A/N: Oh heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey.
I was doing some over-analysis on tumblr again while talking about Sarah and why she told Shaw her real name and whether or not she ever talked to Chuck about it. And then people were asking for a fic, so I wrote it.
Hope you all enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own CHUCK. I don't make any money from my fanfiction. So stfu already about it, okay? Jesus.
He couldn't sleep.
In spite of the way the train rocked back and forth so gently as it zoomed along the tracks going…somewhere. He wasn't entirely sure where.
The train had been Sarah's idea.
And when he'd agreed to it—which hadn't taken much thought at all since she'd suggested it while he was in a haze of total unadulterated ecstasy—he'd imagined them sitting in two semi-comfortable seats, trying to sleep jammed up against the window with a jacket for a pillow. It hadn't made him question her plan for a second. He'd handle anything and everything if they could just continue what they'd started in the hotel room in Paris.
Yes, sex. Obviously, sex.
But he wanted so badly to stay in this sanctuary of total and utter bliss and happiness with Sarah Walker, his kick ass spy woman. Wait, no. He wanted to stay in this happy bubble with Sarah Walker, the woman he'd very recently come to know as a giggly, snorting, funny, salacious woman with a massive heart and a love for innuendo. Certainly, she was a kick ass spy woman. But she was so many other things besides just that, and he'd quickly discovered that she was pure heaven when she was truly happy.
Neither of them knew how long they would be allowed to continue this, and they hadn't discussed it yet.
That was part of why he couldn't sleep.
Walking into their compartment for the first time, he'd been flabbergasted. No seats, no sleeping squashed against the window. A bedroom. And their own bathroom with a shower and tub. The tax payers would not be happy about this… Or maybe Sarah'd shelled out her own money for it?
They didn't waste time with "What now?"
The bed was theirs for the taking. And take it they did, before the train even left the station. Hours passed in the dark compartment, nothing but a sliver of moonlight stretching across the bed. Sarah Walker, the so-called "Ice Queen" and "Graham's wildcard enforcer"—both of which had always made Chuck want to punch a hole in the wall when he heard them—had proven herself to be a playful lover.
In the hotel room earlier on that morning, both of them had eagerly jumped headfirst into one another's arms, after three years of waiting and wanting, obstacle after obstacle put in their path. But there was an urgency to it, a desperation underneath the tenderness and passion. Maybe they'd both feared Beckman would send an agent to their room to break the door down and drag them back to Burbank. Or maybe it was the knowledge that their time in that room would eventually end, the bliss and ecstasy of everything halting once they had to get back on the plane headed for home. They'd been focused on one another, intense, eager, rushed, clinging to one another, not stopping to come up for air until their bodies demanded relief.
The moment they'd boarded the train, running away from the Parisian room, away from Beckman and the government's reach, away from anything or anyone who could take this away from them, things had changed. The sex was unhurried. They had time for exploration, discovery.
He'd gone in search for ways to make her shiver, and those special places on her body where she enjoyed his attention the most. He'd found a few spots—like on the crest of her hip bone, the crook of her neck, just below her belly button—where all he had to do was press his lips against her skin there and she'd whimper.
There was some laughter.
They'd even wrestled for control, and he'd witnessed a mischievous sparkle of competitiveness in her beautiful blue eyes, and her deep, satisfied laughter against his ear when she finally won the game.
She'd discovered how much he liked her hands in his hair, that grip of her fingers in his curls turning him on like nothing in his life ever had before. And he found she liked to teasingly nip at his skin with her teeth, giggling at the half-aroused, half-weirded out face he probably flashed when he pulled back to look at her.
It was better than anything. Better than everything.
And he never wanted it to end.
So now here he was, lying here wide awake, not really knowing what time it was, only knowing that it was still dark out, and that the train was still moving, and she was still here in his arms.
She'd fallen asleep with her back against his chest, apparently perfectly content to lie curled up in his arms, buried in the heavy sheets of the bed, her head on the pillows that were a little too flat for her liking, as she'd told him earlier on in the night.
