The laugh that bubbles up from Chuck’s throat melts away all remaining tension. “And you claim that you’re not funny,” he says, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward him for another kiss.

This kiss is much deeper, much longer, and much more provocative. Sucking on his lower lip, Sarah pushes him onto the bed and runs her hand over the hardening length in his jeans before moving up to undo the zipper. And as they quickly undress each other and tumble into a passionate tangle of limbs on the guestroom bed, red hot sparks coursing deliciously down their spines and waves of pleasure washing sensuously over their bodies, everything else becomes a distant blur. Everything else fades away, the only thing permeating their conscious minds being how good it feels to be wrapped up in each other’s arms, and how amazing it is to lose themselves in one another’s touch. And as they slowly move toward sated bliss, this time there are no interruptions.

Fin.

FIC: A Chuckmas Carol, "Stave Five: The End of It" (Part One)

mikki13 — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 10:15:49 GMT

Title: A Chuckmas Carol, "Stave Five: The End of It"
Rating: R
Word Count: 11,500
Characters: Sarah and Company
Disclaimer: Sadly, they still don't belong to me.

Summary: A new twist to Dickens' beloved "A Christmas Carol". When Sarah begins to shut out the world around her, three spirits come to show her the error of her ways. Season 3 AU.

Stave One: Bryce's Ghost * Stave Two: The First of the Three Spirits * Stave Three: The Second of the Three Spirits * Stave Four: The Last of the Spirits

“I’m home,” Sarah murmurs. Is this real? Can this be true? Am I really back, am I really home, am I really alive? Running shaky fingers over her mattress just to test its existence, a look of wonder dawns upon her face. “I’m in bed. I’m in my bed.” She comes to a sitting position, her blonde hair mussed and her blue eyes wide as she searches the confines of her room. “And I’m in my hotel room. I’m in my own room.” Jumping from her bed, she pads quickly to the large window facing onto the street, her face flushed and a gradual gleam of excitement entering her vibrant eyes. “It’s morning,” she murmurs, staring through the window at the light flow of traffic and the straggle of mingling passersby. Her pulse increases at the sight, at the scene which greets her disbelieving, enthusiastic gaze.

Could it be? Was it possible? Had she visited spans of years, eons of memories within the space of a single night, and come home to greet the world on Christmas Day?

I have to know. I have to know if this is real, if I’m really here, if it’s really still Christmas. If I really haven’t missed my chance to make things right. Whirling from her window, her black night shirt rumpled and creased, she sprints for her door and out into the hall. “Excuse me!” she cries to the first woman she sees. And when the Hispanic maid turns with arched brow, she rushes forward without a second’s beat. “What day is it, Ma’am?” she asks urgently, tapping her fingertips against her legs in barely contained excitement.

“¿Que?” the woman responds, motioning to her ear and furrowing her brow.

“Um,” Sarah frantically wracks her mind for the Spanish version of her request, “¿Qué diá es hoy? ¿Qué diá es hoy??”

The woman drops her towel and blinks in surprise. “Es el diá de Navidad, la señorita,” she exclaims.

“It’s Christmas Day?” Sarah repeats, a wide grin spreading across her face as her heart skips a beat. She hadn’t missed it. She still had time, she still had a chance. She still had an opportunity to fix it all. “Gracias, señora,” she replies, rushing forward and giving the startled maid a kiss on the cheek. “Gracias!” She kisses her again. And then, as the maid raises a stunned hand to her chest at the monumental change in her hotel’s most aloof guest, Sarah whirls around and races back to her room, her blonde hair flying along behind her. “Oh, by the way,” she says before she closes the door, too excited to translate into Spanish, “You’re the best maid I’ve ever had, and I’m leaving you a fat Christmas bonus.” And with that, she slams her door shut, leaving the maid gaping after her.

Moments later, when Sarah is fully dressed in a blue sweater, jeans and sneakers, she takes a deep breath and looks at herself in the mirror. Just as the maid had done before her, she can’t help but blink in surprise at the change that has taken place over night. Gone is the mask she’s hidden behind for most of her life. Gone is the shield she’s taken refuge behind every time things got too overwhelming, every time the panic intensified and the fear sent icy chills through her veins. Gone is the desire to ever take shelter behind them again. In their place stands a blonde twenty-eight year old, with rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes, and the intense desire to feel, to love, to live.

And even though she’s not sure how her new outlook is going to fit with the Agency, and despite the fact that she knows she has many obstacles remain in her path, for the first time in her life she’s ready to face them head on. For the first time in her life, she’s ready to fight. Not with a gun, or a knife, or even her fists. But with her heart. So when her phone rings, interrupting her thoughts and jolting her back to the present, she’s ready for who happens to be on the other line. “Walker,” is her familiar answer. And yet the words are tinged with a touch of cheerfulness, of buoyancy that haven’t been present in her voice for quite some time.

“Sarah?” comes Beckman’s confused response, and she can practically see the General’s brow furrowing.

“Hi, General,” Sarah replies, just as cheerful, just as full of life. “How are you today?”

A weighty pause greets her, followed quickly by Beckman’s gruff: “Fine. Sarah, I need you to report to the Castle immediately. I’ve just been given a lead on the Ring.”

Even in spite of her earlier resolve, Sarah can feel herself tensing, can feel her Agent training coming into play. Can feel her cheerful demeanor fading, to be replaced by the shield of a hard-nosed CIA agent. But before she can fully give in, before it can fully take effect, Chuck’s familiar loving face flickers through her mind, her nightly journeys thread through her thoughts, and her mother’s parting words echo within her head. This isn’t what I wanted for you, Andi.

“Sarah?” Beckman prods. “Are you still there?”

“I’m sorry, General,” Sarah finds herself saying, even as her chest tightens at the ramifications of her words. “I won’t be coming into work today.”

“Pardon me?” the General demands, and Sarah draws herself up to her full height, bracing herself under the anger of the woman’s voice.

“It’s Christmas Day, General Beckman,” she says, her hesitant tone growing stronger with each new word. “And I plan to spend the day with Chuck Bartowski and his family.”

“Well,” Beckman replies after a moment, the hesitancy clear within her voice, “I suppose the cover does have to be taken into account.”

For some reason, the statement rankles Sarah more than anything else. And as her hand travels instinctively to the jewelry box resting upon her dresser, she flashes back to the scenes that she’s been shown, to the shadows that she’s seen. To the moment that she spent standing inside a bland Agency boardroom, staring at a picture of a much older Casey as a decrepit General Beckman dangled a silver bracelet before her face and pronounced her a burnout. A liability, who had let her emotions get in the way. Who had become a nuisance on the very Agency she had given her life to protect, all because she hadn’t faced the overwhelming feelings pulsing through her chest. “Oh,” she says cheerfully, a soft smile spreading across her face as she pulls a silver bracelet from her jewelry box, “It’s not just a cover, General.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying, Sarah,” Beckman replies after another long pause.

“Don’t you?” Sarah replies knowingly, fingering the delicate silver charms. “Then let me explain. I’m in love with Chuck. And I’m spending Christmas Day with him and his family.”

“Agent Walker,” General Beckman responds, daggers present in her tone, “Did you just admit to me that you’re in love with your asset? The very same asset you’ve been tasked with protecting? The very same asset whose well-being means the entire livelihood of this mission?”

“Actually, that’s a lie,” Sarah replies smoothly, even as her pulse quickens anew.

“It had better –“

“I’m not just in love with Chuck, General,” Sarah replies, slipping the bracelet onto her wrist. “I’m completely in love with him. I’m so in love with him that I’m not sure they’ve come up with a word for how I really feel.” Even as she says it, even as the words leave her lips, she can’t believe what she’s saying. She can’t believe that she’s finally getting it off her chest. She can’t believe that the person she’s telling is General Beckman, the very same person who called her feelings a distraction. And yet she can’t stop the wide grin from spreading across her face.

“This is unacceptable, Walker,” Beckman bites. “As of this moment, you are removed –”

“Let’s get one thing straight, General,” Sarah interrupts, reveling in the feel of the cool chain against her wrist. “I have given everything for the Agency. I have given my entire life to protecting the greater good. And Chuck Bartowski has given everything he’s got to become someone he never wanted to be.” Crossing her arms tightly over her chest, she slips the phone between shoulder and ear, intent on making her next words as firm, as distinct as possible. “And we’re the best damn team the Agency has ever had. We’ve brought in more marks, we’ve captured more suspects than any other team in the last three decades.”

“Go on,” Beckman replies coolly.

Taking a deep breath, Sarah fixes her jaw and continues. “So if you want to bring down the Ring, we’re the team you want,” she says. “If you want to capture all enemy agents, we’re the team you need. And if you want to stop them from ever being revitalized again, we’re the team you’ve got to stand by. But there’s something I need from you first.”

“I’m listening, Agent,” General Beckman concedes warily, and Sarah can hear her gritting her teeth in suppressed anger.

“Good,” Sarah replies, the cheerful undertone reemerging within her voice. “Then listen closely. I guarantee you that we will bring down the Ring. I guarantee you that we will stifle their entire operation. But when it’s all over, and every Ring agent has been brought down, then Chuck and I walk. No government interference, no agency spies. We’ll be free.”

The General sighs heavily into the receiver. “You’ve got a contract, Walker. And the Intersect is too valuable. You can’t just –“

“Watch me,” Sarah replies. “Because if you don’t cut us loose, then I promise you that you will live to regret it.”

“Are you threatening me, Agent Walker?” Beckman snaps.

“With all due respect, Ma’am,” Sarah replies sweetly, “I haven’t even begun to threaten you. But before I do, I was hoping we could come to an agreement.”

“Very well, Walker,” Beckman replies a moment later. “If you bring down the Ring, and you don’t let these . . . feelings interfere with your work, then we’ll consider your proposition.”

“Make sure you consider it carefully,” Sarah states, keeping her tone purposely light even as she searches for another suitable threat. Finally, her thoughts land on a man she’d seen that very night. A man who had commiserated the passing of true love even when he’d decided that it wasn’t enough. And suddenly, she decides to risk a suspicion she’s harbored since his last visit. “Because I haven’t even gotten to the part about Roan Montgomery yet,” she says, gripping the phone a little tighter against her ear.

“Roan Montgomery?” the General queries, a hint of disbelief punctuating her casual question.

“Mmm,” Sarah replies, nodding as a slight sense of relief pervades her slender frame. “He couldn’t say enough about you the last time he was here. In fact,” she continues, a twinkle in her eyes, “I think he even has some pictures.”

Another pause greets Sarah’s words, this one much longer, this one much more weighty. “Very well, Walker,” Beckman finally repeats, her tone acidic. “If you bring down the Ring and capture every last agent, then consider your contract null and void, and the Intersect free.”

“I knew we could see eye-to-eye, General,” Sarah replies cheerfully, her grin flaring once again. “Oh, and there’s something else,” she says just before she hangs up the phone.

“Yes, Walker?” is the wary reply.

“Merry Christmas!” Sarah exclaims, biting her lower lip to suppress a quick laugh. And when the phone goes dead before the General can respond, it finally bubbles up from deep within her throat, spilling from her lips and echoing off her walls, the merriment so clear within the sound that she can hardly believe it escaped from her own mouth. Slipping the phone back into her pocket, she skips from the room and down the hall, the bracelet dangling jauntily from her wrist.

Jabbing the elevator button, her conversation with Beckman resounds through her mind, playing repeatedly through her thoughts as a feeling of weightless disbelief descends upon her shoulders. Because even though she still doesn’t trust the General, and even though she half expects a hasty reassignment by tomorrow morning, the fact remains that for the first time in twenty years she’s ready to fight. She’s ready to go head to head with her fears, with her panic, with the very Agency to which she once pledged her life. And even if Beckman goes back on her word, and even if things don’t turn out as she hopes, she knows that it won’t change the way she feels now. It won’t change her desire to fight, her desire to live, her desire to give everything that she’s got to the world she’s hidden from for so long.

Yanking her phone back out of her pocket, she sends a hasty text message to Casey’s cell: “Merry Christmas. Thanks for being such a great partner!” And when she receives a message back a few minutes later (“Keep your lady feelings to yourself, Walker.”) and another directly after that (“MC”), she can’t help but feel a rush of affection for the partner who would give her a decent funeral even when he’s spent three years hiding every emotion almost as well as she has. And even though she’ll never tell him that, and even though things will probably go back to normal as soon as he returns, she resolves to never forget what a wonderful partner John Casey really is. The next time they spar, she promises to let him get in a lucky punch.

Striding jovially out to the parking lot, she flashes radiant grins at everyone she sees, causing one man to trip over a chair and sending two others careening into a nearby wall as they stare in slack jawed wonder at the beautiful blonde enigma who’s never so much as looked in their direction. And when she sits behind the wheel of her beloved Porsche, and she turns the key in the ignition, sending Christmas music blaring from the pristine stereo system centrally positioned upon her dashboard, she can’t stop herself from singing along. “God bless ye, Merry Gentlemen,” she sings off-key at the top of her voice. “Let nothing you dismay. Bum bum bum bum ba bum bum,” she begins tapping the steering wheel with her palm, “Ba bum bum bum bum bum.” Streaking out of the parking lot, she leaves the shadows behind her as she drives off into a bright, happy Christmas Day, a world of wonder spreading out before her very eyes.

Magnificent Christmas trees stand aloft in large, gleaming windows; thick, decorous wreaths welcome families and friends approaching the doorsteps of those they hold most dear; and displays of reindeer, snowmen and jolly Santa Clauses peer at her from various rooftops. But the thing she notices most of all, the thing that truly catches her eyes are the people. The carefree, loving people enjoying a world in which they have the simple pleasure of being together. And as she gets closer to her destination, as her Porsche moves nearer to the person she most wants to see, her heart rate picks up speed and her stomach muscles knot in anticipation of the scene she hopes to find.

But first, before she can visit Chuck, before she can even begin to set things right, there’s one stop she has to make. Peeling into the parking lot of a Has Everything on the outskirts of town, she dashes to the door and pounds upon the window. And when a disgruntled janitor peers at her from the murky depths of the shop, when his eyes alight at the sight of the gorgeous blonde waiting breathlessly to be let in, he fumbles with his keys and heads quickly to the entrance of the store.

“Can I help you, Miss?” he asks, glancing at her shyly from underneath his long brown lashes.

“Hi, there,” Sarah replies, smiling flirtatiously at the middle-aged man. “How would you like to make two-hundred dollars today?”

“Two – two-hundred dollars?” the man stutters, his eyes going wide.

“Sure,” Sarah replies easily, running her finger along his bony chest and causing him to blush. “If you’ll let me buy some late Christmas presents and a Turkey dinner,” she says, “And if you’ll promise to deliver that Turkey dinner to two very questionable gentlemen, then I’ll pay you for your troubles.”

