Thursday, September 30, 2010

Chapter 19: The Many Faces of Chuck and Sarah

Any fool can criticize, condemn, and complain but it takes character and self control to be understanding and forgiving. — Dale Carnegie


Many Faces of Chuck and Sarah

10 NOVEMBER 2007
CHEZ
BARTOWSKI/WALKER
10:47 PST


An hour before they were originally supposed to have arrived at Stanford, Chuck knocked on the door of his sister's apartment. He always felt a little spurt of nervousness right under the ribcage whenever he did so. Maybe it was nerves that Ellie had mysteriously vanished, or he was going to screw up something in front of her, or worse, Sarah. Either way, he felt it flood and let it pass.

Ellie yanked open the door and pulled him in for a quick hug. "You made it! How are your hands? Sarah told me what happened."

"Um, they're fine." He had no idea what cover story Sarah had made up about his hands being covered in bandages, so he fell back on a tired smile.

"Do you want me to look them over?"

"No, I cleaned 'em pretty good. They're okay."

"Okay, then. I'm so, so sorry, if I'd known that consult would take this long, I would have had Dr. Markowicz take it, but it's one of my bomb patients, and he's not doing so well—"

Awesome appeared behind her, grinning in welcome at Chuck. "It's no problem, babe. Don't worry about it—so we missed a little tailgating."

"And I don't mind," Chuck said. The government did, he knew. Casey had been growling under his breath for the past two hours as the others were forced to wait for Ellie to finish up an emergency page. He didn't know how Sarah was reacting, as he hadn't seen her. "Where's, ah, Sarah?"

Something flickered through Ellie's eyes. "Honestly, I'm not sure, but she'll probably be out any minute. Mind helping Devon grab the stuff? I've got to change."

"What? Oh, sure. Not at all."

"Right this way, bro." Between the two of them, they hefted a cooler, juggling bags of food and a plate of nachos. Chuck was certain he made feeble responses to Awesome's jibes about how much Stanford sucked, but by the time they returned to the apartment, he couldn't remember a single thing said. Awesome, of course, picked up on it. "You okay?"

"What? Oh. Yeah, I'm fine." He wasn't, he knew. He'd gotten an hour of sleep the night before. Maybe. If he rounded up. In an attempt to cover it, he'd taken time with his appearance, but admittedly, it did little. Not much he could do with his hair, and the uniform for the big game was just an old Stanford tee and jeans. Really wasn't much there to improve on. "I think I'm going to use the little boys' room before we hit the road."

"Go ahead, I've got the rest." Awesome waved him off.

In the bathroom, finally closed off from the rest of the world, he turned on the faucet and just stood watching the water gush. With nobody around to fool, it was possible to stop and stare and just let the numbness overwhelm. He couldn't even work up a baseline excitement about returning to his alma mater. He should, he knew. He should be excited beyond words to go back to the place where he'd spent four of the happiest years of his life. His last few moments of true happiness.

Except what was waiting for him? Memories about Bryce? Pass. He had no idea what Bryce was up to—the "Where's Bryce?" board had sat silent for weeks—or why he did anything these days. Phillip Dartmoor was a dead end, Bryce Larkin's motives were a deader end.

His frat brothers? They probably thought he was dead, and he all but was, for all the good it did him.

Memories about Jill? Yeah, he'd rather perform open heart surgery on himself without anesthesia, thank you very much.

And now, on top of all of that, he was going to have to sit in a crowded stadium. For hours. All that open air, all those people using up all of the damned oxygen and—

"Um, Chuck?"

Chuck whirled. His eyes traveled up, down, and finally froze dead center—before he remembered himself, yelped, and slapped his hands over his face. "Holy—"

"Shh! Or do you want your sister and Devon to know you're in here with me?"

"I—ah—naked!" Chuck kept his hands clamped over his face. It was a useless gesture. He knew that. There was no way in hell he would ever lose the image that had etched itself on his brain. And no reason he should, really, except that it was probably disrespectful. "Very, very naked!"