He couldn't sleep, though.
Because he didn't want to miss a moment of this. He wanted to concentrate on every last little sensation.
The way her hair smelled, like the fancy shampoo they'd used while showering in the Paris hotel room before racing to catch their train. The way it felt tickling his nose, and it was so soft as he gently nuzzled his face into it. Her smooth skin under his hand as he stroked it over the sharp angles of her figure, the bumps of her ribcage, the swoop of her waist, her hip bone jutting out, the oh so soft skin of her thigh. And the warmth and strength of her back pressed tightly into his chest, her shoulders shifting just slightly as she breathed evenly in sleep.
He was afraid that if he fell asleep, and the future wasn't filled with more moments like this, he would regret wasting their time together with sleep.
As he let his mind wander, his lips began to wander as well. Without even really realizing what he was doing, he pressed his mouth to the juncture of her neck and her shoulder, and he felt her shoulders shift with her deep intake of breath.
"I take it you're awake," he heard her say, her voice a bit scratchy, rumbling in amusement.
"That'd be pretty damn impressive if I could make love to you and sleep at the same time."
She giggled. "I'm not sure whether I'd be impressed or offended."
That made him laugh. "Touché." There was a moment of comfortable silence between them as she squirmed to get a little closer to him. "I didn't wake you up, did I?" he asked. "I didn't mean to."
She shook her head. "I was awake. Just deep in thought."
Heeey, me tooo," he drawled, pushing up from the pillow to lean over her to meet her eyes. Chuck found himself brimming at the sound of her giggle, the happy flash of her teeth as she beamed over her shoulder at him. "What were you thinking about?"
He felt idiotic when a stab of disappointment went through him. She was deep in thought about nothing important. Right. And he was Teddy Roosevelt. Bully!
"Ah. Yeah. Same." Which was also a lie. "Hey, wanna see somethin'?" He pulled away from her and turned to lie on his back, scooting down to rest his head on the pillow they shared properly and stretching his long legs out under his feet popped over the edge. A gust of cold air swept under the sheets and chilled his feet and ankles. "I'm too big for this bed."
Sarah pushed up onto her elbows, one arm holding the sheets to cover her breasts, and she peered down at the end of the bed. The giggle bubbled up out of her. "God, you've even got a few inches on this bed? What am I going to do with you, Mister Bartowski?"
"I mean, I have a few ideas. Want me to list them in order from Want to Really Really Want? First, you could—" She dove onto him and clasped a hand over his mouth, laughing as he mumbled against her hand.
She pointed at his nose with her other hand and then lightly booped him, narrowing her eyes. "You're a cheeky one, you know that?"
Chuck nodded, knowing his eyes were sparkling up at her like he was a God damn cartoon character or something. He was just so happy in this moment. And she was so naked in this moment. For that matter, so was he.
Sarah gave off a one-syllable giggle and turned over so that she was on her back as well, her body half on top of his. He pushed his arm underneath her and wrapped it around her torso, his hand resting over her stomach, his fingertips drawing gentle little circles over her skin.
He felt her breath hitch, but she didn't shift, not even a muscle.
"Know what this reminds me of? I mean, the whole too big for the bed thing."
"I hit a major growth spurt in high school. Like, I turned fifteen and by the time I hit seventeen, I was a foot taller. It was a little intense." She giggled. "Well, you know, you go for the whole routine check-up at the dentist every year. Man, I went there after my growth spurt, and my feet were just dangling over the edge of the dentist's chair. The hygienist did this double take when she got in the room. And she was so flabbergasted by how much I'd grown that she brought in all these other hygienists." Sarah shifted and sent him a weirded out look over her shoulder. "Oh I know. It was really awkward. I felt like a sideshow freak. But here's the best part. They finally filtered out of the room and my regular dentist who I'd seen for years walked in. He did his thing—you know, checking my teeth, making sure I didn't have cavities, talking to me about my X-rays, yadda yadda—then he stands up and says, 'You always did have big feet, son', clapped me on my shoulder with a 'Congratulations' and left the room."