“I’m not supposed to let –“

“Oh, come on,” Sarah cuts in, smiling brightly as she fixes his collar. “No one has to know.”

“Well,” he says, dropping his gaze and scuffing the floor with his shoe. “I guess for two-hundred dollars . . .”

“Great!” Sarah replies cheerfully, quickly abandoning her ministrations to his shirt and entering the store. “You have a photo center, right?” she calls over her shoulder as the man gapes after her in bewilderment.

An hour later, she leaves the shop with her arms weighed down with presents and a bounce in her step, a Turkey dinner headed to Jeff and Lester’s front door.

~*~

Sarah stands at the threshold to Chuck’s apartment, her arms wrapped around a plethora of brightly wrapped presents, her blonde hair rippling around her slender shoulders, her features fixed into a nervous, resolute line. Never before has she been so tense standing at Chuck’s front door; never before has her heart beat quite so frantically. But as she bites her lower lip and stares at the thick, decorous wreath hanging above the knob; as she shifts silently upon the sidewalk and tries to work up the courage to ring the bell; as her thoughts wander to the journey she’s just taken, to the lessons she’s just learned, to the mission she must accomplish, she finds her stomach fluttering with a sense of excitement at the move she’s about to take. At the words she knows she will finally say.

So when her arms begin to ache from the weight of the packages, and the chill Burbank wind begins to bite into the smooth skin of her rosy cheeks, she finally raises a tentative hand and knocks upon the door. And when the door swings open a few seconds later and Devon appears in her path, she can’t stop the nervous smile which spreads across her flushed face. “Devon,” she says blithely, shifting to get a better grasp on the presents balanced precariously within her arms. “Hi.”

“Wow,” Devon intones, his eyes widening at the sight. “When did Santa start hiring hot blondes to do his dirty work?”

Sarah blushes as an uneasy laugh escapes her lips. “When you find out, let me know,” she returns. “I’m doing this for free.”

“It’s good to see you, Sarah,” Devon replies, smiling smoothly as he takes the packages from her arms. “We were afraid you –“

“Sarah?” comes a familiar feminine voice. “Sarah’s here?” And before another second has passed, Ellie has inserted herself in between the pair, her brow furrowed and her lips parted in surprise.

“Hi, Ellie,” Sarah replies awkwardly, her gaze dropping to the pavement as she attempts to keep herself from taking refuge behind her familiar mask. As she attempts to keep herself from hiding behind her familiar shield, even as her thoughts flicker back to the scene she witnessed between Ellie and Devon, to the moment when Ellie had expressed her hatred because of everything that Sarah had done. Because of everything she had put Chuck through. Because of everything that she had become. “Merry Christmas,” she finally says.

“Merry Christmas,” Ellie replies blankly. And then, when she’s taken a moment to come back into herself, and when the cold wind begins to batter her cheeks and toss her long brown hair, she blinks and stands up straight, a guarded expression entering her hazel eyes. “We didn’t think you were going to come,” she says cautiously, causing Devon to glance between them both and retreat into the safety of his home.

“Ellie,” Sarah starts, and then she finds that she’s not quite sure what to say. I’m sorry? I didn’t know? I didn’t realize how much I was hurting Chuck? How much pain I was putting him through? How much damage I was causing to myself? “I was wondering if I could still accept the invitation?” she finally resigns herself to saying, forcing her gaze back to Ellie’s own. “If I could still spend Christmas with your family?”

“That depends,” Ellie replies, still just as cautious, still just as guarded. “Is this just a one day thing? Or are you going to be around more permanently?”

“I’m going to be around for as long as Chuck will have me,” Sarah states, the words falling from her lips before she can even think about them. But even as they sound within the chill air between the women, she knows just how true they are. “I’m going to be around for as long as he wants me to be.” She almost breathes a sigh of relief when she notices Ellie’s guard begin to slip, when she watches the wariness within her eyes begin to fade. Taking a deep breath, she rushes ahead. “Ellie, I’m sorry,” she says, a brilliant layer of sincerity underlying her words. “You’ve always made me feel like a part of your family, but I didn’t understand until recently just how much I wanted that. I didn’t understand until recently just how much that meant to me.” She opens her mouth to continue, to elaborate, but the words die in her throat before she can speak them. She’s already said more than she expected, she’s already revealed more than she’s ever revealed before. She’s already opened herself up more than she ever thought possible. So instead, she waits with bated breath for the brunette’s response.

Folding her lips, Ellie’s eyes turn bright as she considers Sarah’s words. But slowly, her guarded expression vanishes to be replaced by a hesitant, welcoming smile. “You are a part of our family, Sarah,” she says. “You’ve been a part of our family from the day that you met Chuck.”

“Thank you,” Sarah replies. And even though the conversation is still awkward, and even though she’s still not quite sure how to handle this confrontation with the elder Bartowski, her heart skips a beat at the brunette’s statement.

“But you have to promise me something,” Ellie continues, and Sarah notices with a pang that the guarded expression continues to mingle with the acceptance reflected within her eyes.

“What’s that?” she asks, shifting uneasily.

“Don’t hurt him again,” Ellie cautions, her forehead creasing. “He’s been through enough.”

“I promise,” Sarah replies, her chest twisting as a slight flicker of pain wafts across her face. “I won’t.”

“Good,” Ellie nods. “Because out of anyone I’ve ever known, Chuck deserves to be happy. And you make him happy, Sarah.”

“Where is Chuck?” Sarah asks nervously, her cheeks slightly red from the unexpected compliment, as well as from the direct confrontation she’s just endured.

Ellie stares at her, weighing her words before another smile finally spreads across her face. “In his room,” she replies, stepping aside so that Sarah can enter the house. “I think he’s trying to catch a few last minutes of sleep.” Leaning against the wall, she studies the blonde thoughtfully for a moment. “But something tells me that he won’t mind the interruption,” she finally says.

“I hope not,” Sarah replies nervously, even as her pulse quickens anew. Breathing in deeply, she moves toward Chuck’s room, stopping quickly at the Christmas tree to pick up a bright blue bag Devon had taken from her arms a few minutes before. And when the present is dangling from her fingertips, she swallows the tightness which has entered her throat and finishes her journey to Chuck’s room, hesitating only a moment before knocking softly on the door.

“Just a few more minutes,” comes a familiar sleepy voice.

Sarah’s heart skips a beat at the sound, at the voice. At the reminder of Chuck’s proximity. Taking another deep breath, she raises her hand to knock again, her present hanging hopefully from her hand.

“Come in,” Chuck calls after a short pause, and she hears the rustling of sheets and the sound of bare feet hitting a carpeted floor. Taking a moment to compose herself, to force any signs of nervousness from her face, from her voice, Sarah pushes open the door and enters the room.

“Hey,” she says softly, her lips quirking upward into an affectionate smile when she notices the man standing no more than a few feet away. His slim muscles are apparent beneath a thin white t-shirt and blue boxer shorts, his curly brown hair is mussed from a long night’s sleep, and his cinnamon eyes brighten the moment he sees who’s walked into his room. My dad’s expression, Sarah’s heart skips another beat. Every time he saw my mom.

“Sarah,” Chuck breathes, taking a few instinctual steps in her direction. He rakes her face with hungry eyes, cocking his head slightly as he studies the rosy hue to her cheeks and the bright light upon her face. “You came,” he finally says.

“You invited me, didn’t you?” she teases, her smile growing even as her stomach knots with anticipation.

“Well, yeah,” Chuck replies, grinning slightly. “But I’ve learned that you don’t always do what I ask.”

“Imagine that,” Sarah replies, winking. And then, because she can’t wait any longer, and because she’s wanted this for the last three years, she plunges ahead. “I brought you a present,” she says softly, raising the bag clutched lightly in her hand. The blue material sparkles underneath his bedroom light, the gift inside jostling quietly as she hands it to Chuck.

“You didn’t have to do that,” his grin widens as he reaches out to grab the bag, his fingertips brushing lightly against her soft hand in the process. And as a jolt of electricity rushes through her fingers and straight into her chest, she watches with bated breath as he unwraps his gift. “It’s a picture,” he says, staring at the photo enclosed within the silver frame. “Of us, just after Ellie and Awesome exchanged their vows.”

“It is,” Sarah replies lightly, stepping to his side so that she can gaze at the portrait. “But it’s more than that, too.”

“What do you mean?” Chuck asks, glancing at her curiously.

Inhaling slowly, attempting to calm the rapid beating of her heart, Sarah allows a tender light to enter her vibrant blue gaze. “That’s the moment that I decided that I was going to stay in Burbank,” she says quietly, folding her lips as she waits anxiously for his response.

“I don’t understand,” Chuck replies slowly, shaking his head. “You decided you were going to stay in Burbank? But . . . what about Bryce? And the mission?” he asks, his forehead furrowing. “What about the CIA?”

“What about them?” Sarah replies gently, brushing softly against Chuck’s arm even as her stomach muscles continue to knot. And when he finally notices the bracelet dangling from her wrist, the hopefulness within his eyes grows even more pronounced.

“Well, I thought –“

But she interrupts before he can finish. She’s waited too long, she’s put him through too much. She’s put herself through too much. “I decided that they didn’t compare,” she says quietly, “to staying here with the man I love. I decided that they didn’t compare to you, Chuck.”

“What are you saying, Sarah?” Chuck queries breathlessly, his eyes dilating as he swivels to meet Sarah’s affectionate gaze.

“I’m saying,” she elaborates, taking a step closer to the computer nerd, the emotions more prevalent upon her face than they’ve ever been before, “That I can’t live without you, Chuck. I’m saying that if given a choice between you and the CIA, I’d choose you in a heartbeat.” Taking another step in his direction, their faces so close that she can feel his breath hot and intoxicating upon her cheek, she clarifies still further. “I’m saying that I’m in love with you, Chuck. I’m so in love with you that I don’t think they’ve invented words to describe how I really feel.”

His gaze turning bright, Chuck swallows hard as he raises his hand to caress Sarah’s jaw. “I love you, too, Sarah,” he whispers. “I’ve loved you almost since the first moment I saw you.”

“I’m so sorry,” she says, leaning eagerly into his touch. “I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through. For all the –“

“Shh,” Chuck says, moving his index finger so that he can trace the smooth lines of her lips. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’ve already forgiven you.”

Blinking at his ready forgiveness, at the love so visible within his features, Sarah stares at him for a long moment. She can’t believe that it was this easy, she can’t believe that he’s forgiven her so much. She can’t believe that she’s standing directly before him, her feelings finally exposed, her emotions finally unleashed. And as she relishes the look within his eyes, and the expression upon his face, and the feel of his fingers against her lips, a deep yearning builds within her chest, a poignant longing runs deep within her veins. Before she knows what she’s doing, before she even acknowledges the words forming upon her lips, she’s threading her fingers through the curls at the back of his neck and asking: “Do you mind if I kiss you now?”

A gentle smirk plays along the corner of Chuck’s mouth as his eyes dance in delight. “I think I can allow –“

But he doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Rising onto her tiptoes, Sarah’s mouth parts as she quickly closes the distance between them, crushing her lips against his soft, warm mouth. And as she continues to finger his silky curls, and he wraps his strong, solid arms around her slender frame, and they fall together into a sweet, passionate dance, their bodies moving together as if one, the shadows vanish and the long night fades away, the only thoughts permeating Sarah’s haze how good it feels to be in Chuck’s arms and how much she wants to spend the rest of her life wrapped in his embrace.

So when they finally break apart, when Chuck leans his forehead against Sarah’s own and looks deeply into her intense blue gaze, when their ragged breathing slowly returns to normal and their rapid heartbeats slowly regain a steady rhythm, it takes Sarah a moment to return to the present. And when she does, and she sees the love in Chuck’s eyes, a silly grin spreads across her face. “Hey,” she says softly.

“Hey,” he replies, grinning as he brushes another quick kiss across her lips. And then, pulling away again, his expression turns a little more serious. “What about the Ring, Sarah?” he asks. “What about Beckman?”

She has to force back a laugh at the irony the situation poses. At the very idea that Chuck would be worried about the Ring and Beckman, while all she wants to do is spend the rest of the day kissing him. “Don’t worry about it,” she says, smirking. “I’ve got it covered.”

“You do?” he asks, arching a brow.

“Let’s just say that I offered Beckman a deal that she couldn’t refuse,” Sarah replies, her smirk growing more prominent. “And that once the Ring is eradicated,” she says, her gaze going slightly cross-eyed as it travels to his swollen lips, “I intend to spend the rest of my life showing you just how sorry I really am.”

“Hmm,” Chuck replies, his face splitting into his familiar charming grin. “That sounds like a deal that I can’t refuse.” And with that, he kisses her once more, his lips caressing her mouth in a way that leaves her breathless and her pulse racing while her knees turn slightly weak.

She had almost forgotten what a good kisser Chuck Bartowski actually was. She had almost forgotten how easy it is to fall into his touch. So when he breaks the kiss this time, and leans against her forehead once more, she has to blink and forcibly return to the present moment. “So where do we go from here?” she murmurs.

“We open presents,” Chuck says simply, caressing her jaw. “And drink eggnog,” he continues, nuzzling her chin. “And sing Christmas carols,” he elaborates, kissing her lips. “And,” he says, brushing a kiss against her cheek, “Prepare ourselves to be totally,” she shivers as he kisses her ear, “absolutely,” goose bumps break out onto her arms when he kisses her temple, “completely heart warmed.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she breathes. And then she crashes her lips to his mouth, falling once again into the electricity coursing through her chest and the emotions running through her veins. Thirty minutes later, they finally make it into the living room to open presents.

~*~

“Hey, guys,” Devon greets them brightly, a fluffy Santa hat perched atop his blonde head as he rifles through the presents. “We were wondering when you were going to join us.”

“Is everything okay?” Ellie asks, a hopeful glint within her hazel eyes as she gazes at her brother and his girlfriend. Both flushed and sweaty, both grinning widely through deliciously bruised lips, both holding hands so tightly that a tornado probably couldn’t tear them apart, they’ve never looked quite so happy. They’ve never looked quite so much in love.

“Never been better,” Chuck replies, causing Sarah to blush slightly as he glances lovingly into her gleaming blue eyes.

“So, Ellie,” the blonde says, clearing her throat and averting her gaze even as her hand remains intricately linked with Chuck’s own. “What’s this about presents?”

“I don’t know, Sarah,” the doctor replies, shifting her attention to the Christmas tree, “Maybe you should tell us.”

“Good God,” Chuck states, his eyes widening as he takes in the sight, “Where did all those come from?”

“Santa hired a hot blonde elf to help him this year,” Devon returns, his smile faltering slightly when Ellie shoots him a look. “I mean, Sarah decided to bring us a real Christmas,” he clarifies, flushing guiltily. “So maybe she should start.” He reaches underneath the tree for a familiar bag bearing Chuck’s name, a bag that Sarah had seen just the night before, leaning forlornly against the door to her hotel room.