He heard the baffled amusement in Sarah's laugh, and rustling. She was probably reaching for a towel. Disappointment stabbed through him. "Well, what did you expect? I don't usually shower with clothes on."

"While that is an excellent point—"

"And you should probably have knocked. I mean, what if it had been Ellie in here?"

"Oh, God," was all Chuck could say to that.

Something touched his arm—Chuck scrambled backward, hands still firmly glued to his face. He probably would have landed in the toilet if Sarah hadn't grabbed him by the elbows. "It's okay, I've got a towel on. You can look."

Cautiously, Chuck opened one eye, just a slit, and peeked through his fingers. She had indeed wrapped a towel around her torso. Chuck's gaze cut immediately to the knot between her breasts. He flushed bright red and shut his eye again. Now he had another image to add to a growing collection.

Sarah Walker might just very well be trying to kill him. Knowing him, he'd be in the middle of defusing a bomb or trying to stop a madman, and he'd accidentally think about Sarah's, um—well, to be honest, Sarah's anything at all—and then, bam, the world would blow up because there was apparently some unwritten rule somewhere that CIA agents had to be model-pretty. And look very, very good naked.

At least he'd die with a goofy smile on his face, Chuck thought sourly. Were you doomed to carry your final expression through the afterlife? Something to ponder later.

"Chuck?" Sarah asked.

Chuck, realizing that he was just standing there with his hands over his eyes while Sarah gripped his arms, forced himself to take a deep breath. He lowered his hands, keeping his gaze on her face. She looked good wet—stop that, Bartowski—save the worried frown. "Are you okay?" she asked him. "What were you doing?"

"What?"

Sarah reached over and turned off the tap. "You were staring at the sink."

"Oh." Chuck straightened a little bit, sheepishly. "Sorry. I was, um, psyching myself up. About going back to Stanford."

"Ah." Sarah ran a hand over his shoulder and padded across the bathroom. Chuck watched her, confused, as she picked up the folded clothes from the edge of the tub. She turned and lifted an eyebrow. "You're welcome to enjoy the show, but be warned, I'm about to dry off, which does involve nudity, yes."

Chuck flushed bright red again, and spun on the spot before he could talk himself out of it.

"Talk to me," Sarah said.

Chuck stared at the wall. "It's not a big deal."

"You think you'll be able to handle the football game? It might be a little bit before we can sneak away to go check the library."

Her voice was slightly muffled; it sounded like she might be toweling her hair. Chuck blinked and cleaned out his ear with his pinky finger. "Did you just say neck in the library?"

A snicker. "Well, why not? You've already seen me naked."

Chuck made a noise that was somewhere between a yelp and a "meep."

"Glad to see I'm still incredibly terrifying." Sarah didn't sound offended, merely amused. "You never answered my question."

Chuck shook his head to clear it. Because it was Sarah, he decided to be honest. "I'm a little nervous. It's a lot of people."

"I know."

"What if I can't hack it?" And if, he thought as desperation and despair began to creep in and latch beneath his sternum, not only could he not hack it, but he had a major freak-out in front of thousands of other fans in the stands? In front of Sarah, in front of Ellie and Awesome and all of Awesome's frat brothers?

"Then you let me know." Sarah's voice made it sound just that simple. "I'll spill something on your shirt, you take me with you to help you get it out, and we can go find someplace quiet for awhile until you feel better. Not a big deal, right?"

"One thing at a time," Chuck said, his lips twisting up in a humorless smile. He nearly turned to share it with her, but remembered his blood pressure just in time. A thought sobered him. "Do you ever get tired of it?"

"Tired of what?"

"Being the level-headed, reassuring one all the damn time?" Chuck pushed his fingers through his hair, scowling when they nearly got stuck. It was definitely time to shave his head again. "Doesn't it get old?"

"Not really." There was more rustling—Sarah donning clothes rather than just toweling herself dry. More disappointment rose. Chuck fought it down. "Chuck, you haven't even been out of the bunker for two months. Don't you think you're being just a bit unrealistic when it comes to your expectations?"