Sarah laughed, her head falling back against his shoulder, and she turned her face into his neck so that he could feel her teeth graze his jaw. "That would happen to you," she said quietly, pecking his chin affectionately.
"Is it really uncomfortable?"
She turned over in his arms and the entire length of her figure pressed against him, skin on skin, the heat of her body getting to his head in the best way. "Having your feet pop off the end of the bed like that."
Chuck shook his head and then shrugged, rubbing his hands over her hips. Then he gave her a quick tug so that her entire body was draped over his. "I've been too distracted to notice."
The curiosity that had been on her beautiful face a moment earlier melted into desire, and a bit of amusement. "What about now that you have noticed?"
"I guess we just have to re-distract me."
And it seemed like Sarah must have agreed with him, because she smirked for only a moment, before she slid down his body to disappear under the covers for quite some time thereafter.
"You can't weasel your way out of this one, Sarah Walker."
"I'm not weaseling. I'm just trying to have sex." And she gently arched her hips against his to emphasize that point. His eyelids fluttered and he groaned softly.
He had to really concentrate to pull his head out of the clouds that her simple movement had shot it into. "It should be an easy question to answer, though. I mean, we've watched a lot of movies in the last three-ish years. Surely, you have a favorite out of those."
"What? Come on. Wasn't there one you liked more than the others? I need to know these things, so that in the future, I'll know what you might really like to watch instead of taking a shot in the dark." That word—future—hung between them. And he really hadn't meant for it to. They both covered it up by continuing with their banter, but he was still thinking about it. What did their future look like from this point on? He sincerely didn't know.
"Mmm, you like it," he mumbled, pressing his lips against her neck and making her squirm as she giggled.
"Maybe. But only where it pertains to sex. The relentless questioning is less appealing." She arched her eyebrow, but the smile on her lips told him she was playing with him. Flirting. She didn't actually mean it.
Chuck's jaw unhinged and his mouth fell open. His gasp turned into a chuckle as she stuck her tongue out through her teeth and giggled again, wrinkling her nose. Jesus Christ, she was the cutest.
"Uuugh, fine. But I have to think," she finally relented. And she made quite the show of thinking, pursing her lips, turning them to the side, her beautiful golden hair splayed out on the pillow under her head. She even tapped her fingers on his shoulders that he thought she held a bit possessively. He liked that thought.
He let her think, because for now, it seemed like they had all the time in the world. The night had come and gone, and he finally had fallen asleep. Sarah took a shower while he slept, and he woke up to the sight of her decked out in lingerie he hadn't seen her buy. He'd noticed the tag when he peeled them from her body; it was French, which meant she'd bought it in Paris most likely. When, he had no damn clue. But it had been the sexiest thing he'd ever seen in his life.
Now it was around noon. Or something. Probably.
The dishes from their two small breakfasts and nearly untouched lunch were sitting outside of their compartment door. And Chuck and Sarah had barely moved from where they were burrowed under the sheets of their bed, burrowed in one another's arms.
Chuck raised his eyebrows. He hadn't expected that one. He didn't really know why, but he hadn't. "Really? That was one of the first ones I showed you. Makes me feel like all of the other movies we watched after that are a little pointless now."
She laughed and gently smacked his bicep. "You know that isn't the case. It just stuck with me."
"It's also really corny in a lot of ways."
"Well, yeah, it was made in the seventies."
"Yeah, by the time Tron happened, they figured out all those kinks." She gave him a doubtful look and he pointed down at her in warning. "Don't say it. It was super amazing and had fantastic special effects for 1982, okay?"
She snorted and shook her head, craning her neck to lean up and kiss the corner of his mouth. "You're cute when you nerd."
"So are you."
Sarah looked doubtful at that. "I don't nerd."