“Oh, um,” Chuck stammers, taking a seat on the edge of the couch as Sarah reaches for the gift, “Maybe we should wait.”

“We’ve waited long enough, I think,” Sarah replies, brushing a kiss against his cheek. And as Ellie positions herself upon a nearby armchair and Devon remains poised underneath the Christmas tree, the multi-colored lights reflecting brilliantly off the white fluff of his Santa hat, she reaches expectantly into the bag and pulls out an ornate silver frame, into which a photo of she and Chuck has been lovingly placed.

“It’s not as good as your gift,” Chuck murmurs, gazing at the photograph. “I mean, there’s no special meaning to –“

“I love it,” Sarah interrupts, fingering their happy faces as they relish the joy of being wrapped within each other’s arms. And as the smells of Ellie’s cooking drift through the air and tease her nostrils, and the sounds of the roaring fire crackling in the newly built fireplace tickle her ears, and the feel of the cool silver chain and the sensation of Chuck’s warm arms flood her senses, she can’t help the rush of happiness which surges through her chest. “It’s one of the best presents I’ve ever gotten,” she says, nuzzling against his side as Ellie and Devon pretend that the stack of presents are far more interesting than they really are.

“It just reminds me of us, you know?” Chuck asks, smiling softly.

“I do,” Sarah nods. And then, because Chuck is blushing at the outpouring of emotion he’s sharing in front of his sister and brother-in-law, and because she’s not quite sure how much more emotion her own heart can take, she glances toward the glittering tree and smiles at the other couple.

“Why doesn’t someone else open a gift?” she prods, nodding at the pile of presents.

“Good idea,” Devon replies, pointing at her. “Here, babe,” he says, handing Ellie a present. And with that, the festivities commence. The sounds of rustling paper and happy cries fill the scene, the smells of freshly brewed cider and jostled pine waft through the air, and the sights of happy smiles and loving grins are had by all. And when it’s done, when Ellie is gazing in affectionate disapproval at Devon wearing his new fedora accompanied by a black trench coat purchased by a blonde spy, and Chuck and Sarah have made it to the couch proper, their hands still firmly linked as they revel in the feel of being wrapped up in each other, and glistening new jewelry and fuzzy new sweaters and crisp new books litter the room, stacked amongst piles of crumpled wrapping paper and stacks of discarded gift bags, Sarah realizes that she’s never been so happy. Sarah realizes that she’s never been so grateful to be sitting here inside a warm, cozy home with a family that’s invited her to share their Christmas. With a family that’s invited her to stay. With a family that has, for all intents and purposes, become her own.

And when Ellie hands out two last minute presents – identical long, thin packages meant for she and Chuck – she blinks in surprise when she recognizes the wrapping. When she realizes how much they resemble the one meant to tear Chuck from her life. Only this time, Ellie’s handing her one as well.

“I wasn’t sure if I was going to give this to you,” the doctor apologizes, slightly abashed as she squeezes the blonde’s shoulder. “Not until I saw you with my brother.”

“Thanks, Ellie,” Sarah replies, slightly dazed. Slipping her finger underneath the flap of the sparkling green wrapping, she finds a ticket contained within its confines just as Chuck finishes opening his own gift.

“A plane ticket,” the computer nerd says blankly, glancing at the ticket Sarah’s holding in her own hand. “To London?”

“I got the money from Dad’s emergency stash,” Ellie replies, shrugging as Devon archs his brows. “I thought that maybe you two could use some time away. I know that things have been a little . . . tense lately.”

“Wow, Ellie,” Sarah replies slowly, gazing at the doctor in mild wonder. “This is a really big gift.”

“Yeah, well,” Ellie says, blushing even as she graces Sarah with an uncertain smile. “You’re a big part of our family.”

The blonde hesitates for a moment, considering the gift. Considering the ramifications accompanying its acceptance. Because if she really takes this plane ticket, if she really goes to London with Chuck, it means much more than a trip. It means a chance to really embrace her new life, her new goals, her new dreams. It means a chance to become a part of the Bartowski family in a way that she hasn’t been part of a family for almost as long as she can remember. And for a moment, the cool feeling of fear begins to trickle through her veins, the clammy hands of panic begin to close in upon her throat. But before she can truly give into them, before she can even begin to shut down, she registers the feel of Chuck’s hand in her own. And she remembers the look of love reflected within his eyes. And she realizes that she wants nothing more than to be a part of his family, to be a part of his world for the rest of her life.

“Well,” she finally says, shooting Chuck a small smile, “I have developed an affinity with Dickens lately. It might be nice to see his birthplace.”

Chuck’s eyes widen slightly at her response. “Are you sure?” he asks cautiously. “What about work?”

“Work can wait for a few days,” Sarah replies simply, a surge of warmth flooding through her chest at the expression on his face. “I don’t think it’s going anywhere.” And even though she knows the General won’t be too happy, and even though she knows the Ring still awaits in dubious circles, she feels a steely sense of determination to ensure this trip actually happens. After everything they’ve given up, after everything they’ve accomplished for the Agency, a vacation is exactly what they both need. A vacation is exactly what they both deserve. And maybe they can even get a little international surveillance done in the process. After all, the Ring must have foreign cells.

“Why, Sarah,” he intones, breaking into his crooked grin. “Does this mean that you’re actually going to do me the honor of taking a vacation with me?”

“I think I am, Chuck,” Sarah replies, leaning in to caress his soft mouth with her eager lips.

“Awesome,” Devon pipes up from underneath the tree, interrupting her thoughts as he gazes at them from beneath his black fedora. “Remind me to tell you about the hot British –” But he realizes his mistake just before Ellie’s expression turns slightly irate, clearing his throat and tipping back his hat. “Muffins,” he finishes quickly, avoiding Ellie’s eyes. “The Brits make great baked goods.”

“Uh-huh,” Ellie intones, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Devon,” she says, holding out her hand. “I need some help with the Turkey.”

Sarah watches them leave with a hopeful smile, her heart skipping a beat as she thinks about the family Christmas she’s just shared. The first family Christmas she’s really allowed herself to enjoy for the past twenty years. The only problem is, as she leans into Chuck’s touch and relishes the feel of his smooth, warm hand and the sight of his radiant, joyful smile, she realizes that something’s still missing. Something’s still not quite right. And in that moment, her mind flickers to a familiar stranger, to a man she’d seen just that night, to a man who had been visiting his wife’s grave. And as she thinks about that man, as she thinks about that grave, her thoughts shift to the mother she’d lost long ago. To the mother she’d missed all of her life. To the mother who had been the center of her world. So before she really knows what she’s saying, before the words have even registered within her mind, she turns to Chuck with creased brow.

“Do you want to take a drive?” she asks. And the moment the question has left her mouth, she knows that it’s the right thing to do.

“But what about the Turkey?” Chuck asks, glancing into the kitchen.

“We’ll be back,” Sarah promises. “There’s just something I need to do first.” And when Chuck agrees a moment later, pulling her to her feet with a quick kiss, she only feels a momentary twinge of doubt before a hesitant smile spreads across her face and she follows him out the door, intent on finally showing him a little piece of her past.

PART TWO

FIC: A Chuckmas Carol, "Stave Five: The End of It" (Part 2)

mikki13 — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 10:12:56 GMT

FIC: A Chuckmas Carol, "Stave Four: The Last of the Spirits"

mikki13 — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 09:52:07 GMT

Title: A Chuckmas Carol, "Stave Four: The Last of the Spirits"
Rating: R
Word Count: 8,193
Characters: Sarah and Company
Disclaimer: Sadly, they still don't belong to me.

Summary: A new twist to Dickens' beloved "A Christmas Carol". When Sarah begins to shut out the world around her, three spirits come to show her the error of her ways. Season 3 AU.

Stave One: Bryce's Ghost * Stave Two: The First of the Three Spirits * Stave Three: The Second of the Three Spirits

The air grows cold and Sarah’s breath begins to emerge in puffy white wisps as the phantom glides along the ground, coming ever nearer, moving ever closer with each passing second. Its black cloak billows around its shapeless form, its hooded face completely concealed, its pale hands barely visible beneath the dark shroud. Wrapping her arms tightly around her slender frame, she attempts to block out the chill. She attempts to rub away the goose bumps breaking out onto her arms, the icy tendrils skirting across her skin. But as the Ghost approaches, as a cloudy mist surges up from the ground and masks the graves which are all too near, her heart begins hammering relentlessly in her chest.

“I know who you are!” she calls, her fingernails biting into the pale skin of her arms. “I know what you want.”

But the Ghost says nothing. The Ghost makes no noise at all. Instead, it continues to waft soundlessly along the ground, its cloak slithering through the mist as it slowly draws closer to Sarah’s side.

Inhaling deeply through her nose, Sarah stands up straight, her eyes fixated on the mysterious phantom. Her entire body ready for the encounter, her entire being prepared for the lessons she knows that it will bring. Only this time, she doesn’t rely on a knife. This time, she doesn’t even reach for a weapon. She has nothing to grab, she has nothing to depend upon. The only thing she has, the only thing she needs is her own wisdom, her own heart, her own strength.

“You’re the Ghost of Christmas Future,” Sarah states as the phantom slips along the concealed graves and finally comes to a stop by her side. “The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?” she prods when it says nothing in response. And when it still fails to answer, when it still says nothing, she simply takes a deep breath and raises her chin in resolve. “I’m ready for you,” she states firmly, even as she shivers when the cloak blows against her chill skin. “I’m ready for what it is you have to teach me. For the things I know I will see.” Even if it’s not what I want to see. Even if it’s not what I want to know. Even if it’s what I fear the most.

As if on cue, Chuck’s innocent, charming grin flares within her mind, his cinnamon brown eyes flicker through her thoughts, and a rush of fearful hope resounds within her chest, mingling with the shadows cascading through her mind and intensifying the longing coursing through her gut. The longing to see what has happened. The longing to see what has developed in these silent, nameless years, to discover whether her desire to change, to fix her past and live her present has altered the course of her life.

And when the phantom simply continues to gaze at her from the depths of its jet black robe, causing her to suppress a shudder when she considers the ghostly eyes currently fixated upon her face, she holds onto the sliver of hope and takes a step closer to its side. “Show me the way,” she requests, her expression strong and determined.

The phantom inclines its dark hood as if nodding its shapeless head, and she takes a deep breath, preparing herself for the journey. Preparing herself for what she might find. Preparing herself for the future truth. And when it waves a shrouded, hidden arm, moving its pale hand through the smoky mist and causing the graveyard to dissolve, the scene to shift, the world to drop away, she stands firmly by its side, waiting to see what she will be shown.

Almost immediately, a dizzying array of images flashes before her eyes, an overwhelming plethora of sights and of sounds, each blurry and indistinct, each lasting only a few seconds before being eclipsed by utter darkness, each offering snatches of information which gradually lead to her confusion, which gradually conceal her hope and intensify her fear. “What?” Steve Bartowski cries, leaning in shock upon the palm of his hand as he holds a phone tightly to his ear. “When? God, Ellie, is there anything I can do?” . . . “I always said that getting dead was an occupational hazard,” Carina states matter-of-factly, even as a shimmer of sorrow pierces her sparkling blue eyes. “Should have been more careful.” . . . “Shame things couldn’t have been different,” says a much older Roan Montgomery, staring morosely at a newspaper as a gorgeous young woman slinks off to a nearby shower. “I never thought love belonged in this kind of work.”

“What are they all talking about?” Sarah demands breathlessly, whirling toward the Ghost as she attempts to smooth away the chaos and make sense of the pandemonium. “What’s happened?”

But the Ghost does not speak, the Ghost does not even move, and the scene shifts again, more blurry images of familiar faces passing before her eyes, more indistinct conversations rushing by her ears and racing through her thoughts. “He always had it all, Jeff,” Lester states as he dodges last minute holiday shoppers by hiding underneath a low shelf. “The girl, the job, the computer smarts.” . . . “We always lose the best,” a fellow agent shakes his head, running a wary hand through his well-kempt hair. “Such a shame.” . . . “That’s what happens when you disobey the cardinal rule,” says an old CIA trainer, “Never fall in love.”

Sarah’s chest tightens, her breathing turns shallow, her muscles knot as the disturbing statements reverberate through her mind and pierce her worn façade, diminishing her hope, strengthening her fear. And when a sea of darkness eclipses her sight between each new scene, she can’t help but allow her mind to drift to the man she still hasn’t seen, to the man whose future is still uncertain, to the man whose life is linked so intimately with her own. “Where’s Chuck?” she finds herself asking, even when she knows the Spirit probably won’t answer. “What’s happened to him?” But she’s greeted by silence, punctuated only by more snatches of conversation, by more puzzling pieces of illumination into this dark, murky future. And still, she holds onto a sliver of hope, she holds onto a shred of faith, strengthened by the longing still coursing through her chest.

So when she finds herself back on solid ground, when her bare feet land upon a fuzzy carpet cluttered with piles of brightly wrapped presents and miscellaneous Christmas ornaments, and her bright blue eyes scan a small living room within a tiny three-bedroom house and the dazzling Christmas tree standing at the center of the scene, her heart skips a beat at the familial atmosphere which greets her. At the loving home which unfolds before her eyes. Family pictures adorn the walls, each depicting a boy and a girl with hair and eyes nearly the same color as Chuck’s, each with wide grins and happy faces. And everywhere she sees, everywhere she looks, are signs of family, from the toys littering the room to the presents stacked underneath the tree to the Christmas stockings hanging from the mantelpiece. The scene is so similar to the one she’s starting to dream of having, to the one she’s beginning to realize she wants for herself, that she can’t stop the hopeful smile from spreading across her face, even as the tension remains taut within her chest.

“Where are we?” she asks, glancing at the Ghost with an optimistic gleam in her eye. “Where is this place?” But as usual, the Spirit remains silent, remains still, only raising a pale, pointy finger when footsteps begin to sound from nearby. Her forehead creases as she follows the direction in which it points, her heart skipping a beat when she hears the drone of familiar voices.

“The kids won’t be up for a few more minutes, Morgan,” an older Anna Wu murmurs coyly, threading her fingers through her husband’s graying hair. “And I just put on my naughty Santa panties. We can . . .” she lowers her voice so that Sarah can’t discern the words, but Morgan’s answering blush as Anna’s hand falls below his waist tells her all she needs to know.

Averting her gaze, Sarah’s heart sinks when she realizes that this isn’t the home she had hoped it would be. This isn’t the family she’d thought it might hold. And at this moment in time, she still has no idea what’s happened to Chuck. Nevertheless, she continues to listen, hoping for some clue of the computer nerd’s whereabouts.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Morgan apologizes, disentangling himself from Anna’s passionate embrace. “I’m just not in the mood for naughty Santa today.”