Knocking made Chuck glance over sharply at the door. "Chuck?" Ellie's voice. "Are you in there? I thought I heard voices."

"Wh-what?" Panic made Chuck's voice soar an octave. "No, no, I'm alone in here, Ellie, I promise. Just finishing up. Be out in a second!"

But that would never suffice to dislodge Ellie once she sank her metaphorical teeth into a bone. "I can't find Sarah anywhere," she said, her tone losing not one iota of suspicion. "She's not…in there with you, is she?"

All of the blood drained from Chuck's face. Had Ellie somehow developed X-ray vision in the time he'd been away? He opened his mouth to demand just that, but Sarah stepped right in front of him, a finger on her lips. She'd thrown on a T-shirt and underwear, but that was all. Chuck's eyes bulged. "Would you please put some pants on!" he hissed. In a normal (if a bit strangled) voice, he called, "Maybe she, uh, went outside or something?"

"Why would she do that?"

"Um, to, I don't know, to grab a smoke?"

On the other side of the door, there was a long pause. "I didn't know Sarah smokes."

"Uh, yeah. Like a chimney, actually—ow!" Chuck glared at Sarah, rubbing his hand over his injured arm. She glared right back. He hissed, "You, pants, now!"

"What was that?" Ellie asked.

"Ah, nothing. Rapped my knuckle on the faucet. Be out in just a sec, sis!"

"Okay. I'll go try and find Sarah."

When the sound of Ellie's footsteps had finally faded, Chuck rounded on Sarah. "You're trying to kill me, aren't you? You're sick of this assignment, and you're going to kill me with the power of your legs so that you can go back to assassinating oil sheiks with a knitting needle. Or are you suddenly just allergic to pants?"

"You're the one that didn't knock," Sarah said, folding her arms over her chest.

The action drew Chuck's attention right to the logo on the T-shirt. "Wait a second, that's a Harvard T-shirt. Great job, CIA costume department. Completely wrong coast."

"Or maybe it's not from the CIA 'costume department,' and it's just a day for alma maters." Sarah stepped into her jeans and, rising, fluffed her fingers through her hair.

"Wait, alma maters? As in plural?" Chuck blinked. "You went to Harvard? As in, the school?"

"Well, I certainly didn't go to Harvard the strip club. I need to sneak back to my room and finish getting ready. Be my look-out?"

"Sure, why not? It's not like I haven't already seen everything anyway." Chuck moved to obey, cracking the door open an inch and peering out. "It totally makes sense, by the way."

"What?"

"That you went to Harvard."

Sarah faltered as she bent to pick up her towel. There was a bit of a pause before she asked, "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, isn't that the school in 'Legally Blonde?'"

That surprised a laugh out of her before she gave him a look torn between laughter and violence—admittedly, a default setting with her. "How the hell do you even know that?"

"My ex-girlfriend loved that movie. You're clear. Go."

Sarah squeezed past. Though there was plenty of space to pass, she deliberately rubbed against him, leaving behind a cloud of scent from her shampoo. He gulped. She laughed and hurried from sight.

After a moment, he ambled out much slower, his hands in his pockets. "Whoa," Awesome said as Chuck came back into the living room.

Chuck gave him a quizzical look.

"I was about to prescribe you something because you looked wrecked, but you already look better. Must have been some trip to the bathroom."

Ellie came in before Chuck could search his blank mind for anything to say to that. "Honey, have you seen Sarah? I checked outside, but she's not out smoking or anything. She's vanished off the face of the earth. Again."

"Sarah smokes?" Awesome asked.

"No, I don't. I hate cigarettes." Sarah appeared in the hallway, tucking her cell phone into her pocket.

"Which is why," Chuck deadpanned, "she only smokes cigars. Well, stogies, really."

Sarah glared at him. She'd twisted her hair back into one of those twisty chignon things that seemed complicated, but were probably the easiest thing in the world to pull off.

