fic: like spinning plates

[ndnickerson.livejournal.com]

Title: like spinning plates
Author: ndnickerson
Fandom: Chuck
Spoilers: Vague for Season 2.
Pairing: Chuck/Sarah
Rating: PG
Prompt: this image

Read: at my journal
or

Chuck's standing at the Nerd Herd desk, toying with his eyeglass screwdriver, wondering how many ways Casey could kill someone with it, wishing with every fiber of his being that Big Mike will let him go early, when Sarah suddenly darts through the magnetic doors, arms wrapped around her torso, shivering. The winds had been driving the clouds higher all day; just an hour ago they had finally burst, in a violent, sputtering deluge that had made everyone watching let out a simultaneous low and satisfied sigh.

Sarah stops near the door, jerks her chin up, and he feels for his cell, wincing at the missed calls. The rain slapping on the metal roof, the thrumming anticipation of another weekend; nothing is an adequate excuse, and he shrugs a little in apology before following.

The three of them are lined up before the screen, Chuck plastering on his fake smile, when General Beckman opens her mouth and, just as quickly, the power flickers and the screen turns to hissing static.

Casey starts fiddling with something and Sarah shifts her weight, and Chuck studiously avoids looking at the rain-dampened patches on her tank top as he mutters, "I call five-minute rule."

She smiles, hiding it unsuccessfully behind a cough.

Beckman, once the sat link is back up, is uncharacteristically brusque. She's angry when Chuck reiterates that their last three missions have yielded no flashes; he has a sudden vision of her ordering a lab full of faceless scientists to drill their way in, trace his synapses, find out how he's managed to break the priceless piece of organic intelligence sublimated in his head. Sarah makes excuses, dragging her hand through her hair in frustration when Beckman orders their next mission successful "or else," but he's drifting.

He grabs Sarah's arm on the way out, ignoring Casey's sneer. "We need to do some cover maintenance," he says, lightly, aware of how tense she is until he drops his hand.

"What did you have in mind?"

They both stop, staring, into the dim dining area of the Orange Orange, the strange way each livid bolt shows against the boiling sky. He finally places it: the streetlights are out, the Buy More is dark. The Castle is impervious, on its double and triple backups, but here, aboveground, everything else is grinding to a halt.

They find a swamped but still-lit pizza place, and Chuck has to shout his order to the harried cashier, who looks barely old enough to drive by himself. One vegetarian with no olives, one pepperoni and onion, one meat monster deluxe with extra cheese.

Sarah wrinkles one brow. "I thought you said..."

He shrugs. "You'll see."

And he's right, but he had no doubt. They dash from Sarah's Porsche, through the courtyard, one of Chuck's arms cradling the pizzas, ducking over them to keep the cardboard shielded from the rain, his other hand in Sarah's. She even laughs, as his Chucks slide on the wet stones and he comes to a jarring stop at the front door. Morgan's the one who opens it, and Sarah is only mildly surprised.

"What did I tell you?" Morgan crows to Anna, lifting the lid and taking an appreciative whiff. "Him and me? Like this," he says, gesturing between their heads.

"Exactly," Chuck says, distracted when Sarah twines her hair up, twisted up with a few strands escaping, and he hates when she does that because it reminds him of how she looked, when they were standing in front of Bryce's temporary tomb, right before she kissed him and then called it a mistake.

And he loves it for how vulnerable, how damn normal it makes her look.

Ellie walks in cradling three flashlights and a pillar candle, and Chuck finally sees the lit candles, Morgan's beard-puppets accompanied by Anna's smothered, giggled laughter, the stack of board games on the coffee table.

"Did you bring Sarah over for a few rounds of Candy Land?" Ellie hands her a flashlight, her smile fading when she feels the chill of Sarah's hand. "Glad I just put a few candles in your room, Chuck. Go get her out of those wet clothes, and I'll get some hot cocoa started."

And of course Devon walks in just in time to hear the last, and gives Chuck an encouraging shoulder-bump with matching grin.

"Cover maintenance, huh."

"It's a tradition," Chuck says defensively, turning when Sarah grips the hem of her tank, his voice doing that fluttery thing in his throat. "Uh... yeah. Power goes out, we play board games, eat ice cream, and drink until it comes back on."

"With Morgan?" He can hear a zipper.

"Y-yeah, actually. He's a little fast and loose when it comes to Old Maid," he chuckles.

"And if we're going to drink," she muses, and he glances back only to see her already fully dressed, in a zippered, somehow flattering hoodie, "then I guess I'll get too tipsy to drive home. Because that's what girlfriends do."

He nods. "Maybe just not so... uh, deliberately," he stammers out, as she steps toward him, and this is a fake date, he repeats to himself furiously.

She actually laughs. "Yes, they do," she says, tilting her head, taking his tie in her fist. "We play these little games because we don't want to say it."

And then something in her eyes changes, just for a second, and he's been seeing these chinks in her armor more and more lately, this very tenuous trust.

He takes a step closer. "Why don't you stay over tonight, Sarah," he says, softly.

"Okay," she smiles, but her eyes are guarded, and their faces are very close.

"I claim red unless you two get back in here!" Morgan shouts.

She ducks her head and just like that, it's broken. His heart sinks, a little.

"Not everything has to be lies," he says, and then glances at her.

She touches his hand, briefly. "Not everything is."