Chuck Fic: a series of desert keys
notes: As there are a million and one things that I should be doing right now, including going and getting myself some coffee for the long night of play writing, I wrote this. for the wonderful silverstars and also have this song, hanne hukkelberg - bandy riddles, which I keep playing over and over again. Enjoy!
a series of desert keys
"i’m sorry," he says finally. they’re standing in the middle of her room, between bags and shoes, a redirection of a life that she supposes, in the end, she's never going to stop giving something to. favors are favors, her dad used to say. nobody’s ever straight to begin with. you should know this. alice has a secret of never leaving wonderland. chuck. chuck/sarah. post-finale spoilers for chuck versus the ring. 1,908 words, pg.
-
Her ears are still ringing.
"I'm sorry," he says finally. They’re standing in the middle of her room, between bags and shoes, a redirection of a life that she supposes, in the end, she's never going to stop giving something to. Favors are favors, her dad used to say. Nobody’s ever straight to begin with. You should know this.
Sarah says nothing though. She shifts away from the door, her hands dropping to her hips. Her palms are heavy, flushed, and she can count the lines digging into her skin without thinking. The door shuts behind her. She ignores it, the sound, and Chuck. She moves to the window, to the curtains that live drawn back and folded close with a thin, fabric cord. She’s never really liked color green or maybe she has, she can't remember, and it's really panic that is doing the thinking, lodged deep in her throat.
They’ve left the wedding party behind and Bryce, years of her life, to be folded away in things like valor and distinguished honors, all metaphors for someone else's mistakes. And Casey has left them too, under mutters of general this and general that, because they've got to regroup and rethink this through. This is the problem. She just can't think right now. It’s her nerves. Her hands are trembling.
The city faces her in the window instead, the lights breaking into clusters of buildings and traffic, ever moving into the early fractions of the night. She can watch Chuck in glass too, shoulders slumped and bewildered as he watches her with quiet concern. There are her dresses behind him then, pink and burgundy dropped into restless wrinkles over her bed. She doesn't know what to say to him. She wishes she did. It’s mix of yelling and crying and telling why again and again; it's resourcefulness under pressure and he's learned that on his own, under both Casey and herself. They gave him the room to learn. She wants to regret this. He’s made the decision on his own. She wants to be really proud too.
"You did what you had to do," she murmurs. And finally, she decides to turn. Her eyes burn as she sighs too, looking down at her feet, "You did what you had to do, Chuck. I understand. We're just going to have to - tomorrow's another day and we'll talk about it then."
"Sarah."
She doesn't look up, doesn't trust herself, and shuffles her hands into her pockets. She remembers her knives, in her boot, and the gun framing the small of her back. It remains hidden, under her jacket, ready for a just in case scenario. They don't bring the same kind of understanding as they used to. She’s known this for a long time. But this has always stood by itself, before Chuck.
What she is, now, is too aware of the room and of space. The carpet is picking at the heels of her boots. She leans back, into the glasses and closes her eyes as it prints a kiss into her skin. She shivers slightly. The collar of her jacket is tracing lines into her skin too, over the arches of her shoulders and into her neck again. It’s the room, the air's never really worked right. She’s never here most of the time, anyway, and it's precaution, to never get comfortable in one place. It’s half a lie that works here because she knows where she was most of the time, anyway.
"I just -"
He stops. Her eyes open and he's walking towards her, his jaw locked. He’s staring at her, studying her, and she doesn't move. She knows exactly what she was going to tell him at the wedding, she knows that she was going to tell him before. There's always been other times, all neatly lined and ready for calendar dates. She can't help but wonder about the what if and had they not been interrupted this time, what would've this meant now to the both of them, for the both of them. It’s still change.
He doesn't finish though. His hand stretches and curls around her arms, tugging her forward. She lets herself go to him, her lips parting as his hands slide up her arms and then curl around her shoulders. His fingers pull along the lines of her jaw and she finds herself studying him, as he cups her face. He tries to smile and she tries to smile back, neither of them accomplishing anything less than an attempt. She can feel her mouth twist too, over questions that should've been asked to begin with. But there's just this big lump in her throat, tightening as she stares at him.
"I just - " he starts again, quiet, "I just - I need you to know that I can do this, that it was my decision, and I know - god, I'm really fumbling here. I'm sorry. I don't want you to be disappointed in me."
"I'm not disappointed in you, Chuck."
She can say that because it's true. It’s never been anything but true. He nods, "I don't know how to say this and if there's a right way to say this. Everything's been sorta scary and uncontrollable and I'm just trying to make sense of what's happened again and I - it's not fair of me to say this, I just can't do this without you."