"Oh, there you are. I've been looking for you everywhere—have you seen—"

"Bottom drawer, under the spare magazines."

"Oh, thanks." Ellie dashed off.

Awesome, meanwhile, chuckled. "I love how you can do that. It's like you have a database in your head."

Chuck and Sarah stared at him.

"What is it?" Awesome glanced behind him, possibly searching for the ghost that had evidently made Chuck pale.

Sarah, of course, recovered first. "Ha, ha, no. No database. Just, you know, a damn near photographic memory." She tapped her temple.

"Well, that makes sense. You did go to Harvard. By the way, up top. Awesome." Awesome held up a hand for the high-five. It spoke of how often Sarah must see her roommate's boyfriend that she returned the gesture automatically. "Best school on the east coast."

"Oh, I don't know about that. I personally was always more fond of Yale."

Sarah gave Chuck her patented "Really, Chuck?" look.

"Of course," Chuck said, fighting a grin, "I could be persuaded otherwise."

"Persuade this," Sarah muttered under her breath, and had Chuck grinning all over again.

It was, however, Ellie that came in and gave Chuck the finger. Or rather, she shoved a giant blue foam finger at him on her way to get her purse. "Hold onto that, will you?"

Chuck wrinkled his nose. "Wrong guy, El. Remember? I'm cheering on the red team today, and blue is no longer my color—ooh! It'll be like 'Red Versus Blue.' Dibs on Grif!"

Ellie shook her head in the confused silence that followed. "Okay, then. You can be Grif. Everybody ready to go?"

"Road trip! Awesome!"

10 NOVEMBER 2007
STANFORD STADIUM
18:59 PST


"I still can't believe I slept the whole way." Chuck knew he was one very dangerously small step away from pouting, but he couldn't help it. If he focused on anything else, anything at all, he'd very likely break down in the middle of the walkway and turn into a gibbering mess.

"Drooled the whole way, too," Sarah muttered as she brushed at her sleeve once more.

"I mean, I didn't get to point out my favorite landmarks. The giant duck that used to be a wine shop, the 'Ladles, Ladles, Ladles' adult movie store. That spot where my car broke down my sophomore year, and Bryce and I spent two hours writing Zork code on the back of a 'Merging Lanes' sign…"

He immediately wanted to stuff his entire foot in his mouth when Sarah tensed.

Ellie frowned as she dodged a couple of fans that had painted themselves blue. "Whatever happened to Bryce? You two used to be such good friends, and I don't think I've heard you mention him once since you got back. Have you tried to get in touch with him?"

Chuck didn't dare look at Sarah, who was climbing the bleachers right beside him. "Uh, yeah, actually. I gave him a call. He travels a lot, you know. For business."

Or treason.

"He's, ah, good," he finished.

They jostled in and out of the crowd as they tried to find their group. Chuck turned his attention to his breathing before he could realize just how many wild, loud, cheering fans had jammed themselves into Stanford Stadium. It spoke volumes about his life that he was looking forward to the part of the day where he'd probably end up coming face to face with a spy out to kill him and his partners. At least there'd be less people around then.

His cell phone beeped. He glanced at the screen: twenty minutes until the rendezvous with Casey. What was twenty minutes?

A freaking eternity.

They found their group just as the pre-game entertainment wrapped up. Chuck and Sarah were introduced around as Ellie's traitorous younger brother and woefully misguided roommate, so they sat amidst good-natured riffing (more for the Stanford man, Chuck noticed, than the Harvard woman), two red shirts in a sea of blue. Sarah reverted to her cover shyness, which meant she crowded close to him. It almost made him smile. Sarah Walker could mow down the entire row of frat guys with nothing but her fists and her wits if she chose, but instead, she tilted her head forward and kept close to his side. As if he could possibly do a single thing that would protect her in any situation, theoretical or otherwise.