Now it was his turn to snort. "That's what you think."
She glared and eventually ignored that. "Even if it was corny, I found it interesting. Logan's Run, I mean."
"The relentless questioning again." She was teasing, but underneath that, he saw something else.
Had he touched on something important, something that made her uncomfortable perhaps?
"No, seriously. Why? Think of me as your professor. At the end of the film, there will be a short essay." He mimed pushing glasses up his nose.
Her smile widened. "Ooo, I never really understood that whole Hots For Teacher thing until right now."
Chuck bit his cheek to keep the exploding laughter he felt bubbling up from his chest in check. "Oh, really? Then tell me, Miss Walker…how do you feel about…square roots?" He gave her a smolder. She giggled, her chest bouncing under his. "Wanna learn about astrophysics?" he asked with purposeful emphasis, making her laugh harder.
"Was that too much?" he asked as she reached up to push an escaped tear from the corner of her eye.
"You definitely crossed the line."
"I thought maybe I might haaaaave mmff!"
He gaped up at her, not really sure how she'd managed to flip them over so fast, but only a little surprised. "Okay. Well. You're really good at that," he breathed.
"I know," she said, bouncing a shoulder matter-of-factly.
"And you still haven't told me why you found Logan's Run so interesting."
"I know that, too."
"It's Michael York, isn't it?" She made a face. "That delicious seventies hair. It's like a longish, shaped bowl cut. Super sexy. Looks like silk."
"It's not Michael York. Nor is it even that they shot a bunch of scenes under a sewage disposal plant, which is super cool, I gotta say."
"You remembered!" he said, pointing at her.
"I listen to your rambling trivia about all of these movies, Chuck. For the record."
He pursed his lips. "I should maybe be more careful about what I say."
"Maybe." She smirked. "No, what really got to me, in spite of all of the silliness in that movie, and the sort of bad dialogue…" She paused and scooted up his body, tangling her legs with his, gently stroking her hand over his shoulder. "My life in the CIA always felt sort of like that." He frowned a bit, confused. "I mean, the whole bit where people are sent to the Carrousel when they turn thirty. They're sent off to be pulverized, sacrificed." She shrugged, looking tentative, unsure about whether she should keep going.
He didn't want to break her courage by speaking, even to reassure her, so he just set his hand on top of where she'd stopped hers on his chest.
"This job doesn't exactly have longevity. My life never had longevity. I've been shot at, beaten to a pulp, tortured…" Chuck felt a shiver go through him, and not just because thinking about her being tortured made him sick, but also because she said it all so nonchalantly. "The amount of times I could've been killed in the last decade…just…I couldn't even count them, honestly. Living past thirty isn't easy when you're a spy. And I was still really young when I came to terms with the fact that I'd probably die earlier than most people. Probably on some mission somewhere in some other country. Just…wiped right off the face of the earth. So I guess I kind of related to that part." She shook her head. "I mean, at the very least, it made me think a lot. About me. My life and I guess the…futility of it. My choices."
"Did it make you question your choices?"
Sarah bit her lip in a way that made him think maybe he'd asked one question too many. So he leaned up to kiss her instead, gently cupping her face and wrapping his other arm around her torso, hugging her tightly.
She hummed into his kiss and he felt her lips turn up, like she knew exactly why he'd kissed her instead of waiting for her to answer.
"Okay, so you have a choice between eating a burger and eating a reuben. I'm talking, like, the juiciest burger, versus the reuben with the dressing and the sauerkraut, all the good stuff. Which one do you choose?"
She sniffed and pulled her chin back, narrowing her eyes, like that was the easiest decision ever. "Burger. Come on, Chuck. You know this."
"I know, medium with extra pickles. But I thought maybe the reuben might throw you for a loop. I saw you inhale that reuben when we went on the double date to the pier with Ellie and Awesome."
"Um, I'm pretty sure I would've inhaled a paper bag at that point, I was so hungry."