Anna’s mouth curls downward in a disappointed frown even as she places a comforting hand upon Morgan’s shoulder. “There’s nothing you could have done, Morgan,” she says sympathetically. “He knew that.”

“I know,” Morgan replies, hanging his head dejectedly. “It’s just that . . . Chuck’s always been such a good guy, ya know? He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to have things end like this.”

“I still can’t believe that it’s over,” Anna agrees, her face falling.

“Tell me about it,” Morgan states, kicking at an invisible piece of fuzz laying on his shaggy blue carpet. “It just . . . It just, sucks, you know?” he explodes. “It sucks how things ended up. It sucks that he’ll never be my best friend again. It sucks that ever since Sarah –”

Her throat tightens with dread as her name sounds upon her ears, mingled with the ominous statements about Chuck. Taking several inadvertent steps closer to the couple, her lips part as she strains to hear more. As she silently urges them to elaborate, to clarify, to let her know what it is that’s happened to Chuck. What it is that she’s done. But before Morgan can say anything else, before he can expand upon his statement, two children dash into the room, excitement shining upon their faces as they realize that their stockings are full and presents are stacked under the tree.

“Daddy Daddy Daddy!” the little girl cries, throwing herself into her father’s arms. “Santa came, Santa came!”

“Wow, look at that,” Morgan replies, hugging his daughter with a half-hearted grin. “And here I told him to put you on the naughty list this year.”

“Don’t be silly, Daddy,” the little girl giggles. “I’ve been good. Jason’s the one that’s been naughty,” she says, casting a mischievous glance toward her older brother.

“Well, I’ll just have to make sure that he’s put coal in both your stockings, then,” Morgan laughs as Jason shoots his sister an admonishing look.

Turning away, Sarah glances at the Spirit. “Please,” she says, unable to watch anymore. Unable to look at a family so similar to the one she dreams of having herself, so similar to the one she dreams of having with Chuck, especially when the ominous statements are all too clear within her mind. “I need to know. Is Chuck okay? Did something happen to him? Did he get hurt? Did he . . .?” But she finds she cannot finish the sentence. She finds she cannot even form the words upon her lips. Instead, she swallows hard and shakes her head, attempting to clear her mind of the doubt. Attempting to clear her head of the panic clouding her thoughts, concealing her senses, darkening her world. “Take me somewhere else,” she pleads, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Take me to another scene. I need to know more.”

The black hood nods again. And a moment later, the shrouded, shapeless arm waves through the festive air, causing Morgan’s house to dissolve into nothingness, Morgan’s family to disappear, and the entire scene to shift. Before she knows what’s happening, before she’s even adjusted to the change, Sarah finds herself swimming through a sea of nothingness, the darkness closing in around her, obscuring her vision and dimming her sight. The only thing she knows, the only thing of which she is certain, is that the being remains by her side, its body cloaked by the black robe, its frame solid and unmoving, its countenance primal and mysterious. But just as she feels the world begin to close in around her, just as the clammy fingers of panic begin to traverse her chill skin, the darkness fades and she finds herself standing in the middle of a sunny kitchen, the smell of a Christmas breakfast wafting through the room and teasing her nose.

Stumbling slightly as they come to an abrupt stop, Sarah places a hand on a nearby counter as she gazes at the room in which she’s found herself, at the scene which spans before her eyes. A brunette stands at the stove, a phone clutched between shoulder and ear as she stirs one of a trio of pots bubbling on the shiny white surface. “Thanks, Dad,” she says, and Sarah’s breath hitches when she recognizes Ellie Woodcomb’s distraught voice. “I’ll let you know if there’s anything you can do.”

“What’s wrong with Ellie?” Sarah asks, glancing at the Ghost. Even as she says the words, even as they leave her lips, she doesn’t expect clarification. She doesn’t even expect a response. It’s becoming clear that whatever world she’s found herself in, whatever disturbing future she’s experiencing, she’ll get no help from her ghostly guide. There will be no wise answer of illumination to chase away the shadows currently drifting into her life.

So when Devon enters the room a moment later and Ellie hangs up the phone, placing her head into her hands, Sarah simply takes a deep breath and steps further into the kitchen, closer to the shadows depicting Chuck’s family. Closer to the shadows depicting her future life. “Is everything okay, babe?” Devon asks, his brow creased in concern as he rests a comforting hand upon his wife’s shoulder.

“I’m just worried about Chuck,” Ellie states, running a shaky hand through her hair. “I can’t believe that this has happened. I can’t believe how everything has turned out.”

And with those words, with that statement, a burst of relief resounds through Sarah’s chest. Because if Ellie’s worried about Chuck, if Ellie’s still talking about him as if he’s still here, as if he’s not hurt, as if he’s not gone, then maybe he’s okay after all. Maybe she’s misunderstood everything that’s been said, maybe she’s mistaken everything that’s been spoken. Maybe everything will turn out all right, and she hasn’t failed him after all.

“I really hate her,” Ellie bites, breaking into Sarah’s thoughts as she whirls around to fix Devon with bitter hazel eyes. “I just can’t believe that she did this to him. I can’t believe that after all those times he gave her a second chance, all those times that he put his heart on the line, that she would do this to him. That she would hurt him like this.”

“Hey,” Devon says gently, wrapping his arms around Ellie’s lower back and gazing intently into her eyes. “We really can’t get mad at her. I mean, after all –“

“I don’t care,” Ellie snaps, and then breathes in deeply when she realizes just how loud her voice is becoming. Closing her eyes as if to compose herself, she leans her forehead against Devon’s and grits her teeth. “If Sarah had only stayed, if she had only loved him the way he loved her, then none of this would have happened. She wouldn’t be . . . He wouldn’t have . . . Things would be different,” she finishes with conviction, her eyes popping open as she bites her lower lip.

“But it did happen, honey,” Devon replies, caressing Ellie’s cheek with his thumb. “She did leave. And Chuck never got over her loss.”

“I know,” Ellie replies, sighing heavily. “And I think that’s why I hate her so much. Devon, we tried so hard to make her a part of this family. We tried so hard to let her know how much we cared. And even though Chuck tried to move on, even though he tried to find happiness, he never got over her. I don’t understand how she could just turn away from all of that and leave him. How she could open him up to all of this pain.”

“I don’t know, Ell,” Devon replies, brushing a kiss against his wife’s lips. “I guess we’ll never know.”

The warmth of Sarah’s relief suddenly turns to ice as she stares in stunned dismay at the situation unfolding before her. At the knowledge which is now slowly permeating into her mind, which is now slowly trickling into her senses. Somehow, even after everything she’s learned, even after everything she’s experienced, even after discovering just how much she loves Chuck, just how much she needs him, just how much she wants everything to change, she’s left him. She’s abandoned him, she’s abandoned his family. She’s abandoned everything she so desperately wants, everything she so desperately needs. And in the process, she’s caused him some sort of pain. Some sort of pain so deep that it’s made Ellie hate her, even after all the times she’s welcomed her into her home. Even after all the times she’s welcomed her into her heart. Even after all the chances that she’s given her.

Before she can stop herself, before she can remind herself that the shadows of the future cannot hear, she crosses the kitchen to Ellie’s side. “Ellie, please,” she murmurs beseechingly. “I promise this isn’t going to happen. I promise I’m not going to leave.”

And even though the other woman fails to notice her, and perhaps because she continues to talk about the pain that Chuck’s now experiencing, Sarah continues undeterred. “I love him, too,” she says softly, only this time she’s talking to herself. Because as much as she wants Ellie to believe her, as much as she wants to diminish the hatred within the other woman’s eyes, she’s never opened up easily to the doctor before. And really, the words she speaks next are more for her own benefit than anyone else’s. “I love him just as much as he loves me,” she says, the careful mask wavering upon her face. “I was just afraid.”

But even as she says it, even as she speaks the words, she can’t help the twinge of doubt which reverberates through her mind, nor can she help the trickle of hesitancy which echoes through her thoughts. Because if she’s really left Chuck, if she’s really caused him all this pain, then how can he continue to love her? How can he continue to care?

“I don’t understand,” she says, turning to the Spirit. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Where’s Chuck? What did I do to him?” And when the Ghost remains quiet, when the Ghost still refuses to speak, she strides across the room, grasps hold of its cloak and shakes it, even as her hand tingles with chill from the touch of the shroud. “Talk to me!” she cries. “Tell me what’s going on!”

In response, the phantom only turns its hood to gaze unseeingly at Sarah, to fix her in the sights of its faceless form. And before Sarah can say anything else, before she can utter another word, the world is shifting again, Ellie’s kitchen is vanishing from sight, and she finds herself plunged back into the world of dizzying darkness, the jubilant, joyous celebrations eclipsed by conversations which Sarah does not want to hear. Conversations which Sarah wishes she didn’t even have to acknowledge. “The funeral’s today,” comes the morose voice of an old partner. “Real shame” . . . “. . . damn fine agent,” Cole Barker says into a phone, whilst sipping a cup of tea. “Terrible tragedy.” . . . “I guess love isn’t everything,” Jill Roberts states with a slight smirk, throwing a crumpled newspaper into a trashcan.

By the time Sarah’s bare feet connect with the marble floor, by the time she finds herself standing in a large, brightly lit room, her throat has tightened and her eyes have narrowed with fear. Taking a step into the room, glancing at her surroundings, she attempts to equate everything she’s heard with her future self, to equate everything she’d learned with this obscure life. Something’s happened to Chuck. Something that she’s caused. And everyone she knows, everyone she’s ever met is talking about a terrible tragedy, an untimely death, a tragic funeral. Squeezing her eyes shut to block out the shadows, to block out the truths, she leans against the wall and takes several deep breaths, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart. Trying to slow her ragged, shallow breathing. And when the door to the room swings open, when two individuals wearing dress uniforms enter the enclosed space, it takes her a moment to come back to the present couched within the future.

“Shame about what happened, General,” comes the nasally voice of an enlisted Marine Corps member. “I always heard she was one of the best.”

Blinking, Sarah realizes with a start that she’s staring at a much older, much more wrinkled General Beckman, her hair still pulled back tightly into a bun yet almost entirely gray with age. And for a moment, the same sense of relief ricochets through her chest, the same sense of hope races through her veins. Because if she’s standing in the chambers of the NSA, then maybe she still has something in her life. Maybe she’s still fighting alongside Chuck, maybe everything that she fears has happened really hasn’t come to pass after all. Maybe there’s still some hope. But then she remembers the pieces of conversation, and she thinks about the confrontations between Morgan and Anna, and Ellie and Awesome, and she hears what Beckman has to say, and her muscles tighten once more.

“She was one of the best,” the General corrects, squinting at the man through her glasses. “She lost that designation long ago.”

“I don’t understand,” the man shakes his head. “Wasn’t she instrumental in taking down the Ring? In bringing about the change that linked the CIA with the NSA, forming our agencies into one organization?”

“She was a part of that, yes,” Beckman states warily, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans against an oak desk. “But I wouldn’t say she was instrumental. In fact, I’d say she was more of a liability.”

“What do you mean?” the man prods, his forehead crinkling as Sarah’s stomach sinks at her words.

“She broke our number one rule,” the General clarifies, pursing her lips in disdain. “She fell in love.”

“Wow,” the man replies, arching a bushy eyebrow.

Nodding, Beckman continues. “And not only that,” she states roughly, her bony fingers clenching around the edge of the desk, “She wasn’t able to handle it. She never was very good with her feelings, with her emotions. She allowed them to fester until she couldn’t think straight. Until she became a liability that almost cost us our fight against the Ring.”

“You told me that I couldn’t have any,” Sarah returns, glaring at the General. “You told me that my emotions were a liability.” That they were a nuisance, a burden. That they were to be destroyed and abolished. That having emotions was akin to being a risk to the Agency.

As if on cue, the man seems to answer her thoughts. “Would you have rather she embraced them?” he asks in confusion, a thin crease appearing between his eyes.

“Of course not,” Beckman snaps. “I would have rather she didn’t have them at all. But because she had them, it would have been a lot better if she’d actually faced them and tried to eradicate them instead of burying them so deeply that she became a burden.” For some reason, the admission only irks Sarah further, causing her to grit her teeth in anger. And when Beckman leans forward with her arms still clutched tightly around her wrinkled frame and lowers her voice, she has to unclench her jaw and force herself to listen. “I put in a kill order for her once,” the General murmurs conspiratorially. “Just after we eliminated the Ring. When I first learned that we’d be combining forces with the CIA.”

“What happened?” the man queries, his eyes widening while Sarah’s skin turns cold, her world crashing around her feet.

“I was overridden,” Beckman replies bitterly, glancing at the picture hanging over her desk. Sarah’s astonished, angry gaze follows her line of sight, and her jaw drops when she realizes where Beckman’s indicating. When she sees the man depicted within the ornate, golden frame. When she realizes that John Casey, her colleague, her partner, the man she’d once called a burnout, becomes the director of the new CIA/NSA. “But now that she’s gone,” Beckman breaks into her thoughts again, extracting a thin silver chain from her pocket, “I wonder how much I can get for this on e-Bay?”

A sharp inhalation of breath escapes Sarah’s lips as her eyes widen in pain, in shock, in undiluted fury. “You bitch,” she exclaims, lurching away from her resting place against the wall. Because dangling from Beckman’s bony fingers, held greedily in her hand is the charm bracelet that Chuck gave her last Christmas. The charm bracelet that he’d nervously asked for, the charm bracelet that belonged to his mother, the charm bracelet that signified everything he had hoped they’d be, everything he had hoped they’d become.

Stalking across the room, Sarah attempts to grab the bracelet from the General’s hand. Attempts to wrench it from her grasp. But her fingers slip through the silver chain, flow through the dangling charms, and come up barren and empty. “Damn it!” she cries, clenching her fists. “I didn’t know. I didn’t understand.” I didn’t realize what I was doing, what I was giving up. I didn’t realize what I was giving it up for. Because as Beckman laughs a sharp laugh, as she goes into details about how Sarah became a burnout, how she became a burden, how she became a liability, the only thing she can think about is Chuck. The only thing she can reflect upon is his innocent smile, his radiant eyes, the expression that lights up his face every time she walks into a room. The same expression that lit up her father’s face every time he saw her mother. The same expression she’s longed to see for over twenty years.

Whirling around, she marches toward the Ghost, a determined glint within her eyes. “You’ve shown me the future,” she states, her face inches from its faceless hood. “You’ve shown me what happens if I don’t change. But I still don’t understand. I still don’t know what really happens.” Taking a deep breath, she stands up straight and fixes her jaw. “Show me more. Show me what they’re all talking about. Show me what happens to me. Show me what happens to Chuck.”