They'd timed their arrival close to the kick-off, so Chuck didn't have to wait long before the stands erupted in a roar. He clenched his fists on his thighs and gritted his teeth, counting down to when they could slip away and join Casey—

"Chuck?" Sarah touched his wrist. He glanced over—and up, as she'd apparently risen to her feet with the crowd. "Doing okay?"

Chuck looked over at the score board. Two minutes of game play had elapsed. He couldn't recall a second of it.

"I—" Chuck shook his head as if in a fog. "I'm fine."

"C'mon, boss." Sarah hauled him to his feet. "You promised me a pretzel."

"I did?"

Sarah leaned around him to grab Ellie's attention. "Chuck just offered to get me a pretzel. Want anything? He's buying."

"Hmm." Ellie considered. "A hot dog and a Coke."

"And you call yourself a doctor," Chuck scoffed.

"Make it a Diet Coke, then." Ellie stuck her tongue out at him. Chuck, however, didn't miss the furtive look she sent after Sarah and him as they left.

"Something's up with Ellie," he said as he and Sarah headed for the concession stand. "She's suspicious about something."

"Probably just worried that her upstanding little brother is boffing his secretary."

Chuck choked on nothing but air.

When Sarah glanced back, her eyes danced with mischief. "You okay, Chuck?"

"Office manager," Chuck said in a strangled voice. "And no, I don't think that's it. Precisely."

"Hm." Around them, the Stanford fans let out a cheer—an interception or first down. Chuck wasn't paying enough attention to care.

"I'll talk to her. Later. Maybe get things cleared up." Chuck shrugged. "Maybe we should just get you a cover boyfriend. Hey, you could fake date Casey!"

Sarah blanched. Somewhere near Green Library, Chuck was positive that Casey just let out one of his "what the hell has Bartowski done now?" grunts.

He barreled on, using Sarah's horrified silence as encouragement. "Just think about it. You and Casey could use your cover dates to keep Castle's armory inventory squeaky clean, and after an appropriate amount of time has passed, he'll get down on one knee and fake-propose in the middle of a combat zone, and you'll have a shotgun wedding at the courthouse—"

Sarah made a small, terrified noise.

"Shotgun only because," Chuck said quickly, "of course one of you will literally be carrying a shotgun. Give it a couple of years and if you're both still here and together, you can start having cover children. Just think, they'll have their father's grunts and their mother's eyes and—what are you staring at?"

"I'm not staring. I'm timing you in my head."

"What? Why?"

"To see how long you can go on building my life with Casey before you realize what you're saying and need to start beating your head against a brick wall."

"Oh, I can go on for ages. I could probably describe all the way to your golden anniversary, when he gives you a diamond knife hilt and you surprise him with solid gold bullet-shaped cufflinks."

Sarah wrinkled her nose. "I take it back. Maybe you don't need to beat your head against a brick wall. Maybe I should do it for you."

"Probably best if you don't. Don't want to damage the Intersect."

They reached the concessions line and Sarah finally glanced over at Chuck, concern mixing with her smile. "Easier to think about me doing the deed with Casey than it is about Magnus and what's coming, huh?"

Chuck's eyes went briefly blurry before he screwed them shut. "Thanks for the mental image."

"Just returning the favor."

"Maybe you should just owe me one next time. And you know how it is with me and guns."

"Honestly, you should be fine. Magnus's weapon of choice is the crossbow."

Chuck squinted at Sarah—her face was unreadable, but he knew she wasn't above messing with him, given the chance. "Crap, and I left my plus five Cloak of Resistance in my other Bag of Holding, which is back at my place. How much damage can a guy with a crossbow do, anyway?"

Sarah muttered something. If it sounded at all like, "One d-eight," Chuck figured it was mostly coincidence. So he barreled on, "Seems a little…"

Sarah's smile flashed. "I shouldn't be joking about this, as a crossbow can kill you just as dead as anything else, but, well, ask Casey sometime. Just be prepared to run."

"Was that why he was limping last night? Did he get shot with a crossbow bolt?"

"I'm sworn to secrecy—"

"Chuck?"