"They did take awhile to decide where to eat, didn't they?"
She snorted and widened her eyes, causing him to chuckle. "Okay, my lady likes her burgers. Good to know."
They had eventually showered again, before collapsing back into bed, and Chuck wondered if he'd ever gone this long without wearing clothes before. No, he decided. He hadn't. And he was fine with that.
He was fine with lying here in nothing but boxers, peering down at her as he slipped his hand under the pretty satin pink top with black lace trimming she was wearing and stroked his fingers along her ribcage.
"You know something, Sarah Walker?"
"I don't think you've told me as much about yourself in the last three years as you have in just the last three hours."
She pressed her lips together in something of a smile and looked away. "Are you surprised?"
"By which part?"
"Both." Her blue eyes moved to meet his, so serious in spite of how much fun they'd just been having.
"Okay, well…I—What I mean is, you're naturally a more private person. So it made sense that you kept things close. I learned to respect that about you, and hopefully I stopped being such a nuisance, asking you too many questions and…I haven't, have I? I'm still a nuisance."
She giggled and shook her head. "You never were. I was just…" She sighed.
"That's okay. I don't want you to think I ever thought I deserved to know those things about you more than the next guy." Chuck knew he wasn't entitled to anything where Sarah was concerned. He'd always known that. But that hadn't made him want to know less.
Something happened in Sarah's face then. Her lips fell into a frown and her eyes darkened, clouded, like she was lost in a memory, and not a good one.
Chuck felt himself jolt to attention. "What?"
He watched her as she pushed her palms into the mattress and sat up, turning to look down at him. He was frozen, staring up at her, gaping.
"Sam. Short for Samantha. That was the name I was born with. But you know that. Don't you?"
His features collapsed in hurt and he didn't mean for them to. That memory was not fun. The sound of her voice as she told another man her real name. After years of wanting something real, anything real from her. Even the smallest…whatever…a mere morsel of something personal about her. A name, a birth date, where she'd grown up, anything. And she'd given it to Daniel Shaw.
His world had darkened significantly that day—not that he'd deserved to know that any more than Shaw had. Any more than any man had. But he was human, after all. So he thought he'd deserved it more.
More than that, he knew he wanted it more. And when she'd given it to Shaw…
It hurt to think about it, even now that he'd spent the last thirty plus hours being thoroughly devoured by her.
He couldn't help but let it show, even as he pulled himself back, attempting to slip a mask on. But he was no Sarah Walker. He wasn't good at the spy mask. And he was even further embarrassed by the fact that he was almost naked. Suddenly he cared about his lack of clothes, like they were his armor or something childish like that.
"Uh, yeah. Yeah I know."
"It's probably too late now, right? I'm telling you when you already know." She was watching him closely, and for once he didn't see the mask over her face. He saw everything, but nothing more clearly than regret.
"It isn't too late." He scrambled to sit up beside her, desperate to reassure her as her features became pinched with emotion. "Hey, you told me now. Your real name is Sam, short for Samantha." He rubbed a hand over her shoulder and she smiled up at him, her eyes warm and adoring.
At least he had that.
"I'm sorry, Chuck."
"No, Chuck. Just listen. Please. I'm so sorry. I told…" She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, shutting her eyes tight for a moment, before opening them again and looking at him steadily. "I told the wrong person. And not just because he turned out to be a traitor, someone who wanted me dead, but because he-he isn't—wasn't you."
Chuck swallowed the thickness in his throat, the sick feeling he'd managed to distract himself from for the past two days almost. Because he'd killed a man. And not just any man. Someone who'd been on his team for months. Someone he'd learned to trust even though he saw him as a rival, even though he thought Sarah'd found in him something Chuck would always be lacking—the ability to be a real spy.
That was all bullshit. He knew that now.
He swallowed again, and was only steadied by the tight grip of Sarah's hand around his wrist.