Watching with creased brow, Sarah’s heart skips a beat when the Spirit raises its shapeless arm and points a pale, steady finger down the hall, all the while staring at her from the depths of its black shroud. Swallowing uneasily, Sarah’s head swivels in the direction of its finger, and she finds herself staring down a long, shadowy corridor. Her brows arch as she feels her body tensing in trepidation. But then she shakes her head and fixes her jaw, the memory of Chuck’s bracelet dangling from the General’s bony fingers all too clear for her to do anything but get the answers she so desperately needs to uncover.

Following the Spirit’s directions, she begins walking down the hall, even as her stomach knots in anticipation of what she might find. Harried agents walk quickly through the corridor, tense superiors talk in tight knit clusters, and an unspoken air of urgency pervades the otherwise professional chambers. Biting her lower lip, Sarah tries to suppress the sense of panic becoming ever more prevalent within her gut, becoming ever more solidified within her core. But as she continues to walk down the hallway, as she continues to hear snatches of conversation, as she continues to listen to people discussing death and funerals and misplaced love, she can’t help the chilly tendrils of fear which skirt through her veins. And when she finally comes to a stop outside the agency morgue, her blood turns to ice and her breath catches in her throat.

“What is this?” she demands, turning to the phantom with narrowed eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

But the Spirit remains speechless, instead gazing through the dingy window of the morgue. And as Sarah watches with bated breath, it flicks its lifeless finger and the door blasts open with a deafening bang, exposing a body laying on a metal tray, covered by a thin white sheet. Gliding past Sarah’s tense form, it moves toward the corpse before finally turning to gaze at her from its sightless hood.

“No,” she replies, shaking her head violently as images of Bryce’s unseeing eyes flicker through her head. As memories of her mother’s still, silent body waver through her thoughts. As the possibility of Chuck’s lifeless body flashes through her mind. “No, I don’t want to see. I don’t want to know.”

But still, the Spirit continues to gaze at her, continues to look at her with its undead eyes, with its lifeless orbs. And before she can stop herself, she’s suddenly taking a hesitant step into the room, followed by another, followed by a third, until she’s finally standing by the nameless body. Swallowing involuntarily, she watches as the Spirit flicks its wrist, and the sheet begins to move back one slow, agonizing inch at a time. Her throat turns dry, her heartbeat quickens, her fingers curl into tight fists until her nails bite into the skin of her palms. But just before the sheet is lowered, just before the face of the dead body is revealed, she jumps back and squeezes her eyes shut. “I said I don’t want to know,” she cries, attempting to push Chuck’s face from her mind. Attempting to push his lifeless eyes from her thoughts. Attempting to push aside another image, another person, this one with limp blonde hair, this one with sightless blue eyes, this one who wasn’t ready give in, who wasn’t ready to fight, who didn’t know what she wanted until it was too late.

She whirls toward the door, determined to leave the room. Determined to flee. Determined to get as far away from this bleak, desolate future as she possibly can. But just as she reaches the threshold to the room, just as her tense fist rakes across the doorframe and her bare feet brush against the marble tile outside the door, a familiar figure steps into her path, causing her to stop in her tracks. “Casey,” she murmurs, staring at him as if in a trance. Gone is the Buy More green, gone is the heavy scowl, gone is the noncommittal grunt. In its place stands a man wearing a dress uniform, with a soft smile upon his face and a peaceful lilt to his words. “Is that you?” she wonders, even as he begins to speak.

“Ilsa’s making dinner,” he says, pausing just outside the morgue. “Hopefully we won’t have to call the fire department this time.”

A hearty chuckle escapes the lips of the blonde man standing next to him, his peaked cap falling into his eyes. “I couldn’t walk into your kitchen for weeks,” he reminisces, smiling as he pushes it back into place. “Ilsa’s a great aunt, but I’d hire a chef if I were you, Uncle Casey.”

“It’s General Casey, Private,” Casey barks, and Sarah’s surprised to notice the teasing twinkle reflected within his deep blue eyes. “And I tried that last year, but I’d prefer not to sleep on the couch this time around.”

Shaking his head with a grin, Casey’s nephew, the same boy Sarah had seen stealing peppermints that very night, looks into the morgue. “So what’s this all about, anyway?” he asks.

“Sad case,” Casey states, folding his arms over his chest. “She used to be one of the best, but then she broke the cardinal rule.”

“Is this the one that fell in love with her asset?” the young man queries, causing Sarah’s chest to twist as his own features turn serious when he quirks a thumb in the corpse’s direction.

Nodding briskly, Casey glances at the white sheets before turning quickly away. “I’ll tell you something that I never told anyone,” he says softly, gazing at the wall behind his nephew’s head. “I used to give her hell for that. I repeatedly reminded her that the job came first. But in the end, I discovered that I was wrong.”

“Is that why you married Aunt Ilsa?” the young man asks, the corners of his lips turning downward in reflection. “Why you decided to stop taking missions and took the job as Director of the Agency?”

“It was,” Casey agrees, a shadow of regret flickering within his eyes. But before he can allow himself to reminisce for too long, before he can really allow himself to show too much emotion, he clears his throat and stands up straighter. “The reason I called you here,” he says curtly, “is because she died alone. She has no surviving relatives. And I want you to be present when her casket is carried into the graveyard.”

“Of course, Unc – General Casey,” the young man states, nodding quickly as his hat bobs in place upon his blonde head.

“Good,” Casey replies, the same shadow of regret present as he gazes into his nephew’s eyes. “After everything she gave up for this Agency, she deserves a decent funeral.”

“Oh, Casey,” Sarah murmurs, as a light gradually begins to dawn upon her face and a flicker of horrified understanding gradually builds within her mind. Because as she listens to her partner talk about family and loved ones and Christmas dinners, as she hears him describe the death of a friendless, loveless individual, as she remembers Beckman’s words and Ellie’s diatribes and Morgan’s lamentations and the dozens of conversations which passed through the dark, unknown world, she starts to realize that somehow everyone else has managed to procure the life she’s always wanted. Somehow, everyone else is living the life she’s always dreamed. Even Casey, with his penchant for rules and his love for the job, has managed to find himself a happy home, a loving wife, a real family. And in the process, she’s been left behind. She’s been left lying in a dingy, murky morgue, covered by a sheet, having died alone. Having died without survivors, having died without friends, having died without love. Having died without Chuck.

Blinking back tears, she turns to the Ghost, the painful desperation clear within her eyes. “Okay,” she says, clearing her throat when her words emerge wobbly, broken. “Okay, I get it. I understand. I end up dying, alone and friendless. But, please,” she says, clasping its shroud even as she shivers when a chill permeates her hand and courses through her wrist, “Tell me what happened to Chuck. Tell me that he’s happy. Tell me that he has a good life.”

Once more, the Spirit inclines its faceless hood, even as its cloak remains clasped within Sarah’s tight fist. Once more, the world slips away from under her feet, knocking the breath out of her lungs even as she struggles to regain some semblance of control. Once more, she finds herself whirling through a sea of darkness, a sea of nothingness, a sea of obscurity even as she holds onto the hope that Chuck’s managed to find a good life. That Chuck’s managed to etch out a happy existence, even after everything that she’s done. Even after all of the pain she’s caused. And once more, she finds herself standing in a new place, in a new scene, desperately trying to figure out where she’s found herself now.

White mist wafts along the damp, brittle ground, swirling around her ankles and cloaking everything in sight. Wrapping her arms tightly around her slender frame, Sarah shivers in the fog, stumbling through the dim, desolate air as she glances at her surroundings. Row upon row of tombstones can be seen through the vapor, row upon row of cracking marble slabs. Her heart begins to beat a discordant, uncomfortable rhythm as she scans the names upon the graves, as she reads the information upon the tombs, as she tries to find her own within the mix. But as the Ghost drifts silently by her side, its shroud billowing in the wind which is now picking up speed, just one grave catches her eye. Just one grave causes her heart to stop its frantic beat, just one name causes it to freeze icy cold within her chest.

“No,” she murmurs as she drops to her knees, staring at the forsaken grave. Staring at the tombstone which rests beside her mother’s own. Staring at the tombstone which bears her father’s name. “Oh, Dad,” she breathes, running her finger along the marble slab. “Why did it have to turn out this way? Why did you have to shut out the world?” Swallowing the lump rising into her throat, she blinks as another question sounds within her thoughts. As another inquiry reverberates within her mind. “Why did I have to shut out the world?” she whispers, her hand dropping back to her side as Chuck’s loving face flickers through her thoughts. Why didn’t I realize what I was doing? Why didn’t I understand what was going to happen? What all of this was going to become?

She doesn’t know how long she kneels at the grave. She doesn’t know how long she stares at her father’s name, the lettering already crumbling with time, the tombstone already cracking with age. It’s only when she hears the beat of a distant drum and the indistinct murmur of remote voices that she comes to her feet and turns around, wiping the dirt from her knees and furrowing her brow. And when she notices the hill in the horizon, when she sees the figures embarking down its path, when she sees the white casket held above their heads, goose bumps break out onto her arms and she waits breathlessly for what she knows will come.

The soldiers march slowly down the hill and through the graveyard, the drummer moving rhythmically behind them, finally coming to a stop directly by Sarah’s side. The casket is open, the lifeless body inside pale and motionless. Sarah swallows hard when she sees her own soft face, her own blonde hair, her own smooth mouth, all of it inanimate, all of it inert. The soldiers place her casket onto the ground just in front of an open grave, then click their heels together with a salute before turning and heading quickly in the direction in which they came. Only Casey’s nephew stays for a moment longer, a sympathetic gleam within his eyes as he silently bids Sarah good-bye. But soon he leaves, too, following after his fellow troops. And when they’re all gone, when the drumming has faded and the voices have died away, no one else comes to the funeral. No one else even comes into the graveyard.

Forcefully keeping the tears from falling from her eyes, Sarah quietly stands over her casket, gazing at her lifeless body as she bites her lip and tries to keep it from trembling. “Please tell me I can still stop this,” she says, not even looking at the Spirit. Unable to tear her eyes from her still form. “Please tell me that I still have time. Please tell me that this might not happen.”

But the Spirit says nothing, the Spirit does not even shift, and Sarah’s left staring at her future self in utter despair. It’s only when she hears the footsteps that she glances away from her still face and glances toward the sound. And when she sees the man approaching the grave, when she takes in his aging face and studies his graying curly hair, a lump rises into her throat and her eyes glisten with the tears she refuses to cry. “Chuck,” she breathes.

“I had hoped it wasn’t true,” he murmurs, holding up a fraying newspaper article. “That maybe it was some sort of mission. Some sort of lie. I guess that would have been too good to be true,” he says, giving a shaky laugh as he folds the article and places it back into his pocket. “At least they used your name, Sarah. If they hadn’t, Ellie might not have found it. Ellie might not have known to give it to me.” Exhaling slowly, he blinks back tears as he examines the woman lying motionless in the casket. “Do you know, I never stopped hoping that you’d return? I never stopped hoping that you’d come to your senses and come back to me. That you’d realize how much I love you, how much I need you, and quit the CIA. But,” he says, his voice wavering, his lower lip quivering, “I guess that would have been too good to be true, too.”

“Chuck, I do realize,” Sarah interrupts, coming to stand by his side. Aching to touch him, aching to hold him, aching to let him know that she’s there. That she hears him. That she understands what he’s saying, how he’s feeling, what she must do. But when she tries to touch his shoulder, when she tries to run her fingers through his graying curls, her hands come up on stagnant air and the tears finally start to fall from her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she beseeches. “I’m so sorry. I was so wrong. So very wrong.”

But the man standing at the grave doesn’t hear her. He doesn’t even know that she’s there. Instead, as he runs his shaking fingers across her smooth lips, his own eyes fill with tears. “I never stopped loving you, Sarah,” he says brokenly. “I never stopped missing you. I never stopped wanting you by my side. Wanting you in my life. I never stopped wanting you.”

“I love you, too, Chuck,” Sarah cries, trying again to touch him, to comfort him, but once again coming up with empty air. “I promise that it will be different. I promise that I won’t let this happen to you. I promise that I won’t let this happen to us.”

“If I could have just one more memory,” Chuck whispers, the tears running silently down his cheeks, “Just one more moment. If I could have just one more day with you, Sarah, then I’d never let you go. I’d never let you leave.” Falling to his knees, he clasps the edge of the casket as the sobs finally emerge openly. “I’d tell you how much you meant to me. How much you still mean to me. And how I’ll never stop loving you.”

“Tell me that I can still change,” Sarah demands, whirling toward the Spirit and swiping her hand quickly over her wet eyes. “Tell me that it doesn’t have to be like this. That I can still go back, that I can still make a difference.” But the phantom doesn’t speak. Instead, it simply wafts across the ground toward Sarah, its cloak rippling in the wind. “Tell me that I can fix all of this,” she begs, fresh tears appearing within her eyes. “Tell me that I can set all of this right.” But the Ghost still does not answer, the Ghost still does not speak. Instead, it stares at her from its sightless hood, causing her grief to turn to raw, undiluted anger. “Tell me!” she cries, reaching out to shake it. But as her hand connects with the cloak, as her fingers curl around the wispy black fabric, as she begins to shake the Ghost, its hood slips, its face becomes visible, its personage becomes apparent, and Sarah can’t stop herself from gasping loudly at what she sees.

Standing before her, her blonde hair fluttering in the blustering wind, her blue eyes as bright and compassionate as the day she died, is her mother. “Mom,” Sarah breathes, her heart skipping a beat. “Mom, is that you?”

“I didn’t want this for you, Andi,” her mother replies softly, and Sarah notices with a start that her eyes are shining with tears. “I didn’t want things to end up this way.”

“I know,” Sarah replies, stifling a sob. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why didn’t you listen to my dying wish, honey?” Angela demands. “Why didn’t you listen to my dying words?”

“I was afraid,” Sarah replies, wrenching her hand from the cloak and gazing at her mother with years of regretful yearning clear upon her face. “I didn’t know, I didn’t understand.” And then, as her mother continues to gaze at her through brilliantly compassionate eyes, as the ache in her chest intensifies to an almost unbearable level, she continues. “Mom, please,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. “Can I still fix this? Can I still change things?”

“That’s up to you, sweetheart,” Angela Carter murmurs, cupping Sarah’s cheek.

“What do you mean?” Sarah demands, leaning into her mother’s touch. “What do I have to do? Just tell me and I’ll do it.”

“Look inside your heart, Andi,” Sarah’s mother whispers, her voice cracking. “Look inside yourself, and you’ll find the answer to that question.”

Sarah opens her mouth to ask her mother to clarify her statement, to tell her that she needs more information. But even as her lips part, even as she feels the words forming within her throat, Chuck’s face pops into her mind, his innocent eyes flicker through her thoughts, his loving expression appears within her memory. And even before she can speak the words, even before she can utter the question, she suddenly knows exactly what she has to do. She suddenly knows exactly who she needs to talk to. So instead, as she gazes lovingly at her mother, she finds herself saying something else entirely. “I miss you, Mom,” she says softly, turning her head so that she can kiss the palm of her mother’s hand. “I miss you all the time.”