It’s always been easier for him and she wants to point this out, over and over again. She doesn't know how to process this, as it's always been separate and something completely different. It still is. It’s just there's never him, without her, and her without this and she's beginning to believe that someone's laughing at her, looking down and saying it's complicated as if to mock the time she's spent here with him. It’s been two years. She would believe it. She’s always been a daddy's girl in that sense, subject to irony and its every angle on the definition.
She doesn't say anything. He watches her, as if he were waiting to. She feels herself soften, but she doesn't try to smile again. It would be an empty reassurance. She is just as scared, just as confused, and it's easier to say something to make this a clean break. It’s going to be expected again, to some extent.
Slowly though, her hands rise and frame his face. She mirrors him, or tries to, letting her fingers spread over his cheeks. She draws her thumb forward, sliding it over his lip. There’s a slight cut, the print of teeth marks from Chuck biting his lip too hard. That’s a nervous habit, that she knows. It’s always going to be Chuck's. She needs that, those little things, and she wants to ask him, but there's nothing to feel right about asking. She feels selfish even thinking this way. She shouldn't be selfish. This is guilt.
"We'll figure this out," she finally says. Promises too. She’s not Sarah if she doesn't promise. And she knows that best about herself, which both scares and confuses her when it comes to him.
He nods and sighs, his lips brushing back against her thumb. His head turns and slowly, shyly, she gets a tiny kiss to her palm too, as he looks back to her. She almost smiles there. She wants to smile there. She wonders if there's a difference, maybe and maybe not.
But she pulls her hand away, drawing it over his jacket. Her finger picks absently over the fabric and then move, over his shirt. She brushes them over the loop of one of his buttons and then stills her fingers, looking back up at him as his hands shift over her hips. They’re comfortable. They’ve always been comfortable. It’s the room though, and how it stands and watches them silently, waiting for some sort of move.
It makes her aware of how things are standing. She’s heavy on her heels, drawn towards him but back. There's no particular shift in how she stands, just the peculiarities; Chuck is holding onto and she's not letting go, but they've never not know how to move anywhere else. Forwards and backwards have made them too comfortable in the middle and maybe, maybe that's it. Maybe, this is the problem.
Leaning forward, she kisses him.
Her lips brush over his, not like the last time or the first time. She feels herself curl into him, her hands pulling into fists over the fabric of his shirt. The fabric is sharp, crisp into her palms, and she lets her mouth open wider, only to deepen as he pulls himself to response. There’s nothing tentative about this, as he kisses her back, and his hand slides into her hair. Her mouth moves too comfortably. His fingers pull at the strands, but she doesn't wince, letting her teeth skim his lip. There’s a hiss and slowly, he takes a step back. But Sarah turns them, her hips pressing into his and her tongue sliding into his mouth. She sweeps it over his, circling herself into tastes of earlier, of dinner and wine and wedding laughter.
"I really am sorry," he breathes, muffled, and she tastes that too, dragging her lips back. Her teeth catch his lip again, her lips folding over it and sucking lightly. He makes a sound against her mouth, from the back of his throat that sounds like a half-growl, half-sigh and leaves her with very little to care about outside of this.
His fingers are still awkward as they stumble, underneath her jacket and then shirt. They brush shyly over her skin, sliding into slow, nervous circles. Stop thinking, she wants to say. But won't. Because he won't, he won't and she won't and none of this was meant to be what is or how it's standing right now. She doesn't know if she's okay with that, or some of that, or if it matters, in the long run anyway.
But she pulls back, breathless, and stares up with him with wide eyes. "I know."
Her lips are wet, flushed, and his fingers haven't moved from her hips. His other hand pulls carefully through her hair, his fingers sliding over the back of her neck. She hasn't let go of him either and her hands force themselves to relax, broken by the laughter that passes outside her door. She forgets, you know. She forgets that sometimes, sometimes she really isn't supposed to be here. She forgets that this was never supposed to happen.
Casey will come back though. They’ll have meetings and conferences and she wonders if Chuck really understands that he's going to have to start lying again to Ellie. There are things that they're going to have to talk about and reiterate. But she can't think, can't think as his hands move and settle, touching her quietly. She doesn't want to go anymore, anywhere, and she can think selfishly. She can.
"We'll figure this out."
He keeps her close. And she says it again, and then again, slurring over a murmur of this and out. She can't really hear herself say it, but her mouth is moving anyway and she supposes, that's all that is needed. He believes what he wants to. She believes what she can give. They’re the same, like that.