"Stay with me. Hey." Her hand lifted to his cheek. "I shouldn't have phrased it like that. I'm sorry. I know you're probably—"
"That isn't important." She gave him a look and he cleared his throat. "I know. It is important. But I don't really want to…deal with it right now. If that's okay."
Sarah nodded and stroked his cheek gently. "Of course."
She shook her head, getting back on track. "I hadn't been keeping my name from you out of spite, it was just…my nature. The way I was raised, both by my dad—on the run, pulling cons—and by the CIA. Loose lips sink ships—that whole thing. Even though I trusted you, it was too…terrifying. Telling you my name meant that I trusted you more than I'd ever trusted anyone, and that in turn meant that my feelings for you were…much deeper than was safe. For either of us, but mostly for you. And I thought that if I told you my name, you would try harder for…us to happen. Romantically, I mean. And then, I wouldn't have been able to resist, Chuck. And the second I let my guard down…" She shook her head, emotions starting to bubble up inside of her. He could see it, the way her shoulders shifted faster as her breathing sped up, her nostrils flaring, her eyes shinier. "I had to do my job. I had to protect you." She cupped his face, a little desperately. "And not just because of how bad I had it for you," she smiled a little at that, and he had to smile back. "But because Ellie needs you. And Devon. Morgan. Everyone at the Buy More, even. You're the one thing that keeps that place from imploding, I swear to God." She chuckled wetly. "God, Chuck…you have no idea how special you are. How much better the world is with you in it."
A tear dripped down her cheek and she didn't seem to care enough to wipe it away, so he did it for her, his heart warmed by the way she turned her face into his hand, seeming to take comfort from it.
"I couldn't do or say anything that made either of us fall any harder than-than we already had," she breathed. "Your life depended on it."
He knew it was probably much more complicated than that, even. But there was no way he expected her to touch on all of it. It was way, way too much. And too difficult. Neither of them would ever really understand all of it.
"I get that," he said. "I don't blame you."
"But you blame me for telling Shaw."
"No, I don't."
"You should," she said quickly.
"Well, I don't. I'm not gonna pretend it didn't hurt like hell, because it did. But I never blamed you. I don't blame you."
Even though he saw a flash of relief go through her stormy blue eyes, he also saw that it didn't alleviate any of the regret and heartache.
"I have to try to explain. Please."
"You don't have to—"
"Yes, I do. Please. Let me try."
Because he really couldn't do anything else, he shrugged a little, and whispered, "Okay."
She sniffed and collected herself, blinking away any evidence of tears. She was Sarah Walker, steadfast and composed again.
"With everything that had happened before that, in Prague and with your spy training, and then there was…Just, you know, all of that. I was going down the rabbit hole with disillusionment. About the job, about…" She blushed slightly. "About love. About myself. You. What all of this was making you become." She pushed some hair behind her ear. "Shaw was pretty convenient to have around. He was into me. And in that moment, when I had just witnessed you do some awful things to Casey…"
Chuck had to wince at that. He'd had better days than that one. And he hadn't been himself. Eager to impress. Eager to do what he had to for the mission. It had made him sick, but he'd done it.
"I needed something. Anything. And deep down inside, I knew how much of a gift it would've been for you if I'd told you my name. My real name. I always thought maybe that'd be like…I don't know," she said, looking shy, embarrassed. "Maybe like a catalyst for us. That we'd snap together like a rubber band being pulled tight and let go of."
She huffed, and he knew this next part wouldn't feel good, but he braced himself for it instead of stopping her, listening carefully, wrapping his hand around hers and squeezing to let her know he was still with her.
"I thought maybe it could be that way with Shaw. That I'd actually connect with him if I gave him something real. Instead of the empty attraction, the distraction I was so eagerly looking for. I told him my real name was Sam. And there wasn't—" Sarah looked frustrated suddenly, shaking her head, playing with his fingers distractedly as she hunched forward a little. "There was no snapping rubber band. I didn't feel any closer to him than before. I didn't feel like I'd gotten a load off of my chest, even. It was…an incredible disappointment."