“I’m with you every day, sweetheart,” Angela replies, her eyes glistening with tears. “I watch over you every night.”

“Then why can’t I ever see you?” Sarah demands. “Why haven’t I ever felt you there?”

“All you have to do is look inside yourself, Andi,” her mother replies sadly, consolingly. “You’ll find me there.”

Sarah’s throat tightens as the tears begin to spill from her eyes anew. “I’ll do that,” she promises. And then: “How long can you stay?”

“I’m afraid that I have to get going now,” Angela replies. “I’ve only been given a few hours upon this earth. A few hours to show you the error of your ways.”

“But I don’t want you to go,” Sarah says urgently, desperately, placing her hand over her mother’s cool fingers. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’ll always be with you, Andi,” her mother replies. “Just look inside of your own heart, and I’ll be there.” And then her hand drops back to her side and she begins drifting backward, back through the cemetery, back through the graves, back through the misty world which has become all too real. And even as Sarah cries out for her, even as she reaches out her desperate arms, even as she attempts to run in her direction, the wind picks up surprising force and knocks her backward, sending her stumbling into the dark, dank grave which lays open by her feet. Her hands fly up to catch something, to catch anything, to stop her fall, but they come up empty, and she slips backward into the grave.

Falling, falling, falling, a loud scream escapes her lips as she continues to grasp for something to hold, as she continues to grasp for something to latch onto, but still she comes up empty. And then, just before she’s given up entirely, just before she’s resigned herself to falling forever through the empty world, she lands upon a soft, warm mattress. Her breath emerging in ragged gasps, her fingers scrabbling to clutch onto the sheets, Sarah glances frantically at her surroundings, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart as she figures out where she’s landed. As she figures out where she’s found herself now.

But as her breathing slows and her heart rate returns to normal, as she sinks into the mattress and grabs hold of the sheets, she suddenly realizes that her environs are familiar. Her vicinity is well-known. Somehow, in the space of a few seconds, she’s landed in her own room, on top of her own bed. And shining through the plate glass window is the early morning sun.

FIC: The Perfect Tree (Chuck)

mikki13 — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 19:13:32 GMT

Title: The Perfect Tree
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,835
Characters: Chuck/Sarah
Disclaimer: This show owns me, not the other way around.
A/N: Written for ndnickerson for the "Holiday Fic Exchange Challenge." Even though I know I've written quite a few stories for her lately, I chose this prompt because I thought I could introduce some smut into the challenge. While I finally decided the smut just didn't have a place in the fic, I hope she enjoys the finished result.

Summary: Chuck and Sarah search for the perfect tree. Written for the "Holiday Fic Exchange Challenge," this is also part of the "Full Circle" series.

A world of wonder spreads out across the sprawling Christmas tree farm, full of glistening pine trees, freshly cut mistletoe, and buckets of every type of peppermint one might wish to eat. A jolly Santa Claus holds court nearby, laughing merrily as children of varying ages sit upon his lap and confide their deepest holiday wish before posing for a photographer dressed as an elf. Dazzling multi-colored lights are strung across the lot, row upon row of glittering garland hangs above the trees, and the sounds of Christmas music wafts through the air. And amidst it all, in the center of the chaos, in the hub of the festivities is a determined Sarah Bartowski. Walking quickly through the rows of thick green trees with narrowed eyes and furrowed brow, her long blonde hair blows around her shoulders as the Burbank wind whistles through the pines. “Come on, Chuck,” she prods, rubbing her hands together in an effort to warm herself. “Just a little bit further.”

Sweat beading upon his flushed face, his breath emerging in short gasps, Chuck leans forward onto his knees and stares at his wife in consternation. “Sarah, we’ve seen every tree here. Can’t we just choose one?”

“None of these trees are right,” she returns, her lips puckering into a frown. “And we have to find –“

“The perfect tree,” Chuck breaks in, wiping his arm across his forehead. “I know. But there are so many of them. I’m sure just one of them is –“

“The first one was too short,” Sarah replies, glancing in annoyance at the offending pine as she taps her foot. “The second one was –“

“Too tall,” Chuck supplies, standing up straight and sighing. “And the third one was –“

“Too fat,” Sarah finishes, huffing slightly as she crosses to her husband, straightening his shirt and pushing aside a stray curl.

And even though the annoyance is still present within her eyes, and even though she continues to tap her foot in anticipation of finding the quintessential tree, she can’t ignore the wave of longing which wafts through her chest when her finger brushes against Chuck’s face and sends a mild burst of electricity coursing through her wrist. Her features softening, she cups his cheek and looks into his eyes. “You’re looking a little tired, Mr. Bartowski,” she teases, leaning over to plant a kiss upon his nose.

“Tired?” Chuck replies, continuing to gasp for breath. “Me? No, I’m just getting used to the three hour walk through the Christmas tree farm. It’s not every day that you look for the perfect tree.”

“Mmm,” Sarah murmurs, smiling impishly as she grabs hold of his shirt collar and pulls him to her for a prolonged kiss. Brushing her lips against his parted mouth, running her tongue across his lower lip, she causes his breath to quicken and his heart to pound for an entirely different reason as he wraps his arms around her slender frame and falls into her embrace. As he relishes the way she leans into his touch, at the way she gives into his kisses, so different from the way she’d behaved during the first few years of their relationship, yet so very welcome at the same time.

“What I don’t understand,” he finally says breathlessly, breaking the kiss and leaning against her forehead, “is why we’re reenacting Goldilocks and the Three Bears.”

“Goldilocks and the who?” Sarah inquires, her forehead creasing in confusion.

“Your father never read you a single fairytale, did he?” Chuck replies in astonishment, arching his brow as he kneads her lower back.

“Not unless it involved cheating the stock market or swindling the latest mark,” Sarah replies, smirking and playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Okay,” Chuck states, trying again, “What I don’t understand is why we can’t just choose a tree? I mean, all we’re going to do is stick a bunch of decorations on it anyway.”

Unfortunately, it soon becomes apparent that this was the wrong thing to say. “What are you saying, Chuck?” Sarah asks, causing him to swallow visibly when he hears the warning tone reflected within his wife’s voice.

“I’m saying . . .” he bites his lower lip, considering his next statement carefully. “I’m saying that it shouldn’t matter if the tree is perfect, Sarah. No one’s going to notice.”

“I’m going to notice, Chuck,” Sarah returns, and his chest clenches when he notices the glimmer of hurt enter her bright blue eyes. “I’m going to care.”

“But why?” he inquires blankly, his arms still wrapped gently around her muscular frame.

Blinking, Sarah’s gaze drops to his left shoulder as the old familiar mask descends upon her features and the emotion within her eyes becomes slightly obscure. “It’s our first Christmas together, Chuck,” she says guardedly. “It’s the first time we’ve celebrated in our new home. I just thought that it would be nice to have a good tree.”

“Sarah,” Chuck replies, grinning slightly as he traces her lower lip with his thumb, “Do you really think a perfect tree is what we need to enjoy Christmas?”

“Of course not,” is her quick response, as she kisses his exploring digit. And then: “I don’t know. I’ve never had a real Christmas tree before. We were always too busy with the con, too busy running from our latest job.” Too busy ignoring each other, ignoring the holiday. Ignoring the fact that it would have been nice to be a family.

Chuck’s heart twists at the suppressed dejection contained within her words, the concealed regret reflected within her voice. “What if I promised you,” he says, sucking in a sharp breath when her tongue flicks across his thumb, “That this will be the best Christmas of your life, Sarah Bartowski?”

“What makes you say that, Chuck?” Sarah asks, gazing intently into his eyes as she slowly moves toward his lips.

“Because,” Chuck replies, abandoning her mouth and stroking her cheek before she can wreak any more damage to his exploring thumb, “We’ll be together. And I’m going to do everything in my power to give you the best Christmas you’ve ever had.”

“Really?” she asks, smiling gently. “And why would you do that?”

“Because, Sarah,” Chuck replies, going slightly cross-eyed when her mouth comes within millimeters of his own, “You’ve already given me the best life I could have ever asked for.” And with that, he closes the distance between them and pulls her flush against his solid body, caressing her mouth with his warm lips and threading his fingers through her long blonde hair as the chaos of the Christmas tree lot dims and he simply enjoys being wrapped within his wife’s embrace.

~*~

“It’s missing something,” Sarah states, frowning at the towering pine. It stands as the centerpiece of their living room, its glorious limbs framed within the large glass window of their bright yellow house, its evergreen pine needles sending a pleasing aroma wafting through the air. A plethora of ornaments hang from its branches, some store bought, some homemade by a much younger Chuck Bartowski, but all combining with the strands of red garland and the multi-colored lights to add a brilliance to the beloved tree. The problem is, as Sarah continues to stare at the sight, as she continues to take in the glittering decorations, her chest twists when she realizes that she has nothing to contribute. She has nothing to share.

“What’s it missing?” Chuck asks, coming up to wrap an arm around Sarah’s torso as he places his chin upon her shoulder. “It looks good to me.”

“I don’t know . . .” Sarah says slowly, studying the pine. “Just something.”

“Hmm,” Chuck replies, brushing his lips against her neck and causing her to shiver slightly. And then he pulls his other arm from behind his back and slowly opens his fist. “How about this?” he asks with a gleam in his eye as a pair of turtle doves are revealed within the palm of his hand. Small and white, the porcelain birds are molded in flight, a single name engraved into either breast. One bird with wings outstretched sports the name “Chuck,” while the other has been engraved to read “Sarah”.

“Chuck,” Sarah exclaims, twisting in his arms to stare in stunned affection at her husband. “When did you get these?”

“A few days ago,” the computer nerd shrugs. And then, his brown eyes turning slightly serious even while the loving gleam continues to radiate from their cinnamon depths: “Do you know what they mean?”

“They’re turtle doves,” Sarah replies thoughtfully, fingering the bird which depicts her name. “Aren’t they supposed to symbolize something about partnership?”

“Close,” Chuck nods, brushing a kiss against Sarah’s cheek. “When turtle doves mate, they stay together for life. Nothing can ever come between them, nothing can ever break them up. Kind of like us,” he says as she bites her lower lip to keep it from wavering. “So a long time ago, someone decided that they symbolized true love and faithfulness.”

“When did you turn into such a sap, Mr. Bartowski?” Sarah asks, even as her own eyes begin to gleam and she gently takes her bird from Chuck’s hand.

“Since I married you,” Chuck replies simply, smiling the heart stopping grin that makes Sarah’s pulse race. Leaning in to give her a gentle kiss, he stops just before their mouths meet and asks, “Have I told you lately how much I love you, Sarah Bartowski?”

“Hum,” Sarah replies, pretending to think even as her free hand rises to the back of his head so that she can push his mouth closer to her own. “Not lately, no.”

“Well,” he replies, grazing her mouth with his lips, “I’m so in love with you that I can’t think straight.” And then he pulls her into his arms and begins a passionate, loving assault on her mouth, the turtle doves still clasped gently within their hands as he leaves her just as breathless as she left him during their four hour search for the perfect Christmas tree.

Hours later, when they stand gazing at their tree, the soaring turtle doves hanging in the center of garland and ornaments and lights, the consternation has disappeared from Sarah’s eyes, the desperation has vanished from her face. Instead, as she threads her fingers through Chuck’s hand, their wedding rings glinting in the mild December sun, she realizes just how lucky she is to be standing with the man by her side. Just how thankful she is that she gave up the CIA, even after everything she went through, even after years of building up her career. Because spending Christmas with Chuck is worth a dozen missions and a lifetime of rewards. In fact, being with Chuck is a reward unto itself.

“So,” he says, leaning his cheek against her blonde head. “What do you think? Did we find the perfect tree?”

“No,” Sarah replies, leaning into his touch. “The perfect tree found us.”

FIC: A Chuckmas Carol, "Stave Three: The Second of the Three Spirits" (Part One)

mikki13 — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 08:58:12 GMT

Title: A Chuckmas Carol, "Stave Three: The Second of the Three Spirits" (Part One)
Rating: R
Word Count: 11,674
Characters: Sarah and Company
Disclaimer: Sadly, they still don't belong to me.

Summary: A new twist to Dickens' beloved "A Christmas Carol". When Sarah begins to shut out the world around her, three spirits come to show her the error of her ways. Season 3 AU.

Stave One: Bryce's Ghost * Stave Two: The First of the Three Spirits

Click. Diiing. Diiing.

Mumbling softly, Sarah throws her arm over her eyes, burrowing deeper under her thick white comforter as the clock begins to chime the second hour. Her blonde hair is splayed over her fluffy white pillow, her hands are curled into loose fists, and discordant shadows drift across her face, illuminated only by the light of the silvery moon shining through the clear glass window. And even though she tries, even though she pushes them aside even in her sleep, memories of her parents and Bryce and Chuck flicker through her dreams, each more poignant, each more powerful than the last. But one image is clearer than the rest. One memory is stronger than the others. One sentiment echoes relentlessly through her mind.

He never stopped loving you.

So as her eyes open and she instinctually reaches to slide aside the mask she’s forgotten to wear to bed, it’s Chuck’s face that she sees. And when she rolls onto her side to glance at the clock, upsetting the shadows which have drifted onto her bed, it’s Chuck’s features that she glimpses. And when she realizes that the clock reads 2:02 and there’s still no ghost in sight, it’s the previous Ghost’s parting words that she reflects upon. The words that she never allowed him to speak. The words that she still isn’t sure she ever heard.

Biting her lower lip, Sarah pushes herself into a sitting position as countless emotions struggle to the surface of her tumultuous blue eyes. Because even though she isn’t sure whether she can believe it, and even though she doesn’t really know what to do with the information, she can’t help the pang of hope which resounds within her chest, or the prickle of longing which threads through her veins. She can’t help the hesitant smile from skirting across her lips, or the way that her pulse increases when she considers the evidence. When she thinks about the kiss in Barstow, or the dance at Ellie’s wedding, or the way Chuck’s looked at her for the last three years. A look that hasn’t changed, an expression that hasn’t wavered even in spite of their rigorous six month training. Even in spite of the brutal regimen she’s exposed him to, in hopes of keeping him safe. In hopes of keeping him alive. A regimen she’s forced him to endure so that she doesn’t have to suffer the pain of losing him just as she’s lost everyone else.

But as she considers everyone she’s lost, as she considers everyone that’s died, her thoughts suddenly shift. And even though it’s becoming harder to deny the hope that seeps into her chest, even though it’s becoming harder to ignore the longing that courses through her veins, she can’t deny the fear that pulses through her gut. She can’t deny the cold fingers of panic that prickle across her skin when she considers the fact that Chuck could be next. That she could lose him, just like she’s lost everyone else. That he can be taken from her, that he can be ripped away, that he can vanish without even giving her the chance to say good-bye.