His mouth turns slightly. Sarah swallows. No one is supposed to know.
a series of desert keys
"i’m sorry," he says finally. they’re standing in the middle of her room, between bags and shoes, a redirection of a life that she supposes, in the end, she's never going to stop giving something to. favors are favors, her dad used to say. nobody’s ever straight to begin with. you should know this. alice has a secret of never leaving wonderland. chuck. chuck/sarah. post-finale spoilers for chuck versus the ring. 1,908 words, pg.
-
Her ears are still ringing.
"I'm sorry," he says finally. They’re standing in the middle of her room, between bags and shoes, a redirection of a life that she supposes, in the end, she's never going to stop giving something to. Favors are favors, her dad used to say. Nobody’s ever straight to begin with. You should know this.
Sarah says nothing though. She shifts away from the door, her hands dropping to her hips. Her palms are heavy, flushed, and she can count the lines digging into her skin without thinking. The door shuts behind her. She ignores it, the sound, and Chuck. She moves to the window, to the curtains that live drawn back and folded close with a thin, fabric cord. She’s never really liked color green or maybe she has, she can't remember, and it's really panic that is doing the thinking, lodged deep in her throat.
They’ve left the wedding party behind and Bryce, years of her life, to be folded away in things like valor and distinguished honors, all metaphors for someone else's mistakes. And Casey has left them too, under mutters of general this and general that, because they've got to regroup and rethink this through. This is the problem. She just can't think right now. It’s her nerves. Her hands are trembling.
The city faces her in the window instead, the lights breaking into clusters of buildings and traffic, ever moving into the early fractions of the night. She can watch Chuck in glass too, shoulders slumped and bewildered as he watches her with quiet concern. There are her dresses behind him then, pink and burgundy dropped into restless wrinkles over her bed. She doesn't know what to say to him. She wishes she did. It’s mix of yelling and crying and telling why again and again; it's resourcefulness under pressure and he's learned that on his own, under both Casey and herself. They gave him the room to learn. She wants to regret this. He’s made the decision on his own. She wants to be really proud too.
"You did what you had to do," she murmurs. And finally, she decides to turn. Her eyes burn as she sighs too, looking down at her feet, "You did what you had to do, Chuck. I understand. We're just going to have to - tomorrow's another day and we'll talk about it then."
"Sarah."
She doesn't look up, doesn't trust herself, and shuffles her hands into her pockets. She remembers her knives, in her boot, and the gun framing the small of her back. It remains hidden, under her jacket, ready for a just in case scenario. They don't bring the same kind of understanding as they used to. She’s known this for a long time. But this has always stood by itself, before Chuck.
What she is, now, is too aware of the room and of space. The carpet is picking at the heels of her boots. She leans back, into the glasses and closes her eyes as it prints a kiss into her skin. She shivers slightly. The collar of her jacket is tracing lines into her skin too, over the arches of her shoulders and into her neck again. It’s the room, the air's never really worked right. She’s never here most of the time, anyway, and it's precaution, to never get comfortable in one place. It’s half a lie that works here because she knows where she was most of the time, anyway.
"I just -"
He stops. Her eyes open and he's walking towards her, his jaw locked. He’s staring at her, studying her, and she doesn't move. She knows exactly what she was going to tell him at the wedding, she knows that she was going to tell him before. There's always been other times, all neatly lined and ready for calendar dates. She can't help but wonder about the what if and had they not been interrupted this time, what would've this meant now to the both of them, for the both of them. It’s still change.
He doesn't finish though. His hand stretches and curls around her arms, tugging her forward. She lets herself go to him, her lips parting as his hands slide up her arms and then curl around her shoulders. His fingers pull along the lines of her jaw and she finds herself studying him, as he cups her face. He tries to smile and she tries to smile back, neither of them accomplishing anything less than an attempt. She can feel her mouth twist too, over questions that should've been asked to begin with. But there's just this big lump in her throat, tightening as she stares at him.
"I just - " he starts again, quiet, "I just - I need you to know that I can do this, that it was my decision, and I know - god, I'm really fumbling here. I'm sorry. I don't want you to be disappointed in me."
"I'm not disappointed in you, Chuck."
She can say that because it's true. It’s never been anything but true. He nods, "I don't know how to say this and if there's a right way to say this. Everything's been sorta scary and uncontrollable and I'm just trying to make sense of what's happened again and I - it's not fair of me to say this, I just can't do this without you."