Chuck felt like an asshole for being relieved. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Like I said, he was the wrong person. And I knew it the moment I said it."
"But then why did you…" His voice drifted off. He didn't really want to ask that, did he? He didn't much like the idea of reliving that scene. If he concentrated enough, he could probably see it in his mind, and he damn well didn't want to. There was no reason for it. He had her here. He'd been in her arms for over a day now. They were running off into the alps to be together. Or something like that. He didn't really know. But the important part was that they were together.
He shook his head vehemently.
"Ask me, Chuck." And then realization dawned on her, like a cold blanket. "Why did I kiss him? You saw that, too, didn't you?"
Chuck winced and opened his mouth to say something, but then he didn't like anything he might've said, so he just snapped it shut again, not meeting her gaze.
"Don't be, Sarah. You were…I mean, I wasn't even in the picture then."
"Chuck, you've never been out of the picture. Not for a second. Not since…not since I watched you fix that stupid little screw that was loose in my phone."
He was flooded with warmth at that. And he had half a mind to lean in and kiss her, but she'd already started talking again.
"It was a reflex. I could see he wanted me to. So I did it. What I also saw was that he didn't give a rat's ass about my real name. No spy would, honestly. Because what's a name except another disguise, another part you're playing to get intel, to get into a party, to fool a powerful arms dealer into trusting you? He had no idea why I told him that. And he didn't care. It was a massive letdown." And then there was a sparkle in her eyes again, a very welcome sparkle, as she lifted her gaze to his, looking at him through her eyelashes. "As was the kiss."
Chuck snorted. "Ouch. How about I order some champagne and strawberries and we can drink to that?"
She smirked. "I'm teasing, but it's actually true. The few kisses I'd had with you before that, on the other hand…" She hummed in satisfaction and he felt a slow smile stretch over his face.
She made a slightly suspicious face, like she didn't know where he was going with that.
"Just, you know, if you want to check to make sure, that's fine. Like sampling the product a few times just to make mmmff."
Sarah'd thrown her arms around him and lunged at him, kissing him hard, her lips smiling against his. He slowly fell back to the pillows, taking her with him and causing her to giggle.
"What about the champagne?" he asked into her mouth.
"We're going to have to do that later," she practically panted, already pulling her top off over her head.
And as they pulled away a few minutes later, neither of them wearing a single shred of clothing, Chuck leaned down to tease her collarbone with his lips. He felt her take his head in her hands and pull him up so that she could look into his eyes.
"I need you to know how sorry I am that I didn't tell you first. That I told the wrong person. And that you heard it. I'm sorry I hurt you."
Her sincerity was all he needed and he smiled down at her, pushing a bit of hair back from her face. "Thank you for telling me now. It means everything to me. Even if it is just a name."
The sudden grin on her face practically sent him into cardiac arrest. It dimmed just a little, her face no less happy as she pushed a hand through his hair adoringly. "You mean everything to me, Chuck Bartowski. Everything."
He understood. He understood that the name Sam had never meant anything to Sarah. It was a name on a birth certificate, something she hadn't used since she was a child, most likely. What did matter to her was that it mattered to him. And it wasn't just the name. It was her. The small little details about her life that he'd always wanted to know. Because he loved her. Because he'd always loved her. Everything about her mattered to him.
And she had to know that now. He saw on her face that she did. He could see how happy she was because of it.
She'd made a mistake, telling Shaw her real name. But it wasn't important now.
Chuck wanted her to know every last thing he was thinking, the jumbled mess of emotions going through him, how he ached with the need for her to understand how monumentally important she was to him—to his entire existence.
But instead, as she pulled him down against her, wrapping her legs around him, kissing his face with smiling lips, he uttered a soft, heartfelt, "I love you."
He said it again. And again. And again.
A/N: When I get that feeeeelin'...I want (fill in the blank)
Okay, bye! Let me know if you liked it, bye.