Because he was grinning at Sarah, he saw her snap into "agent" mode. Her eyes hardened, her body tensed, her right hand dropped toward where she kept a weapon of some kind.

Chuck, on the other hand, went completely wobbly. His knees went weak, his bones melted into jelly. He felt like flopping backward, body driven by the impact of an emotional punch to the gut. The voice completely shut off every higher function in his brain, leaving his mind a blank mass sitting in his skull.

He turned very slowly.

And there she was, much, much closer than he'd seen her in years. He didn't even have to look through binoculars. Because Jill Roberts was right there, giving him a puzzled, happy smile. "Chuck Bartowski?" she asked, just to be sure.

He blinked stupidly at her. "Yeah, that's me," came out of his mouth.

Jill's smile brightened considerably. "Well, look at you, stranger! I thought you'd vanished off of the face of the earth, but no, here you are. It's Jill. From Stanford?"

Chuck was pretty sure there was a socially acceptable response to that. He knew at one point, he had likely known said socially acceptable response. Probably. But all that came to mind now was a sort of "Uh" noise that looped endlessly through his empty mind.

Now, Jill's smile dimmed somewhat. "Um, Chuck, are you okay?"

He was saved from answering by a nudge at his side. "Ohmigod," said a voice, a voice that sounded absurdly like the illegal crossbreed between Sarah Walker and a Valley Girl. Chuck blinked foggily at his companion, who had shifted from the somewhat-reserved secret agent he knew and adored to something from the planet Malibu. "Are you Jill freakin' Roberts? I can't believe it. Hi, I'm Sarah, I'm Chuck's—"

Hastily, Chuck cleared his throat.

"Office manager," Sarah finished without making it seem like she might have said "girlfriend" at all. "He talks about you all the time. I can't believe I get to meet you."

Now she calls herself an office manager, Chuck thought. Figures.

Confusion flavored Jill's smile now. "He has? Wow. Um, only good things I hope?"

Sarah smiled and laid her hand against Chuck's elbow to get his attention. "Why don't I get the stuff, you stay here and catch up?"

Chuck raised his eyebrows. Abandoning the field? He couldn't say he blamed her—he was torn between wanting to run away somewhere far, and brimming with curiosity. So many questions swirled to the surface. He forced them back as he pulled his wallet out and handed Sarah a twenty. "You said I owed you a pretzel, remember?"

Sarah took the money. "R-right."

After she'd turned away and rejoined the line, Chuck stuck his hands in his pockets. Would he feel awkward, he wondered, if he hadn't spent five years in a hole in the ground? Probably. "Sorry about that," he said, trying to put a "heh, heh, look at how funny Chuck can be" note into his voice. "I'm kind of a slave-driver, I guess."

"Really? What is it that you're doing, these days? How…have you been?"

She looked much better in person. Maybe it was the sunlight that filtered so perfectly over her brown ponytail, bringing out the hidden red highlights like it always had during their study dates on the quad. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn't looking at her through shaky binocular lenses. Maybe it was the undeniable fact that she had changed not a whit in five freaking years. Finally, something unchanged.

He felt his stomach plunge, and barely remembered to answer her question.

"I recently came back from working abroad—I've got a small software firm, nothing major. Pacific Securities, LLC." Chuck could feel sweat dribbling back down between his shoulder blades, and wished that he'd worn some kind of jacket, any jacket at all, that would hide that fact. Of course, he was doomed to sweat with all of these people around, but now that his ex-girlfriend was standing right in front of him, why did he have to sweat so much? "It's small, a three-man operation really, but it gets me through the—how are you? What have you been up to? The great Jill Roberts—it is still Roberts, right? I'm not pissing off some husband by standing here talking to you?—conquering the world, right? World domination was your goal?"

Jill laughed. If she sounded nervous, Chuck figured it was purely his imagination.

"Ha, no, it's still Roberts. I'm finishing up the last year of my doctorate in the program at SC."