It’s always been easier for him and she wants to point this out, over and over again. She doesn't know how to process this, as it's always been separate and something completely different. It still is. It’s just there's never him, without her, and her without this and she's beginning to believe that someone's laughing at her, looking down and saying it's complicated as if to mock the time she's spent here with him. It’s been two years. She would believe it. She’s always been a daddy's girl in that sense, subject to irony and its every angle on the definition.
She doesn't say anything. He watches her, as if he were waiting to. She feels herself soften, but she doesn't try to smile again. It would be an empty reassurance. She is just as scared, just as confused, and it's easier to say something to make this a clean break. It’s going to be expected again, to some extent.
Slowly though, her hands rise and frame his face. She mirrors him, or tries to, letting her fingers spread over his cheeks. She draws her thumb forward, sliding it over his lip. There’s a slight cut, the print of teeth marks from Chuck biting his lip too hard. That’s a nervous habit, that she knows. It’s always going to be Chuck's. She needs that, those little things, and she wants to ask him, but there's nothing to feel right about asking. She feels selfish even thinking this way. She shouldn't be selfish. This is guilt.
"We'll figure this out," she finally says. Promises too. She’s not Sarah if she doesn't promise. And she knows that best about herself, which both scares and confuses her when it comes to him.
He nods and sighs, his lips brushing back against her thumb. His head turns and slowly, shyly, she gets a tiny kiss to her palm too, as he looks back to her. She almost smiles there. She wants to smile there. She wonders if there's a difference, maybe and maybe not.
But she pulls her hand away, drawing it over his jacket. Her finger picks absently over the fabric and then move, over his shirt. She brushes them over the loop of one of his buttons and then stills her fingers, looking back up at him as his hands shift over her hips. They’re comfortable. They’ve always been comfortable. It’s the room though, and how it stands and watches them silently, waiting for some sort of move.
It makes her aware of how things are standing. She’s heavy on her heels, drawn towards him but back. There's no particular shift in how she stands, just the peculiarities; Chuck is holding onto and she's not letting go, but they've never not know how to move anywhere else. Forwards and backwards have made them too comfortable in the middle and maybe, maybe that's it. Maybe, this is the problem.
Leaning forward, she kisses him.
Her lips brush over his, not like the last time or the first time. She feels herself curl into him, her hands pulling into fists over the fabric of his shirt. The fabric is sharp, crisp into her palms, and she lets her mouth open wider, only to deepen as he pulls himself to response. There’s nothing tentative about this, as he kisses her back, and his hand slides into her hair. Her mouth moves too comfortably. His fingers pull at the strands, but she doesn't wince, letting her teeth skim his lip. There’s a hiss and slowly, he takes a step back. But Sarah turns them, her hips pressing into his and her tongue sliding into his mouth. She sweeps it over his, circling herself into tastes of earlier, of dinner and wine and wedding laughter.
"I really am sorry," he breathes, muffled, and she tastes that too, dragging her lips back. Her teeth catch his lip again, her lips folding over it and sucking lightly. He makes a sound against her mouth, from the back of his throat that sounds like a half-growl, half-sigh and leaves her with very little to care about outside of this.
His fingers are still awkward as they stumble, underneath her jacket and then shirt. They brush shyly over her skin, sliding into slow, nervous circles. Stop thinking, she wants to say. But won't. Because he won't, he won't and she won't and none of this was meant to be what is or how it's standing right now. She doesn't know if she's okay with that, or some of that, or if it matters, in the long run anyway.
But she pulls back, breathless, and stares up with him with wide eyes. "I know."
Her lips are wet, flushed, and his fingers haven't moved from her hips. His other hand pulls carefully through her hair, his fingers sliding over the back of her neck. She hasn't let go of him either and her hands force themselves to relax, broken by the laughter that passes outside her door. She forgets, you know. She forgets that sometimes, sometimes she really isn't supposed to be here. She forgets that this was never supposed to happen.
Casey will come back though. They’ll have meetings and conferences and she wonders if Chuck really understands that he's going to have to start lying again to Ellie. There are things that they're going to have to talk about and reiterate. But she can't think, can't think as his hands move and settle, touching her quietly. She doesn't want to go anymore, anywhere, and she can think selfishly. She can.
"We'll figure this out."
He keeps her close. And she says it again, and then again, slurring over a murmur of this and out. She can't really hear herself say it, but her mouth is moving anyway and she supposes, that's all that is needed. He believes what he wants to. She believes what she can give. They’re the same, like that.
His mouth turns slightly. Sarah swallows. No one is supposed to know.