So as the glowing red numbers of her alarm clock shift to 2:05 and she begins to realize anew that there is no Ghost in sight, and even as she glances around her room, looking for the expected visitor, searching for another glowing specter, she allows the fear and the panic to triumph over the hope and the longing. She allows herself to remember the look on Chuck’s face when she shot Mauser, instead of reflecting on the loving, radiant expression in his eyes every time he’s seen her thereafter. And she allows herself to believe, even for a moment, that she’s doing the right thing. That even in spite of the memories, even in spite of the lessons, she’s right in keeping Chuck out. She’s right in keeping a professional distance. She’s right in refusing to open up and give in to her feelings, no matter how much she longs to let go. No matter how much she longs to learn that it’s okay to give in.

And as she loses herself in these thoughts, as she buries everything she most desires, she almost doesn’t notice the eerie green light streaming underneath the miniscule gap of her door, creeping along the floor and illuminating her shaggy white rug. She almost doesn’t see it drift up her bed sheets and dance around her still, tense frame, casting shadows upon her pale skin. She almost doesn’t hear the jovial, high pitched laugh which echoes through her bedroom, and the sound of tinkling bells which reverberates along her floor boards. It’s only when the light and the laughter and the bells becomes more intense, becomes more fervent that she finally blinks and glances around once more.

“Who’s there?” she calls, her hand automatically reaching toward the knife lying haphazardly upon her mattress. “Show yourself.” But even at her words, and even as her fingers find purchase upon the handle of the blade, no one stirs within the shadows of her room. No glowing being emerges from within the crevices of her suite. Furrowing her brow, Sarah glances at the gap of her door, at the green light which pools underneath the heavy slab of oak. And when the jolly laugh penetrates the still night air, causing the hair at the back of her neck to rise, she folds her lips and considers her choices.

She can simply ignore the light and try to go back to sleep. Pretend like the being she knows is there really isn’t.

Or she can ignore the chilly tingling racing through her veins, the telltale goose bumps breaking out onto her arms, get out of bed, and greet the otherworldly creature apparently waiting for her in the hall.

Perhaps it’s the deep-seated emotion she’s become so good at burying, or maybe it’s the deep desire she has to discover the truth, but even as she weighs the thoughts within her mind, even as she considers the options from which she must choose, she finds herself drawing back the covers and climbing out of bed. She finds herself glancing uncertainly at her knife, then leaving it behind, the lethal blade glinting uselessly in the moonlight. And she finds herself padding across the room to her door, her hand trembling slightly as she reaches for the knob.

The moment the door opens, the moment she steps out into the hall, her senses are assaulted by the plethora of sights, of sounds, and of smells which greet her. Long strands of ivy hang from the ceiling, the many intricate leaves highlighting every curve and accenting every corner. Great bunches of mistletoe adorn the walls, the glistening green foliage adding to the light which is even brighter here in the hall. And interspersed with it all, magnificent in its plumage, fantastic in its design are many bunches of holly, adorned with red berries and bringing a festive atmosphere to the forest which has suddenly sprouted within Sarah’s hotel.

Stepping through the virtual grove with a look of astonished bewilderment, the sounds of merry laughter and tinkly bells punctuating each step, Sarah brushes aside a particularly long strand of ivy even while the smell of many assorted foods wafts through the air, the fragrance drifting around her nose and teasing her nostrils. Sniffing in mouthwatering delight, the blonde spy barely has time to wonder where the phenomenal smell is coming from, where the incredible food is that apparently awaits in hidden supply. Because as she comes to the center of the hallway, as her pulse increases at the thought of what she might find, as her fingers continue to itch for the secure handle of her blade, she finds a gigantic hill of food piled upon the plush brown hotel carpet. Mounds of turkeys and chicken and ham, heaps of stuffing and potatoes and cranberries, stacks of juicy oranges and rosy apples and succulent pears, countless pies and cakes and chocolates, even an assortment of punch and merlot wine and imported beer, all accumulated in one tantalizing peak, one alluring mound, one delicious mountain. And on top of it all, wearing a long, shimmery green dress and a velvety red robe, a thick wreath of holly crowning her flowing brown hair, is a woman, a Ghost who looks just like Ellie herself. And as she tips her head back in melodious laughter, Sarah notices the cup of merlot wine in her slender hand, an unfilled knife holster around her waist, and the jubilant smile upon her glowing face.

“It’s about time,” the brunette says, raising her glass in a toast to the spy. “I feel like I’ve been waiting for hours.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah apologizes. “I just . . .” And then, because she isn’t really sure what she’s supposed to say, and because she’s still in shock over the drastic change of scenery that has occurred overnight within her hallway, she quickly switches tactics. “Who are you?” she queries, gazing at the Ghost as she shields her eyes from the light.

“Who am I?” the woman repeats, grabbing a chicken leg and taking a dainty bite. “But you’ve seen the likes of me before.”

“I have?” Sarah questions dubiously, eyeing the other doors as she wonders why their occupants aren’t suddenly storming the hall.

“Of course!” the Spirit replies gaily, her voice so like Ellie’s yet so very different. “You must have walked with my other siblings. With the younger members of my family?”

Sarah’s mind immediately flickers to Chuck, the image of his handsome face causing her chest to twist almost painfully. But then she remembers that the woman she’s speaking with isn’t Ellie, and that she isn’t referring to Chuck. That Chuck isn’t floating around the town, wearing a green dress and haunting the inhabitants of Burbank. So as she pushes the painful image from her mind, even while a thrill of yearning courses down her spine, she shakes her head and sends her blonde hair swishing about her shoulders. “Not that I know of,” she replies lightly. “Do you have many brothers and sisters?”

“Over two-thousand,” the Ghost replies jubilantly, sipping from her cup of wine.

“Wow,” Sarah replies, arching her brow. “That’s a pretty big family.” And then, because she’s tired of standing in her hallway, and because she simply wants this night to end, and maybe even because she longs to know what she will be shown next, she continues. “I learned earlier that I will be shown many things tonight,” she says, even as her muscles tense and her heart pounds a discordant rhythm within her chest. “Are you here to show me more?”

The Ghost stares at her for a long moment before finally setting aside her chicken leg. “That depends. Are you ready to see these things, Sarah?” she asks, her gaze so intense that it seems to pierce right into Sarah’s soul.

Swallowing nervously, Sarah’s eyes flicker to the wall behind the Ghost, the selfsame mask shielding the emotions threatening to reveal themselves within her bright blue gaze. “Yes,” she says hesitantly, then nods her head. “Yes. I’m ready.”

“Very well,” the Ghost states, nodding in approval as she drifts down the side of her mountainous feast. “Then grab onto my dress, and we’ll begin.”

Pinching her lips together, Sarah feels a momentary urge to turn around, to run away, to escape to the safe recesses of her room. The familiar urge to hide behind her mask, to hide behind her shield, to hide away from the life she’s hidden from for so long. But as the Ghost begins to near, as her flowing dress finally brushes against Sarah’s hand, the spy inhales sharply and clenches her fingers around the soft green material. “Are you sure you’re okay to fly?” she asks doubtfully, glancing at the cup of wine in the Ghost’s hand.

Tipping her head back once more, a peal of laughter bursts from the Ghost’s lips. “I’ve never been more so,” she says. And then she pushes off from the floor and sends them both fluttering toward the ceiling. Sarah’s eyes widen as the ceiling rises up to meet them, as the plaster looms closer and closer. But just as she braces herself for the crash, just as she’s about to close her eyes and grit her teeth, the ceiling dissolves and she finds herself floating through the cool night air, the stars shining brightly up above. And even though she doesn’t feel the same lightness of heart, even though she doesn’t feel the same wonderful sensation of tingling and warmth, she still can’t stop herself from laughing aloud as she watches the buildings and houses zoom by.

“Where are we going?” Sarah shouts for the second time that night, wishing again that Chuck could join her on this journey. Wishing again that Chuck could be here by her side. But then she remembers her reflections, she remembers her memories, and she pushes the thought aside, instead waiting for the Ghost’s response.

“There are many things you’ve forsaken in your life, Sarah Walker,” the Ghost replies, her tone light and melodious even in the chilly night air. “Many happinesses that you have relinquished. It’s time that you acknowledge them for what they really are, so that you will truly understand what you have missed.”

“What do you mean?” Sarah shouts, even though her stomach sinks slightly at the Ghost’s words. But the Ghost says nothing in return. In fact, she doesn’t even acknowledge the question. Instead, a knowing smile spreads across her lips, and she continues to transport them through the luminous sky.

And as Sarah finds herself gliding through Burbank, the familiar shops and homes and scenery passing by her feet, she can’t stop herself from considering the Ghost’s statement, from pondering her proclamation. She can’t stop herself from reflecting on the woman soaring through the night sky by her side, the specter who looks so much like Ellie Bartowski. The spirit who looks so much like the woman who plays a central role in Chuck’s life. The woman who plays a central role in the life she won’t allow herself to have, won’t even allow herself to imagine, but wishes were hers all the same. And as she does so, as she gazes above her at the luminous being transporting her through the city of Burbank, she thinks about Chuck. She reflects on their last meeting. And she remembers the invitation which she had turned down.

So when the Ghost begins to broaden their journey, to carry her through the entire state of California, past the gentle rolling hills and the sprawling redwood forests and the splashing ocean depths, she wonders what it would be like if she were part of a happy family. She wonders what it would be like if she could join those below in celebrating Christmas, in celebrating each other, in celebrating life. She wonders what it would be like to let go, to give in, and to open up to Chuck. And when she finds herself floating through the entirety of the United States, from the snowy mountains of Colorado to the flat plains of Texas to the sparkling lakes of Michigan, a deep yearning, an unexpected longing resounds within her chest and reverberates through her core. And when they begin to cross the Atlantic, when they float past the huts of Asia, and the castles of Europe, and the wilds of Africa, she begins to see, to understand. She begins to know. The Ghost is showing her the world, each place different, each place unique, yet each place populated with loving people and happy friends, each of them enjoying each other in a way that Sarah’s forgotten how but which she’s longed to do for most of her life.

And when they begin to glimpse the people she knows, the people that make up her crazy, guarded life, she starts to feel even more connected. She starts to feel even more linked with this joyous, happy world. There’s Cole Barker, his rugged features easy to spot as he enjoys himself amongst his fellow M16 agents at this year’s Christmas soiree. And here’s Roan Montgomery, a grin stretched across his face as he wraps each arm around a gorgeous woman, an empty martini glass on his wet bar. And there’s Morgan and Anna, enjoying their first Christmas together as a live-in couple, a scant number of presents under the tree but a smile on their faces as they revel in the joy of being together. And next comes Carina, as . . . but No, Sarah shields her eyes and the Ghost cocks her head to the side (“I didn’t realize you could do that with whipped cream,” she says.).

In each place, in each locality they visit, they find people enjoying each other, the very sight of which increases the powerful, poignant jolt of longing echoing through Sarah’s core. The very sight of which causes her to wish that she had accepted a certain invitation after all, even when she’s still not sure what to do about Chuck, even when she’s still not sure where to go from here, even when she’s still not sure what it is she wants to do with the suppressed emotions coursing through her gut.

So when they fly into the darkened basement of a dilapidated home, its shadowy corners obscured by piles of wrinkled clothes, when Sarah’s gaze falls upon ragtag furniture and scattered bottles of liquor and beer, when her naked calves brush against a dingy couch and her bare feet step upon a dirty rug, she can’t help but blink in surprise. She can’t help but glance around the room, glance around at her surroundings, attempting to figure out where she’s found herself now. Attempting to equate this dingy room with the many colorful, joyful places she’s just visited. And when she notices the fat white ferret in the corner, and her eyes rake across a lone mistletoe hanging above a tattered photo of Anna Wu, and the door finally opens and two men walk inside, she can’t help but raise her eyebrows in surprise. Crossing her arms over her chest, she watches as Jeff and Lester enter the room and slowly descend the stairs, their arms laden with a half-eaten Turkey, a crumbling peach pie and a few small apples.

“What did I tell you, Jeffrey?” says Lester, polishing a battered piece of fruit upon his plaid shirt. “People always leave holiday leftovers in the trash. It’s like a virtual grocery store, fresh for the picking.”

“Right,” Jeff nods sagely, sniffing the burnt meat. “Only without the pesky problem of cash.”

“Yes, well,” Lester states, his shoulders drooping, “If Emmett hadn’t discovered our ample supply of videography, we might still have our jobs.”

“I guess I shouldn’t have left it in my office,” Jeff admits. “Too many people use the men’s restroom.”

“That’s okay, Jeffrey,” Lester consoles, plopping the apples onto the ferret’s tarnished table. “Who needs jobs when we have each other? Friendship, my man,” he says, pointing at Jeff with a shrewd gleam in his eyes, “That’s what it’s all about.”

“Okay,” Sarah finally says, interrupting the moment of male bonding as turns to the Ghost with a smirk. “I understand that you’re going to show me many things I don’t want to see tonight. But Jeff and Larry?”

“You’d do well to pay attention to the camaraderie of friends,” the Ghost replies wisely, her green glow illuminating the scene. “It’s something that you, yourself, have forgotten on occasion.”

An indignant light flashes within Sarah’s eyes, even as a guilty flush colors her cheeks. Opening her mouth to respond, she forms the words to tell the Ghost that she’s wrong, that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. But before she can speak, before she can even decide what to say, her mind flickers to a familiar handsome face, to a familiar pair of gleaming brown eyes, to a familiar forlorn expression which has haunted her for the last several months. And suddenly, a single statement reverberates through her thoughts: I miss you, Sarah. I miss you all the time.

Biting her lower lip, Sarah’s heart twists in her chest as the meaning of the Ghost’s words becomes all too clear. So when the Ghost lifts off again, and the night sky looms once more, the silvery moon shining before her and the city of Burbank whizzing by her feet, she continues to think about Chuck. She continues to think about the look on his face. And she continues to wonder what it would be like if he were here with her now.

And when the Ghost finally brings them back to solid ground, when they finally land in the family room of a bright yellow house, and her eyes finally begin to adjust to her surroundings, Chuck’s face is still fresh within her mind. His forlorn, dejected expression is still clear within her head. And their conversation from just a day before is still playing within her thoughts. So as she glances at her surroundings and she registers the home, as she discovers the people, the family that mirrors one she lost long ago, she does so while reflecting on the man who has become the center of her world. The man who has become her closest friend, her one confidant, even when she pushes him away time and again. And it’s because of this that the scene holds even more power, even more draw. It’s because of this that she finds herself shutting down once again.