"Oh." Chuck blinked. "Well, congratulations. When do you become Dr. Roberts, then? Who, coincidentally, was my pediatrician. Not that you needed to know that, even if he was a really nice guy…" He trailed off and wondered if he was flexible enough to actually shove one of his chucks into his mouth. If he kept going like this, he would have to find out the hard way.

Jill's smile blossomed. "Was he? I'm glad to hear that. And I finish in December, actually. I'm so close to done, just making a few final tweaks to my thesis. I can practically smell the freedom."

"That's—that's wonderful."

"So, working abroad? Exciting, isn't it? I've been tentatively offered a job working in France."

He couldn't stop the smile. "Really? That's great. I know how much you've always loved the French Riviera."

"I still do. And what about you? You didn't just drop off of the face of the earth for five years, did you?" Jill smiled and nudged him in the arm. He froze. Perhaps Jill noticed; concern flitted into those brown eyes he remembered better than his own sometimes. "Are you—are you okay? You look a little ill."

He felt a little ill. Chuck pushed it all down by sheer force of will and managed to plaster a smile on his face, though it felt more like a grimace. "I'm fine," he said when he was sure his voice wouldn't croak like a robot's. "And no, ha, ha, didn't drop off of the face of the earth for five years. I was in—Poland!" He blurted out the first name that came to mind.

"Really? Poland?" Jill rocked backward on her sneakers, an old move. "I didn't know you knew Polish, Chuck."

"I'm really, really terrible at it." Chuck forced a laugh. He'd convinced Sarah to teach him a few words, but those had fled with the rest of his capacity for higher thought. "I was, um, working for an agency based out of Warsaw. Turns out tech speak is universal. Who knew, right? But I wanted to be closer to Ellie, so I came back, started my own company. Uh, hired Sarah." He jerked his head toward the concessions line. "She's scarily efficient."

Or just scary, whenever somebody crossed her.

Jill's smile may have flickered, though Chuck had no idea why it would. "Yeah, I was going to ask about that. You brought your office manager to the game with you?"

"Actually, Ellie did. That's how I met Sarah, really. She and Ellie are friends."

"Oh." Jill tucked her hair behind her ears. "Sorry, I thought she might be, like a date or something."

Why did everybody think that? First Ellie and her "boffing" suspicions, and now Jill? Hell, even Morgan had made hints.

"Trust me," Chuck said, "when I say she's way too good for me. Um, what about you? Are you, uh, here with a date?"

"Just another Stanford undergrad in my program at SC. We drove up together to save on gas." Jill's expression softened. "I never heard back from you, five years ago, and I wanted to—"

Chuck's phone beeped. Torn between relief and sheer aggravation, he held up a finger and scrambled for it. Casey's angry visage filled the screen behind the text message: "Where the hell are you and Walker? Get over here now!"

Chuck figured the grunt was implied.

Proving that she had a sixth sense about these things, Sarah appeared at his elbow and glanced at the phone in his hand. "Got the stuff," she said. "Ellie likes relish and mustard on her hot dogs, right?"

Why did it continually amaze him that the CIA would know that sort of thing? "Uh, yeah. Hold on just a second." He turned to Jill. "What was it you were going to say?"

Her smile had all but vanished. "Actually, never mind. It's not important."

But it is, Chuck wanted to say. I want to know.

However, duty called, and beside a concession stand probably wasn't a great time for heart to heart talks. He possibly had a raging crossbow-carrying fiend to face in his old college library, and Jill probably wanted to get back to watching the game.

She proved him right by smiling sadly. "I should get back, Justin's probably wondering if I fell in or something. It was nice seeing you again, Chuck. And, ah, nice to meet you, Sarah." She reached out to pat Chuck on the arm; he nearly stepped sideways into Sarah, but avoided it at the last second.

Sarah let the motion go without comment. "Likewise," she told Jill, giving the other woman a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Y-yeah, it was nice seeing you again," Chuck said vaguely. "Uh, don't be a stranger."

"Same goes." Jill melted into the crowd.