Glancing at the glistening Christmas tree in the corner, Sarah notices its many ornaments lovingly crafted by childish hands, its festive garland comprised of popcorn and cranberries, its decorative tree topper an angel cutout scribbled in with marker and crayon. And when her gaze drifts to the area underneath the tree, she notices the assortment of wrapped boxes in various shapes and sizes, the half-eaten plate of cookies and the empty glass with droplets of milk around its rim, and the slumbering yellow kitten with a bright red bow around its neck. And when she finally registers the little girl standing beside it all, a huge grin stretched across her face and her bright green eyes dancing with unrestrained excitement, her heart skips a beat and she takes an inadvertent step toward the child. Toward the little girl who reminds her so much of herself when she was young.

So when the child squeals in delight and drops to her knees, reaching for the kitten, a hesitant smile stretches across Sarah’s face. And when the child’s tiny fingers brush again the feline’s soft yellow fur, causing the animal to awake, Sarah is forcefully reminded of the day her parents gave her Whiskers, her crazy gray cat. And when the child’s parents come down the stairs moments later to find the creature curled within the girl’s arms, his content purr adding to the overall cadence of the scene, she bites her lower lip as her selfsame mask gradually descends and she watches the loving interactions unfold before her.

“Mommymommymommymommymommy!” the little girl cries, jumping to her feet and dashing across the room, causing the kitten to mewl in startled surprise.

“Abbi Abbi Abbi Abbi,” her mother responds, wrapping her arms around the delighted bundle and bestowing a kiss on the top of her brunette head. “I see you began unwrapping presents early, young lady,” she says, glancing at the squirming kitten.

“He was right there, Mommy, honest,” Abbi replies, the creature in question yelping slightly as she squeezes him tightly. “I couldn’t help it.”

“I don’t know,” her father chimes in, leaning against the wall with a grin. “We might have to ask Santa to take back all these presents. Good little girls usually wait for their parents to open their gifts.”

“I’ve been a very good girl, Daddy,” Abbi replies, twisting out of her mother’s embrace and shooting her father a wide grin. “I only unwrapped one present without you.”

“Well,” her father hesitates, winking at her mother. “I guess there’s really only one way to find out.” And with that, he extracts his hand from the pocket of his robe and curls his fingers in midair.

“Oh, no!” she cries, the kitten jumping from her arms as she writhes away from her father’s touch.

“I’m afraid so,” the man returns. “It’s time for the Tickle Test.” And he reaches for his daughter, tickling her stomach feverishly and causing her to burst into peals of laughter. When her mother joins in with the game, she finally falls to the floor, her riotous giggles reverberating through the room. A few moments later, when the little girl has had her fill of tickling, the happy family coalesces into a group hug. And in the center of her parents’ embrace, the little girl leans her head against her father’s stomach as the man leans over and gives his wife a gentle kiss on the lips.

And for a moment, Sarah is transported backward in time, to a bright blue house with a happy, loving family and a little girl who thought things would never change. Who believed her parents were the center of her world, the pinnacle of her universe, and that they would always be together. So as she continues to watch the delighted antics, as she continues to observe the cuddling, joyful family, a painful ache pierces her chest and courses through her veins.

“Why are we here?” she suddenly demands, narrowing her eyes and whirling toward the Ghost. “Why are you showing me this?”

A flicker of sympathy flashes through the Ghost’s luminous eyes, and she reaches out to place a comforting hand on the spy’s shoulder. “Look again at the man,” she instructs, waving a glowing hand toward the family. And then, when Sarah furrows her forehead in confusion, she gestures once more. “Look again at the father,” she prods.

Taking a deep breath, Sarah turns in the direction indicated, the same ache intensifying within her chest as she watches the family begin to open presents. As she watches the family begin to enjoy Christmas. Taking a few unintentional steps toward the trio, her eyes rake the man’s face, taking in his shaggy brown hair, studying his bright green eyes, watching as he wraps a loving arm around his wife’s shoulders. Watching as he bestows upon his wife the same look her father used to bestow upon her mother. And then, just when she feels that she must turn away, just when she knows that she can’t take anymore, she sees it. She sees him. And she remembers. “That’s Chris Nolan,” she breathes, her lips parting in surprise.

“Your first mission,” the Ghost nods, smiling gently. “The first person you ever saved in your life as a spy.”

“I was fresh out of the Academy,” Sarah replies, her gaze taking on a distant, far off look. “Straight out of training. And the CIA told me that if I didn’t protect him, if I didn’t keep him safe from a foreign warlord, then the information he had accidentally discovered would fall into the wrong hands. And he would get killed in the process.”

“And,” the Ghost adds, her smile brightening when the little girl pounces onto her father’s lap, throwing her arms around his neck, “You were told that if he was killed, then he would be leaving a family behind. A wife and a newborn baby.”

“I remember,” Sarah replies, nodding slowly. And along with that memory, along with the image of the man and his wife and little girl, she remembers something else. She remembers that she had worked harder, she had fought stronger, she had battled relentlessly to keep this man safe. To keep him alive. To keep him from being torn from the family she knew he must love, the family she knew he must return to. The family so much like my own.

“How interesting,” the Ghost states, glancing at Sarah, “That you deny yourself the same thing that you ensured Chris Nolan received. That you deny yourself the joy of family, the happiness of love, when you’re the reason that so many others have it themselves.”

Her stomach muscles tightening, Sarah crosses her arms over her chest as the selfsame mask strengthens upon her features. “It’s not that easy,” she says, even as a trace of emotion trails through her voice. “It’s not that simple. I’m a spy. An agent. I have people to take care of. I have people to keep safe.” I have people to keep alive. Again, Chuck’s innocent, compassionate face flashes through her mind, and her heart twists in her chest even as she wills her careful shield to remain in place. Even as she attempts to push his image from her mind, even as she tries to ignore the icy prickling that traverses her veins. The icy prickling that occurs every time she thinks about the possibility, however remote, however unlikely, that she might lose him if she allows herself to let go. If she allows herself to give in. If she allows herself to open up to the man whose life is in her hands.

Shaking her head almost imperceptibly, a wise twinkle flashes within the Ghost’s glowing eyes. “You shut out the world, Sarah Walker,” she says levelly. “You push love and happiness from your life, all under the guise of keeping people safe. All under the illusion that you have something to prove, that you have something to accomplish, even when that which you strive for is already in your reach.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sarah replies blankly, even as Chuck’s features sharpen within her mind.

“Don’t you?” the Ghost says, arching a knowing brow. “Well, then. Maybe we should see how the other members of your team are celebrating the holiday.” And before Sarah can say anything else, before she even has time to object, the Spirit reaches for Sarah’s arm and takes off into the night. And suddenly, the bright yellow house is dissolving, the family is dissolving, and the world is passing by her feet. Christmas lights glitter in the distance, embankments of snow and forests of pine and rivers of ice dash by her eyes, and families and lovers and friends celebrate and mingle in the midst of it all.

When they finally land and Sarah finds herself standing in another home, when her eyes flicker from a new, more professionally decorated Christmas tree to a baby grand piano to glasses of eggnog and plates of fudge and bowls of peppermint, she blinks and attempts to regain her footing. Attempts to reacclimate herself to her surroundings. Attempts to push the last scene from her mind, full of love and family and memories which she does not wish to harbor. Which are too painful to reflect upon. She can only hope that this new scene isn’t quite so family-oriented.

But as she glances at the photos lining the walls, she notices several with a chubby brunette boy and his thinner younger brunette sister. And even though they’re not touching in any of the photos, and even though the boy even leans a little to the side, there’s a sense of camaraderie, a feeling of friendship between the children that causes her to stare at the photos for a little longer than necessary. That causes the same pang of wistfulness to whisper through her slender frame, even as she tries to push the feeling aside. And as she continues to look at the pictures, as she continues to study the sense of companionship between the two family members, she suddenly realizes. She suddenly knows. This night will be filled with many things she does not wish to see, many things she does not wish to remember. And at the center of it all, painful and poignant and altogether real, will be happy, loving families, each with the ability to remind her of what she lost all those Christmases so long ago. Each with the ability to make her regret where her life has taken her. Each with the ability to remind her of what she longs for now.

So when she takes in the family sprawled around the living room, when she registers their loving interactions, when she notices an older version of the girl depicted in the pictures, and when she sees a wiry blonde man with his arm wrapped around her shoulders and a little blonde boy sneaking handfuls of peppermints, she takes a deep breath and braces herself for another painful scene. Braces herself for another poignant lesson. Braces herself for another happy family. So when the door opens, blowing in a chilly gust of snow, and a muscular brunette man enters the home, she can’t stop her eyes from widening in surprise.

“That’s Casey,” she exclaims, watching her partner drop his suitcase in the hall and slam the door shut. “We’re at Casey’s house?”

“This is his mother’s house,” the Ghost clarifies, smiling as the small blonde boy tiptoes stealthily behind his uncle. “This was his childhood home.”

Sarah’s chest clenches at the thought, at the idea of watching even Casey enjoy a happy family moment, even as her lips curve into a small smirk as she notices the little boy attempting to sneak up on his uncle. This isn’t going to end well, Sarah thinks, just as Casey grunts and reaches behind him, yanking the child off his feet. “What did I tell you about sneaking up on me?” he growls, hiding a smile as the little boy giggles when he hoists him over his shoulder.

“Always move with stealth and make sure to cover your ass,” the child recites, laughing as his uncle punctuates his last word with a slap on his small behind.

“John!” the woman cries, a thin crease appearing between her eyes. “What are you teaching my seven-year old?”

“Just the hard facts of life, sis,” Casey replies, leaning over to give the woman a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek. “Merry Christmas,” he says, tickling his nephew’s stomach and smirking when the boy laughs.

“Merry Christmas, you bad influence,” his sister returns, shaking her head at her brother’s antics. “We’ve been wondering when you’d show up.”

“Had to work late,” Casey replies, placing the child back onto the ground. “Coworkers were getting a little antsy with their lady feelings.” Blushing slightly, Sarah’s gaze falls to the ground as the little boy scampers off and a high pitched cry permeates the room.

“John!” comes the happy cheer of an elderly woman, her entire face splitting into a lustrous grin. “Johnny! You’re here.” Rushing across the room, she throws her arms around Casey, squeezing him much harder than her older years should have allowed.

“Hi, Mom,” Casey replies, his features softening as he slowly entwines the woman within his muscular arms and places a quick kiss on the top of her head. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been missing you, of course,” his mother returns, leaning back to get a good look at her son. “Johnny, you’re wasting away. What on earth have you been eating?”

“Oh, you know,” Casey grunts, shrugging as he drops his arms back to his sides, “The usual.”

“Well, we’ll have to put a stop to that,” the woman replies, shaking her head ruefully as her shoulder-length grey hair swirls about her shoulders. “It’s time that you fattened up some, young man.”

A flicker of affection wafts across Casey’s face, to be quickly buried by his usual stoic façade. “Whatever you say, Mom,” he says.

“Oh, Johnny,” the woman intones, cupping Casey’s angular cheek in her hand. “I’ve missed you, honey. I’m so glad you’ve come home.”

Watching the scene from the corner of the room, Sarah can’t help the jolt of jealousy which pierces her gut as she watches her partner interact with his mother. As she watches Casey’s hidden life, his secret world, his undiscovered existence. As she notices that the life she never knew he had mirrors the one that she now realizes she wants for herself. The life she’s spent twenty years desiring, twenty years craving, twenty years pushing away. Ever since her own mother died, ever since she realized how quickly people can be taken, how quickly everything can be ripped apart, how quickly the world can change. And as a highly reluctant Casey is wheedled by his family members into singing Christmas carols, and as the little blonde boy sidles up to his uncle and gives him a picture he’d drawn in school, and even as a harassed Casey finally raises an unenthusiastic glass in a toast to his coworkers (“May they get over their lady feelings and actually enjoy the holiday.”), she has to bite her lower lip and turn her head from the scene.

“How interesting,” the Ghost says, echoing the thoughts which she will not acknowledge, “That your partner finds a way to spend time with his family, to enjoy Christmas, when you deny yourself the simple pleasure because you state you have a job to do. Tell me, Sarah. Is your job any different from John Casey’s?”

“Of course not,” Sarah replies tightly, narrowing her eyes. But even as the words leave her lips, even as they sound in the illuminated air between them, she knows that they’re not entirely true. That her job isn’t the same as Casey’s. Not exactly. Because Casey isn’t worried every moment of every day. Casey doesn’t spend every second waiting for something to go wrong, waiting for Chuck to get taken, waiting for Chuck to get killed. Casey doesn’t spend his life waiting for the world to be torn away from him.

“Then why is it that you can’t celebrate Christmas?” the Ghost queries, interrupting her ruminations as she quirks her head to the side. “Why is it that you can’t enjoy family?”

“My family was taken away from me,” Sarah snaps, twisting toward the Ghost. “My family was destroyed. How can I enjoy this holiday when the last time I had a good Christmas, the last time I celebrated, my mother died in my arms?” When I know that anyone can be taken, at any time?

“The more important question,” the Ghost says, placing a cool, gentle hand onto Sarah’s arm, “Is how can you not?”

Sarah opens her mouth to respond, to tell the Ghost that she’s wrong. That she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. That after everything that’s happened, after every one that she’s lost, there’s no way that she can give in, there’s no way she can let go. There’s no way she can let her guard down. Not when every time she does, every time she lets someone in, she loses someone else. The problem is, as she watches Casey interact with his family, as she watches him enjoy his loved ones in a way that she’s forgotten how, she can’t think of anything to say. She’s at a loss for words. Because if John Casey the burnout, John Casey the assassin, John Casey the hardassed NSA Agent can let go, can give in, can open up to his family, then she’s not quite sure what she can say for herself. She’s not quite sure what defense, what excuse she has to give. She’s not quite sure if she really even wants to give one.

And for a moment, the image of her own family fills her mind anew. The image of her mother and her father and herself, all much younger, all much happier, all much more innocent. All separated, divided, torn apart. Pursing her lips, she grits her teeth and tries to push aside the image. Tries to push aside the pain which courses through her chest. Tries to forget the fact that she’ll never have that again. But as she does so, as she convinces herself that what she wants can never be, her thoughts shift once more. Only this time, they converge around another family. This time, they center around the man who has unwittingly become the center of her life, of her world, of her universe. This time, they settle on Chuck and Ellie, the family that was never hers but that have invited her into their home, into their hearts, into their lives. And as her thoughts shift, as they course through her mind, her chest clenches as she remembers the invitation that she turned down.

And when Sarah finally closes her mouth, when she finally realizes that she has nothing else to say, the Ghost simply smiles gently and wraps her chilly fingers around Sarah’s bare arm. “Come, Sarah,” she says. “There’s another member of your team that we have yet to visit.” And before Sarah can object, before she can even say anything else, the Ghost pulls them off the ground, pulls them out of the house and up into the starry sky. And as Casey’s home dissolves behind them, and as Casey’s family disappears, she finds her breath catching in her throat as she waits for what she knows will come next. As she waits for the family she knows she will next see.

PART TWO