Sarah gave him approximately a minute to stand, reeling, while the crowds moved all around him. In the end, he broke the silence. "Sorry to leave you with the food gathering duties. Here, I can take some stuff."

"I got you a pretzel," Sarah said, handing him the hot dog and Diet Coke. "So you don't steal all of mine like we both know you'll try to do."

Chuck mustered up a weak smile. "To be fair, I only did that once."

"Uh-huh, right. C'mon, let's take this stuff back to Ellie and make our excuses so that Casey doesn't have a conniption."

He let her muscle their way through the crowd, as she was better at it. Could he have come across as even more of an idiot? He wasn't the smoothest of guys to start out, but—had he really asked if her name was still Roberts? And babbled on for twenty minutes about his childhood doctor? Good one, Bartowski. Maybe next time you should charm the girl by talking about your cavities.

Hell, maybe he should have let Sarah introduce herself as his girlfriend. They'd played a married couple before, after all, and having a woman like Sarah pretend to be actually interested in a nerd like him would be a real social win. Except…he wanted to stand on his own power. He couldn't just hide behind Sarah Walker whenever something scared him. And letting Sarah Walker play his hot girlfriend just wasn't fair to her. She shouldn't be displayed like a friggen' trophy, after all.

He turned to say as much to her, just to make sure there weren't any hurt feelings—partners, after all, needed to be on the same footing—but she was already studying him intensely. When he blinked at her, he could have sworn the faintest tinge of red started up on her cheeks. "Are you okay?" she said, stopping him at the top of the bleachers.

"Wh-what? Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Give me an honest answer, Chuck. Are you going to be able to handle going into that library, knowing Magnus might be waiting for us?"

"I don't have much of a choice, do I? I couldn't get my bearings well enough with the security feeds Casey tried to show me this morning." Chuck squinted at her. "We've faced scarier things than crossbow-toting psychopaths with questionable names, Sarah. What are you really asking?"

Sarah bit her lip. "I know she meant a lot to you. You carry her picture around, after all. I just want to make sure your head's in a good place in case something happens. I can call Casey, put it off for a few hours—"

"No, I'd rather get it over with."

"Okay."

"And I'm fine."

"Okay."

Sarah searched his face once more, but took him at his word. They started clambering down the walkway to their group while the UCLA fans let out a roaring cheer. Under it all, Chuck leaned in close. Sarah had made an excellent point about wondering where his head was at. The least he could do was reassure her. "Jill happened a long time ago. It was a surprise, that's all."

"I said it's okay, Chuck."

It shouldn't have been okay. He should have been approaching Fleming-induced levels of rage and doubt and anger, but he was just too drained from all of the crowds, from constantly keeping up a cheerful face around his sister and Awesome, even from the constant nearness of Sarah. He'd have to simply have his full freak-out later on, when he was finally alone, tucked into the corner of his room at the Bachelor Pad.

At least Sarah hadn't said anything about the stalking.

She swapped items with him, telling him to wait in the aisle while she carried the hot dog and soda to Ellie. Whatever she said must have worked to get them both off the hook from watching at least the first half of the game, for Ellie glanced over and gave him a small "Go ahead" wave. He waved back and waited, as instructed, for Sarah to come back.

"I told Ellie you wanted to show me your old haunts and that we'd be back to watch UCLA lose in the second half," Sarah said when she returned.

Chuck handed over her pretzel. "And she was okay with that?"

"She says have fun, be safe, call if we run into any trouble." Sarah shrugged. "So…ready to go face a guy with a crossbow?"

"I could really use that plus five Cloak of Resistance right about now. And maybe some new pants for later. Just in case." Chuck made it a point to grin over at Sarah.

She rolled her eyes, but led the way out of the stadium.

Chuck glanced at his sister, and Awesome's cabal of frat guys. He was surprised to see Ellie looking back, watching them go. Or rather, he saw, watching Sarah go. And her eyes were most definitely narrowed in suspicion.

Uh-oh.

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